Remnants of the Day- The Lost Years

by Matthew Gilman

  Remnants of the Day:

  The Lost Years

  By: Matthew Gilman

  This book is dedicated to: Kara Stanton

  Note from the author:

  This book is a prequel to After the Day. It is not necessary to read this book first. If you have read After the Day this answers the question of “what happened before year three?” I hope this note will prevent any confusion.

  -Matthew Gilman

  Preface

  This book came to be for my own personal need to put down on paper what happened to John, Fatima, Chris, Amir, and the Reverend between the Day and year three. In my first book, After the Day, I started out with year three and never spoke in detail about how everyone ended up where they were. This book answers those questions and hopefully adds some insight into these characters and who they are.

  Some people may ask the question of how Isaac plays into this series since he was not mentioned in After the Day or Red Tide. For those that read my future book, Ronin, your question will be partially answered and everything will come together in my final books of the series. It will be a long road and I hope many of you will stay along for the journey. This has been a more successful adventure than I could have anticipated and it is because of YOU that I am able to continue this. A writer needs readers and I thank all of those that have come along for the ride. You are my inspiration and I thank you for the chance to pursue this career.

  I have received some criticism about my preface for After the Day. The comment I made about my book being “free from religious ideology.” To further explain what I meant I will add, it was never my intent to mislead anyone by that comment. What I did mean to say was that I wanted a book where the hero or villain was not dictated by their religion. I wanted a book that revolved around the characters and in our world religion plays a big role in people‘s lives. Everyone has their positive attributes and their flaws. I didn’t want to write a book that automatically dictated a person’s role in the story simply because of their religion. I hope that explains everything and I apologize for any confusion.

  I want to thank Kara Stanton, Stephen Wolthuis, Benjamin Petersen, Kevin Tibbs, and everyone else that has supported my on this endeavor. You are the people who have made it possible for me to be here today. Everyone else who has given me words of encouragement and support, you know who you are and you are not forgotten. All of you hold a special place in my heart. To the people who came to my book signings and the others who bought a copy, I thank you.

  -Matthew Gilman

  Novemeber 23rd, 2014

  (At Tibbs Brewing Co. Kalamazoo, MI)

  Part 1: Before the Day

  Chapter 1

  Jiggling the handle of the back door John finds it locked as he expected. He moved to make the smallest amount of noise possible and changed his plans as soon as the situation evolved. He loaded a breaching round into his shotgun and double checked his mask, a black plastic shield that covered the lower half of his face. Working solo was part of a tactic to keep the police and anybody else guessing as to who or what was going on. Moving away from the wall he turned towards the door, pointed the shotgun and blew away the doorknob and frame around it creating easy access to the house. Entering he found the kitchen empty and quickly cleared it moving to the hallway. The hall was empty and had two doors attached to the left side. He kicked open the first door, looked through the room and found it empty. He knew there were three people in the house and now roamed through waiting to see them. He exited the room and moved to the next door. Kicking it in he moved in and instantly saw the man laying in the bed half naked and a woman next to him. The man rummaged for his gun on the nightstand and John shot him in the chest. The slug created a large hole and a spray of blood and body matter against the bed and wall. The woman’s mouth was open and yet she said nothing. He could taste the fear in the room.

  His war was over. After three tours in the mountains of Afghanistan and one in Iraq they had become his reality instead of a memory. John was a member of a special forces group that has been working to eliminate the Taliban from the boarder region near Pakistan. Now after years of work the top brass has handed down orders to downsize the groups and send home the people that have been there the longest. Over the last three years those mountains had become home.

  John was a tough kid, coming from a broken home and having no real role models in his life, he was given the option of joining the military after he was caught stealing cars. His childhood was spread all over the streets of Detroit and the suburbs. His mother worked long hours at a local hospital and his father he never saw again after his fifth birthday. At the age of seventeen he enlisted early, took his oath, and the army became his life.

  The drill sergeant became his father. As a man he was no longer in need of a mother. His job was his life and what the army thought he needed he was issued. He flew through boot camp and was picked for airborne training, then Rangers, and after that he was on to Special Forces.

  Taking his hand off the stock of the shotgun gun he pointed to the door and said, “get out,” in Farsi, the language he learned during his time in Afghanistan. She may not have understood the language but knew what he wanted. She shifted out of the bed and ran around between him and the corpse. She hugged her chest as her breasts swayed and her naked body exited the doorway. She didn’t look at him and he kept his gun on her the whole time. As soon as she was out in the hall she turned to the kitchen and he heard the cracking sound of a hand gun. Her body dropped in the hall and John dropped to his knees pointing the shotgun in the direction of the new threat. He had three more rounds in the magazine and decided to add two more “00” buckshot. He pressed the two rounds in and heard voices in the room at the end of the hall. He listened hard and heard the creak of the floor boards. Pointing at the wall he fired and heard the muffle of air exhaling in pain and the weight of a body falling limp on the floor. The double “00” buckshot and the shrapnel from the hall either killed or mortally wounded the person on the other side.

  He learned quickly that the army is a special place where criminals can excel in their skills that they learned on the streets. At first he was picked for motor pool then his athletic abilities were noticed and his ability to speak Spanish. He had a skill with absorbing languages. Thanks to an uncle on his mom’s side he was taught to shoot at an early age and passed all the shooting requirements.

  After all the time and money put into him he found himself stuck in the middle of nowhere Afghanistan. He learned Farsi quickly and was soon translating and teaching the rest of the group.

  A split second later the sound of gunfire continued from the other side of the wall and John dropped to the floor laying flat. He pulled out his Glock 19 and returned fire towards the wall where the holes were being created, he emptied all 19 rounds into the wall and grabbed his shotgun again. Keeping the shotgun pointed at the wall he reloaded the Glock and put it back in its holster. He replaced the spent round in the shotgun and slowly rose to his feet. He felt a few thuds when he returned fire and guessed he hit the person on the other side. He didn’t know if they were dead or not, if he did. He turned the corner where the body lay in the hall, a man was still breathing. He pulled the Glock out and placed two rounds in the heart and one in the head. He decided to keep the Glock out and slung the shotgun over his shoulder by the strap. Entering the room at the end of the hall he found a small living room and disheveled furniture. A dead flat screen television hung on the wall with bullet holes through it from the front and back. On the floor lay two more bodies. Neither were breathing. He placed a round in each head to make sure they were dead and quickly walked through the rest of the house. He found th
e bathroom empty and the basement a moldy damp mess.

  Special forces has leeway when it comes to their operations. John and the rest of the group grew beards to blend in with the local population. They carried knifes or tomahawks to earn respect from the blade culture of the tribes. Breaking regulations became regulation. John was fond of the Japanese tanto knife that he carried and preferred it to the weapons that the rest had. One man ordered a tomahawk on line and others followed thinking it was badass and more destructive than a simple blade. John enjoyed the tanto and practiced with it daily. He never knew if he would ever have to use it but if he was stuck with a Taliban fighter and the two of them only had their blades, he wanted to have a chance against someone who grew up learning how to use their’s.

  The time they spent was tedious, boring, always running, and they were constantly being watched. The thought of going back to a supermarket or driving down the street and not watching for IEDs boggled his mind.

  Walking back through the house he quickly searched and found the drugs under the cushions of the couch and the money in the empty bedroom closet. The cash was stacked in boxes, shoe boxes, cereal boxes, boxes for top ramen noodles. He shook his head and dumped the cash in a black duffle bag. His police scanner was on and no calls had come in for the gunshots. Not uncommon for this neighborhood. He left the bags of marihuana, cocaine and heroin in the apartment. Before leaving he walked to every curtain in the house and lit it on fire with his lighter.

  He was leaving through the back door, the same way he came in, and he was about to pass by the girl. She still laid there on her stomach. He couldn’t leave her there. Maybe she had bad taste in men. Maybe he felt guilty she was dead. He tried to save her life, but instead she was dead because of his kind gesture. He slung the shotgun around his shoulder again and crouched down to pick her up. He slipped his arms under her armpits and dragged her out of the house to be found later.

  He dragged her to the opposite side of the alley and found a old blanket to cover her with. The house was filled with smoke and he heard the sirens in the background. He missed the call over the scanner and jogged to the van at the end of the alley. He threw the duffle bag in the back and sat in the drivers seat. He slowly pulled out into the street and kept his mask on until he was on a main road then slipped it off.

  The Chinook helicopter showed up on their last day and flew them to the airbase in Kabul. From there the men were flown by a Hercules plane to Germany and then they were given a ticket home, free, good for one year. He picked Detroit and was on the first flight back.

  He was already having a hard time adjusting.

  He drove like an old man through the city. He only did the speed limit and made sure to always use his turn signal. He pulled into the parking lot for his apartment building and climbed in the back to change out of his tactical gear. Everything including the guns fit in a separate duffle bag he used specifically for them. He exited in jeans and a olive green t-shirt. He carried the two duffle bags and used his key to get into the building. The halls were empty as they always were at this time of night. It was the type of building where everyone keeps to themselves and doesn’t get involved in other’s affairs. The type of place he was looking for. The walls were in need of paint for the past few decades and the floors had not been cleaned in the same amount of time. He didn’t know how much was up to code or if the building was even inspected. If not it was all the better, the building was solid, an old brick four floor apartment complex that had switched hands multiple times over the century. Each owner only did the bear minimum of repairs and kept things up until they broke and then continued the practice until the next owner took over. The building was a shit hole and it was perfect for now.

  John slid the key in his door and looked over feeling the eyes of someone on him. The next door over, a boy looked up at him holding an action figure in his hand. He didn’t recognized it but remembered the days when he once did the same thing. GI Joe was his favorite back in the day. Then he became GI Joe. The kid looked away, he’s about eight years old and John had never seen him before. He thinks about the two duffle bags and then forgets about them. Its almost four in the morning and yet this kid is out in the hall. He nods at the kid who is still looking away. The kid turns his head seeing the gesture and John walks into his apartment.

  He drops the bag with the tactical gear and carries the second into his bedroom. He places it on his bed and unzips the top. He piles stacks of money on the bed and opens his closet. The closet isn’t used to hide clothes, trash, or old sports equipment, instead its boxes of money. Stacked in no order or pattern. The closet looked similar to the one he took the money out of and yet it had ten times more money in it. He had been at this for a while and so far everything was going good. The girl was unfortunate but there is always collateral damage. He learned that in Afghanistan.

  He placed the money in boxes and closed the closet. He sat on the bed and thought about the girl. He was getting confused with her and the girl in the small village a few years back. He had hoped he finally forgotten about her, but the world and his mind didn’t work like that. He placed his hands over his eyes and his breathing became heavy. He calmed himself down and walked to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard he pulled out a bottle of pills and placed two Xanax in his hand. He swallowed them guzzling a cup of water. He walked back to the bed room and laid on the mattress falling asleep.

  The next morning came early, two hours of sleep and John was awake pulling an olive green t-shirt over his head, then tying his shoes. The rays of the sun are starting to show on the horizon and he knows it will be up before he is back from his run. He exit’s the apartment and slides his key into his pocket. He hears a door close behind him and turns to see who is near. It’s a woman locking the door to the apartment the young boy was playing outside of. She looks half awake and drops her keys on the floor aiming for her purse, missing. She bends down and grabs them. She looks up and sees him for the first time.

  “Hi,” he says standing still. He sees her shiny black hair covering half her face and her large brown eyes looking at him. She is curvy, full figured but still keeping an hour glass figure. Parts of her uniform don’t fit her body. The waist is snug and her breasts are pushed around to fill the shirt where it can. Her slender legs fit but her hips are too big and extra fabric frills around at the top. The pants are hidden by the apron that shows her figure and ties the uniform together hiding all the stylish mishaps underneath.

  She replies with a “hi,” and stands up. Nothing else is said and she walks past him glancing at him once and he caught what looked like a smile grow on her face. He watched her walk to the elevator and enter. As soon as the door closed he ran to the stairs and jogged down the four flights to the bottom. He skipped stairs and threw open the bottom door entering the lobby on the main floor. He casually walked to the front door and went outside. He began stretching and heard the muffled ding of the elevator from inside. He didn’t glance back knowing it would be her.

  She walked out and stopped for a second seeing him with his back to her. He held his foot from behind stretching his quadriceps and looked down the street. She smiles to herself and walks past him. She glances at him as she passes and he smiles at her. She looks at the sidewalk and continues to her car only a hundred feet ahead.

  The grey Ford Focus was maybe ten years old and started to show signs of its age with spots of rust and small dents in the body. She starts the motor puts it into drive and pulls away. He watches as she travels down the street and she disappears around the corner.

  He starts his run and travels through the streets. He zigzags through town and after a few miles finds himself back at home, covered in sweat and breathing softly. He takes the stairs back up to his apartment and stretches. He drops to the floor and pumps out a hundred pushups and turns over to do crunches. He no longer counts his crunches, instead he waits to feel the burning across his abdomen. Off the floor he walks to the chin up bar in his doorway and grabs the handle
s. He does three sets of chin ups and three sets of pull ups, all sets until failure. After his workout he makes a smoothie in his blender and chugs his breakfast followed by a hot shower. The time is eight o’clock in the morning.

  He sits at a desk located in his living room after taking his duffle bag of weapons out of the closet. He strips down the shotgun and the pistol. The cleans them meticulously and carefully places them back together. He oils the necessary spots and cleans the excess oil off before placing them back in the bag.

  Back in his bedroom he places the bag and gun cleaning kit into the closet. He looks at the boxes of cash that he has stacked and decides its time to count it. He carries the boxes into the living room, places them next to the desk and with a calculator and piece of paper starts the task of counting. He had done this several times before and had a good idea how much he had but wanted an accurate amount.

  The top box he tallies up and places it to the opposite side of the desk. He writes the total on paper and continues. The next box is full as the rest underneath it. He counts the amount and writes it on the paper and the outside of the box. One box is fifty thousand dollars, another twenty eight thousand. He goes on counting bill after bill until he is done. A few hours later he is hungry and looks at the total. He wasn’t surprised but he wasn’t excited either. He had a goal in his head and he was still far from it. Two hundred and forty one thousand dollars. He carries the boxes back into the bedroom closet and stacks them in the same order they were in before. From the top box he pulls out a few bills and places them in his pocket.

  Leaving his apartment it was already mid afternoon. Lunch was done at most places but he preferred the food cart that was down the street. He walked up and ordered a few tacos in Spanish. Everything on them and hot salsa to go. The woman working the cart smiled and always seemed impressed by his fluent Spanish. He enjoyed standing down wind of the cart as the chorizo and beef tongue cooked on the grill. He stands by the window and watches the woman place fresh cilantro and onions on the tacos. She tells him the total and he pulls a bill out of his pocket. He doesn’t notice it at first but the look on her face made him look at it. A hundred dollar bill flapped in his hand and he quickly placed it back in his pocket searching for a smaller note. He pulled the entire wad out and shifted through it finally finding a twenty dollar bill. She smiled and handed him the change.