End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  Soon enough they had the weapons, ammunition, and explosives completely unloaded. A plethora of rifles and machine guns, oily and glistening under the warehouse lights, was a comforting sight. The resupply had been delivered to them at a crucial moment. The metallic containers remained tightly sealed. No one was to touch them. The men soon got to work unloading the last crate which contained chemical protective masks.

  Omar walked back over to them with the Dubai entourage, examining their new shipment with great enthusiasm. He clapped his hands together and thanked them for getting everything so quickly unloaded.

  "More work is upon us, my brothers. We have to make sure these weapons are cleaned and functional." He pointed once again to Ghazi. "Be sure that it happens."

  Ghazi nodded and approached Omar, out of earshot of the rest of the men.

  "A word with you please, Commander," Ghazi said.

  "Whatever it is you want to say, say it here in the open," Omar responded, holding his arms out in an inclusive way. The Dubai men looked back at Ghazi with suspicion.

  Ghazi stepped forward. "I don't think it's right that you're walking out in the open like this. The men cannot concentrate.”

  Omar seemed as perplexed as the Dubai group seemed amused. "What on earth are you talking about?" he asked.

  "I'm talking about keeping you safe, which is my sworn duty. Why did they bring those two boys here? Prisoners brought to our factory? This is an egregious lapse in security."

  Omar turned and then looked back at Ghazi. "I’m glad you brought that up. I want you to talk to them. Find out what they know."

  Ghazi blinked, staring into nothingness. "Me? I don't understand."

  "I want you to oversee the interrogation. Their outcome I'm placing entirely in your hands."

  Ghazi hesitated.

  "Do it now, and leave my sight!" Omar shouted, startling everyone standing nearby.

  Ghazi nodded and slowly stepped forward, turning toward a back room where they were holding the boys. "Yes, Commander."

  He suspected that it was another task given under unfavorable circumstances, but he complied anyway.

  The Race to Get Home

  Craig drove straight through the night, now nearing the end of an eight-hour trip, trying to get home before sunrise. After narrowly escaping the ISIS factory in Detroit, his focus was on home, and a Maryland suburb, just outside the city of Rockville. He was confident that Rachael and Nick had made it safely to the cabin—the only place he knew they would be safe.

  As he coasted along the highway with Husein staring out the window of the passenger seat, Craig was also confident that his house was being watched. Despite that, he felt a need to investigate. There was also his ammunition supply. He had to get it. But most of all, he had to know if someone was there.

  He had no phone, no wallet, nor money. For gas, they had to use what cash Husein had on him. There would be no stops on their trip. No calling the FBI or anyone in the government until he was certain that his wife and child were safe.

  The last day was a violent blur. The faces of the many men he had killed in order to escape captivity never left his mind, a surreal collage, frozen in horror.

  He felt disoriented. The news on the radio suddenly brought him back to reality.

  "A motorized FBI convoy transporting several key terror suspects was reportedly attacked by militants while en route to an undisclosed location on I-95 outside Washington, DC. The attack, which left five police officers, three agents, and eleven suspected militants dead, has further shocked officials already stunned by earlier terror attacks on US ports.

  “The Islamic State has not yet taken responsibility but, according to experts, is the assumed aggressor in the port attacks, which have killed an estimated... four thousand people."

  The announcer paused as if overcome.

  He then continued, "Ladies and gentlemen... I... there are no words during this dark hour. May you all be safe with your families and loved ones, and May God still save this country."

  The broadcast suddenly went to another announcer as Craig took a deep breath, trying to comprehend the number of reported casualties.

  Headlights from an approaching vehicles appeared in his rearview mirror, causing him to slow down. Having a stolen van with no identification on him and a Chechen foreigner in his passenger seat, Craig didn't want to risk a run-in with police, or worse, with the terrorists he knew would never stop trying to find him. The car behind them moved into the left lane and passed, a four-door Prius with a young couple seated in the front. Craig took a breath of relief.

  Nearly eight straight hours of radio provided little more information than he had previously known. Craig did learn, however, that it had been two nights since the port attacks.

  The date: July 10th, early morning. He was certain that the government was mobilizing for war, but no such declaration had yet been made. He teetered between fearful disbelief and acceptance. His country was under attack, and the Islamic State had an undeniable advantage: they were already operating from within.

  Another newscaster continued, "The president spoke briefly yesterday to extend his gratitude to first responders and their tireless efforts to treat wounded victims of the port attacks.

  “He then promised quick and resolute action against the perpetrators, vowing that they will be brought to justice. However, many experts believe military action is problematic. First, they say, ISIS has not taken official credit for the port attacks. Second, they add, sleeper cells are difficult to engage, as they are always on the move."

  Husein turned to Craig. "So is it war?" he asked.

  Craig leaned forward and turned down the volume. "I don't know. Things aren't so clear anymore."

  Husein's head tilted to the side in confusion.

  Craig attempted to elaborate. "What I mean is that ISIS is not a conventional enemy. They’re a terrorist network who have no country of origin we can declare war on.”

  "Is there anything we can do?" Husein asked.

  Craig glanced over at him. He thought of the laptop resting on the bench seat behind them. He hadn't had a chance to look through it yet, but he clung to the hope that there was some useful information that would reveal the inner workings of their terror network. He then looked at the fuel gauge as Husein waited patiently for an answer. They were on half a tank, with a hundred twenty miles to go. It was nearing four a.m. and more cars were starting to appear on the highway.

  Craig cleared his throat. "Husein, we've been lucky so far. Which is more than can be said about thousands of other Americans. We're going to find safety at my cabin. That's the first priority."

  "The news didn't even mention my aunt. They said nothing of finding her"—Husein suddenly stopped and looked down—"body.” Saddened, he looked at Craig. “Why are they second-guessing everything? It's obvious that ISIS did this."

  "The media is playing it safe. People want answers, rightfully so. ISIS knows this, and they're deliberately keeping the public guessing. That way they can spread further panic and confusion."

  "I heard Ma'mun's men talking about phase three. What's phase three?" Husein asked.

  "I don't know. When did they reach phase two?"

  "The port attacks?" Husein said.

  Craig shook his head. "No, according to them, that was phase one. What happened to two?"

  Husein reached back to grab the laptop. "Why don't I take a look?"

  "No!" Craig shouted. Husein froze. "Don't touch that laptop. Understand?"

  A silence came over them. The engine hummed as air sucked against the plastic bag covering the window Craig had smashed out in the back. Husein slunk back in his seat, not saying a word.

  Craig glanced over, somewhat remorseful. "No offense. It's the only piece of evidence we have. The only chance we have of stopping any of this."

  Husein nodded. "I understand."

  They crossed the state line into West Virginia. Police cars, with their lights flashing, were everywhere at the welc
ome center. They passed a blinking electronic sign that read, "Governor Declares State of Emergency." Craig could only imagine what for. He gripped the steering wheel and remained focused on the road, not going a mile over the speed limit. None of the police cruisers seemed to take interest. He drove on, with his eyes darting between the road and his rearview mirror as red and blue lights flickered in the distance.

  "We'll be at the house soon, Husein," Craig said, almost as if reassuring himself. "Don't worry." He was anxious to see his family, but going to the house was necessary—for the supplies alone.

  Husein looked out the window as billboards passed them by. A vague purplish tint had formed on the horizon under the night sky. Sunrise was near, and with it a new day. He felt fortunate, if not for anything else, to be alive. After seeing so many people perish in the past days, Husein was certain that death was the worst possible outcome.

  They pulled into Craig's neighborhood close to sunrise. He slowed the van and stopped a few blocks from the house then shifted it into park. Husein's head shot up, and he rubbed his eyes as he looked around. It was a typical suburban neighborhood, slightly upscale with nice-looking homes down both sides of the street.

  Freshly cut yards and brick houses seemed to be the norm, although the street was quiet. Vehicles were parked in the driveways, but no people were outside. Blinds and curtains were drawn on every window in view.

  "Lots of people scared right now, I imagine." Craig lifted his arms up and stretched. "This is what we're going to do," he began. "There's a good chance my house is being watched. We're going to have to go on foot, through the backyard, and investigate for ourselves. Once the coast is clear, we’re going to grab some supplies and my ammo stash."

  "Why must we go to your house? What if they're inside? It could be an ambush," Husein said.

  Craig turned the ignition switch off and reached in back for his rifle. "We’re not going to be able to protect ourselves at the cabin without ammo. I need to get cash, my passport, and my back-up credit card. Important stuff. The essentials. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Husein said. “I guess so.”

  “As long as we’re careful, we can pull it off.”

  He slapped the magazine in the AK and pulled the handle back to the rear, loading it. He then reached over into the back seat, carefully lifted the laptop, and slid it under his seat. "Are you ready?" he asked Husein.

  “I think.”

  "Great. Let's move."

  They stepped out of the van and walked along the cracked pavement of the narrow two-lane street, flanked by houses. Birds fluttered among the trees. Squirrels scurried beneath the tall elms. Above, the sun shined brightly. It would be a perfect morning for a walk under different circumstances.

  They walked down the street toward a three-way stop. Craig kept a close eye out and told Husein to keep watch behind them. As they passed a few more houses, Craig stopped and pointed ahead at the next stop sign, where there was a residential intersection.

  "This is close enough. My house is the next street over."

  A white-haired man in pajamas walked out the front door three houses ahead of them and instantly took notice of Craig standing in the street, armed with a rifle. The neighbor froze in his tracks, his eyes widened. Craig raised his arm in a friendly manner.

  "It's okay, I'm FBI. Please just stay in your house, sir."

  The man immediately turned to the door, ran inside, and slammed it shut.

  "Do you think he believed you?" Husein asked.

  "Doesn’t matter,” Craig answered. "Either way, let's get off the road."

  He moved along the side of the house they had stopped in front of, and set off on a path that led into the woods. Husein followed, not sure where the front yard of the house they were passing ended or began. He watched the windows, draped closed, cautiously as they passed by. There was no telling who was going to run out of the house, frightened and trigger happy.

  Craig seemed less on edge. He kept his eyes forward and moved swiftly to the back of the house. Leaves and small twigs crackled under their shoes. The sun flashed between trees as they passed. No longer did they have the cover of night. The warm air was full of tiny gnats, nearly invisible, and impossible to avoid. They walked on just as the sound of helicopters grew louder, reverberating throughout the air.

  Husein crouched down, avoiding thin, sticky branches as the path between fences and trees became narrower. They finally reached the end, where there was a cross-street. Craig knelt as a car passed. He signaled Husein to take a knee as well.

  "You see that," he said whispering and pointing to the other side of the road. There was another opening into the forest ahead. "We're going to cross the street after the coast is clear. My house is the third one down. Just follow my lead."

  Husein nodded and then swatted at his face to keep the gnats away. Craig leaned forward and peeked out of the bushes. No vehicles were coming from either direction. But he could feel the presence of ISIS somewhere… watching.

  "All right," Craig said, rising.

  He then scurried off across the road, his rifle low to the ground, as Husein followed behind. They made it to the other side of the road, passing a speed-limit sign sticking out of the grass. Craig moved up a small hill and into more brush behind another line of houses.

  They passed alongside a high wooden fence, painted with a light-blue gloss. The next house had no fence, exposing them if they ran by. Craig looked into their backyard, past the gazebo to the porch deck where two empty chairs sat. His neighbors, Scott and Marie Russell, were nowhere to be seen.

  His heart thumped. The enemy was on his turf now, or so he suspected, and he was going to make sure that they didn't have a chance of tracking down the cabin. They ran by just as his neighbor, Scott, opened his patio door, letting out his golden retriever.

  Craig stopped at his fence, breathing heavily and staring ahead, worried. Husein halted and noticed Craig’s troubled expression.

  "What’s wrong?”

  "Nothing. I think my neighbor saw me. No big deal."

  He turned around to look and stood up, high on his toes, to peek over the top of his fence. Nothing looked out of the ordinary—some lawn chairs, a patio deck, a tool shed, and a barbecue grill. He looked farther ahead, through the kitchen windows. Inside, the house looked undisturbed. The time was right. He looked at Husein while cupping his hands.

  "Here. Hop up. I'm going to lift you over the fence and hand you my rifle."

  With one hand against the fence, Husein put his foot in Craig's hand and was hoisted up, about half way. His legs dangled on Craig's side and he was given one last push over. Craig heard a thump.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah," he heard Husein say from the other side.

  He passed his rifle over the fence. After Husein grabbed it, Craig hopped up and pulled himself over with a heavy grunt. He hit the grass on the other side in thud. Husein was patiently waiting with rifle in hand.

  “Follow me,” Craig said.

  They moved behind his nearby tool shed and watched the house.

  Husein handed him the rifle. "So this is your place?" he asked.

  "Sure is," Craig answered.

  “It’s nice."

  "Thanks."

  Craig scanned the back windows. The blinds were down in his bedroom, but he could see through two windows in the kitchen. There was no movement and no signs of forced entry at the back door on the patio.

  "Hey, Craig!" he heard his neighbor call out from the other side of the fence. "You back there?"

  Husein looked up at Craig in a panic. Craig held a finger to his lips not saying a word.

  Scott continued to call out, getting closer to the fence and peeking through. Craig felt both anger and fear. They remained perfectly still as the calls for Craig continued.

  "Marie and I are just scared to death over this terrorism thing. We don't know what to do."

  At this point, it seemed as if Scott was just talking to himself. Craig's eyes
remained on his house, searching for the moment where they could try to move inside. They kept a spare key in a potted plant near the door. Not the best idea, but he was glad for it now.

  Scott, having given up, stopped talking and called out to his dog to come back inside. Once his voice drifted away, Craig breathed easier.

  "You wait here," he said to Husein. Before the boy could respond, Craig moved, low to the ground, from one bush to the other, until reaching the back patio.

  He looked through the blurry glass pane at the door and saw only vacant rooms—nothing trashed or broken. Things were looking more encouraging by the moment. He went to the potted English Ivy plant and dug through the soil, finding the key much to his relief.

  The door creaked as he slowly pushed it shut. The house was quiet. The air conditioner was off, and nearly every appliance was unplugged, aside from the refrigerator. Rachael was good about those kinds of things. Craig searched each room as if conducting a raid, half expecting to find an armed militant waiting for him, but each room was clear.

  The long blue curtains in the front living room had been drawn closed. Craig moved to the closest window, pulled the curtain slightly in the middle and peeked through. No one was around. Then he saw something.

  There was an old four-door Nissan Sentra across the street just sitting there with heavy tint on the windows. The car looked suspiciously out of place. And he could see the figure of a man at the wheel—despite the tint on driver’s side window. Craig immediately backed away. He couldn't believe it. He peeked out again just to be sure. His instincts told him it was a stakeout.

  Craig hurried to the back door and called for Husein who then came rushing inside. Craig shut and locked the back door.

  "I think they're outside watching us," he said.

  Husein bolted and tried to flee back outside. Craig grabbed him and held him back.

  "Wait a minute! They don't know we're here. Don't worry.”

  Husein looked up, his eyes pleading. "Yes, but what if they grow suspicious? What if they get tired of waiting outside and decide to come in here?"