Neighbors

by Paul Z. Ford

  “Morning,” Kahn said as he pointed to the long gun, “need help with that?” The middle-aged man looked down his nose at Kahn. Something about the man’s demeanor made him brace for something unpleasant. He seemed to study Kahn. There was a long, awkward pause before the visitor spoke. He was overweight, wearing an old Army-style OD green jacket that was too small and struggled to contain his big frame. He had light-colored wispy hair partially hidden under a flat-brimmed, camouflaged trucker hat.

  “Y'all repair guns here? I got a broken trigger guard.” He spoke abruptly, edging on abrasiveness, with a clear Texas twang in his voice.

  “No, sir. But we partner with a local gunsmith if you want to check it in. He comes in on Mondays and takes whatever we have out for repair and then usually returns them the following Monday.” Kahn waited while the man again took his time to answer.

  “Never mind then. I’ll just take it to my guy. Just thought y’all could fix it while I was here.” He hesitated again. “Just grab me some .40 cal ammo. Two boxes. The green and yellow box.” The man took a few steps forward toward the register and pointed. Kahn silently obliged, grabbing the ammunition and scanning it into the register.

  “Can I get you anything else today?” he asked politely. The man shook his head and swiped his credit card on the terminal in front of him. There was another awkward silence as the man followed the prompts on the screen. The receipt printed and Kahn smiled and wished the man a nice day. The man took the slip and picked up both of his boxes.

  But instead of leaving he just stood, seeming to stare at Kahn’s dark skin and hair, beard, dark eyes. He spoke.

  “You know I’ll be damned if this ain’t the first time I ever bought ammo from a dang Muslim.” He finally smiled and wheezed out a croaky laugh, like he cracked the best joke he’d ever heard. Kahn couldn’t smile back, he was mortified. He glanced in Ash’s direction since he was down the case showing a pistol to his customer. The two Assyrians locked eyes. Ash seemed to burn a message into Kahn’s angry expression, a message he had relayed in the past – he’s a customer, he’s a customer. I’ll take his money no matter how ignorant he is. Kahn eased his expression and turned back toward the man.

  “Thank you for your business, sir. Come again.” The man tipped his finger to his hat and walked toward the door.

  Just then, the front door chimed again and Kahn looked up to see a man and woman enter.

  The next hour was typical. The first couple Kahn helped were trying to learn more about concealed carry licensing and discussed a couple of options for pistols. Two men came in and bought a few boxes of 12-gauge shotgun shells and clay targets. Two different people came in to look and refused any help. Traffic became steady and both Kahn and Ash were juggling the stream of customers who knew what they needed, people wanting more information, and people wanting to browse. Coming out of the storage room with a rifle box, Kahn passed Ash heading into the room.

  “Hey man, when does the next person come in?” Ash asked. Kahn knew that Ash probably didn’t check the schedule for the day since he was covering a shift, so he looked quickly on the office door and scowled.

  “Crap,” Kahn looked at Ash apologetically, “I don’t have anyone coming in until 2 today. I don’t know why. Every other Sunday this month I have someone scheduled at noon. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s a week before Christmas, man. It’s going to be busy. Especially on the weekends. See if you can take a minute to call whoever is scheduled in a little early.” Ash ducked into the storage room and the door shut behind him. Kahn was kicking himself for the mistake. It was going to be tough to make a phone call too since they were already so busy. Abruptly, the storage door opened again and Ash touched Kahn’s shoulder. “Hey, also, don’t worry about that guy. You know that happens sometimes. People around here are just like that sometimes. Especially people who come to gun shops.”

  “I know,” Kahn lowered his eyes, still feeling ashamed and embarrassed by the exchange. Even more so now that he was getting support from his brother-in-law.

  “Plus, you’ve got that terrorist beard. That freaks people out, brother.” Ash patted his shoulder and popped back into the storage door. It shut with a muffled bang while Kahn shook his head in amusement.

  When he arrived at the front counter and smiled at his customer he was surprised that he didn’t smile back. Actually, he didn’t even look at Kahn. His eyes were averted upwards toward the television. Kahn took stock of the man and then craned around awkwardly to see the TV on the wall above him.

  “Can you turn that up?” the man asked. Kahn checked out what was on the screen. It was an image of a blank podium with an elegant open hallway behind it. There were pillars on either side and a wide red carpet extending back into the distance. The news banner on the bottom of the screen read President to make Emergency Address to Nation.

  “Uh, yeah, hang on.” Kahn walked back into the hallway and entered the storage room. He went over to the music and switched it off.

  “What are you doing?” Ash asked.

  “There’s some sort of emergency address from the president on TV. The customers wanted to hear it. Do you know where the remote is to turn the volume up?” Ash walked over and reached behind Kahn onto the equipment shelving and came back with a remote control in his hand. Kahn took it, thanked him, and left the room.

  As he took the handful of steps to arrange himself in front of the television he noticed that several more customers had positioned themselves to watch the TV. One man was typing into his phone, but then finished and also watched the screen.

  “…has not been briefed on the president’s remarks. An unverified source from within the White House stated to our program that this will be a national address about the military exercise in New York City yesterday. Previously, we were told it was a military training exercise that involved domestic troops traveling in a major city and air support. However, this source claims this was not a training exercise at all and the President will inform us of the nature of this live military operation within a major American city on one of the busiest shopping days before the Christmas holiday.”

  “Kathie, have you seen any footage of yesterday’s exercise or any statements from people on the ground in New York?” a male voice interjected. The image remained steady on the podium. Nobody was visible on the screen; it didn’t look like media was present at the location where the president would speak.

  “No, we have not. There were reports from social media accounts of military helicopters flying over areas of Brooklyn and New Jersey approaching the island of Manhattan from multiple angles, and we are trying to verify. Several users are reporting on Twitter and Facebook that the social media platforms have deleted or denied uploads of video of the vehicles. We have reached out to both for comment but so far…”

  Kathie’s speech was cut short. A suited man approached the podium and spoke softly into the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

  The president approached the podium from the narrow hallway behind as the announcer left the area from the front. There was no sound, no flashbulbs, no music, and the president seemed to pull himself forward toward the microphone. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue tie but was missing his trademark smile. His face seemed wearier and more serious than usual. The salt-and-pepper gray hair that he had developed over the last eight years seemed somehow more pronounced . Kahn noticed lines in his face and bags under his eyes, not usual for this very engaged and social leader. He looked troubled. As he stepped in front of the decorated pedestal the camera panned in closer, setting the mood of a personal conversation. The president set his jaw and spoke into the mic.

  Chapter 4

  POTUS

  “Good afternoon.” The President of the United States paused. “Today I can report to the American people, and to the world, that the United States has been the target of a devastating attack in the heart of one of our proudest and most vibrant cities.
” The president’s ordinarily mocha-colored complexion looked muted, almost gray. He lowered his gaze briefly, but his voice remained professional and strong. He spoke slowly and in cadence, as if to reassure people listening that he would fight for them and protect them.

  “I will share some of the details of this tragic attack, but I will warn you. Some of the footage that is being released to news organizations, and some of the descriptions of yesterday’s incident may be difficult to digest. I have decided to address the nation directly to put the record straight, and to give an unfiltered account. I want to emphasize: there is no reason to panic, there is no reason to fear. The American people, and the free people of the entire planet, will not tolerate divisiveness or terror in the face of threats, even here on our soil.

  “Yesterday, approximately mid-day, what appear to be members of a terror cell conducted a biological attack on people shopping in several major areas of New York City. We don’t have all the answers yet, but we do know that there were at least 5 attackers. Our best intelligence estimates put these attackers as remnants of al-Qaeda acting with support of a major ISIL terror group in Syria. We are working with our allies in the Middle East to track down anybody with connections to these organizations that can give us information on the perpetrators, or the exact nature of their threat to our country.

  “Yesterday’s attack was coordinated to occur in different areas of the city to have the most widespread effect possible. This was a deliberate action. This was a terrorist attack on American soil, with the wounds of September 11th not yet healed, especially in New York City. We have identified Fifth Avenue, Times Square, Madison Avenue, and Chinatown shopping districts as targets. Eyewitnesses describe confusion over where and how the biological agent originated, and the nature of how it was initially released.

  “It seems these five terrorists,” he briefly paused for a breath, “and perhaps more that we have not yet identified, had some sort of communicable virus, toxin, or infection that they were able to spread to the people in close proximity to them. These people then infected others, and others, and so on, through a widespread area. This infection, for lack of a better term, is deadly, and many people were tragically killed. The infection caused those affected to act violently toward others, including friends and loved ones, until those afflicted died from the effects. It seems the infection is contained on the island of Manhattan. For now, until we know more, the island is quarantined.

  “We are learning more about the nature of this attack, and the infection, as our scientists and national security experts review all the information we continue to gather. We do know it spreads quickly, within a few minutes to a few hours of exposure. We know it causes some sort of paralysis before seemingly mindless, violent tendencies ensue. Because of the nature of the infection, and how quickly it takes hold of its victims, we can quickly and effectively screen anybody attempting to leave the city, and so far, signs of the infection have been contained. Quarantine is an action that I do not take lightly, and I am working with the governor of the state of New York to provide federal relief and humanitarian aid to those who may be trapped in the city.

  “Our police and military response to this attack was swift, and our men and women in uniform took decisive action to stop this disaster quickly before it was able to spread off the island. There were civilian, police, and military casualties. We do not yet know the extent. We know these first responders will be remembered and honored by their families, the proud city of New York, and the United States of America for their ultimate sacrifice in the face of dangerous threats to our national security. No matter your race or color, or what God you pray to, Americans will not tolerate this kind of violent and terrible attack against our fellow citizens. We are united in our resolve, and our desire to bring those who committed this vicious attack to justice.

  “As a country, we will not stand idly by when our people have been senselessly killed. Nor will we tolerate when our security has been threatened. We do not yet have all the answers about who is responsible for this atrocity, but rest assured that we will be relentless in defense of our citizens. We will be true to the values that make us Americans. We will find the culprits, we will bring them to justice, or they will die in defense of their misguided and terrible ideals.

  “In this moment we must be careful to remember that our ideals and our sacrifices are not in vain. We are stronger than our enemies, and we bind together in the face of danger. We will avenge the tragic loss of life from this attack. We will remember that we have strength in each other, all Americans, no matter where they came from, can reach out to a neighbor or a friend. We all condemn this act, and we will remember those who died as heroes.

  “May God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.” The president quickly stepped aside and left the frame. The camera panned toward the exit but could not follow him out of the room. The screen cut to a split view between the anchor in the studio and the now empty White House forum.

  Chapter 5

  Armament

  A man in a police uniform walked slowly toward the end of the bridge. His boots made muffled sounds as he staggered along the pavement. Gray piles of snow marked the edges of the lanes. His hip bounced on the side of a police car, redirecting him at a sharp angle. The blue and red lights of several NYPD vehicles flashed and reflected on the glass and metal surfaces. The man took several more shuffling steps, dragging his feet through a slippery mess of slush, ice, and blood.

  He careened into a kneeling figure, losing his balance and almost falling forward. When he recovered, he stood and paused briefly before dropping his knees on the pavement next to the woman. She was wearing a strapless dress with the cloth torn in a jagged line across her belly, splitting the thin material in two. She acted unaffected by the December chill. Her bony shoulders worked visibly through paper-thin skin, unnatural brownish-gray color spreading across her pale back like a bruise. The bones pushed her skin around, working in rhythm as she meticulously ate. Her bare feet stuck back from her billowy skirt, bottoms black with grime.

  The two figures ate silently, not affected by the icy chill of the bridge or the biting wind gusting across the flat surface. The strong whistling of the gusts paused occasionally to reveal wet slurping and chewing noises, punctuated by an occasional crunch of bone.

  Several more bodies staggered over and dropped down, feasting together. More and more walked together, bumping against each other, the abandoned police cars, and hasty barriers fallen and left behind. The outside railing of the bridge acted as a funnel for the shambling figures, forcing masses of them away from the island.

  Suddenly, the dining figures stopped. They each backed away and rose unsteadily to their feet. Blood coated their hands and arms, dripping onto the cold pavement and revealing the mutilated body they had been feasting upon. The man on the ground shifted and bent one knee up, despite the grievous injuries caused by the biting marauders. He rocked onto his right side, struggling and uncoordinated. As he shakily stood, crimson liquid poured out of the cavity eaten into his midsection. What remained of his internal organs dropped to the surface of the bridge with a gruesome slap, connecting tissue pulling him into a hunched posture. He reeled, unimpeded by the trauma, and began to step forward. A few uncertain steps brought him past the mess of entrails as he straddled and began to drag his vitals behind him, leaving a red trail as he aimlessly wandered ahead.

  The president’s order to destroy all the bridges leading out of Manhattan did not come lightly. Nobody in the situation room in the White House said anything after he spoke the order aloud. They watched the aerial view of the hordes of infected sweeping through the city, like schools of barracuda as they swam down the streets. Having a terrorist attack successfully carried out on American soil several weeks before a new administration was poised to take over was unprecedented. The president-elect sat in the room as well, absorbing the electricity in the air as the military and civilian security personnel worked swiftly and
professionally during the crisis.

  The Reaper’s remote pilots selected their targets with professionalism from the secure facility at Creech Air Force Base in Nevada, half a nation away from the images of ravenous savages on their screens. Dozens of the remotely piloted vehicles peppered the sky around the island. The pilots reacted to the order with detached ease, a symptom of thousands of hours of training and warfare operations around the globe. The aircraft’s Hellfire II air-to-ground missiles armed as the delegated targets were disseminated to each Reaper pilot.

  The drones screeched across the sky as the pilots sent the order to the vehicle. Time on the ground was frozen during the 1.2 seconds it took for the operator’s directive to reach the aircraft. Missiles screamed and ripped the air apart on the way to the ten target bridges around the southern part of the island. Brick, concrete, and steel exploded into the air upon each missile’s impact. The drone pilots continued their airstrikes for over an hour, attacking the bridges until all traffic across them was impossible. Operators were relieved and sent to combat psychologists after the airstrikes were over, images of incinerated and airborne bodies burning into their psyche.

  The president leaned over a table in his shirtsleeves, not watching the disturbing sights of the bodies of hundreds of Americans being destroyed by the airstrikes. He looked up but remained silent as the senior ground commander approached.

  “Mr. President, our ground barricade is in place across the island. We have troops and roadblocks from Yonkers through Mount Vernon and the final emplacements are being settled through New Rochelle. We can stop them now.”

  An aide approached with a printed sheet of paper. His face was pale and he murmured something toward the two commanders. “…in… uh… sir… we have reports of… um… more of the infected in uh…c-c-cities…”