by Marc Seraphs
“Who?”
“The girl from DDS you fired.”
Addi muttered a curse as their vehicle pulled up in the resort, joining the other several vehicles of dignitaries and political royalties arriving. Like a gentleman, he was quick to help her with her door.
“Now let's be that perfect couple.”
“I know the routine.”
“Don't worry, father's dying. Soon you'll be free...free as a bird.”
“Why don't you grow a pair and be your own man,” she said with venom while the smile of a happily married wife creased her face as they walked hand-in-hand. “The last time I checked sexuality is longer a priority for most Americans.”
“True, but most Americans aren't my father.”
They were still speaking when a familiar voice called, “Fred! Addison!” Interrupting them.
Rafel was perched in the crawl space of a residential building at the resort. He'd cut out a hole to the spaces' only vent, and from the scope of his rifle, he had a bird's eye view of a good part of the resort below. Patiently he waited for orders as he watched several resort workers go about their daily routines and erect a podium for what he presumed will be for a speech or performers.
He'd been in about the same position for hours, occasionally moving his legs and arms to avoid the pins-and-needles of his limbs going limp. Constrained spaces didn't bother him much any longer. He'd been on assignments in the desert where he had to maintain a position for weeks—pissing and shitting where he stood—thanks to diapers. This was a walk in the park.
Six hours wounded by before a few vehicles began to arrive in the resort at noon. Finely dressed couples accompanied by their security retinues were trickling in. He couldn't see every face and cars pulling in, but some of those he saw, he recognized: members of the senate and high-ranking government personnel. The gathering would have been perfect for the sharing if not for the absence of—
He assumed too soon it seemed as the air shifted when a motorcade arrived the resort. It was no ordinary motorcade. It was that of the president. The charismatic president's aura was undeniable as he stepped out his vehicle with a winning smile.
At that moment he knew who his target was without being told.
His Bluetooth clicked.
It was Aziz, speaking in cryptic Arabic—a tongue only the core members of the POLK Caliphate could understand—developed and perfected in the desert. A person who was fluent in Arabic might pick up a few words, but would never be able to comprehend a sentence spoken.
“Do you see your target.”
“Yes.”
“Remember the 'Burning Bush' of Musa?” Otherwise Moses' 'Burning Bush' in the bible.
“Yes.”
“The rosebushes by the podium will be the burning bush. You'll create a dramatic chaos by snipping out your target, whence I'll activate the burning bush. You are my eagle.”
“Got it.”
The 'Burning Bush' was a biological weapon yet to be unveiled— until today—when Aziz sets it off. It was a hell of a weapon out of the unlikely beauties of nature engineered by the most unlikely of peoples—a Caliphate. They code named the weapon 'Burning Bush' because of the burning effect—internal and external pulverizing—on victims who inhale the gas released by the plants once activated. It was no surprise. Plants were revolutionizing the medical field as insulin could now be harvested from plants. To top it off, it was cheap and ridiculously efficient. Since olden times, plants had always had an impact on warfare from potent poisons to berserkers ingesting hallucinogens from mushrooms before battle. This was just another frontier.
They'd tested the weapon in the desert before. Aziz was right. He did know everything about the mission—from the targets to the weapon—blindly following the direction given him up to this stage was to keep the mission clandestine. The mission just wasn't about the will-be-target anymore, it was sending a message to the West that the so-called terrorist were no longer uncivilized barbarians, but pioneers, and that no one was untouchable.
Rafel adjusted to load the sniper rifle when his sleeve got caught in the vent covering. In an effort to free himself, the vent cover fell out of place, but not totally. He was still hidden. He loaded the rifle and waited to shoot with his eyes fixed in the distance through the scope—when he caught the glimpse of a familiar figure...
It was Addi and Fred, strolling alongside the president and the throng flanking his eminence.
“Anytime now...Don't be afraid brother, am here blending in plain sight so we both make it out of here alive,” he heard Aziz say.
A feeling suddenly overwhelmed him—triggered by the sight of her—as he was about to pull the trigger. The other side of him he'd been suppressing—these past few days—that was mixed about this whole ordeal had become a leaven, gradually expanding and puffing up to eclipse his heart that had become cold with hate. It was like a warm embrace. He was growing a conscience.
He took a long and hard blink in an attempt to stop it, but another glance through the scope—the sight of Addi hitting him again—then he knew he was undone. It was over.
“Take the shot! What are you looking at?” Aziz bristled at him. It didn't take long for him to figure it out. “Her!? I thought you said she was a tool?”
“It's complicated,” Rafel replied, shedding a tear.
He was sweating and shaking now.
“Take the shot! You are not thinking with your head.”
“I actually am for the first time...it's not just that...her love reminds me that these people are loved by many. Family and friends.”
“And your father—your family and friends they took?”
“I know...it is an endless and tiring circle and I now choose to end my arc of it and find peace in love...it will be noble of me.”
Aziz cursed. “Noble—!? I'll do it myself.”
“Where are you?”
There was no reply. Despite so, he didn't need a genie to tell him Aziz was very close and more than willing to accomplish the task. Not only were the lives of everyone in the resort in danger, his life was too now. He turned on his cell phone in an attempt to warn Addi.
His new mission: find Aziz, and stop him. Who would have thought he would be protecting the same people he'd learn to hate for so long.
“Common Addi, pickup...pickup...” Rafel said under his breath as he scanned the distance through the scope of his rifle for Aziz.
It was then he heard a stern voice behind him.
"Drop your weapon or I'll shoot!”
He turned to see who was behind him with more disdain than dismay, “not you again. Considering you're a tomboy, for a second there I thought you had a thing for Addi. Now am starting to second guess that. Is it me?”
“No, I have a nose for dangerous people like you. I was right all along. Now drop your weapon or I'll shoot.”
Rafel returned to scanning the crowd below with an unnatural calm. “How did you find me this time?”
“The vent. And am going to count to three...”
“Go away, Sam, I'm—” he paused when he saw a figure with a hand in his coat as if concealing a weapon and walking rather briskly for the rose bushes.
It was Aziz.
Rafel pulled the trigger to stop him, but he didn't have the opportunity to see the outcome of his shot—as another gunshot boomed off the rafters—this time it wasn't from him. He heard muffled screams as his sight blurred...
When Sam said, “I warned you!”
He was reaching for where he'd been shot when Sam shot him again, paralyzing him this time. All he could hear now was the soft buzz of his phone calling Addi's.
It buzzed...and buzzed until a familiar sweet, but frantic voice answered, “Hello? Rafel? Sorry for the way I reacted the other day at the hotel and I don't care how creepy and weird this whole ordeal is, but something's wrong. Something has gone terribly wrong... there's a shooter...” and she went on and on with a terrified voice that brought tears to Rafel's eyes as he remained
helpless on the floor. He tried speaking, but nothing came forth from his mouth, but blood.
As Rafel lay there wallowing in his blood, a compelling bliss came over him. He reasoned there was a young man, a child somewhere in the world; orphaned and paralyzed by the mayhem and bedlam of war and strife and fueling hate in his heart for the perpetrators. If he survived this, he would go to that young man or child and console him or her, saying there was 'nothing better than to eat (if there was the food), and drink (if there was any) and find joy in the little things in life (whether it was a blossom, blooming on a formally torpedoed and parched land). That vengeance belonged to the creator of all things. That love (not hate) was the most important of all things.' Above all, he really, really hoped he wouldn't die.
He hoped...
Michael was dreaming. He was a boy in his father's ranch and he'd been bad again, playing in the snow against the strict warning of his mother. Doggedly, he'd sneaked out of the house, running wild in the snow covered field, even skating on the frozen lake not far from the house. Mother said, “not to,” because the ice wasn't solid enough, but he did anyways like always. As it turned out, his mom was right. He felt the ice crack under him, bleeding with icy water. He wanted to be calm and savvy his way out, but he heard the neighbor's dogs barking, perturbing him. The dog was usually friendly, but not today. In a panic and effort to escape, he sank to his waist in the ice. He was going to drown!
Suddenly there was a hand. The hand of his favorite house help, gorgeous Sofia. She lifted him out of the lake, rubbed him dry after a warm bath, kissed him and put him to bed under layers of blankets. She'd promised to keep the incident a secret if he promised never to go play at the lake again without supervision and mother's consent. To which he agreed with a delightful, “yes,” before trying to fall asleep.
Michael felt warm—particularly on his chest and his lower belly. The feeling was blissful. He wanted to savor it for as long as he could, but it came with a throbbing discomfort in his groin area.
“Sofia,” he called out softly, with a smile. For a moment he forgot where he was, as he began to rise in fright. There was a body sprawled over him, a female, with her legs and arms entwined around him.
It was Caroline! Then it came flashing back to him.
The lake.
The wolves.
His childhood, ranch dream was a moony rendition of his recent and second near death experience of drowning—this time with wolves—and Caroline saved him?
Carefully he tried lifting her from off him as she was still asleep, but he was stuck, realizing they were wrapped in what looked like a thick bear pelt that was both nice and cozy. As lightly as possible, so as not to disturb her sleep, he unfurled them before he could get on his feet.
He was completely naked he realized when he saw his damp clothes on the ground. Just then Caroline was up. She secured the pelt about herself, but not before he caught a quick glimpse of the humble, yet delicate curves that had kept him warm and probably saved his life.
Who knew she had such plump and perky couple of pearls treasured within the oyster of her heavy clothing. They looked as good as they felt. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time—in a different light—all of her.
He quickly looked away, covering as much of himself as he could with his palm.
“I'll go get you some clothes from the main cabin,” he heard Caroline say, exiting the shed when he wasn't looking.
She returned moments later with some clothes, looking away as she handed him the fresh clothes.
He accepted them with a “thank you.”
The clothes were a tad on the large size for Michael, but the belt from the heap of his wet, old clothes did the magic. Halfway through, Michael cared less about his dignity, realizing Caroline had seen whatever there was to be seen about his body when she undressed him. Her looking away was a formality.
“Where is your dad?” He asked, breaking the icy silence.
“He said he would be back...I think he was going to distract them from the cabin before coming back for us,” she said with her eyes fixed on the floor. She also told him of how they'd rescued him from the lake and how they'd run into Jud and his men.
Michael felt indebted, but he couldn't find the words to express himself. “Do you think we should go check on him?”
For the first time, she looked up at him wide-eyed. “Aren't you cold?”
“Yes, but the sooner we find him, the sooner I can use the sweat-lodge at Turtle Island.”
“What if he returns and we are away?”
“We won't go far.”
“We couldn't if we wanted to. No snowmobile.”
When they reached an agreement, they bundled up as much as they could and headed out, following the snowmobile track that had become a barely visible outline due to the fallen snow. Michael was at the head with the only available rifle. Caroline followed closely, looking for signs and listening for any suggestive sounds.
About a mile on the trail, they sighted what looked like snow dusted snowmobiles in the distance. Stealthily, they ceased from approaching the site directly. The increasing signs of no human presence emboldened them to further approach with less caution. When they arrived, there were several snowmobiles with layered heaps beside them on the snow; some big, some small.
“Corpses!” Caroline blurted in horror.
The heaps were "frozen bodies", Michael confirmed.
Caroline turned around with cognizance, “and that is my dad's...” she said of the snowmobile that rested some distance from the others, from where they came. Instinctively she began scurrying through the corpses on the ground—some were those of wolves—praying her thoughts weren't true.
“No, no, no,” she cried as she went from one body to the other. Michael was closely behind her.
He saw her physically fall apart when she came upon a slightly higher heap of two bodies roughly stacked atop each other—locked in what looked like a struggle before frozen to death. She tried pulling them apart to inspect, but couldn't as the uppermost body had a hunting knife plunged deep into the body beneath—who also had a frosted blood-glazed knife lunged into the side of his assailant.
Michael helped break them apart...
And he didn't have to tell her.
Caroline already knew as she began to sob.
It was her dad's frozen corpse on top. The only comfort was seeing Jud's lifeless remains without half the skin on his face, as did some of his comrades froze stiff with the jaws of wolves at their necks. The only mutilation to Eustace was the repeated stab wounds to his side. Whatever happened here, he could only imagine...
The horror.
And self-sacrifice.
Seeing Caroline slid to her knees, holding her arms around her waist in pain, her shoulders wracking with shuddering sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks, tore him apart.
He bent down to her level and awkwardly wrapped his arms around her. She responded, digging her head into his chest for support. Her tiny fingers dug into his chest like cat claws.
He tried consoling her: smothering her hair, whispering comforting words, even pleading. Anything to make her stop. “It's going to be all right.”
It took a while, but eventually, the sobs ebbed, and she blinked up at him through the teary haze. “You are shaking...”
Indeed. It was freezing.
“Let's get out of here,” she said. “It should take an hour before we get back to Turtle Island. Will you be all right?”
He shook his head, but a few things had to be done.
They went back to the cabin, where she bundled him with the bear fur from earlier, and another to wrap Eustace's corpse before loading it into a bogie pulled by one of the snowmobiles they were going to leave with.
With one last somber look behind, they set course for Turtle Island.
EPILOGUE
“Mrs. Heims—”
“Addison,” she corrected.
The doctor made a rueful gesture befo
re continuing, “We certainly appreciate your contribution towards the patient's health. However, we do not know when or if he'll ever wake up or pull through. In the meantime, we can only allow relatives—”
“He has no kin in the United States. I'm the closest he has...we were in a relationship before his accident.”
“Even with that you have to check with the Secret Service—they brought him in—”
“I'll vouch for her, she can go in,” Addi heard a familiar voice behind them. It was Sam, smartly suited in black and black for work.
“Good morning, Mrs. Heims—Ms. Addison,” Sam corrected herself. It was old news now that her former husband, Senator Fred Heims had stepped out the closet and reached an amicable, mutual divorce with her. “Come with me.”
They had walked for a bit in utter silence when Addi asked: “why are you being nice to me?”
“I realized my wrongs.”
“Your suspicions had merits though.”
Sam stopped at the door when they reached Rafel's supposed room. “Despite so, he was one of the good ones. He was trying to do right and in the process saved many lives. Mine, yours, the president's...and many others, and I have a feeling you had some role in that. If only I realized that sooner.” With that, she let her alone before the door to Rafel's room.
Addi proceeded into the room. Her heart sank at the sight of him on the sick bed. He was hooked to a life support. The machine beeping away to the testament that he was still fighting for his life. He was bandaged all over with a respirator over his face. Despite all that he had an arm handcuffed to the bed. He was an alleged terrorist; the investigation was still ongoing, she figured.
“My love...” she muttered poignantly, grasping his handcuffed hand. “If you can hear me, forgive me for the way I reacted...all I want now is to show you all the love you've never known—” she was still speaking when the beep and figures of the machine monitor spiked for the positive—as if for further encouragement, his fingers lightly clutched in her
White House
The president of the United States emerged from the north White House Lawn to the waiting press and cameras. With a brief smile and wave, he looked down at the scripted message written by his staff and personally edited to fit the mood of the nation about the incident at the resort and national security of the nation. It was going to be a monumental day. He looked up once more with a dire countenance this time...