He pushed the door to the house open. The door frame was broken where the dead bolt was and the inside had been left to the elements. The floor was soiled and covered in leaves from previous seasons. Mold was on the walls with brown streaks from the rain traveling down the walls. It was not a place he would spend the night in but if it hid him from danger it was good in the meantime.
Amir stayed on the ground floor unable to travel up the stairs. He pressed his back against the wall and slid down. The simple action put pressure on his leg and he fought to keep his voice down. Outside he could hear the motor getting loader and voices along with it. He looked at his leg and pulled a knife out. Cutting the fabric of his pants he ripped the rest open and looked at the bare skin of his knee. Nothing was visible at first. The area around his knee was swollen and he could see discoloration of where it would bruise later. He guessed that his knee would never be the same again. He had to splint it if he was going to have it heal. He had too many things going on at once. Fixing his leg and not getting caught was going to be a hard feat. Twice in the last day he had been betrayed by females, first Fatima then the bitch dog. Both were bitches in his mind.
He touched the area around his knee and looked around for something that he could use. There was furniture. He could try using some legs from a chair as a temporary splint. It would be hard since he would have to tear the chair apart and make noise. The leg may have to wait while he made sure he wasn’t captured.
He pressed against the floor as he tried to stand and it was useless. His good leg was tired from hopping the distance to the house. His bad leg wouldn’t be able to hold his weight. He was stuck in the meantime. He prayed to Allah to help him. He promised many things. He apologized for being unable to pray as he should with his injury. He didn’t want to fail his God during the time he needed him most. If he was caught would that be his punishment?
Amir heard the sound of doors being kicked in. It wasn’t his house, yet. He had to move. Then he had an idea. He pulled the rug out of his bag. He could pose as a dead body. He lay down and unrolled the rug over him. It was a desperate feat but it was all he had. Amir covered his face then slowed his breath. He waited. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. He felt the rumble of footsteps on the floor. The door creaked and he felt the steps get closer. His heart raced but he kept his breath slow and low. He couldn’t let them see his chest rising and falling. He prayed to Allah in his mind. Please let this work.
Amir didn’t know who pulled the rug off his face. His eyes closed he played dead the best he could. Holding his breath the men talked above him.
“Looks like we have a dead one here.” one voice said.
“Wonder what killed him?” another said.
“His leg looks fucked up.” a third voice said.
“He stinks, let’s get out of here.” the first voice spoke again.
Amir felt the rug drop over his face and the men walked out. He counted the footsteps and heard the door creak again. Amir exhaled and started breathing again. His heart raced and he felt relief. Allah was watching over him.
He pulled the rug off his face and his eyes adjusted to the light again. A blur was standing over him.
“No?” Amir said realizing that someone was still with him.
“Yes,” the blur said in reply as a hard object hit Amir in the side of the head. His mind went fuzzy and he went with it. Tired, exhausted, and wanting to only sleep Amir gave in and slept, passed out from the rifle butt to the head.
“You were right,” the man yelled out the door. “He was faking. It’s not John but the Reverend should be happy with this one.”
“Damn well better be. We were lucky to find this rag head.” Collins said as they started to drag Amir out to the truck not taking any special care with his leg.
The guys tossed Amir on the tailgate and slide him in. They perched over him like he was the great catch of the day.
Chapter 16: Three years after the Day
The sun was sitting low on the horizon, a red and pink hue rested over the landscape as John stirred putting his few belongings in his pack. He nudged Fatima on the shoulder. She opened her eyes looking straight at him.
“It’s sunset. We should get moving if we are going to get out of the city tonight.” John said.
They didn’t have to do much but cover their tracks by hiding their trash and any evidence of the camp. There was no fire to put out, the little bit of trash was peels from food and pits. One can from a soup Fatima brought from the house was tossed and buried. John didn’t spend too much time on this task. As far as he could tell they weren’t being followed. He didn’t think he was important enough to have people searching for him. He was more worried about people coming after Fatima because of her heritage.
John looked around and saw that everything appeared clear. He wasn’t worried at first. He looked at the spots where he would have set up a sniper nest if they were being waited out. Still nothing was out of the norm or moving.
Rifles ready the two of them walked out of the building and went down the street using the little sun light they still had left. They traveled fast, unable to move that way once darkness fell. Steps would be slow and cautious during the night. Noise would be their enemy and the only thing that would give away their location.
A few blocks away the sun was gone. The sky still glowed for a few seconds and John felt something in the road that caught his attention. Railroad tracks running out of town were under his feet and he quickly realized this would speed up their travel since they would only have to stay between the tracks and could easily pace themselves. John pointed the tracks out to Fatima and she nodded understanding him.
They would spend the next eight hours on foot walking. It wasn’t long before they were noticeably out of the city. The first two miles quickly turned from buildings and roads to trees and dense woods. The noise of the nighttime birds and wild life was a comfort. When things got quiet was when John worried, a sign that either they were noticed by the wildlife or someone else was. A few times John would stop and put his hand up to tell Fatima to stop. They would stand for a few minutes and then start traveling again.
When the sky started to light up again John decided to set up their camp under a bridge they were traveling over. It offered cover and was next to water they could use during the day. He still had iodine tablets they could use for their water bottles.
Laying their sleeping bags on the concrete they set up camp. Fatima broke their silence.
“What do you hope to do when we are done, when we get to Flint?” She asked.
“I just want to settle down. Be done fighting. Find a place to call home, grow crops, hunt, live my life without somebody telling me otherwise. Relax and enjoy the world. Hopefully have a family. I don’t think it’s asking for too much.”
“It sounds nice.” She said.
“And you?” John asked
Fatima was quiet, not sure how to respond. She hadn’t thought much about it. Her life until this point was living day to day not sure if she would live to have a future.
“I haven’t thought about it. I guess it might be nice to have a safe place. I don’t know if it’s good to be with others in Flint. I was born Muslim, but haven’t been one since I moved here. I don’t know what I am. I don’t think they would protect me either, not like you.”
“So you’re not Muslim? What do you consider yourself?” John was trying to get a better idea of who Fatima was.
“I’m Fatima, a woman, a doctor, a mother, a person. I don’t think of myself as Arab, or Muslim. Religion doesn’t matter to me when it would tell me I couldn’t be any of these things. I was free to love, and live, work, and play. Then I was pushed into this category that had people trying to kill me for not knowing me. They hated me for something that I didn’t like either. If I followed Islam like the people they hated I wouldn’t have been able to be a doctor. My kids would never have been born and I wouldn’t have been able to come to America without
the help of a husband or my father. I did everything Islam said not to and still I was put in a box with the terrorists.”
John took everything in. Fatima wasn’t a Muslim, she was just a girl caught in the world with crazy people. It sounded like she wanted out like him.
“Why did you join the military?” Fatima asked in return.
“I wanted to go to college.” It was a quick and simple answer and the most honest. “It didn’t happen though. I came back here and the shit hit the fan. I spent three years in and didn’t get to go to school. I got screwed and did things I wish I hadn’t.” He didn’t want to pry but he felt like he had to get it out of the way. “Where are your kids?”
There was a long pause. Fatima didn’t look at him. He wished he hadn’t said anything. The longer the empty air between them the more he knew they were dead, gone in the past, a casualty of the world they now shared.
“They were killed during the first week of the collapse. I was at the hospital, I thought the people that were watching them would protect them but I was wrong. They were picked up by a militia and…” she couldn’t finish, she didn’t have to.
John moved behind her, he put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged at first, he was about to take his hand off her until he chose otherwise. He put his arms around her and she cried, deep sobs. She gripped his arms to her chest and buried her face into his sleeves. It was the first time she had been able to grieve for her sons, she never felt like she could with Amir but now with John there was something different. She felt that he cared, a genuine care that wasn’t for pity, he really wanted to know and felt regret for what happened to her boys. She knew he didn’t kill them. He didn’t like this world any more than she did. If anything she felt that he wanted to build a better world, no matter how small it was and if it was only him in it. She wondered if she could join him there.
She fell asleep in his hold. He let her rest after their long night of walking. He was confident that they would be safe under the bridge. He covered her in a blanket and decided to organize his pack. It wasn’t necessary but it gave him something to do, it was as simple as that.
Chapter 17: Three years after the Day
The world was dark. Amir didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. He looked around and everything looked the same. Pitch black covered everything. The air was stuffy and as he woke up he realized his head was covered in a bag. The wet cloth touched his nose and lips, as he moved his body more he found his hands tied behind his back.
He heard voices on the other side of a wall, muffled, and unclear. He didn’t know what they were talking about. He figured it was about him. He put pressure on the ropes that held his hands together to no avail. Moving his legs he quickly remembered that his knee was injured. He hollered by instinct and tried to stop himself when he realized what he was doing.
“Looks like he’s awake,” a voice said outside.
The sound of fabric rubbing and footsteps told him somebody had entered the room. He was in a tent. New information helped him feel like he was somewhat in control of the situation.
The impact of something against his head sent him a few inches back to the ground.
“Tell the Reverend this piece of shit is awake.” The voice said in the room.
“Why you call me shit, I am Amir. I am a person, you are shit.” Amir tried to tell the man in the room that he was human, not to be treated like an animal.
A fist collided with Amir’s head again.
“Shut up, I’m an infidel. Someone to be slaughtered like cattle. That’s what your Allah said. So shut up you piece of shit.” The voice retorted.
“I am not shit, I am not shit! You are shit!” Amir fought back. It was pointless. He was tied, injured. What was he really going to accomplish?
He heard the rustling of fabric again and footsteps.
“Reverend,” the voice that was hitting him said.
“Has he said anything yet?” The Reverend asked.
“Not yet, likes to run his mouth.” The voice snickered.
The bag was removed from Amir’s head and light blinded his eyes. The light in the tent wasn’t bright but after being in complete darkness he could have been staring at the sun and not known the difference.
“My, my, my. What do we have here? A genuine son of Allah in the house of God.” The Reverend said.
“Your God is a dung heap filled with maggots if you are a holy man.” Amir spit at the blur standing in front of him.
“Well you weren’t kidding. He has a mouth on him. I told you there were more out there.” The Reverend pulled his knife out, the handle in the shape of a crucifix. “Now let’s see what we can get out of this heretic before we send him to his Allah.”
“What do you want?” Amir yelled. Something in his gut told him they were going to kill him but it was in his nature to barter. Could he use something to get his life back?
“What do you want? What could I know?” His voice was hollow, yet harsh from his throat being dry.
“You think he knows about John?” The first man said, a larger hairy man with a thin beard.
“Really? That’s a long shot. How the hell would he know about that in a day?” The Reverend followed.
“John, white man. American rifle. Green pants, young, thin, short hair. Blue eyes.” Amir spit out anything he could remember about the man that left him alone and took Fatima.
“How the hell???” the Reverend replied. “I guess the lord works in mysterious ways. You know the man we speak of?”
“Yes, he left with my companion. A woman.” Amir said.
“A Muslim woman?” The Reverend asked.
“Yes, Fatima. A doctor but she was with me hiding.” Amir said.
“I don’t follow.” The Reverend said. “Why would he leave with a woman he doesn’t know?”
“He found her the day before and left her in the house. Then came back for her. I think they are lovers. She was a whore.” Amir grew angry as he spoke. Oddly the way he said it made it more convincing to the Reverend.
“So the traitor has a brown lover.” The Reverend said.
“Things make sense now,” the second man said.
“Indeed,” the Reverend said looking at Amir.
“What is your name?” The Reverend asked.
Amir paused. He didn’t know if he should answer.
“Amir,” he answered. He looked at the Reverend, suspicious of their reaction.
“Amir, are you familiar with the word of the lord?” the Reverend asked.
Amir looked at the book the Reverend picked up from a table next to him. The King James Bible with gold lettering and a blue leather cover that was still new.
“Yes,” he said in reply.
“And do you accept the lord Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior?” The Reverend said voice high pitched emphasizing the words.
Collins started to exit the tent. He looked back at the Reverend and shook his head. Amir saw it and thought perhaps they discussed letting Amir go if he converted. The thought raced through his head. Collins walked out and the tent flap fell shut leaving the room in the shadow Amir was accustomed to.
“Yes, yes, I love Jesus!” Amir said trying to appear happy to convert to this strange western religion.
The Reverend slapped his hand on Amir’s forehead and threw his own head back, his other arm stretched out and he began praying to the god of his religion.
“Lord God, may your salvation help save Amir from the life of sin that he has now left to be in your guidance. May you bless him through the power of the holy spirit as his soul travels from this life to the next so he can be with your son Jesus Christ the light of the world, the lamb and accept this lamb in your name as his soul is now pure for your bidding, amen.”
Amir looked up, tears running down his cheeks. His life was spared for some odd ceremony that made no sense to him. These people and their three gods had no idea the meaning of faith and living by it. Amir didn’t convert. He simply went thr
ough a test in order to fulfill Allah’s bidding later.
As he looked up he now saw the other hand held a knife, the one with the crucifix on it. The Reverend looked down at him, conviction in his eyes.
“You still kill me?” Amir did not understand these people. Only in America would this make sense.
“You’re saved now. Your soul is pure, you should thank me. You will be in heaven now.” The Reverend dropped the knife down into Amir’s chest, piercing his heart.
Amir looked down to see Jesus looking up at him, a sad look of pity. The face looked up at Amir and the silver face wearing thorns said to him in Farsi, “They did the same to me.” The face dropped back down and Amir slumped to the floor. The room grew darker, his breath stopped. He wondered if this was what Allah had intended for him all along.
Collins walked back into the tent.
“What if he knew more to tell us?” Collins asked watching the Reverend pull the knife from Amir’s chest.
“Doesn’t matter, we know John has company. He can’t travel fast or far. We will find him. Then he and his heathen bitch will burn.” The Reverend wiped his blade clean on Amir’s shirt and slid it back in the sheath.
Chapter 18: Three years after the Day
John’s eyes blinked open at the sound of footsteps. Fatima still lay in his arms as he looked around and finally glanced up at the bridge they slept under. The sun was in the western sky, a few hours from setting. First he heard one set of feet then another and he realized it was a group walking in single file. He didn’t know if they were searching for him, they could be refugees. In either case he sat silent and let them pass. Not being seen was still the goal for their journey.
Winter was coming and John worried about their travels in the snow. Food would be harder to come by and he thought about finding a place to hunker down for the snow covered months. It wouldn’t be too hard. More people would die like they did the winter before. Without the normal technology that kept man warm in the winter the herd was thinned out and the smart ones were left to the plentiful spring.
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