Ma’mun observed the bodies of his men that lay in the grass near their trucks. He aimed his own rifle and looked through the sight. “Some have already escaped. But they won’t get far.”
“Why don’t we just throw a grenade in there and be done with it?” Qadar asked. He wrapped a black-and-white checkered bandana over his clean-shaven head.
“Not yet.”
Qadar was about to argue, but bit his tongue. “Whatever we do, we must hurry.” Another shot rang out from inside the vehicle. “This could go on forever.”
“It ends here,” Ma’mun said. He pulled a military-issue smoke grenade from his utility belt and crept to the rear hatchback, with the others.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Qadar said to himself.
Ma’mun called to the four masked men left and then pointed at their dead. “Go and find the persons who did this to our brothers and bring them to me.”
As the team dispersed, Ma’mun pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and tossed the grenade inside the rear. After a loud pop, smoke billowed out of the rear of the vehicle. Seconds later, he heard coughing and hacking, and Ma’mun knew that it would only be a matter of time.
Craig remained crouched down, concealed on the far side of the third pickup, as he watched a group of militants advance toward him. With Hicks dead, his only hope was that Donaldson and Rivers could pull through, along with Phelps and Toomey. Before he could make his next move, the passenger door of truck he was squatting near swung open and bashed him directly in the face, knocking him to the ground. His rifle bounced onto the dirt and out of reach. Then came a forceful boot right in his face. As Craig lay there in shock, he saw a bearded man dressed in green army fatigues emerge from the truck.
“Foolish American. You’ll make a great prisoner,” the man said. Then came another boot kick in the face.
The smoke continued to consume the inside of the carrier. Husein made a dash for the open door, pulling Malaka along. Donaldson and Rivers were on their knees hacking, with tears streaming from their eyes. No person, no matter how determined, could have lasted much longer.
Ma’mun stood calmly to the side with his rife raised, waiting for everyone to funnel out. First came a boy. Ma’mun watched in amusement as Husein fell out of the truck and rolled to the ground coughing. Soon came Malaka, with one hand over her mouth and coughing as well. Ma’mun helped her out of the truck and told her to breathe.
“It will pass soon, don’t worry.”
He guided her away from the smoke with her arm around his shoulders. Her eyes were closed, tears running along her cheeks. Her coughing gradually subsided when they got a safe distance away. “Who else is in there?” he asked her.
“Two…men,” she answered between lighter coughs. “FBI.”
Ma’mun smiled. He helped her down onto the grass. “Sit here. I’ll return shortly.”
He walked back to the transport carrier just as his men approached with Craig at the end of their barrels. Qadar stepped forward and swung the butt of his rifle into the back of Craig’s leg, sending him to his knees. Within moments, Donaldson fell out and rolled into the grass, violently coughing and wheezing. Rivers soon followed.
“I would move if I were you,” Ma’mun said to a visibly shaken Husein, who was still on the ground coughing.
He raised his rifle just as Husein got to his feet and ran away. He fired one shot into Donaldson’s head, splitting it open, then a barrage of shots into Rivers’s chest for good measure. They went silent—motionless and locked in agony. Ma’mun walked closer, tilted his head back and spat.
Craig raised his head at the sound of gunfire and was gripped with anger and fear upon seeing the two FBI men he had gotten to know murdered in cold blood.
The gruff, bearded man in military fatigues who had kicked Craig walked up as well, joining the group. He didn’t seem happy and began to chastise the men, even Ma’mun.
“Too many of your brothers died for this. How could you let this happen?”
Ma’mun nodded but didn’t seem too bothered. “Things got a little out of hand, General, but we took control of the situation.”
The general scoffed. “I shouldn’t have let you do this on your own. You weren’t ready.”
“Of course we’re ready,” Qadar said with his hand gripped on Craig’s shoulder. “Did you see what we’ve accomplished today? We’ve made history.”
“History, eh? Well, maybe if you hadn’t killed the Americans, we’d walk away with more leverage,” the general said. He looked over to Craig and observed the badge on his belt. “This one is FBI. He’s perfect.”
“So what?” Qadar said, putting his barrel to Craig’s head. “Let’s shoot him.”
“That’s enough, Qadar,” Ma’mun said. He then looked at the general. “You are correct. He’ll be perfect.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” the general said.
He wasn’t a real general in the sense of military rank, but he did have a military background and was one of the top strategic ISIS planners.
He had the notoriety of having served in Saddam Hussein’s personal military guard as a member of the Baath party. He had long ago disavowed his Shiite ties and joined the Sunni-based ISIS faction in Iraq. Somewhat a relic, he offered young recruits knowledge and a wealth of stories from his many years.
Ma’mun called out for Malaka to join the group. She had wandered away, trying to get away from all the smoke. Husein walked next to her to make sure she was okay, while trying not to look at the bodies of the American FBI men lying on the ground as they passed them.
Looking satisfied, the general walked in front of Craig and pulled out a long hunting knife. Craig lowered his head, preparing for the worst. The general lifted up his foot and tapped Craig in the shoulder with his boot. “Hey. You. American.”
Malaka approached the group with Husein at her side. “When do we leave?” she asked. “I can hear sirens coming.”
“Yes, we should definitely leave soon,” Qadar added.
“Oh, we will,” the general said, taking a look back at Ma’mun. “There’s some unfinished business we must take care of first.”
He handed Ma’mun the knife. “I’ll give you the honors.”
Craig looked up, squinting at the group as the sunlight hit his eyes. He saw the silhouette of a man standing over him ready to strike.
“Wait!” Malaka said, running to them. “This man has taken everything from me. I want to see him dead, but not like this. We should take him with us. Show him the worst kind of pain each and every day until he can feel no more.”
Husein looked around the group, confused. “Let’s just go,” he said to Malaka. “You and me. We can go back to Chechnya before they catch us. Put this behind us.”
The general looked over to Husein and laughed. “Your boy here, he’s not very bright, is he?”
The other men joined in the laughter. Malaka’s face went red with anger as she lashed out at them. “Leave him alone! Who do you think you are?”
“It’s time,” the general reiterated.
Malaka began to protest once again, when suddenly Ma’mun grabbed her by the arm, pulled her in front of him, and ran the sharp blade across her throat. Her eyes widened in horror. She gagged as blood flowed out of the gaping wound. Ma’mun pushed her away and her hands immediately gripped neck as she choked and gasped, lurching forward and stumbling over.
Husein screamed and ran away in a panic.
“Get him!” the general said. Two of the masked men ran off toward Husein. They caught up with him in no time and tackled him to the ground. Husein kicked wildly into the air and screamed as they carried his small body back.
Malaka continued to stumble forward, past Craig and the others, hunched lower to the ground with each step. Her wheezing grew louder as fresh blood ran down her robe and trickled on the grass below, leaving a trail. Her eyes were full of unadulterated shock. Blood spewed from her mouth as she fell to her knees with a gargling cry.
>
Her hands still gripped the open wound but did little to stop the blood flow. Her face quickly grew pale as she hacked in stunned disbelief. With another hissing gasp, she finally collapsed face first into a puddle of her own blood.
Craig looked on just as confused as the general flashed him a self-satisfied smile. Two masked men carried a screaming Husein past Craig and toward their trucks. He cried out for his aunt repeatedly even as she lay propped in the grass on her knees and twitching toward her last breath.
The general then stepped forward and hovered directly over Craig. “The Surkov family line is dead now, my friend. Now you have nothing. And we…have you.”
Craig’s body trembled despite his attempts not to show any fear. “What do you want from me?” he asked.
“In time,” the general said. He looked toward the men. “That’s Americans for you. So damn impatient.” They laughed.
Ma’mun stood by silently, the bloody knife still in his hand, as he looked down at Malaka’s still body.
“You did the right thing,” the general said with a hand on Ma’mun’s shoulder. “Now cut that bitch’s head off and leave it at her feet.”
Ma’mun looked up with hesitation.
“Do it!” the general shouted.
Craig tilted his head back and watched as Ma’mun approached Malaka’s body. He turned away just as Ma’mun pulled her up by the hair, dug the knife in, and began cutting around her neck. The faint sound of the long blade sawing into bone followed, filled with pops, cracks, and hisses. Craig closed his eyes as the brute force of a rifle butt struck his head and knocked him cold to the ground.
Hostage
The boat ride to the cabin took more than an hour, and the further they traveled across the lake, the more it became apparent that they were fleeing civilization—if only for a few days. It had been a month since the last time they had been at the cabin, and already Rachael was feeling sentimental. Times had been easier times back then. Going to the cabin without Craig saddened her. What were they going to do once they got there? Sit and wait? Her mind was flustered with questions, and there were no answers in sight.
As she navigated the boat, the wind blowing through her hair offered a comforting, cool peace. As always, she found a kind of tranquility in the lush trees and foliage passing by on both sides. Yet, her handheld radio didn’t leave her side. They passed several lakeside homes with their own boats tied to docks. Oddly enough, no one else was on the water. She pictured them all, glued to their televisions or computers, desperate for answers. She thought of all the family and friends she needed to call, and hoped that, once they got to the cabin, she would get a signal.
Their backpacks rested on the deck of the boat, filled with whatever they had been able to fit into them. She had no real concept of how long they would be staying at the cabin. Craig had told her a couple days, but with the port attacks, anything was possible.
Inside her pack was a week’s worth of clothes, an emergency radio, and most importantly, her .38 Smith & Wesson. When they had first married, Rachael had been adamantly opposed to firearms. In time, her views had changed, and as they coasted along the Hudson shoreline, having a weapon made all the difference to her.
The ride had been quiet, with little conversation between her and Nick. He hadn’t asked many questions, and she didn’t feel like providing many answers. A map rested near the steering column, but she hadn’t needed it. She had navigated on instinct. It was familiar trip with most of it a straight shot through the narrow channel of the river, past the riverside homes, and then into a sanctuary of undisturbed nature.
She steered the boat to a stream off the river. The GPS navigation screen had pinged the location of the cabin, not too far off. Nick looked around as they neared the cabin. Rachael guided the boat to the shore, apprehensive about what they would find once they got there.
The boat steadied against the bank. They had arrived. She shut off the engine and coasted to shore. As the boat slowed, she took off her life jacket and tossed it to the deck. Fear grew within her as she kept trying to convince herself that they were safe. It had been a month since they had seen the cabin. Craig had since stocked it with canned and preserved foods and installed a freshwater pump. She just hoped that their supplies hadn’t been pillaged.
“Let’s go,” she said.
As he jumped on shore, Nick looked eager to get to the cabin, though Rachael didn’t fully understand why. She stood up and tossed him the rope. He tied the boat to a nearby tree, knotting it the way his father had taught him. Rachael climbed out with her pack, and they began the short walk to the cabin.
She still hadn’t told him everything. She almost felt ashamed knowing that the world he knew would no longer be the same. She wished there was something she could have done to change things, but she was helpless.
Under the cloudy sky, they walked into the forest with their packs on. The cabin was a half mile ahead, and surrounded by a natural concealment of trees and brush.
“How long do we gotta stay out here?” Nick asked.
She clutched the radio at her side, hoping to hear back from Craig at any minute.
“Not long,” she replied.
They strolled through the open forest under large, encompassing oak trees, the quiet broken only by the sound of foraging squirrels and birds. The cabin awaited them ahead: a small two-bedroom log structure sitting atop four piers that positioned it above ground. The water heater to the side of the cabin glistened in the sunlight. As they approached, it seemed as if no other soul was around. Exactly how Rachael wanted it. The place looked just as they had left it a month ago.
“Mom,” Nick said.
“Yes?”
“When’s Dad getting here?”
“He’ll be here soon,” she said.
“I heard about the terrorist attacks,” he said.
Rachael could feel her heart sinking.
“You did?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna get through this, right?”
“Yes. Of course,” she said.
“Why are they attacking us?”
She stopped and turned to him, trying to think of the right answer. “Because there are evil people out there who don’t like us.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because of who we are and how we live.”
“Yeah, but what did we do to them?”
Rachael sighed. “It’s complex. To some in the world we’ve done plenty of bad things.”
“Like what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing justifies these terrorist attacks. Nothing.”
Nick seemed out of questions, or at least perplexed by his mother’s answers. They stopped at the steps leading to the front deck, and Rachael half anticipated that some sort of creature would jump out of the cabin and attack them. It was strange to be out in the wilderness alone.
The cabin was dark inside. Before they walked up the wooden steps, Rachael told Nick to stay back as she pulled her revolver from her backpack.
“Whoa!” Nick said. “Since when did you get a gun?”
“Just wait here,” she said, holding it in the air.
She went up the steps and looked through both windows. No movement inside. She went down the steps and then walked around to the back of the cabin. No recent footprints. No one there. The coast was clear.
“Everything is going to be okay,” she said as she returned. “I just want to check the place out first.”
Nick nodded in agreement as Rachael pulled out her keychain and unlocked the front door. She walked in and scanned the small living room and adjacent kitchen, looking for any signs of intrusion, only to see a small, stuffy living space covered in dust. Their amenities were limited: a sofa, a table, mini-fridge, sink, underground septic system, portable water heater, and generator—all the luxuries of an RV.
Nick entered the cabin and ran off to claim one of the two small bedrooms. His footsteps clomped across the planks of the hardwood floor.
Racha
el yelled out after him. “Don’t get too comfortable. We have a lot of cleaning to do.”
From the first bedroom, Nick groaned.
Rachael sat on the stiff armrest of a nearby couch and tried to not worry herself about Craig. The situation was bad enough without him. But Craig was protected. He was FBI. That was what she thought, anyway. The government wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. With that comfort, she picked up her backpack and went to claim the other room.
***
Craig awoke lying on his side with his hands tied behind his back. There was a burlap sack over his head, blinding him except for some spots of light that came through the bag’s tiny holes. He gasped, choking on the dry air. The hard ground beneath him was slightly cool, like a basement or underground cellar. His face was sore all over. One eye was swollen shut. He tasted blood on his chapped lips. He tried to get up, but it was hard with his hands tied the way they were.
He believed he was alone, hearing no one and nothing else in the room, and he rolled onto his back. Every muscle ached, and the bag was tied tightly around his neck, making it hard to breathe. Moving his head from side to side did nothing to shake the bag off. His first thought was to escape. He pulled at the nylon rope binding his hands together, but couldn’t get it loose. He grunted and struggled while trying to find a way to regain his feet. The claustrophobia-inducing bag disoriented him, and he tried to control his breathing and not panic. With one big push, he rolled again onto his side and sat up, hunched over his lap.
“Okay,” he said under his breath. “You’re almost there.”
The stitching of the bag was all he could see. If there had been someone else in the room, he believed they would have spoken by then. A painful knot on the back of his head throbbed as things started to come back to him. At first it felt as if he had just woken up from a bad dream, but he quickly knew that everything was very real. He had been captured. And he knew far too well how ISIS handled prisoners.
His first instinct was to escape. Naturally he had been disarmed and, to the best of his foggy memory, he was the only one to survive the shootout. The blurry image of Malaka’s head being cut off and ripped from her body came rushing back. Ma’mun had held it high as blood dripped down and veins dangled from the bottom. For some reason, they had taken him alive, but he knew he had an expiration date. The horrors he was certain they had planned filled him with dread.
End Days Super Boxset Page 18