End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  “Do you see the smoke yet?”

  A moment passed without response, then came Ghazi’s grainy voice over the radio.

  “We see something. Yes. Smoke ahead.”

  “Follow the trail ahead. You’ll find me standing here by a small fire, unarmed and with the laptop.”

  “Yes, we’re getting closer. I can see the flames.”

  Craig lowered the radio and squinted ahead. There, coming out of the trees he saw camouflaged militants approaching, wearing flak vests. They were spread out and moving in a straight line like a search party. He stood firm and resolute, ready to do what was necessary.

  Showdown

  The row of militants advanced toward Craig as a small fire burned at his feet. They were getting close to the first tripwire trap, carefully set up between the trees roughly ten feet in front of Craig. As they approached, Craig looked around to make sure he wasn’t being surrounded. Husein was concealed behind a tree twenty yards away in a thick patch of weeds. Each militant was armed with a semi-automatic rifle. One of them had a shotgun. He counted twelve of them in sight—their numbers lower than Craig had feared.

  So this is all you could muster, Allawi? he thought to himself.

  He saw the man in the middle of the flank clutching a radio in one hand and a pistol in the other. He assumed him to be Ghazi, the voice on the other end. And when he saw the man speak into the radio, the suspicion was confirmed.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” Ghazi said through the radio. “We’ve got you locked-on.”

  Upon seeing Craig, the militants raised and aimed their weapons and shouted to each other in Arabic, converging ranks and moving in closer.

  “That’s far enough,” Craig said into the radio. But the men kept moving in—now mere feet away from the tripwire in their path. Ghazi didn’t seem to be relaying the message. Craig lowered the radio to his side and held out his hand. “That’s far enough!” he shouted.

  Confused, the militants stopped dead in their tracks and looked at Ghazi for guidance. Rather than yelling back, Ghazi spoke into his radio.

  “What is this all about? Where’s the laptop?”

  Craig tossed his radio to the ground and shouted out to the group as a whole. “I have the laptop right here.” He knelt down and picked it up from the grass. Nick’s blue HP laptop glistened in the sun. He hoped they wouldn’t know the difference.

  Ghazi shouted back. “Lift up your shirt and spin around. We want to make sure you are not armed.”

  Craig lifted his T-shirt halfway and turned around, exposing his bare torso and back.

  “Lift up your pant legs!” Ghazi said.

  Craig bent down and pulled his jeans halfway up at the leg.

  Ghazi appeared satisfied. “Good. We have nothing more to discuss here. You will come with us just as planned.”

  “Wait one minute!” Craig said. He knew at that point, things were going to escalate.

  The militants paused and looked at Ghazi, awaiting orders.

  Ghazi shouted back to Craig, “What are you up to? We could shoot you right here on the spot. You’re in no position to make demands of us.”

  Nidal leaned close to Ghazi to offer advice. “He has the laptop. What are we waiting for? Let’s move in and take him.”

  Ghazi raised his hand, urging restraint. His eyes darted past Craig as he looked for anything out of the ordinary. He then looked at the blue laptop suspiciously. Were they being lured into some kind trap? He didn’t underestimate what Craig was capable of.

  “We need to move.” Nidal said.

  Ghazi snapped at him. “I’m in charge here! I’ll say when we move!”

  To the left of them, Hafan rolled his eyes. “What are we waiting for?” he asked, leaning forward and looking down the line. Others offered murmurs of support.

  “Looks like you have some disagreement in the ranks,” Craig said into his radio.

  Ghazi scanned the area ahead, looking for anything, traps even, but didn’t see anything but patches of weeds, grass, and twigs in his path. He then signaled to Craig. The militants remained fixed in position. “Let’s go. Come. We haven’t got all day.”

  “I want some reassurances first,” Craig shouted. “That if I go with you, my family will be left unharmed.”

  Hafan, in disbelief, whipped his head around to Ghazi. “Is he serious?”

  Ghazi didn’t respond. He looked at Craig, and with his arms outstretched in an open and magnanimous way, told him, “I promise that your family will not be hurt if you come with us. Okay?”

  “Not good enough,” Craig snapped.

  Ghazi’s face flushed with anger as the other militants stared at Craig wide-eyed and astonished by his defiance. “So it is games you wish to play?” Ghazi asked.

  “Not quite,” Craig answered. “What I want is for your men to go back the way you came. The FBI are on their way right now. Tell Allawi I’m not playing his game.”

  Craig set the laptop down in front of him and backed away. “Here, take it and get out of here.”

  Ghazi’s mouth dropped. Nidal clutched his shoulder. “What did he just say? The FBI?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Ghazi asked Craig.

  The militants were confused, angered—exactly what Craig wanted. In the far distance above they heard a faint booming from above as they began pointing and talking excitedly. The aerial sound grew louder and more distinctive: blades chopping through the air. A growing realization began to sweep over them. Ghazi looked up and then tilted his head toward Craig.

  “What have you done?” he asked, appalled.

  “Only what was necessary,” Craig answered.

  Ghazi’s nostrils flared as his brows knit downward. “You dare back out of our agreement?” he shouted. “My men will slaughter your family like sheep. Are you forgetting about your wife’s parents? They’re as good as dead now!”

  Nidal cocked his shotgun and looked at Ghazi. They were the only two in the group not wearing ski masks. “Enough pointless talk,” Nidal said. “We need to take him now and get out of here.”

  Ghazi looked up. The helicopters in view were marked FBI, and they were closing in, coming low to the ground.

  Frantic, Nidal grabbed Ghazi’s sleeve. “I told you not to trust him. Now we must leave!”

  Ghazi pointed to Craig and shouted, “Get the American! Now!”

  The militants charged at Craig with speed and fury. Craig dropped to the ground on one knee and yelled at Husein to fire just as the first tripwire was breached. Single blasts followed, loud and alarming, like gunshots, from the base of two separate trees as the militants pushed forward, sending them further into a state of panic and fear.

  Some ducked for cover while others ran off to the side, believing they were being shot at. They breached the next line, blasting more .22 shells upon triggering them. Their steadily advancing flank splintered off in different directions, seeking cover. Craig rolled on the ground and quickly crawled to the oak tree behind him for cover.

  Nidal ran at Craig, firing his shotgun in rapid bursts which tore a low-hanging oak branch into pieces. Just as Craig retrieved his 9mm from the base of the tree, Nidal took a shot to the head from Husein. Ghazi threw himself to the ground and crawled behind the nearest tree. “Take cover, you fools!” he shouted to his men.

  The low-hovering choppers sent waves of debris that encircled them in a whirlwind of dust, adding to the chaos. Ghazi, with his chest dug into the ground, held his pistol out and fired repeatedly at Craig. His shots embedded into the oak tree and little more.

  Taken off guard now, the other militants unloaded their rifles in a cacophony of relentless firepower, pinning Craig to the ground. Husein did his best to keep the militants at bay, but he was losing rounds quickly. They couldn’t see him, and weren’t sure where the shots were coming from. But they wouldn’t stay put for much longer, and Craig knew it.

  Having swept the area, the helicopters circled around and flew away just as quickly as they had
arrived. Their sudden departure provided another perfect but momentary distraction. Once the air settled, Craig aimed his 9mm and shot at the masked heads he saw peeking out from nearby trees.

  Ghazi crawled away, just after Craig sent three militants to the ground like lead weights. With no sign of Ghazi anywhere, the militants advanced while providing suppressive fire for each other. Craig felt a bullet whiz by his head. Dirt and pebbles flew up from the ground all around him. They were getting closer, and Husein had stopped firing.

  “Keep firing!” Craig shouted.

  “It’s jammed!” Husein shouted back.

  Craig turned his head back as sweat ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes. From the ground, he could see Husein pulling at the stuck charging handle of the AK-47. One of the militants suddenly bolted to the side, firing a shot and hitting the stump of the tree just above Craig’s head. Craig fired back and struck the man in the chest, hitting his plate, and knocking the wind out of him.

  As the man fell on his back, Craig aimed and hit him dead-center in the head. Random shots rang out from Craig’s other side. He could see Nick’s laptop lying on the ground ahead, cracked opened with several holes through it.

  “Shit…” he said under his breath.

  One man brazenly ran out from cover and tried to get the laptop. Craig fired shots into both kneecaps, sending the wailing masked militant down, and his rifle tumbling into the dirt. Five militant bodies lay about, and five remained alive. Ghazi was nowhere to be seen.

  Craig took notice of Husein’s weapon malfunction.

  “Slap the side of it,” Craig shouted to Husein as he struggled with the rifle.

  Without Husein’s suppressive fire, the remaining militants were becoming more daring and quickly advancing from their concealed position.

  “I’m trying!” Husein shouted.

  Suddenly a shot rang out and hit the ground next to Husein’s arm. Then another. He rolled to the back of the tree and hid, shaking in panic.

  “Don’t give up, Husein!” Craig shouted.

  He looked into the forest, past the clearing where the militants had taken cover, and he fired at anything that moved. His pistol clicked, and he ejected his empty magazine and loaded the next. The choppers flew a quarter mile away, nearer to his cabin. Craig was temporarily relieved, but the fight wasn’t over. It was up to him and Husein to take them out.

  Husein ejected his magazine, slapped the side of the rifle and pulled back the charging handle. The ejecting port opened, and the jammed round flew clean out. He put the magazine in, pulled the handle back, and fired straight ahead just as four men, sensing a chance, dove from their concealment in pairs and charged at Craig from both sides.

  Husein’s rounds tore through the legs of the two men running to Craig’s right. He rose up and fired at the two militants running at him from the left. The men rolled onto the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks. If Craig had counted right, there was one left, but he still hadn’t seen Ghazi.

  “Hold your fire!” he yelled to Husein.

  “I’m out of ammo anyway,” Husein answered back.

  “All of it?” Craig asked.

  “It was only one magazine.”

  Suddenly, a shot rang out and flew through the tip of Craig’s shoulder, causing him to drop his pistol.

  Craig pushed his back against the tree to avoid the spray of bullets, as blood oozed from the wound on his shoulder.

  A single brass round lay in the grass near Husein, glaring under the sun. Shaking, Husein grabbed the round, jammed it in the empty mag, slapped the mag into the rifle, and fired—scoring a direct neck shot. The shocked militant dropped his rifle and flew back, clutching his throat. His back slammed against the ground as he choked on the warm blood rushing out of his neck and mouth.

  The echo of gunshots faded into oblivion. Craig aimed forward, scanning the area for Ghazi. Had he fled to save himself? Bits of Nick’s laptop lay about on the ground and Craig knew that his son would be angry. But if the laptop was their only casualty, Craig could live with it. He kept a careful eye out, his pistol extended and his breathing slow and steady.

  “Ghazi! It’s over now. You might as well come out.”

  There was no response.

  “You coward. Come out and face me!” After a moment’s silence, Craig ran in the direction from which the militants had come, hoping to catch Ghazi before he made it back to his vehicle. He stopped, hearing a faint pop in the distance back toward cabin. The helicopters were still winding down, and he was certain that only one person could have set off that tripwire. He turned around and ran back, storming past Husein.

  “To the cabin. Move!” he shouted.

  Husein rose from the ground, covered in leaves, and grabbed the rifle. He tried to catch up, but Craig was already well ahead and sprinting back to the cabin where he was sure they were in danger. Despite his exhaustion, Husein ran on, hoping that everything was over.

  Rachael was at the kitchen window with her .38 in hand. Her knees were shaking—her throat as dry as sandpaper. The faint shots in the distance sounded terrifying. Fear gripped her heart and she felt sick. Not knowing what was happening was even worse.

  The front door was barricaded with a dresser from the bedroom and the living room couch. Mattresses had been placed in the bedroom windows. Nick watched from the other side of the living room, peeking from behind the curtains. The front deck was empty and a glimmer of blue from the lake could be seen past the rows of thin elm trees.

  “We need to go out there and help him!” Nick said as he turned from the window. “He needs us!” Despite his calmness only minutes before, Nick now was growing frantic, as he realized what they were facing.

  “I promised your father we would stay here.”

  “I’m going out there. Give me your gun.” Nick walked toward the kitchen with his hand out.

  Rachael pivoted around, clutching the revolver, her eyes glaring wildly. “You’re not going anywhere, you hear me?”

  Startled, Nick stopped. Her voice was angry and demanding—uncompromising even.

  “And don’t give me that look,” she snapped, as if reading his mind.

  “What if Dad’s in trouble? What if he needs us?”

  Rachael’s eyes welled up again as the faint gun shots continued. “Your place is here with me. We have to defend the cabin.”

  “Forget the cabin! Dad’s life is in danger.” Nick turned around and stomped off toward the front door. As he pushed on the couch, Rachael followed and grabbed his arm.

  “Hey!” he said.

  “Stop it,” Rachael told him. “I made a promise to your father, and you’re staying here.”

  Nick yanked his arm away just as they heard the sound of helicopters flying overhead. They both stopped to listen. The humming of rotors in the sky grew louder, and the cabin seemed to be vibrating. Rachael turned to look in the kitchen as a coffee mug wobbled across the counter top. Nick then ran from the front door to the small kitchen window and looked up into the sky. “They’re getting closer. I think it’s FBI.”

  Rachael felt a sudden joy as relief sweep over her. She rushed to the living room window and looked out. Nick was right. She could see two black helicopters with the FBI seal displayed on the pilot’s side and “FBI” written in big white letters toward the rear. They circled right over, shaking the cabin, and then flew away.

  “What are they doing?” Nick asked. “Where are they going?”

  “They’re probably looking for a good place to land,” Rachael said, hoping she was right.

  More gunshots erupted outside. Rachael held her hands to her ears. The choppers returned and her hopes lifted. They were closer and louder than before, vibrating the entire cabin. Rachael looked out the kitchen window as sticks, leaves, and clouds of dust blew by.

  “Hurry!” Nick said. He ran to the couch and started pushing it away. “They’re landing nearby and we have to tell them about Dad.”

  Rachael listened for more gunshots but couldn�
��t hear anything over the whirring of blades that gradually grew fainter. Nick and Rachel then pushed the couch, causing it to scrape against the wooden floor. Nick put his hand on the doorknob and looked back at Rachael.

  “Are you ready?”

  She held the .38 close to her side and walked over to him. “Yes. But let me go first. We don’t know what’s out there.”

  Nick moved out of the way as she opened the door, bringing a rush of bright light into the darkened cabin. They both squinted and proceeded outside onto the front deck.

  As her eyes had adjusted to the light, Rachael was able to make out the figure of a man, standing in front of the cabin wearing camouflage gear and pointing a pistol at them. She froze in fear, shielding Nick and blocking him from taking another step.

  The man’s dirt-streaked, bearded face was covered in beads of sweat leaking from under his black bandana. His steely glare didn’t leave their frightened faces. He had on a camo-green bulletproof vest and a waist pack on his side. For a moment, no one said a thing. Rachael could stood paralyzed. Even with her gun in hand, she didn’t know what to do. The man was already aiming at them.

  “The laptop. Go get it,” he said bluntly.

  Neither Rachael nor Nick reacted. Her mind raced in circles. Her first instinct was to run, but her legs were frozen in place.

  “Do you hear me? I want the laptop. Now!”

  “I-I..,” Rachael began.

  “I don’t have time for games!” the man yelled. He glanced behind him, listening to the sound of the helicopters winding down and then turned back to Rachael. She attempted to hide her revolver behind her back, but he had already seen it.

  “Drop it,” he said, motioning downward with his pistol. “I could shoot you and your son dead where you stand, so don’t mess with me.”

  She released the revolver and it dropped noisily on the deck.

  “Your husband brought us the wrong laptop,” he told her. “I’m no fool. Now send your son in there to retrieve the right one. He has twenty seconds, starting now.”