by Hawk, Nate
As he turned left onto Boylston Street, the John Hancock Tower in Copley Square seemed to hover over him. It was then that he realized that he had nearly completed the running course. It was a satisfying achievement and with each step taken, Kelly realized that the rest of his life was waiting for him just blocks away.
That upcoming Saturday, Kelly and Jen would take vows to forever love and cherish each other. He truly treasured his life with Jen and her son. With the bond that the three had developed, vows had seemed like the next logical. She was the one that he had said fulfilled him completely. So, as he ran, his thoughts were mostly with her and the upcoming wedding.
Kelly had met Jennifer Myers eighteen months prior. They were neighbors, which at first had made him uneasy. It wasn’t hard for him to envision a scenario where he was living next to his ex-girlfriend but constantly running into her at awkward times. How would he sneak his next girlfriend in his place without some drama in the hallway? Jen always had her son in tow, too. Who needs that? Kelly had selfishly thought to himself at the time.
But one day fate intervened as Jen was bringing groceries up the elevator with her son. Ever so slightly overloaded, some produce had begun spilling out of the top of a paper bag. Her poorly executed attempt to catch it had ended in a horribly embarrassing pile of groceries at her feet. Kelly had been close and had attempted to prevent the situation. Of course, both blamed themselves and somewhere between picking up the avocados and pasta and having a good laugh they had introduced themselves.
Kelly broke the ice with a poor attempt at humor as he picked up some provolone.
“What do you call cheese that isn’t yours?” he had asked comically.
Embarrassed, Jen just looked at him with a flushing face.
“Nacho (not yo’) cheese!” he said with a laugh.
Jen gave a pity laugh but Brady had humorlessly kept his distance.
After getting to know her Kelly began to learn of her past. It seemed that she had been involved with Brady’s father at too young of an age. She’d said she didn’t want to talk about it because it would open old wounds.
“The best thing about the relationship,” she had said, “was the experience of becoming Brady’s mother.”
The details were always fuzzy so Kelly found himself pushing the thoughts from his mind, once more. Kelly had quickly found Brady to be a sharp boy who had seemingly picked up a lot of maturity for his young age as the de facto man of the house. Before Kelly knew it, Brady was even adding to his own perspective on things. As all three got to know one another, the experience had been unlike any other that Kelly had known. Any apprehension that he initially had was quickly abandoned.
There had been no dressing up and fawning over each other like other relationships that Kelly had known. Spending time together had felt completely natural. Brady’s father was not around and provided no means of raising the boy. Brady had quickly latched onto the new father figure in his life. It turned out that was just fine with Kelly who was happy to have a little man to take to Fenway Park and spend weekend days doing those father and son activities that introduce a boy to manhood, one step at a time.
Seeing no hesitation in Kelly but rather seeing him step up to become a role model for Brady had filled Jennifer’s heart. Somehow it had fit just right and seemed so natural. So they had quickly become a modern family where Dad lived next door but was often there for dinner, the weekends and sometimes even early in the morning to get Brady off to school. In fact, Brady even thought that Kelly slept over occasionally, but he wasn’t sure.
Once Kelly realized that Jen fulfilled all of his needs, he had purchased a beautiful ring that went well with Jennifer’s green eyes and elegant demeanor. He had asked Brady if it would be all right to ask his mother to marry him and the smile that the boy responded with was the type that would melt the hardest of hearts. Jennifer had, of course, awaited the question for what had seemed to her to be forever. Once it came she was too overcome with emotion to answer. But she finally did come around and when she was able to talk she wanted to know why he hadn’t asked sooner. The only thing she may have hesitated ever so slightly about, smiling, was that she would no longer share the same last name as her son.
Someday we’ll change that too, Kelly thought as he smiled to himself, shook off his daydream, and focused on the last few hundred yards of the race ahead of him.
He felt his strides getting longer as his speed picked up. The pace increased on Boylston Street, as the end was finally in sight. All of the runners wanted to give the finish their very best remaining effort. Kelly smiled. He was almost there.
Jennifer had promised Kelly that she and Brady would be at the finish line to cheer him on as he crossed, perhaps his last notable accomplishment as a single man. His new family was there, celebrating his personal victory and opening the door to the future they were all to share.
***
The man was of Chechen descent, or so he claimed, although historians would later note that he had never actually lived in Chechnya. His skin was white and his scrappy hair was dark. He looked at the world with self-centered and hollow eyes. His impatience had gotten the better of his discretion and his recent obsession to kill Americans had spawned an idea.
In Bekhan’s knapsack was a pressure cooker bomb that he had built himself, albeit with instruction received overseas in the preceding months. Now if his brain-dead younger brother could do as he was told for once, Bekhan knew his plan would go off marvelously well. Bekhan didn’t think clearly on a good day with his fanaticism always in the forefront of his mind. It was constantly pushing him towards maniacal murder and now he had committed himself to it. For a little added courage, he had a wad of opium pressed in between his gums. Today, he was so light headed that any hesitation he may have normally had was completely gone. Underneath his white button up shirt he wore a homemade explosive device that he was prepared to use if necessary. I know the device will work, he thought. After all, I made it myself.
Seconds before, he had elbowed through the crowd and set his pack down near the finish line. He only had to call his brother to make sure that he too had placed his pack in its predetermined location. I mean, how could he screw up a simple instruction like that? In the nineteen years that Bekhan had pushed his brother around, the younger Djabrail had never seemed very serious about anything. That would all change today. Bekhan fished through his pockets where he procured his phone and carefully dialed his younger brother. They spoke in a foreign language that few of the preoccupied people of Boston would recognize.
“Is it in place?” the older Bekhan asked of his brother.
There was a pause.
“Yes,” he replied slowly, his hands shaking and his voice lacking confidence in what he was doing.
Bekhan took one more look around to make sure he wasn’t being observed.
***
Chapter 9
The pace continued increasing as adrenaline shot through the runners’ bodies. As Kelly reached for the mouthpiece to his Camelbak water bladder, he spotted Jen and Brady leaning on a crowd control barrier. Their searching eyes met his as their energy increased and they began to cheer him on. They were right there near the finish line. Exactly where Jen had said they would be.
“Hey sweetie!” Jen yelled, as her voice was swallowed by the noise of the other revelers.
It took Brady a moment longer to locate Kelly. When he did, he let out a big grin and gave a proud wave. Kelly saw them both cheering him on then, as he took another long draw from his water bladder. Suddenly, an overpowering force caused Kelly to blink his eyes and lose his orientation.
***
“Listen to me. Are you headed to the rendezvous point where we agreed to meet?” Bekhan had asked.
Much quicker this time, his younger brother assured him.
“Yes.”
“OK. Don’t look back. Don’t do anything that will bring attention to you. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, ending the call a
nd putting the phone back into his pocket.
Bekhan then fished deep into another pocket where he located the second, untraceable phone that he would be using for the detonation. With blurry eyes and a light head, Bekhan scrolled through the second phone in search of his objective. He had very carefully stored the two numbers that would detonate the homemade devices. Damn, I’m good, he thought. He was confident that he wouldn’t get caught. Just in case though, he was ready to give his life for his beliefs. By doing this, I will change the world, he continued telling himself.
The two numbers were right where he had expected. He found satisfaction in himself for quickly putting together an attack with his own resources. It was something else though that made him especially proud. On that day, he was going to teach a personal and painful lesson.
He would kill that brown haired American woman with the piercing green eyes. What a nosy bitch! Although he didn’t know her name, he was sure that she had overheard too much. Even Niko had admitted that she had become a liability to their terror cell. Bekhan knew he was doing the right thing by intentionally planting one of the explosive devices at her feet.
The crucial part was over. Bekhan had already walked up near her to place the explosives. Brady had noticed the man and even offered a smile but Bekhan had not returned it. All Brady had seen were obsidian colored eyes that revealed nothing.
Now there was only one thing left for Bekhan to do. He dialed the first number and listened. His only body language was a slight smirk hidden within the corners of his lips. It was an ironic smile on an otherwise hollow face.
***
Kelly tried to refocus after he lost his orientation, but he was searching for a world that no longer existed. His line of sight with Jen and Brady was gone. In its place was a much more hectic scene. In the area where he had last seen his family, he now saw an orange and red fireball climbing its way up towards the sky. Surrounding the cloud of fire was debris, blown explosively in every direction. Kelly had difficulty making the wreckage but he knew what materials it would be composed of from his time in Iraq.
At the very center of the explosion was the propellant, burning at thousands of degrees as its pressure wave expanded violently. The next layer was composed of whatever metal scrap the explosive device had contained. These items were accelerating like hundreds of machine guns pointed in every direction, puncturing and ripping at everything and everyone in their path. The third wave consisted of formerly stationary items that had become propelled by the explosion, transforming into shrapnel themselves. These items lacked no creativity, as everything nearby became a projectile. Dimes and quarters whizzed through the air like razor blades. Jewelry was ripped directly off of bodies. A set of teeth too close to the device quickly became buckshot. The fourth category of motion consisted of the stationary items that weren’t propelled, but were struck by other items. So that day, people and police barriers were thrown to the ground like Sunday papers being carelessly tossed on a porch. It was all too much for Kelly’s mind to take in as chemicals dumped into his bloodstream and his ability to think rationally was quickly replaced with the ferocity of adrenaline.
The powerhouse of explosive energy struck him with an unrelenting force. Its intensity was so persuasive in nature that Kelly’s determination alone couldn’t overcome it. He was lifted up and thrust backwards from the blast. He hurled through the air awkwardly, transforming into tertiary debris himself. He felt a shoe dislodge from his foot and he thought he had seen it catapult over his head. Kelly landed in the middle of the street amid a roll that seemed to last forever in the moment, but it too came to a halt. The music had stopped now and he realized much of his running outfit had been ripped from his body. His mind was off in the distant unknown as he looked around, failing to recognize anything.
Kelly’s police simulation training quickly took a sad second place to the horror he was undergoing. Despite his physical and mental state, he had a good idea of what had happened. He knew bombs well and he recognized instantly that this was an intentional explosion. In fact, this was the type of explosive terrorism that he had pledged to protect Boston against.
How had this happened in Kelly’s own city? Why had he not heard any chatter about it? Who had perpetrated the blast? Most of all, as a Bomb Squad member, why had he been unable to prevent it? Kelly felt completely caught off guard, naked in both a literal and a figurative sense. After a brief pause, he picked up his head and looked down at himself. He was covered with dirt and filth and debris. There was blood all over his body and clearly, it wasn’t all his.
Kelly glanced to his right and saw a tattered pair of pants that wore a severed torso and one leg. He looked past the disconnected torso and saw what looked like a caved-in and bloodied bowling ball with brown hair.
Then the unthinkable happened. An imaginary RPG shot overhead as Kelly envisioned Lance Corporal Mike Pearson being shot in Iraq. Naked, Kelly instinctively looked for his rifle so he could fight, but only found chaos. Not seeing a weapon, his mind sent other signals. Kelly had a sudden thought of satisfaction when he remembered that Mike Pearson had eventually recovered from his wounds.
This is OK, Kelly told himself. The 3/5 Darkhorse Battalion is going to survive this.
Kelly’s thoughts and hallucinations came in waves. As one wave subsided, he tried to focus on doing his part to help those around him.
***
Bekhan laughed out loud and muttered praise to his God for the success of the first improvised explosive device. He was sure he had killed that woman. Stupid lady had been standing right there, he thought. Bekhan didn’t need Niko or those unreliable Syrians that would talk and talk, but always fail to deliver. Bekhan had now proven that he could rain terror on Americans without expensive, high-grade explosives. Bekhan had bought most of the materials for his devices at shopping centers during multiple trips to multiple locations. Of course, he had paid cash, dressed plainly and done nothing to be memorable. He sure hadn’t wanted to have some observant clerk call the police and stall the whole process.
All this time wanting and waiting and I finally did it. I finally did it! Those stupid Americans didn’t see that coming! That will teach them about meddling in other countries’ business, he thought with satisfaction, as he quickly dialed the second of two numbers on his disposable phone. He waited in glee and anticipation for the second blast.
He knew the hardest part was coming, which was evading and escaping successfully so that he could continue plotting the deaths of more Americans another day. He discreetly adjusted the .50 caliber Desert Eagle that he wore so proudly, disguised under a buttoned but untucked shirt. It is necessary for a real man to have an appropriate weapon, he nobly professed to himself. Not like that bullshit gun that Niko always insisted on carrying. A Makarov, he laughed. I guess a small gun for a man with a small vision. Bekhan’s thoughts were interrupted and quickly forgotten when he heard the thunder of the second device going off. The attack was complete and had gone just as he knew it would. Success! Bekhan found additional joy that he had not yet been forced to set off the third device. The one that he was wearing.
***
Chapter 10
Kelly was attempting to take inventory of his damaged body when two things happened. First, he heard another muffled explosion. His ears were still ringing from the first one but there was no mistaking what he’d heard because then the second thing happened. Kelly felt the pressure wave hit half a second later. Oh my God, he said to himself as the realization hit him that there was still an ongoing attack. The attack wasn’t the ‘one and done’ that he had been hoping for in the few seconds between the two blasts. How long will this go on? There were more screams and cries as the street around him devolved into utter chaos. Terrified people ran in every direction, tripping and falling. Occasionally, someone would step on him or inadvertently kick him.
A fresh wave of shock and PTSD splashed through Kelly’s mind, scattering his thoughts. As he looked around, all he saw was
Fallujah. He saw his injured brothers lying there but he couldn’t help. He could hardly even move his own body. A stranger came towards Kelly to help him up but he cursed and punched at the man. Kelly was sure it was a Jihadist, hell-bent on severing his head with a serrated knife.
“Shit,” Kelly said aloud. “Where the hell is my rifle?”
He searched around in pain and confusion but recognized no one.
“Griffin! Graves! Hey, Lance Corporal!”
Kelly received no response from his team. Maybe the enemy had killed them all.
“Pearson! Goddamnit! Get the fuck out of there before they cut your head off!” Kelly shouted.
Then the tide of PTSD retraced and Kelly’s mind went blank for a moment. Familiar, yet uncontrollable, chemicals were released into his body. His thoughts began to clear and he came back to reality.
Through the pain the events were coming together in his mind. He was horrified to see what had taken place. The shirt he had been wearing was made of thin materials designed to quickly vent perspiration. He realized that it had been blown off of him in the blast like a child’s wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Something was wrong with his head because it sure hurt like hell. He noticed multiple penetrating wounds caused by various forms of shrapnel. Some of these wounds were open and oozing dark red, oxygenated blood. He looked down his legs, which thankfully were intact. He felt for his balls just to be sure and, relieved, he quickly turned his attention to his feet. His left shoe had run off and had taken with it a couple of toes.
“Fuck!” he yelled to nobody in particular.
The pain continued its onward advance, shooting increasingly intense signals to his brain. His head cleared some more and his adrenaline began to subside. What remained of his left foot looked like a bloody pile of hamburger connected to his ankle. It looked as if it had been run over by the treads of an Abrams tank. Red fluid was pooling underneath his foot and he nearly lost consciousness at the sight of it. He forced himself to temporarily look away. This is bad, he realized. Really bad.
