Remnants of the Day- The Lost Years

by Matthew Gilman

  The crack and clatter of rifles in the distance awoke the men. The noise miles down the road and hours away from their position and yet their hearts were racing again. The gun fire grew louder and became more constant as it came closer. The other churches had taken positions further out of the city. The idea was to prevent the city from being soiled by their enemies.

  The amount of gunfire that was being exchanged told John that there would be heavy casualties on either side. These men were not soldiers. They had nine to five jobs with wives and families. They went to church every Sunday and if John was lucky they went to the gym a few times a week. Many had never shot a gun being anti-gun liberals before the Day. Many had trouble shooting a squirrel even for food. These were not warriors and this was all he had to work with.

  The noise came closer and some of the men started to peek over the edge of the highway to see where the approaching army was. A few of the men hyperventilated and puked. These were not battle hardened men. They gripped bolt action hunting rifles, shotguns filled with target shot and deer slugs, and lever action repeaters handed down through the family. John was the only one armed for combat.

  Automatic fire could be heard about a mile away. The Reverend stood back watching from a roof top through binoculars. John hated how men of power would sit back while the less fortunate were put in harms way. A true leader led their men on the front lines.

  Shots started to be fired from the highway and rooftops of the surrounding buildings. The men were under orders to not fire unless the enemy were in sight. John waited. He didn’t hear enemy fire close enough for his M4 to reach. As he waited he heard the men panicking. Guns were jamming from improper use. Shotguns were not being pumped fully, causing double feeds in the cheaper models. He could see men hiding behind concrete barriers tearing the barrels off to pull the extra round out or pry the fired shell out of the barrel with their fingers. He shook his head and wondered how he ever became tied to this rag tag dysfunctional army.

  The sound of a motor caused him to moved off the street and press himself against a wall. He looked down the street and a old tan pickup truck pulled out from an intersection. It was filled with men in the bed carrying AK-47s and other random rifles. The driver of the truck spotted John and aimed a pistol out of the window.

  John raised his M4 and fired three rounds towards the driver. One hit the door, the other two hit the driver in the arm and head. The men in the bed of the truck jumped out hiding behind the truck while two approached John. John fired at the two men until his magazine was empty.

  Running across the side street he removed the empty magazine placing it in his pouch for later. He reloaded while he had concrete between himself and the other shooters. As he moved the barrel of his rifle around the corner of the building pieces of brick and concrete exploded in the air from the incoming gun fire.

  “That’s a bad idea,” John said.

  Looking behind him he hoped to see some back up coming to help him, but he was alone. He did see a fire escape to the roof. He knew that in a situation when you were outnumbered having the high ground was always an advantage. He fired a few rounds at the truck to make them think he was staying put. Throwing the rifle sling over his shoulder he quickly climbed the ladder to the roof. Using his pistol he looked over the ledge and saw that it was clear. Hopping over the ledge he holstered his pistol and grabbed his rifle. Rechecking his M4 he knew it was ready to go. He glanced over the ledge and saw a dozen men still hiding behind the truck. Two appeared to be arguing about who was going to drive the truck towards John's former position. John stood up and started firing into the group. The men who didn’t drop to the ground huddled against the metal frame of the pickup. John crouched down when his rifle was empty and reloaded. He moved a few feet down the roof avoiding popping up in the same spot and be picked off when he reappeared. He looked over the side and couldn’t see any of the men. He crouched down and moved closer to the truck. John glanced over the ledge and a few rounds were shot at him. He could hear the men speaking Arabic as they moved around the truck to stay out of John's sight. He tried peeking over the ledge again and saw one running across the street. He aimed and shot him in the back watching him drop to the pavement. Gunfire came at John from the truck.

  Deciding the roof was no longer a good position John went back to the fire escape. He checked the alley and made sure it was clear. He jumped over the side and quickly made his way down the stairs sliding down the last flight on the hand rail. He grabbed his rifle at the bottom and made his way to the back of the building. As far as he knew he was now behind enemy lines. He looked all 360 degrees around him and moved behind the building to the opposite side. He wanted to come up behind the truck and surprise them again. He was taking a risk in isolating himself from the rest of his men. As he walked up the alley he came up to the end of the wall and looked around the corner to see the truck only forty yards away. The men were hiding behind the front of the truck. Four dead bodies lay in view that John had shot from the roof minutes before. John decided to use the element of surprise. He was done hiding and sneaking around. He knew the others in his group weren’t fairing well. Men that responded like them didn’t fair well in battle. He had to take control of the situation and turn the tide in their favor. He rushed at the truck and tried to see how close he could get before they saw him. If he was lucky it would be too late for them. One of the men peeked over the hood and John shot him. He ran to the truck not wanted to give them time to react. He came around the side and unloaded the M4 into the group. It was a massacre. One of the men ran, unharmed from the shooting. The rifle clicked, empty. He pulled his Glock and shot the man in the back. He looked at the men he had just gunned down and kicked the legs to see if they were still alive. One of them was breathing hard, the man rolled over groaning. John shot him in the head before he could fully turn around.

  John pulled the driver out of the truck and dropped him on the pavement. He grabbed all the weapons and threw them in the bed of the truck. He grabbed all the extra ammo and pistols the men had on them and added that to the pile. When he finally had all of the weapons he jumped in the truck and drove down the street to the Lord’s Army. He parked in front of a laundry mat next to the highway. Some of the men looked at the truck and almost fired until they saw John at the wheel with his left hand outside waving. He jumped out and ran to the back dropping the tailgate. He whistled at the men and several ran up with stripped down guns or rifles with no ammo left.

  “Take what you can. Get back to the line,” John said leaving the truck for the men to pick through.

  John ran back down the street to do exactly what the Muslims had just tried to do. While the rag tag misfits tried to fight back at the highway he would make his way around the back and flank the Islamic Army. Running to the street the truck had come from John made his way east to the Islamic line.

  Three blocks down he started to hear the concentration of gun fire from the invaders. He turned down the next street and made his way closer to the line. John came to an alley he heard gunfire coming from. He looked inside and saw two men on the other end with their backs to him. They were shooting towards John's men yelling “Allah Ackbar!”

  John put six rounds down the alley and watched them drop where they stood. Moving down the street he followed the sounds of gunfire in the area. He came to another street and looked down to see a half dozen men making their way towards the Lord’s Army. John aimed at the men farthest out and started to pick them off. He hit two before the rest ran for cover unaware the direction the shots were coming from. Two more men came out of the building in range of John. Taking careful aim he picked those two off and ran across the street to continue on his mission. He left two in the building. It wasn’t the best policy but he had to keep moving before the Muslims figure out what was happening. Coming to the next alley he reaching the corner and turning inside was face to face with two men five feet away. All three of them had surprised looks on their faces. For a second everyone
paused. When the man closest to John turned the rifle at him John unloaded into the two. John thought his heart was racing before. That was the closest he had come to dying so far.

  Looking at the two men he made the mistake of pausing. From the rooftop above he saw a man look over and yell before pointing his rifle down. John, standing there with an empty rifle, ran into the building as bullets ricocheted off the concrete behind him. The door crashed open as he kicked through it ripping the wood from the frame. He dropped the M4 and let it dangle from the sling as he pulled out the glock loaded with full metal jacket rounds. He looked up at the ceiling trying to figure out where the man on the roof was standing. He stayed quiet for a second, voices hollered from outside then foot steps moved on the roof. He aimed and fired up through the ceiling. He heard nothing then bullets rained back down at him. He ran across the room and dived on the floor. Laying on his back he looked at the new holes letting light in. When a shadow blocked the light he fired up again into the patch of darkness. His Glock was empty, the slide locked back waiting for a fresh magazine.

  As he switched magazines he heard the thump of a body dropping on the roof. He wanted to stay where he was. He felt safe inside. The area around him was quiet at the moment. Reloading the Glock the slide sprung forward feeding the first round in. Then he reloaded the M4 with a fresh 30 round magazine. He had four magazines left. From outside he could hear voices approaching. They were speaking Arabic. Two figures appeared by the picture window inches away from John. He stayed on the floor and watched as they walked by. He quickly stood up and went to the door. Looking to the left no more men were coming. These must have been the two he didn’t shoot before. Turning to the right the two men made their way down the street checking alleys and behind cars. John shot both of them and quickly ran past their corpses to the next building.

  John continued to clear alleys and rooftops the rest of the afternoon until he reached the highway. A high school football and baseball field was wide open to the highway they were placed next to. He didn’t want to be left out in the open. He looked at the school and saw a nice place to pick off soldiers from the roof. He moved through the tree line and noticed the back of the school was built into the side of a hill. It wasn’t the best design but convenient for him to climb some dirt and reach a great sniping position. As he reached the top of the hill he was surprised to find nobody else had taken this spot. He crawled over the hot tar and rubber that cooked in the sun.

  The red dot scope was designed for closer fighting but he could still put down men with body shots. A line of old pickups and cars littered the highway. At the front John saw a truck blocking the lanes with all four tires flat and speckled with holes. Then he spotted the men running around. He had about fifty bullets left for the M4. He spotted his first target walking along the side of a car shooting towards the men bunkered in at the exit ramp. He placed the red dot on his torso and fired. One down, God knows how many more to go. He picked off men from the highway for an hour before running out of bullets. The sun was starting to set, an hour at most before the world plunged into darkness. He left his empty rifle on the roof not needing the extra weight.

  He made his way across the field with his Glock and climbed onto the freeway. Making his way down the highway he came up behind the remains of the Islamic army. One after another he took them out while trying not to be shot by his own men. In the setting sun he saw one man left. A small figure shooting a bolt action rifle into the exit ramp. John walked up behind the figure and tried speaking to him in Arabic.

  “Hands up,” John said aiming his pistol at the small figure.

  The man with the rifle turned around and wasn’t a man at all. He couldn’t be older than twelve years of age.

  “Give up,” John said keeping his aim on him. The look in the child’s eyes said that surrender wasn’t an option. There was anger and hate in those young eyes. What had he gone through after the Day. It was over a years ago. Could that much have happened to him to cause that much fury?

  “Hands up,” John commanded. The air was silent from gunshots. The child didn’t move. “I know you speak English. Hands up.”

  The child swung the rifle around.

  “Don’t make me do this!” John yelled. The child aimed the rifle at John just before the flash of the muzzle between them. He didn’t fall back right away. He looked down at the pavement.

  John stood over the child hoping the bullet would have killed him quickly. The child was defiant to the end. He was coughing blood and trying to sit up while gripping the rifle.

  Clenching his teeth John aimed the pistol. There was no way to help the boy. Hospitals didn’t exist anymore. The wasn’t a triage area set up for the wounded. To help the injured was seen as a waste of resources. The only mercy was to put down those that would suffer a long and painful end.

  Squeezing the trigger he finished it with one last well placed round. The boy dropped back and was lifeless. John's eyes swelled as his grief overwhelmed him. Killing adults that wanted him dead was one thing. Being forced to kill a child that never should have been on the battlefield was something he never wanted to experience again. This shouldn’t happen anywhere. He heard stories in Afghanistan and Iraq. There was the young woman in Afghanistan he never forgot. To be face to face with it at home was a hard reality.

  John thought about putting his pistol to his own head. This world where children are killed he didn’t want to live in. He looked down and saw the slide all the way back, an empty gun, no more bullets.

  Leaning against the side of the truck he slide down and sat on the pavement. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stared at the boy. A school ID badge hung around his neck. Why he was still wearing it? John didn’t know. Maybe it was to identify him when he was killed. John reached over and grabbed it. The child was Mohammed Hussein. A generic name in their world. No different than Maria or Jesus in Mexican culture. Mohammed went to a middle school in Dearborn before being thrown into a war.

  John could hear voices coming from the exit ramp, Midwestern in tone and speaking English. Two men walked around the front of the truck aiming rifles and shotguns at John. He sat there holding his empty Glock and a student ID Badge.

  “Damn man, I wondered what the hell happened up here. You ok John?” one of the men asked. “John, hey you ok?”

  “No,” John said looking at the ID badge. “I’m not ok.”

  Standing up he holstered the Glock and pocketed the ID badge.

  The men walked on checking the dead bodies. John picked up the boy’s body and carried it to the football field. The rituals for Islamic burial weren’t well know to him. He knew the bodies were washed first and they said prayers over them. He didn’t know the words and was only versed in Farsi with limited Arabic. He washed the body with the water left in his canteen, covered the face with cloth and dug a grave in the moonlight. By the time he was done the moon was directly over him in the cloudless sky. He didn’t notice the drop in temperature until he was standing over the grave and the cold night air reached the sweat covering him. His body shook, bring him back to reality. Looking back at the highway he watched the bodies of the other men that had died being thrown on a funeral pyre. It was in violation of Islamic law to burn a body. John remembered when some soldiers in Afghanistan burned bodies to take care of the smell. The men were stuck in their position and the bodies had started to rot. With the rocky terrain and no other means to dispose of them the soldiers had set them on fire. Afterwards the Taliban and locals retaliated for the offense that had taken place.

  Would the Lord’s Army see the same kind of retaliation from burning these men?

  John went back to the roof, picked up his M4 and walked back to the church. By the time he reached it the sun was about to rise. He didn’t remember going to bed, passing out as his body fell to the cot with all of his clothes and gear still on.

  A day later John awoke with his stomach growling and commotion outside. Walking to the parking lot where the food station w
as he saw the truck that he captured from the Islamic army. Collins was behind the wheel and everyone was excited that the church now had another vehicle that still worked.

  John said nothing as he went to grab lunch. He over heard people talking about Collins saving the day and how he single handedly ended the battle. Collins was taking the credit for capturing the truck. John didn’t care. Guys like that either died quickly in battle or became politicians when they came home. Collins was a politician at heart. The Reverend's number two man, Collins gave orders and enjoyed doing so.

  John looked at his oatmeal and wondered how they were going to survive through the next winter. There were no plans to start farming. The Reverend talked about the revival of the United States and kept hope alive that FEMA would show up handing out food. John knew better than to hope that the National Guard would arrive. He inhaled the food on his plate and his stomach still grumbled afterwards. Looking around the yard he picked dandelion leaves and made a small salad hoping to end the hunger.

  That night the church celebrated their victory with a party of acoustic music and stale warm beer. Instead of joining the festivities John stayed in his tent cleaning his M4 and Glock. He reloaded the Magazines and placed his Glock under his pillow before going to sleep. The next morning he was called to see the Reverend.

  Rays of light beamed through the church giving John a feeling of “awe” as he walked in. The Reverend stood at the alter waiting for him. The blood on John's hands made him feel unclean to be in the room. Walking down the center aisle he felt the heat of the sun on him.

  “You don’t appear to be the man you lead us to believe,” the Reverend said looking down at John from three steps above.

  “Killing isn’t something I want to do anymore,” John said afraid to look up at him. For the first time he was feeling judged for the actions that came so naturally to him.