Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller

by Blake, Cameron

  3…2…1…

  The second explosion ripped the roof off the second building. A large chunk of its side evaporated. Abram didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Five soldiers fell in the smoke. Abram quickly tore holes in ten more chests while the smoke still clung to the air. He used the last fifteen rounds in his magazine before letting it fall to the sand. He popped a new one in and continued firing.

  Just as he emptied the second mag, he dashed from the nook in the wall. He had no sooner made it to the next wall than the concave groove in the wall ignited into flames. Surprise over.

  He attached the grenade launcher to the M4 and took aim. The back half of the tent turned into a small mushroom cloud seconds later. Abram kept moving. He stayed in one location just long enough to check the next wall and shoot off a few rounds. Fortunately for him, the explosions had barricaded the soldiers. Some of them attempted to climb over the rubble. Abram clipped them off one-by-one like skeet shooting. He had estimated there to be a hundred men in the tent, but they seemed to continue to scatter like ants. Abram checked his dial on his wrist. What was taking Amir so long?

  The wall three feet from Abram’s face exploded. He was thrown backward into the next wall, his head smashing into the hard mud wall. He was lucky. He was near the outer rim of the town and the incessant wind had weakened the walls. When he pulled away, there was a small hole where his head had been. He shook the blacks spots from his vision and pressed on his ears to stop the ringing. Shadows raced through the smoke. He raised his M4 and emptied the last of his magazine on the first bodies that showed themselves. He tossed the depleted rifle aside and pulled out the MK 23 pistol from his waist. He held it at the settling smoke. He couldn’t hear anything. He pulled his left hand from the side of his head. His fingers were covered in blood. He patted his legs and chest down. No wounds. That was good.

  Abram sent a round flying into the haze. He didn’t know whether it struck its target. His focus was waning. He needed to move but his legs felt like lead. He didn’t bother to inspect the back of his head. He knew it was bad. The wall hadn’t been as forgiving as he had first thought. His vision grew foggier with every second. Why weren’t they rushing in? Abram assessed his situation. A large hole broke through the wall he had been using as a shield. He was lying in the middle of the walking path with piles of rubble all around him. He knew they were circling him, using the choking dust as a cloak to sneak up on him.

  He fired three more shots into the haze.

  “I know you’re out there,” he shouted. His voice sounded like someone had a pillow over his mouth. With the world beginning to spin, his legs immobile, and his hearing failing, he was a sitting duck.

  If there were a way to go, this would be it. He placed all of his weight on his right arm to lift. If this were his time, he’d go out with a bang. Pain tore through his torso and lower back. He collapsed back into the rocks, inciting a second wave of pain. He gritted his teeth and heaved himself to his knees. A sharp wave of vertigo immediately sent him to the wall. He braced himself with his free hand. He felt a new pressure on the back of his head. A calmness swept over him. This was it. He closed his eyes and took what was probably his last breath. “Out with a bang,” he said out loud.

  He went flat on his side and aimed the pistol where the man holding the rifle to his head should be. He sent the bullet right between his eyes. Abram quickly rolled to his knees and popped off several more rounds into the new arrivals. His pistol clicked as the last bullet left the chamber. He dropped the useless gun to the ground and raised his arms in the air.

  The soldiers swept in like a flood. Abram had never seen so many guns pointed at his face. He wondered where the ending strike would come from.

  “Well, guys, it was fun while it lasted. You got me,” Abram said.

  He smiled at his executioners. They all just stood there. Some were yelling in Arabic to kill him. Others looked nervous. Abram’s pack was a foot away. He glanced down at it. One of the grenades was near the slit. If he fell down and snapped the spring free, he could take them all with him. His eyes returned to the live guns only feet away. He doubted he’d get one inch before a hundred bullets pierced his body. Still, what did he have to lose? The men grew more agitated and distracted by the second. This would work in Abram’s benefit—or not. It was resolved. He’d feign fainting and collapse next to his pack. Then while his eyes were closed, he’d reach in with his fingers, slip off the spring, then wait for the end to come. He was about to enact his terrible high school acting skills when the men suddenly fell silent. All their eyes shifted behind him. They lowered their guns.

  Abram had to keep from grinning from cheek to cheek. This couldn’t have gotten any easier. He relaxed his arms and torso and started his descent.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came a raspy voice from behind him.

  Abram pretended to catch himself from falling as if he were only rocking. Abram remained silent. So did the other soldiers. Several of them looked scared. Yeah, they were definitely scared.

  “I surrender,” Abram said. The words tasted sour in his mouth. Of course he didn’t mean it, he’d never surrender, but they didn’t need to know that. With this unknown assailant behind him, he had to figure out a new strategy to get to the grenade. His opportunity had come and gone.

  “SEALs never surrender,” the voice said.

  Abram actually grinned then.

  “This is true. But still, here we are.”

  “Here we are,” the voice repeated.

  Abram went to turn his head to see who the mystery voice belonged to, and all eyes sprung to life.

  “Alright, alright. I just wanted to see to whom I had the honor of speaking. You don’t need to be so jumpy.”

  “You’ve killed more than fifty of their men; another twenty or so are severely wounded and probably won’t make it through the night.”

  The grin never left.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Abram said.

  “Such is the cost of war,” the voice said.

  War? This wasn’t a war, Abram thought.

  “I’m part of no war. I’m just a traveler passing through.”

  A sultan’s sword nudged his bag to his left.

  “Strange choice of supplies for a traveler to be traveling with…”

  “I’m told the Middle East is dangerous. You never know who you might run into,” Abram said.

  “I hear driving on the streets of Washington is just as dangerous.”

  Touché. Who was this guy? Abram couldn’t help but notice the slight English accent masked behind the thick Arabic. Abram shrugged.

  “One man’s playground is another man’s grave.”

  Abram’s neck pinched together.

  “Let’s hope not,” the voice whispered in his ear.

  The man’s hand released Abram. As he did, Abram’s nostrils tingled with a familiar scent. Was that Calvin Klein? Abram had worn the cologne when he was a teenager. He had thought he was hip, only to learn years later that he had smelled like a walking scent stick. And that wasn’t a compliment. Yeah, since then, he avoided anything that could be smelled from across the room.

  He was thinking back on one specific occasion, and then he felt, more than saw, the blow.

  Chapter 13

  Abram’s head was on fire. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think half of it was missing. It certainly felt like it. His eyesight in the right eye was gone. Perhaps that was the side of his brain that had been knocked loose. Abram managed to squint his left eye open. The walls were freshly plastered stone, almost as if they had been constructed hours prior. The air certainly smelled like concrete. The floor was relatively dry. Abram was in one of the four corners. There was a single bulb that hung from the ceiling by a cord. A bucket and a chair were the only other objects in the room, except for the one-way mirror on the adjacent wall. The scene was all too familiar.

  Just get on with it,”
Abram moaned. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.” Abram curled into a fetal position. Sharp pain tore through his ribcage from the effort to speak. The door to the room opened. A well-groomed man walked in and took a seat on the chair. His beard looked as though someone had painted it on. His eyebrows were neatly trimmed and his dark black hair was slicked back behind his ears. That same overpowering cologne immediately began stinking up the room. Abram gagged, only to wheeze again in pain. The man appeared Arab, but had lighter skin and blue eyes.

  “My name is Philip. I’m going to ask you some questions.” A pause. Abram didn’t respond. “Good, we’re off to a great start. Now, so that I can properly address you, what’s your name?”

  Abram knew how this would go. Cooperate or suffer. He was tempted only for a moment before his body reminded him of his state. His body hurt too bad to fight. Besides, he didn’t have anything valuable to say anyway.

  “Abram Kinkaid,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kinkaid. May I call you Abram?”

  Abram shrugged.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Abram stared at the man who called himself Philip. Abram highly doubted his name was really Philip. Abram couldn’t quite place where his accent was. He sounded middle- eastern, but the way he held himself, his dress, his etiquette, the pristine grooming, and those eyes, all made Abram think European. Perhaps he was the result of a crossbreed between cultures. Born in the Middle East and raised and educated in Europe. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Many terrorists were educated in the States or in other westernized countries.

  Philip cut off Abram’s reminiscing.

  “Excellent. Well, Abram, as you might know, we find ourselves in a sticky situation here. My colleagues, as you might expect, have some concerns about your presence. I’d like to assure them all is well, but I’ll have to determine that first. I’m sure you understand my predicament. You and I both know you were drug here against your will and you were only doing what you were told. You couldn’t help that your training came out. Am I right?”

  “No one forced me to pull the trigger. I would happily do it again until every last one of those pieces of filth are eradicated from the planet.”

  Philip held up his hands.

  “Now, now, Abram, I would urge you to keep those opinions to yourself, however tempting they may be. These walls aren’t as thick as you might think. And”—he flicked his head backward toward the one-way mirror—“we have some company. Best we keep on our best behavior, hmm?”

  Abram rolled his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable sitting position. It didn’t help, but at least he could breathe without feeling as though someone was jabbing a spear between his third and fourth ribs.

  “Perfect. I’ll not bore you with the standard questions; as you might have guessed, this is not one of those typical situations.” He let those perfect white teeth shine.

  Something about Philip’s smile really made Abram’s skin crawl. Was he always this genial, or was he really that insane? Abram sided with the latter.

  “We already know you’re not here by your own choosing. No connection with a military operative group or by executive order of the president or any other member of congress. By all extents and purposes, you’re what we would call a rogue operative. And yet, you and I also know this isn’t true.” He winked.

  Philip stood and drew near to Abram. He kneeled down when he was only a few feet away. Abram wanted so badly to reach out and snap his neck, if but to silence that incessant smile. But his body was depleted. He couldn’t bat a fly if he wanted to. Philip seemed to know this, hence his unguarded approach.

  “The military wasn’t there for you when you needed them most. Were they? You lay there for two days before anyone came to rescue you.”

  The memories came rushing in. Abram tried to hold them at bay, but he was too weak to resist. The concrete walls shifted until the black ridge of the Hindu Kush surrounded him.

  Philip continued, “Injured, dehydrated, and out of ammo…”

  Abram was there again, reliving the most terrible moment of his life, the moment when he thought he was going to die.

  “Not knowing when the enemy would strike next…”

  The night the Marines showed up was the best and worst night of his life. Hours before they arrived, Abram had made peace with his fate. He was ready to die. He had served his country and was dying a warrior’s death. His men were safe and help was on the way. He had used up the last of his morphine and med supplies to bandage up his fellow team members. When they had asked him about his own wounds, he had brushed it aside and said he’d be fine, it wasn’t serious. But it was serious. By the time they had him on the gurney and whipped off back to the nearest base, he had lost two pints of blood. His gear was stained scarlet and his skin nearly translucent. Even in his weakened and delirious state, he put his men first. Five minutes into the flight, he passed out. The next time he woke up, he was in a hospital bed, hooked to a bunch of wires, and a doctor with the most bizarre mustache staring at him.

  “How long were you trapped in the hospital bed?” Philip asked.

  “Fifteen months,” Abram said. His body was numb. He was back in the hospital bed with the pale walls, bleached floors, and terrible cable. The same Wheel of Fortune game played on rerun day after day.

  “I’d like to buy a vowel,” Abram said. “E.” Yes, there are three E’s.

  “Doctors and nurses were in every hall, but you were alone. They didn’t understand your pain. They told you to suck it up, that it was shadow pain. What did they know?”

  Abram’s eyes were ice when he met Philip’s intent gaze.

  “How did that make you feel?” Philip asked.

  Abram’s lips curled.

  “Angry,” Abram said

  “Why did it make you angry?”

  “They didn’t care. I was just another broken soldier that no one had time for. I was damaged goods.”

  “How did they mistreat you? Tell me.”

  “They drugged me every morning and every evening. They thought I couldn’t hear them, but I could. They said I wouldn’t make it, that I was a lost cause taking up a bed.”

  “And were you?”

  “Maybe,” Abram said.

  Philip came closer. His face was inches from Abram’s.

  “You and I both know that isn’t true. You’re a hero. Is that how your country treats its heroes? Medicate, ignore, and repeat, as if you’re wild dogs on the street. I’ve seen the way people look at your veterans on the streets. The United States isn’t a place where dreams come true, it’s a black carcass of contempt and self-centeredness. Me. Me. Me. You deserved better then, and you deserve better now.”

  Abram was silent. The Hindu Kush gradually faded into the distance and his current surroundings reappeared. A thought nagged at the back of Abram’s head. He felt dirty, like his thoughts were being polluted.

  “You almost had me there,” Abram said. He leaned back against the wall, freeing his shoulder from Philip’s grasp.

  Philip maintained his stoic expression as he rose to his feet and circled back to the chair. Instead of sitting down, he propped his hand against it, and crossed his right foot in front of his left.

  “We could offer you so much more. You’d never have to go back to a country that takes you for granted, that doesn’t appreciate your sacrifice and spits in your face with their entitlement and victim attitudes as they rally in the streets pretending to protest inequality, women’s rights, and black lives matter. There’s a virus in your country. Your politicians have polluted your water with misguided lies and fake news.

  They dance with half-truths and cast a wide net of ignorance and dissonance on the populace. Keep them ignorant and they’ll never question the real problems.”

  Philip pointed at Abram.

  “I know you know what I’m saying. I can see it written all over your face. You’re sick of it too. And who wouldn’t be? The U.S. is a ticking ti
me bomb. It’s only a matter of time before it self-implodes.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Abram said. “Maybe we’re all just a bunch of blind sheep being led to the slaughter. But that doesn’t change anything. I made a choice. I swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic— ”

  “And are you holding up your end of the bargain?” Philip interjected. “Are you truly defending your constitution against all enemies? Are not corrupt politicians and lobbyists an enemy of the state? Would not wild and unruly rioters who loot, steal, and damage businesses and attack innocent supporters of their opposing party not enemies? They are disrupting the order; breaking the law, inciting havoc and disarray, no? Are they not an enemy closer to home, hiding in plain sight, free from judgment and retaliation? The system has lost sight of the goal. Peace and harmony will never work. You must control the situation with force.”

  “Is this what they teach you at terrorist school? Or do they start brainwashing you with this garbage and propaganda when you’re stuck sucking on your mother’s teat?”

  Malice flashed across Philip’s face for a split second before he regained his composure. Abram knew he had struck the right cord. Now he knew how to beat him

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. If only I could open your eyes to the truth; maybe then you’d finally awaken.”

  Philip straightened, smoothed his shirt and pants as if dirt had gotten on it, then walked back to the door.

  “I hope you’ll reconsider,” he said, looking at Abram with an almost sincere pity. “There is so much you do not know. We have a common enemy, you and I. We should be working together to end the tyranny.”

  “As long as I have breath in my lungs, and strength in my bones, you will always be my enemy.”

  Philip allowed Abram’s words to hang in the air for a few seconds before exiting without a word. Abram collapsed to the hard floor the moment Philip left. With what little energy he had left, Abram had used up on resilience. He had nothing left. His chest wheezed as his lungs struggled to take in breath. Abram closed his eyes and willed his heart to stop beating.