Remnants of the Day- The Lost Years

by Matthew Gilman

  Isaac pulled his revolver out and lifted his foot onto the coffee table. He rested his forearm with the revolver in hand on his knee and leaned down looking at Johnny.

  “Who… was…with… Iggy?” Isaac repeated.

  “Ruby! Get your ass in here,” Johnny yelled at top volume.

  A redhead stumbled in wearing a tight red dress and pulling her skirt down the few inches it had down her thighs. She appeared stoned and half awake. Her lipstick was smeared and she swiped a mixture of fluids from them as she focused on what was happening in the living room.

  “Ruby, please tell the man here about your night with Iggy,” Johnny said hoping to take the focus off of him.

  “Iggy, you mean the man that shot him?” Ruby asked.

  Isaac stared at Johnny.

  “She’s a crazy bitch, what can I tell you?” Johnny said.

  “Right now I’m more interested in what she has to say,” Isaac said.

  “Ya this guy kicked in the door. Blasted his way through the crew. All SWAT team like. Wearing all black. Fucking killed everyone,” she said.

  “Except you?” Isaac said.

  “Ya, told me to get the fuck out, I think. He was speaking some weird foreign language. I got the fuck out of there. Pissed me off cause Iggy hadn’t paid me yet.”

  “What was he carrying?” Isaac asked.

  “Some, like, Vietnam gun, I don’t know. What the cops carry,” she said with a puzzled look on her face.

  “White, black?”

  “White guy, like Jake Gyllenhaal in Jarhead. I’d work that for free,” she laughed to herself.

  “I bet you would,” Isaac said. “Thank you for the info. You can go now.”

  Ruby went back to the room where she received the goo on her lips.

  “You lied to me,” Isaac said to Johnny.

  “No man, I had no idea she was there,” Johnny was getting jumpy in his seat.

  Isaac flicked his wrist and aimed the revolver.

  The gun went off and Johnny’s knee exploded underneath it. The hole in the knee cap was dead centered in the middle.

  Johnny screamed as he grabbed his leg and the girls fled from the couch.

  “You lied to me. You fucking lied. The whore didn’t lie to me. But you did,” Isaac said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Johnny repeated.

  “You should be. If I have to come here again and find out you withheld anything else from me…” Isaac lifted the revolved and pointed it at various places he wanted to shoot Johnny.

  “I know, I know, I know,” Johnny said,

  “You fucking better.”

  Isaac placed the revolver back in the holster and walked out of the room.

  He went outside and found the parking lot empty.

  He had an idea who he was looking for; military, young, fit and angry at the world. He was looking for a vet and someone that hadn’t been in town for long.

  Chapter 4

  The protesters became louder as the movement inside the mosque increased. The Reverend lifted his blow horn and told his congregation that their message was getting across.

  “This is a Christian nation. The founding fathers created this great land to protect their people from outside idolatry.” The Reverend reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. “You see this here. In God we trust, not Allah or Mohammed. God, the one true God of the bible, the one Jesus Christ said that only through him could man be saved. We don’t want this building of the Anti-Christ here. These followers who share the suicide bombers God and the people who committed 9-11 are not welcome here.”

  The congregation was becoming hostile and he stopped when a few of his good sheep started picking up sticks and rocks from nearby lawns. As the people approached the iron fence surrounding the mosque the police pulled up in their squad cars. From inside the crowd the rocks flew through the air and the sound of shattering glass caused the them to cheer. The police didn’t bother trying to find the people who threw the rock. Instead they grabbed the person instigating the attack.

  “You! Get down here,” one officer yelled standing behind the station wagon the Reverend stood on.

  “Now the police want to take me away for using my freedom of speech while defending this country from our foreign invaders. The ones that would tear this country apart!”

  The crowd grew more hostile and the police grew impatient. The Reverend watched as they called for backup on their radios. His time was limited now. The officer reached up while calling for the Reverend to come down.

  “This is a Christian nation. We lose our rights every minute that Muslim lover is in the Whitehouse. These heathens run around blowing our soldiers up with suicide vest and cutting the heads off of anyone who aren’t like them. I will stand up and fight this evil until they all have gone back to their God forsaken homeland.”

  The Reverend watched as Chris, one of his more devoted followers, cheered him on. He could see the rage and excitement in the young man’s face. Chris had been lost and his world turned upside down after being medically discharged from the army. Now his life had purpose again fighting the same enemy on his homeland he had fought over seas.

  “That’s it,” the police officer pulled out his collapsible baton and swung the steel rod at the Reverend's shin. The pain shot up his leg and he fell on the roof of the car. The officer grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down throwing him on the ground. His chest pressed against the asphalt, the Reverend had trouble breathing as the handcuffs squeezed around his wrist.

  “You have the right to keep your dumb fucking mouth shut,” the officer yelled in his ear.

  “What is my crime?” the Reverend asked.

  “Inciting a riot,” the officer replied then continued with the Miranda rights. “Anything you say can and be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to a lousy cheap ass attorney…”

  After finishing a improved version of the Miranda rights the Reverend was thrown into the back of the squad car. Through the window he watched his daughter Isabel run up.

  “Dad, where are they taking you?” she said. She was the one thing he cared more about than anything. She was the one last link to his dead wife in this world. With her blonde hair and blue eyes she was the picture of perfection like his wife was at her age. He wanted her to respect him, to see him as a man of principle. He was going to jail for his faith and he could see the admiration in her eyes as the car started to pull away. She pounded on the glass and he watched as one of the officers stepped between her and the car. He sat back in the seat and sighed.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be out in no time,” the officer said. “You know if I don’t do something those brown bastards in that mosque are going to file complaints and have our department investigated.”

  “Did you have to put the cuffs on so tight?” the Reverend asked.

  “Hey, get off the car when I tell you and I won’t have to make myself look good.”

  “You’re not the only one that has to look good.”

  “Look, I admire what you’re doing. I don’t want those Chaldean bastards here either. I think they all need to take their asses back home where they belong. Personally I’m on your side. I can’t believe they have the balls to come here after 9-11. You’ll be at the station for an hour tops. I’ll tell them things got heated out there and I forgot to finish reading you your Miranda rights. We’ll have your daughter pick you up. But, next time I come out and you don’t listen to me…”

  The warning was fair. They both wanted the same thing. The Reverend was free to cause havoc but the cop’s hands were tied to his job.

  A little over an hour later the Reverend was released and was met by his daughter outside the police department.

  “Dad, are you ok?” Isabel looked concerned as she looked him over.

  “Just a few bruises. Nothing to be concerned about,” he said rubbing his wrist. “How are the rest of my flock?”

  “After you were taken away we
were told to leave. So they went back to the church,” she said as they walked to the car.

  “Good, I’ll see them there. This isn’t over.”

  Chapter 5

  John sat in his apartment contemplating what his next move would be. As he peeked out the window he saw a man walk by and peer up at his window. The leather vest with the white dragon on the back gave him away. This was the third time he had seen the man in an hour. Whoever it was didn’t care about standing out. This was Detroit and eventually what he was doing would catch up with him.

  John watched he man and noticed his athletic build and short cut hair. His tan skin showed his time spent on the motorcycle he rode on. The tattoos gave John the impression he was in prison for some time, a spider web covering one elbow. The dark sunglass hid his eyes, they didn’t hide his glance up at the window. John knew his time to leave was now.

  He opened the closet and pulled out three duffle bags. Two of them were stuffed with cash. The third bag had his gear for his night time hobbies. He opened the third bag and pulled the Glock 9mm out stuffing it in the back of his pants. He was parked out back and never spotted the man in the street walk towards the back of the building, but that didn’t mean there weren’t friends waiting for him.

  Grabbing his wallet and keys John looked around the room and double checked if there was anything else he needed. There wasn’t. He already knew where he was going to drive to. On the opposite side of the state was a guy that he was stationed his in Iraq during a short stint at the beginning of the war.

  Chris was a grunt that had disappeared one day. At first John thought he was lost to a sniper or IED like so many others. When he found out that Chris was sent to Germany after passing out on guard duty, John sent a letter to Chris' family and they became pen pals for a while. Chris missed his career in the army and found himself continuing it through John’s letters. They stayed in touch over the years calling each other every few months. Last he knew Chris was living in Kalamazoo on the opposite side of the state.

  The bags were heavy and bulky. He wanted to make one trip to the van and drive out as soon as possible. The heaviest bag with his gear, he slung over his shoulder and the cash he kept in his hands. Stepping into the hall he dropped both bags from his hands and looked down the hall to see it empty. Inserting the key into the lock he heard the door down the hall unlock and open. He put his hand behind his back to his Glock. A little head peeked out towards the bottom. It was the little boy from the day before. The boy waved to him. John knew it would be the last time he would see him.

  Unzipping one of the bags John pulled out a small stack of cash and closed the bag. He walked up to the kid and set the bags back down.

  “What is your name kid?” John asked.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the boy said.

  “That’s a good idea,” John said. “Can you do me a favor?”

  The kid nodded his head.

  “Can you give this to your mom when she gets home?” John said handing the boy the stack of money. If he died before he reached the van at least he would have done something good in his last moments. The kid grabbed the money from him and looked at it. John patted his head and watched the kid retreat inside and close the door. He didn’t know how much he gave him. At the moment it didn’t matter. He felt behind for his gun again, double checking it was there.

  He picked the bags up and stomped down the stairs. At the bottom he was by the mail box and skipped past it. He turned around and went to the back door of the building. Glancing out the window the parking lot appeared empty.

  “Now or never,” he said to himself.

  The door pushed open. In full stride John walked to his van and unlocked the back door. He tossed the three bags in and slammed them shut. He walked to the drivers seat and still saw the parking lot empty. He hopped in and put the key in the ignition to see the battery light come on. For a second he paused.

  “Wait a second,” John said to himself.

  He stepped out of the van and crouched down on the ground. He moved into a plank position putting his chest on the ground. He looked under the van and saw nothing. Then he popped the hood open and looked underneath. Everything looked the way it should. No explosives were added. He closed the hood and climbed back in. The van started and he put it into gear. He drove straight out of the parking lot and spotted the man with the leather vest across the street. Their eyes met and the man instantly ran to his motorcycle half a block away. John patted himself on the back. He was right. He was being watched. He didn’t know who exactly he had pissed off but there were plenty of them out there after the past few weeks.

  The thumping in his chest made him feel alive again. For a second he thought the Taliban were after him. Reality caught up with him as he cut a car off and received American sign language in his rear view mirror instead of the bottom of a shoe. He didn’t know it but a smile was creeping on his face. He stayed at the speed limit and saw the entrance for the ramp to I-94 ahead. He checked the rear view mirror and didn’t see the motorcycle behind him.

  The van accelerated up the ramp and he merged into traffic. He set the cruise control and relaxed back in the seat eyeing the mirrors every few seconds. He still didn’t see anything to be concerned about. His three month career as a vigilante had paid off with $235,000 sitting in the back of the van, his body intact, and his life ahead of him. At the moment life looked good. He finally had something to look forward to. The hardest part would be giving up the only job he knew, killing people.

  Part 2: The Day

  Chapter 5

  The emergency room was slow that morning. The patient numbers were down and Fatima was able to pick her patients while she worked at her own pace. She liked the early morning shift. The usual staff was working that day.

  As she worked on a chart for a young child with asthma problems, Tom, the janitor, walked out of a room and pointed back in. It could have been anything he was pointing at. A vial of blood left on the counter. If he had been cleaning in the pelvic exam rooms he might have found a miscarried fetus on the counter that wasn’t taken care of. But he was looking up at the television mounted on the wall.

  One of the nurses walked over and starred at the television for a second before her jaw dropped. After that moment more staff walked up to see what was on the television. It was only when nobody moved away and continued to watch, Fatima became curious to what was happening.

  Fatima moved around the desk and walked behind the group. Finally a nursing assistant went to another empty room turning the television on. Fatima followed her and waited as the girl changed the channel to an all news channel. Fatima didn’t notice what channel it was, what she noticed was the large cloud on the television screen. The angle of the picture was from the air. It reminded her of the helicopter footage from 9-11, as they circled the city filming the towers when they fell. Instead she saw a blurry image of a cloud growing over a city. The bottom of the screen said Washington D.C. She had trouble seeing what she was looking at. Then she realized that the cloud was in the shape of a mushroom. She could see the Potomac River and what looked like little buildings. The small structures were on fire and smoking. More images were shown on the screen in smaller boxes as the live feed continued. Camera pictures flashed over the smaller frame. Street views of the cloud were taken from different perspectives.

  Snaking her hand into her pocket she pulled her phone out and called the daycare center. The phone rang twice before it was answered.

  “Worry Free Daycare,” the voice said.

  “Hi, this is Fatima. I’m Charles’ and William’s mom.”

  “Can you give me the security code?”

  “I have the golden ticket,” she said having rehearsed the line from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory several times before.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m watching the news…”

  “We are aware of what has happened and we are currently working on a rotating staff for twenty
four hour coverage here.”

  “Oh thank you. I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave here.”

  “Your boys will be fine. We have bunks and sleeping bags just incase.”

  “I will have somebody pick them up as soon as possible.”

  “No need, we will be here regardless.”

  “What is your name?” Fatima wanted to know the name of the woman who was making her feel better.

  “My name is Jane, Fatima they will be fine. Would you like to talk with them while you are on the phone?”

  Fatima remembered the young boy having the asthma attack in one of her rooms.

  “No, everything will be fine. Let them play and be children. They don’t need to hear me worried.”

  “I have a call on another line. Are you ok?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.” Fatima hung up the phone and looked back at the screen. After a few seconds she realized that everything would not be fine.

  The images on the television told her the world had changed forever. The images coming in told her that whatever government the United States recognized before was gone. Order in society would never be the same. The center of the American universe, no matter how corrupt or divided it had been before, was now gone. Anything was up for grabs, and she was sure that people were willing to play the game.

  Fatima went back to her computer and finished the orders for the asthmatic patient. She lifted her head from the computer and looked for the nurse that had the patient. She printed the orders out herself and grabbed them from the printer. Shifting through the crowd she handed the paper to the nurse who had the asthmatic child. Fatima watched as the woman was brought back to reality. Reluctantly, the nurse took the papers and pulled herself from the television.

  “We still have a job to do,” Fatima said bringing other people back to the world with her words.

  The crowd broke up. Most of the televisions were turned on and left with the news blaring for the staff to listen to. Normally this was only done for the big game if the ER was slow. This was not a normal day.