Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller

by Blake, Cameron

  A large tank sat near the wall. In large black letters it said HYDRATE. There was a spout at the bottom. The tank looked like it had been stripped off a tanker transporting gas.

  He filled his canteen halfway and chugged. He refilled the one and then the second. He stuffed the first in the bag and attached the second to his waist.

  “You’ll want one of these,” Amir said, tossing Abram a pistol.

  “Really?” Abram asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “You never know,” Amir said.

  Abram instinctively cleared the chamber and flicked the safety on. He stuffed the pistol behind his back. Amir was holding one of the AR-15s with a red dot scope. He braced the rifle against his shoulder and squinted through the scope.

  “Afraid we might run into some wild animals?” Abram asked.

  “Morocco can be a dangerous place. You know how it is.”

  Flashbacks to Abram’s time in the Kush came flooding back. He heard the explosions, saw the missiles strikes, watched as his team were cornered and torn apart by bullets. He didn’t feel Amir’s hand until he was shaking him.

  “Man, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…memories.”

  Abram’s eyes were glazed over. He stared at Amir as if he were a ghost.

  Amir patted him on the shoulder.

  “We all have those. Don’t worry, it gets better.”

  Abram sure hoped so. It had been five years and he still couldn’t shake the nightmares.

  He picked up a Colt M4A1. The assault rifle felt good in his hands. A strength filled his arms as he raised the weapon and centered its site on a helmet in the corner. He squeezed the trigger and heard the soft pop as the pin snapped. He loaded a magazine and added several more to his bag. Whatever hike they were going on, he’d be ready.

  Amir and Abram finished packing their bags with the supplies they needed. Abram strapped a second MK 23 pistol to his waist, as well as an Ontario MK 3 knife in his pocket. Abram picked up two gloves and tied a bandana around his neck. Instead of a helmet, he opted for a black ball cap. Amir wasn’t lying; they had everything. It was any Special Forces team member’s dream.

  “You good?” Amir asked.

  “Let’s get this party started.”

  Chapter 12

  Amir and Abram exited through a side entrance of the compound. A dirt road wound off to the west, but they were headed east. No road went that direction. As far as the eye could see were cacti, dirt, the occasional fig tree, and small sand dunes. It felt good with all of the gear on, but the fireball in the sky was a different story. The farther they walked, the hotter it became and the sandier the terrain.

  Three hours later, Amir stopped and held his compass up. He also had a small map in his left hand that he reviewed.

  “How far?” Abram asked.

  “Five klicks that way.” He pointed to the large expanse of dry, lifeless land that burned with a clear haze to the southwest.

  “Let’s ruck up,” Abram said, hiking up his rucksack tighter and picking up the pace in the direction that Amir had indicated. If the terrain remained relatively flat and rocky, they could cover it in about two hours. Abram took two long swigs of his canteen and poured a little on the back of his neck where the bandana hung. The fabric quickly absorbed the cold liquid cooling the blood flow in the process.

  Not much changed in the next two hours. Both men kept to their own thoughts, savoring their energy. They only spoke when necessary or to check the compass to ensure they were still headed in the right direction. With no defining point of reference in the desert, it was easy to walk in circles. Abram had poured the last drop of his first canteen on his parched lips. He knew he had the spare in his pack if needed. The thirst was strong in his gut, but he pushed it down. Just a little more.

  It was on the verge of seven kilometers when the first signs of life appeared on the horizon.

  “Up ahead,” Amir said. His voice sounded hoarse from the dry air and sand. He had a bandana wrapped around his face to shield it from the wisps of sand.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you took us the wrong way,” Abram said.

  “I never get lost.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. Glad this wasn’t the first.”

  Amir mumbled something under his breath that Abram could have sworn was ‘me too.’

  The desert was the last place anyone wanted to get stranded, especially when you had a limited supply of water and were trudging heavy sacks full of metal.

  The border of the town slowly came into focus half a kilometer later. The closer they got, the more the town didn’t look like a town. Instead, there were tents strung together in long lines, while others, some larger or smaller, jutted out of the sand in no particular design. If Abram were to do a flyover, he was certain it would look as though someone had just thrown a bunch of sheets, metal, and wood into the middle of nowhere and this town was the result.

  When they were only a few hundred meters away, Amir halted and waited for Abram to come closer.

  “The folk here are a bit jumpy about foreigners. You should stay back while I head in to meet with our contact.”

  “Are they hostile?”

  Amir’s set jaw told him the answer.

  “It’s just best to be cautious. These people live out in the middle of the desert. They’re a bit…” He bobbed his head, opened his eyes and mouth wide, and twirled his finger around his ear. “Off.”

  If the folk here were anything like the people back home, off was an understatement. Abram swore the sun fried their brains and they no longer were altogether there upstairs.

  “I’ll hold back. How long should I wait before assuming you’ve been turned into a zombie?”

  “I should be back in two hours.”

  Amir drew his rucksack on one arm and rummaged inside. He pulled out two metallic devices and tossed one to Abram.

  “Set it to three. If you don’t hear from me in two hours, send me a beep.”

  “Roger.”

  Amir flung the pack over his shoulders again and climbed over the small mound of sand down toward the tents. Abram let his own sack crash into the sand. He sagged on his haunches, his legs and back praising the reprieve. He unzipped his bag and pulled out the second canteen. He took a long first drag, then two small ones before twisting the cap back on. He tore open one of the MREs and snacked on that for the next twenty minutes. With his stomach full, he leaned against the sand dune and pulled the ball cap down over his eyes. He twisted the volume knob to max and set it next to him.

  Two hours and then they’d be out of here. Just a simple hike in the desert. What could go wrong?

  Three hours later, Abram checked his water for the tenth time. The sun was still high in the sky but it already was making its decent. Once it headed down, it wouldn’t be long until nightfall. Abram pressed the walkie-talkie for the fifth time.

  “Amir, this is Abram, do you copy? Over.”

  Just static. No response came from the other end. He would try again in another ten minutes. Abram had an uneasy feeling. Amir had said the people here were wary of foreigners. Would they consider Amir an outsider? Who knew how fried their brains were and lost to reality, being stranded so far away from civilization?

  Abram’s eyes sparked to life and he flipped over onto his belly and pulled the M4 to bear. He gazed through the scope and did a horizontal sweep of the camp. No sign of Amir.

  Had it really been gunfire he had heard? Abram knew it had been. The sound was unforgettable. His heart quickened its pace and his fingers itched from the added blood flow. His finger tickled the edge of the trigger. The assault rifle was no sniper, but its aim was true from a few hundred meters. Abram was definitely within range. He held the sights level with the horizon, waiting for any sign of what he hoped he wouldn’t find.

  Movement to the left. He peeled the crosshairs right onto Amir’s face. Something was wrong. He was headed Abram’s direction, and fast. Moments later, several men came around the
corner. Abram’s sights fell on their own machine guns. Two had AK-47s, the rest looked to be wielding old Cold War machine guns.

  The next sound was unmistakable. They were shooting at him.

  Amir dove over a sand dune and rolled down. His pack dislodged and tumbled free. His AR-15 was still strapped around his shoulder. Amir whipped it around and let off several rounds into the sand mound.

  The men were not deterred. They continued on. Abram adjusted his sights. With the sun beginning its descent, the wind had calmed down. The air was dry so the bullet would fly true. He locked onto his first target. He allowed his breathing to slow and his fingers to relax and become one with the rifle. Then he squeezed the trigger. The hiss of the bullet zoomed through the air with a pop. The closest man toppled face forward. The others halted, unleashing rounds in all directions. Abram leveled his sight on his next target. Squeeze.

  The man’s face exploded before his body crumpled to the sand. The remaining four men leveled their own weapons in Abram’s direction. The sand dune exploded with gunfire. Abram stood his ground and took aim. Pop. Pop. Two more down. The last two men exchanged looks and hightailed it back toward the camp. Abram relaxed and watched them go.

  Then he heard five more shots. He peered back through his scope to see Amir standing on the top of the sand dune, his rifle painted on their backs. Both men toppled forward lifeless.

  Amir held his rifle toward the camp a minute longer to ensure no one else was following. He slid back down the dune, scooped up his backpack, and hustled toward Abram.

  Five minutes later he tossed his bag next to Abram’s and sank to the sand. His chest was heaving and his face was covered in sand. It stuck to the sweat pouring down his cheeks.

  Abram tossed him his canteen. Amir chugged several gulps.

  “Thanks,” he said, handing it back to Abram.

  “I thought this was going to be just a hike.”

  Amir grinned.

  “Change of plans.”

  “Who were those men? Why were they trying to kill you?”

  “Oh, they weren’t trying to kill me.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “They just wanted to talk. It appears they aren’t as friendly as I remember.”

  “Did you meet your contact?” Abram asked.

  Amir’s face was blank, then he remembered.

  “About that. There’s no contact. We’re here to get information.”

  What information could these desert people possibly have that was worth hiking all the way out here and risking getting shot up?

  “They’re harboring cell members from ISIS. Our Intel indicated that they’ve been hiding out here for several weeks now.”

  “ISIS is here? And we just stirred the pot? How long until the others show up now?”

  “Not sure. But it’s best we get moving before that happens.”

  “Agreed.”

  Abram swung his rucksack over his shoulder and headed northeast, back the way they had come. He stopped shortly after when he noticed Amir wasn’t following.

  He turned around to see Amir heading back toward the camp.

  “What are you doing?” Abram shouted.

  “I didn’t get what we came for.”

  Abram jogged over.

  “Are you out of your mind? If ISIS is in there, then they are certain to have just heard our exchange with potentially some of their comrades. They won’t be happy.”

  “They weren’t ISIS.”

  “Great! That’s really reassuring. The men we killed weren’t terrorists, just their friends that seem to have no problem harboring terrorists in their out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere camp. That makes me feel much better.”

  “You don’t need to come. I’ve been here many times. I know the camp as if it were the back of my hand.”

  “What’s so important that you’d risk your life to go back?”

  “We always complete the mission,” Amir said. His face was distant and his voice sounded robotic. “No matter the costs.”

  “You’re crazy, do you know that?” Abram said.

  Amir shrugged and kept on walking.

  Abram rolled his eyes and sighed. Oh, what the hell.

  He shuffled within a few paces of Amir, but maintained a diagonal vantage point from him.

  He held the M4 in both hands, loosely by his waist. He scanned the tops of the tents. The dilapidated mud walls were all that remained of the once-bustling town. They wrapped around the town like a maze. If you weren’t careful or familiar with the area, you could easily get lost. Abram kept track of their route in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

  They were within 100 meters with no contact. It would have been normal for bullets to be flying at their faces, but nothing. Now that gave Abram pause for concern. Something didn’t feel right. Why weren’t ISIS attacking them? Where were they? And why was the whole town quiet?

  Amir held up his fist. Abram stopped and took position next to the wall. Amir poked his head around the corner.

  “Clear.”

  Amir crouched and shuffled to the next wall ten meters away. He motioned for Abram to follow when it was clear. They made their way toward the center of the town, one wall at a time. Abram looked back at the maze of old stone that blocked their retreat. The walls looked like gravestones jutting out of the sand. Sand blew over the tops causing the air to appear like a mirage. Abram imagined ISIS just sitting behind the stone walls, waiting for them to turn their backs before unleashing a hurricane of gunfire. Abram had his back to Amir, ensuring no one snuck up behind them. The town’s unnatural quiet sent an eerie chill through Abram’s chest. It was never this quiet.

  His heart throbbed in his ears. At least it was still working.

  “Over there,” Amir whispered. He knife-handed the direction he was referring.

  Abram’s blood went cold immediately. In the center of the town, beneath one of the largest tents Abram had ever seen, were no less than a hundred soldiers. Each one of them had a machine gun or assault rifle.

  “Are you sure you still want to do this?” Abram asked. “Once we start, there’s no turning back.”

  Amir didn’t respond. His eyes were on door just to the side of the circus tent.

  “Our package is in there. We could try to sneak around, but it’s too close.”

  “I could make a diversion,” Abram said, “but you won’t have much time. You’ll need to be by the door; get in and get out.”

  “I have a better idea,” Amir said. Without taking his eyes off of the men, he reached behind his back and pulled out two C4 blocks.

  “Good call,” Abram said, knowing what Amir was thinking.

  “I’ll set these charges on the two opposing walls. Once the first one goes off, we’ll have about thirty seconds before they gather their senses. I’ll enter the door when that happens and find our package. Wait forty-five seconds, then blow the second.”

  Abram glanced over at the enclosed structure that Amir would be going into. The explosion could make the whole place cave in.

  “I’ll be fine,” Amir said. He handed Abram the detonator. “I’ll signal when they’re set. When you blow the first one, that’ll be my cue.”

  “Roger.”

  Amir backed away from the wall. He shot over to another wall and disappeared. Abram was a sitting duck out in the open. He needed to find cover. He looked around and spotted a cracked nook in one of the walls fifty meters away from the tent. He wound his way over and positioned himself inside the hole. Several crates shielded him from the side of the wall from behind. He focused his attention on the main tent.

  What were they doing?

  He looked through the red dot scope. They were definitely all preparing for something, but what, Abram had no idea. Maybe they hadn’t heard the gunfire. Abram brushed that aside. The shots would have been heard for miles in the desert. Abram saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Amir. He was scaling one of the walls like a lizard. Amir’s head barely move
d, but Abram knew it was his signal. He pressed the detonator on the first explosive.

  The entire wall and structure to the left of the soldiers erupted in a cloud of dust and rock. It took a few seconds before Abram heard the shouting. When he looked back at the wall, Amir was gone. Abram started counting down. 45…44…43

  Being so close to the enemy flooded his mind with flashbacks. His heart rate quickened and his vision blurred. The crosshairs on the scope were shaking.

  After his wounds had healed, he’d been conditionally discharged from Walter Reed. He was assigned weekly physical therapy and a psychologist. He refused to see a psychiatrist. He didn’t want any more pills shoved down his throat. He saw Dr. Walsh for three years. Being a war vet himself, the doctor knew firsthand the trauma Abram was experiencing. They were trained to remain calm in the most dangerous situations, to take life without question and complete the mission, but they weren’t trained how to cope with the recoil.

  Dr. Walsh taught Abram to meditate and control his breathing. He said that clearing the mind would free him from the images and allow him to live a normal life. At first, Abram slept only a few hours a night. The rest of the time he’d lie awake, staring at ghosts floating in the ceiling. As time went by, Dr. Walsh’s methods proved effective. Abram learned to control his anxiety through meditation and to accept the realities of his past, while living in the present. Dr. Walsh’s voice spoke to him now.

  “What you see is not real. The breath in your lungs is real. The pressure of my hand is real. Focus on the air going in. Feel how it fills your diaphragm. Hold it and embrace it. Then let it go. When you breathe out, I want you to release your fears, purge the thoughts and the voices with each breath. Feel them slip away and grow fainter with each one. Good.”

  Abram let out the breath he was holding. His heart rate slowed, his breathing calmed. His mind was clear.