The Big Springs water tower was in the center of town. It was an old-style tower slated for replacement. The adjacent property had already been purchased by the city, and the new tower would be one of those with a solid concrete base. The kind that was virtually indestructible—at least by a couple of guys with explosives small enough to fit into a backpack. The old tower, however, was a different story. It was supported by a webbed series of steel L-beams, I-beams and channels with cross bracing; susceptible to rust, and long past the time when any reputable engineer would sign off on its reliability. Hence the new tower plans. There were eight main I-beams that ran the full two hundred and seventy-eight feet from their concrete base to the elevated water tank. It was designed to hold over two hundred thousand gallons of water, but due to its current state, they city established a policy of never filling it over half. Currently, it held seventy four thousand gallons of water. A total weight of almost six hundred thousand pounds, just counting the water. In an area prone to drought, the water tower was literally the life blood of the city.
Harish and Ahmed took position on the tallest building they could find, three city blocks away with a perfect view of the tower. They’d placed two charges on each of the main I-beams. While all the other targets’ detonators were controlled by timers, the detonators on the water tower were controlled by a single radio transmitter in Ahmed’s pocket. He wanted to witness this one. Ahmed waited until it was officially daybreak before he pushed the single button on the transmitter. While they could easily see the tower’s tank from where they stood, Harish had binoculars to observe the explosive charges. Ahmed wanted him to confirm the sixteen small explosions—wired in series—as they went off.
Harish sounded them off in sequence. “One … success. Two … success. Three … success. Four … fail. Five … fail.”
Ahmed swore uncharacteristically. “Damn it, Harish, I told you to double and triple check that wiring.”
Harish continued with a slight tremor in his voice. “Six … fail.” Ahmed shook his head without taking his eyes off the tower. An ever so light creaking sound could be heard from the tower. “Seven … success. Eight … success. Nine … fail. Ten … success. Eleven … fail.”
Harish shifted slightly away from Ahmed, who resisted the urge to take his eyes off the tower. The remaining five charges all went off, except for one, but the tower still remained. Ahmed wondered if the structure could have been emptied. Was it possible that after the CME people had panicked and started hording water, draining the tower?
Just as Ahmed looked away from the tower to his brother, he heard the sound of steel grinding on steel. Ahmed grabbed the binoculars from Harish in time to see the first I-beam buckle. Then the second gave way. The tower canted like an over-exaggerated Tower of Pisa. The third and fourth beams held, straining to support the weight of their failed neighbors. Finally, the remaining beams gave way, and the whole structure fell in slow motion towards the original cotton mill in the city, now an historic site. The turbulent, violent collision of steel and old brick building was more than Ahmed could have hoped for. The sound of thunder filled the downtown as dust rose in the air, walls toppled, and water flooded the surrounding streets.
Ahmed could barely contain himself. He paced rapidly back and forth across the rooftop, holding his arms in the air and looking to the heavens. “The irony of it all is sweet, is it not, Harish? The infidels are under attack from fire, water and crumbling mortar. It’s biblical; albeit compared to what is yet to come it is insignificant. But today, it will loom large in the eyes of these infidels. Fire, water and earth are raining down on them in the midst of an already epic collapse brought on by their evil ways. Just wait till word of this spreads like the wind to other cities and states and countries. Imagine the conversations they will be having in Washington, once they realize this is only one city of many suffering under the will of Allah today. Even better, imagine the conversations the infidels in the other cities will be having once they know the full picture.”
“It has gone better than I had thought it would, brother,” Harish said quietly as he watched the last wall of the cotton mill crumble. “I must admit that I doubted we could make this happen. You were right. I should have had more faith in you.”
Ahmed put his arm around his brother. “Your faith can surprise you sometimes. I knew you had it in you all along; I could see it there. Your life has not been an easy one, and I understand how quickly one can lose their way under the weight of the world. You will find your way once again. We will find it together.”
“The Imam will be pleased.” Harish took a deep breath. “Perhaps this is enough then? Maybe this is enough for them to allow us to come home, without striking against Dawson Chambers and his family.”
“Why the hesitation now, Harish? Things are coming to fruition as we planned. There is no need to stop early. The Imam will not be happy if we do not complete all elements of our mission.”
“It’s different. Taking out physical targets is one thing, but striking out at a real person? An entire family?”
“Don’t forget about the repercussions of our attacks today. We may not have directly taken a life, but we have shattered what few lifelines these infidels have left. Desperation will set in. They will do to one another what we could never do on our own. They will rain down even more destruction on each others lives. They will shoot each other now for a precious bottle of water, or container of fuel. We will have pushed them that much closer to pulling the trigger. While you may feel a sense of distant innocence here, you’re only deceiving yourself.” Harish didn’t say anything, but stared at the water from the tower flowing through the streets and down sewer drains. “Listen to your faith, Harish. Let it awaken. Even if you don’t believe me, believe in your faith.”
The night before the explosions rocked the small town, many went to bed with a determined pioneering spirit in their hearts. Their town leaders were reaching out to them, and asking that people stick together and help one another whenever possible in this difficult time. The town hall meeting that evening had lifted their spirits. They knew there were still some major obstacles to overcome, but many felt strongly that together they could recover.
In spite of the difficulties the citizens of Big Springs were experiencing, many were determined not to let things beyond their control deter them from their lives. Routine was a good thing. It was important to maintain a sense of normalcy amongst the disruptions. Where possible, people went to work, did their chores, and children went to school. Little did they know what was in store for them as they went to sleep with hopes of a better tomorrow.
The public school transportation department had managed to get one old school bus running. It was an older one that had only been kept as a backup and hadn’t officially made a run in over two years. It would take several runs to get all the kids to school, but the kids on the late run didn’t seem upset with the prospect of extra sleep and arriving late for school. There had been a lot of explaining in some families as to why the kids still had to go to school during a power outage. How could the school still be open? The concepts of a pioneering spirit and the importance of maintaining daily routines fell on young, deaf ears. But it didn’t change the fact that a very full school bus with three to a seat made its way to the elementary school extra early that day.
It was a noisier bus than usual, but driver Birdie Piper didn’t mind this morning. She’d been at the town meeting the night before and to be honest was skeptical that they could all come together. She’d grown up in Big Springs and seen a lot of changes over the years. These last few years had been the toughest on people she’d ever seen. It seemed like the whole country was against them at times. Big corporations from out of state were buying up real estate for pennies on the dollar after the small businesses that owned the buildings fell into bankruptcy. State and federal agencies weren’t much help, and seemed hell bent on making things harder with more taxes and regulations. She knew that as a long-time citizen
of Big Springs people valued her opinion, so she kept her thoughts to herself during the meeting. She’d expected a half-full bus at best this morning, but was pleasantly surprised. Every stop she made had kids waiting for her, often with Mom and Dad there to see them off.
What she didn’t expect was to hear thunder in the distance on a perfectly sunny day without a cloud in sight as she turned onto the elementary school’s street. A couple of kids at the front of the bus heard it as well. The cool kids further back in the bus didn’t hear a thing.
Directly behind Birdie came a small voice. “Did you hear that, Mrs. Piper?” Freddie asked. “It’s not supposed to rain today. That couldn’t have been thunder.” Freddie was small for his age of eight, and one of the most polite little boys you’ll ever meet. Birdie had told him that some kids might think the back of the bus was cool, but she reserved the seat behind the driver for her favorites.
Rachael, his bus partner, bumped Freddie and gave him a disapproving look. “You know you’re not supposed to be talking to the bus driver when they’re driving. It’s distracting. See,” Rachael said, pointing to the rules posted above the windshield. “It’s right up there … rule number two.” She was of course right, it followed directly after rule number one, which stated that students must remain seated at all times while the bus was in motion. In those next few moments both rule one and rule two were about to be violated by most everyone.
Birdie had a perfect view of the school at the end of the bend in the street. The next explosion was the loudest, and most definitely louder than thunder. It came from the main office of the school, blowing shattered glass and bricks into the street. The flag pole in front of the school lay flat on the ground. Birdie slammed the brakes, bringing the bus to an abrupt halt. Anyone who had been violating rule number one would be regretting it about now. No one said a word for the next few seconds as they stared blankly down the street. Kids moved from the back of the bus to get a better view as two more explosions went off. They brought down the roof of the gymnasium. The school was a one-story building. The gymnasium, with its vaulted ceiling, stood out distinctly. At least it used to. Everyone watched as the smoke cleared. The roof collapsed into the center of the gymnasium and dragged the walls down with it. It was like one of those controlled explosions where an apartment building collapses into its own little footprint. Nice and neat. What was once the tallest part of the school was now a pile of bricks, ceiling tiles, basketball nets, multiple varieties of balls and a cornucopia of athletic sporting gear.
The initial reaction from the children was shocked silence … the same for Birdie. Then, like a panicked mob, they began firing an array of questions at Birdie. She didn’t know where to begin answering, even if she’d made sense of them. Freddie tried not to cry out loud, but couldn’t help himself. A few of the kids were deathly silent. Rachael jumped out of her seat, staring incredulously at the mob. “You all need to get back to your seats. We have to get out of here! Mrs. Piper can’t move this bus while you’re all standing here. It’s not safe.” The kids quieted down, and looked at her like she was a three-headed mule. “Now!” She pointed to the back of the bus, unwilling to budge till everyone obeyed her command.
Birdie scarcely looked behind her as she backed up the bus as fast as reverse would allow … even though some of the kids were in direct violation of rule number one.
Chapter 26 ~ Others
Harish needed to get out on his own for a while. The abandoned home he and Ahmed shared on the outskirts of town near the old factories was closing in on Harish. It smelled of rot and decay, and vermin. Most of all, it smelled of Ahmed’s enthusiasm for the days ahead. Harish had a hard time reconciling his feelings for his brother. On one hand, he thought about what Ahmed had said about their mother. How she had called him her Little King. He stopped thinking about her years ago … somewhere around the third or fourth foster home. He couldn’t quite remember which. Now he longed to know more about his forgotten childhood, where he came from. It’s remarkable what kind of protection the mind is capable of. How it can help you survive by blocking out the bad and only remembering the good. If that was the case, then why couldn’t he remember his mother? Was he too young? Ahmed seemed to have no trouble remembering stories from their youth. Assuming of course they were true. Harish wanted to believe, but he couldn’t be sure.
He walked down deserted, dimly lit streets. The factories were so old and neglected, it was hard to tell their original use. The only signs they displayed read No Trespassing, but the locked gates were all broken and swung freely in the evening breeze. Ahmed said they were a portent for the nation. Once mighty and productive, making things and promising a better future; now they stood on the threshold of collapse. Much like the old cotton mill destroyed by the water tower. Ahmed talked of that collateral damage as if it were divine intervention. As he walked towards the center of town, he could just imagine how it must look. Worse than the factories he walked by now. A thriving city would take months or years to recover from the destruction of the day. For a severely crippled town like Big Springs it may very well be a death knell.
Harish didn’t have good memories of his own schooling. He was always different, and always the new kid. His peers had all the reasons they needed to take out their own problems on him. Or just ignore him entirely; even worse. At first being ignored seemed an improvement. There were days when he was invisible, a shadow in the hall. Then, he found the other outcasts. The kids who for whatever reason didn’t fit into the mainstream. Mostly because they couldn’t speak English very well, or their skin was a different color, or they got busted one too many times for something petty. As he got to know them, he realized that the scary stories about them were over-hyped gossip. They’d been exaggerated over the years to the point of myth. The outcasts didn’t care, at least it kept the bullies away. Harish fit right in, and they taught him to be street tough. Not in the violent sense—regardless of what the gossip said—but in that they knew who to avoid and who to confront. Flying under the radar became second nature to Harish, and it had served him well, until now. He wondered how Ahmed would have grown up if he’d known Harish’s high school friends.
He passed the building that he and Ahmed had stood atop of earlier that day. There was motion up ahead in the dark. Mourners. Some had flashlights, but most just walked in the dark under the moonlight. The street was still wet, and the site was secured with yellow police warning tape, but the mourners crossed the line indiscriminately. One woman, standing just this side of the tape, was sobbing into the arms of a man, who held her. Others walked around with buckets, salvaging water that had pooled in low-lying areas. Was it that bad already? Harish thought.
Vehicles were rare in the street, but Harish could see headlights a few blocks away. He thought for a moment how strange it was compared to Houston. Walking the streets and seeing only one car made him realize just how far from home he was. It was getting late, and Harish started heading back. This was probably the longest he and Ahmed had been apart since they left New York. Ahmed was probably too busy reveling in his victories to notice the absence. It had gone all too well for Harish’s liking. Part of him wanted them to fail, for something to go horribly wrong. Even if it meant being caught and going to jail. At least then, the indecision would be gone and he wouldn’t be a murderer. There was still time, he thought. Maybe he could find a way to deter Ahmed from the plan. This was a whole new country now. It was crumbling, but perhaps that would make it easier for them to start anew. Somewhere not the desert, and not Texas. Maybe further south into Mexico. Did Ahmed consider Mexicans infidels?
Harish was deep in thought; other possible scenarios came to mind … an island somewhere perhaps. He didn’t notice that the headlights he’d spotted earlier were following him from a distance. They belonged to a large multi-purpose black transport. The vehicle killed its headlight as it got within a block of Harish. He would have thought it odd, if he’d focused on it, that it was different from the other vehicle
s still functioning. This one was newer, only a few years old, yet it still functioned in spite of the CME strike. A half block from Harish the van slowed and several men in black tactical gear hurried out and fell upon Harish. They secured his hands and mouth then carried him down an alley while the van followed, concealing their actions.
* * *
Harish quietly entered the abandoned home they’d been using as their base. His hopes that Ahmed would be asleep by the time he got home quickly dissipated as Ahmed confronted him entering the living room. It was barely a living room anymore, more of a garbage dump with furniture decorated in graffiti.
“Would it sound too clichéd to say I’d been worried sick about you?” Ahmed said. “Instead, let me remind you how unforgiving our Imam are about those who lose faith in their calling.”
“There’s no need,” Harish answered. “I haven’t lost faith, I just needed to clear my head. Even you must admit that today was draining. How can you not be affected by what's transpired? Half of me is relieved that it’s over, and the other half is in shock that we didn’t get killed or land in prison.”
“It’s not over, Harish. You know that. We’ve only just begun.”
“Yes, I know. I remember the plan, you don’t have to constantly remind me of it. Don’t you ever take a break? How can you be so persistent? The Imam must be pleased with our progress.”
“I’ve been waiting all my life for this. When the door of opportunity opens, you must seize your moment. There will come a time for rest later. And, as far as what our Imam thinks, I wouldn’t presume to know. They have eyes watching, and will let us know if things change. Unless they contact us, it is imperative that we follow the orders we’ve been given.”
“They have eyes on us?” Harish said, thinking back to the streets. “How do you know that?”
America's Sunset: A Post Apocalyptic Fight for Survival Page 13