America's Sunset: A Post Apocalyptic Fight for Survival (3 page)

Chapter 3 ~ Counter Intelligence

August, 2015

Traipsing through the desert in full battle gear wasn’t much better in the dead of night than in the afternoon sun. The heat was much more tolerable, but the tension increased. Night vision goggles were great when they worked, but the damn sand got into everything, and always seemed to affect whatever equipment was most important at the moment. In this case, seeing where they were going was crucial.

“These damn buildings all look the same. It’s like I’m back in the ghetto at home,” Jackson complained. “If I wanted to skulk around a ghetto, I’d have stayed at home working for Curly Fries Inc. Join the army, they said. See the world. Have the adventure of a lifetime. Yeah, great. Hunting down crazies is not exactly my idea of adventure.”

“Cut the chatter,” came the order from the sergeant ahead.

Jackson lowered his voice, but continued anyways. “Nobody’s listening, it’s the middle of the damn night. Who cares what building we take out? I’m sure they’re all full of some psycho that badmouthed the USA. It’s not like we’re going to catch the big enchilada, not with the guys in charge of this outfit. We’re lucky to make it back to base each night in one piece. Fucking amateurs.”

“The sergeant said to keep it down, man. None of us want to be out in this mess, and your constant whining isn’t helping things. Tonight's different. This isn't like the other night raids. They have someone specific—someone big,” Dawson said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They always say that. The sergeant is a fucking glory hunter. His old man and his old man’s old man were both decorated vets. He thinks it’s the damn family business or something. I’ve listened to enough war stories about his family. He’s lucky to have made it to sergeant without getting all of us killed. Did you hear what happened to the last detail he had before us?”

“Just rumors, nothing for sure,” Dawson answered.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got confirmation. You know that hot blonde that works in the records and communications office?”

“Ah c’mon, man, don’t even try to tell me you got with her, and she’s spilled classified secrets during pillow talk.”

“Don’t be like that, dude. No, I haven’t been with her, at least not yet. But there’s time; it’s gonna be a long fucking war, haven’t you heard?”

“Yea, maybe for you, if you keep pissing off your commanding officers. I’m going home, just as soon as my tour is done. I’ve got kids to get back home to, and hopefully a wife.”

“Ha.” Jackson elbowed Dawson. “Little bit of trouble on the home front is there?”

Dawson pushed him back. “Shut up. The only problem we’re having is that I’m not home where I should be. She's just pissed that I signed up in the first place. Not like I had that many options anyway. If I—”

The sergeant interrupted the both of them. “If you two girls can’t learn to shut the hell up on a covert mission, then I’ll have you both court-martialed for stupidity.”

Both Dawson and Jackson answered, “Yes, sir!” as quietly and respectfully as possible.

The sergeant continued, “This is the building; the one across the street. Our target is on the third floor. Intelligence says there won’t be anyone on the first floor, but we’re to keep a watch out for surveillance equipment. Cameras, infrared lights, or booby traps are all a possibility.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson replied, then added smugly, “We covered this during the mission brief.”

“Yeah, and given the lack of focus I’ve seen so far tonight from you maggots, I figured a refresher was in order. You got a problem with that, soldier?”

“No, sir,” Jackson answered. The rest of the troop nodded in agreement.

The sergeant continued. “The second floor is where it gets tricky. There are armed combatants on all windows and stairwells. There is an escape route from the third floor to the next building, which is where the second unit is waiting. We’re not here to capture anyone. Do not proceed to the third floor. Cover your asses and keep those combatants engaged and distracted. We’re just here to flush the third floor targets into the open. To do that, we need to secure the first floor, and engage the enemy on the second floor. They need to believe their only way out is up and over. Understood?”

The team nodded in unison.

They moved silently through the back alley to the unlocked door. Elliot the tech slid the cable camera under the door. The high-res screen showed a long hallway with a living area at the end and a kitchen to the right. There were two closed doors to the left. The only other door was the front door off the main living area. The sergeant opened the main door and the team filed in one at a time.

Elliot used the camera to check behind the closed doors. One was stairs leading up, and the other had bunk beds, with several small heat signatures, and one large heat signature. The sergeant signaled for Thomas to secure the front door, and Walker to take position between the back door, and the bunk room. Walker was slow moving into position, as he bumped into his teammates and the walls. The sergeant glared impatiently at Walker, who responded with a casual thumbs-up as he got into position. The sergeant didn't notice, but Jackson gestured to Dawson with his thumb and middle finger pinched together as they tapped his lips several times. The universal symbol for smoking dope. Dawson mouthed the word
really?
to Jackson who nodded yes.

Walker was known to occasionally imbibe but never before a mission. He'd been under a lot of pressure lately, with both his folks state side battling the effects of chemotherapy treatments. They were coming around, but Walker had been in a funk ever since. Dawson figured it was good they were leaving him on the first floor without any combatants. If things got ugly, it would be on the next floor.

Reconnaissance of the second floor indicated, that the entire mission was going to be a bust. There was no one there. Either their intel was wrong, or someone had tipped them off. They proceed to the third floor to confirm, and still there was no one.

As they were making their way back down the stairs, Walker piped up, breaking the silence. “Well, another exciting night on the town courtesy of your friendly and reliable Department of Intelligence. Thanks so much for coming out everyone, and don't forget to tip your bartender generously.”

“Consider yourself, under report Jackson.” The Sergeant said. “You need to show a little more respect for the—”

Suddenly it sounded like all hell was breaking loose below them. There was the sound of fire from multiple weapons, and screams. Young screams. No one was prepared for what they found on the first floor. Walker was lying halfway in the open door to the bunk room. His neck was covered with so much blood, it was hard to tell where it was coming from. Thomas who had been covering the front door, nearly opened fire on the team as they came down the stairs. Dawson was the first into the bunk room, and the first to come out throwing up into the hallway.

“Thomas!” The Sergeant demanded. “What the hell happened.”

“I'm not sure Sarge. It was all quiet, then Walker just threw open the bunk room door, and started yelling through the doorway to be quiet. 'Shut up, shut up.' he kept repeating. Then there were gunshots, and he fell back bleeding. He got back up, and open fire with his automatic in the room. The door blocked my view … couldn't see anything.”

Without hesitation, and without even looking in the bunk room, the Sergeant started barking orders. “Everyone on me. The mission is scrubbed, we're out of here now … move!”

Chapter 4 ~ Lost Treasure

Years Later

Ahmed sped his way into the desert, the distant flashing lights disappearing behind him. It was treacherous riding this close to the cliffs, but he was fearless. Allah would protect him when necessary. Fear had no place in his mind. He’d done it many times over the years. The task was simple, but the growing encroachment by the infidels was becoming increasingly tiresome. He tried not to think about it, but every so often doubts would creep in, like the scorpions in the crevices of the rocks. The sound of his motorcycle scared desert creatures into hiding. Eventually, the humans would become more difficult to evade. Simply being stealthy wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to be smarter, but only smarter than stupid infidels. Desert scorpions were more worthy than greedy infidels.
All things are insects in the light of Allah
, he thought. Except of course for the chosen. Those who would one day be in heaven with Allah justly enjoying their rewards.

Heaven would be nothing like the desert. Would he miss it, Ahmed wondered. Today, the desert brought him closer to Allah. It was simpler here, unspoiled by the boot of the transgressors. Change happened slowly if at all. The desert was both beautiful and dangerous. Deadly even, if you didn’t treat it with respect.

His GPS told him he was close, and this looked as good a location as any to spend the night. A night under the stars would be good for his soul and serve as a reminder of his place in the grander scheme. Even though he spent most of his time in the desert, along the fringe in his small home, there was nothing quite like spending the night without a man-made structure between him and the stars. It was as close to heaven as he’d ever been. He setup a simple camp, using the desert to protect him. The short cliffs running along this section of desert would shield him from the elements. They would block the winds from the west, keeping him warmer as he slept.

Turning off the bike, he reached into the saddle bag, and pulled out the high-powered binoculars. One last scan as far as he could see before sunset would be the prudent thing to do. Not only to take note of any desert beasts or infidels that may be approaching. There would come a day when they would smarten up, and learn to pursue him further into the desert. They didn't like the desert. This was a strange land for them, not one that had belonged to their ancestors. They were invaders. The original people knew how to live in the desert, but not these oppressors. To them it was both amusing and something to be feared. Something to charge the tourists for. He laid out a sleeping roll, and built a small fire pit to illuminate his prayers.

He packed his things carefully in the morning. He shook out his sleeping roll first, to ensure there were no unwanted visitors from the night hiding in his warm bed. Nothing but sand freed itself from his roll. He broke up the fire pit, returning the small stones to the exact locations where he had found them. He rolled his bike a good distance from his camp manually, then brushed away the footprints in the sand. Carefully walking back to his motorcycle, he brushed away his tracks once more. It wasn’t about hiding himself. The fools that chased him were probably still sleeping off hangovers from their bottles of sin. It was about respecting Allah’s work, and putting things back in His vision of beauty. The desert was sacred, and shouldn’t have to bear the scars of man for any longer than necessary. Even if those scars were inflicted by a true believer.

Ahmed drove to the designated location in the desert, like he’d done for the last ten years of his life. Every month, he drove into the desert, and dug a hole. Every month, he’d look at the piece of paper he’d been carrying on his person for ten years. Each line on the list was a string of apparently random numbers that seemed meaningless. Meaningless to anyone but Ahmed. Ahmed knew that the numbers were a day of the month and a GPS location.

While the numbers weren’t meaningless, the purpose of them seemed lost to Ahmed. The further he got down the list, the more desperate he became. There were one hundred and twenty rows of numbers on his list, and today he used the last row of numbers. He didn’t know what he’d do after today. Should he start at the beginning of the list? He’d received no instructions as to what would happen once he got to the last entry.

His mother had given him the list on his fifteenth birthday. She said that he was old enough to be the man of the family that day, and that the list was now his responsibility. She told him what the numbers meant, and what he had to do with them. Drive to the location, and dig until he found a metal box. The metal box would only be a few feet under the dirt. Sometimes, the GPS numbers weren’t all that accurate and he’d have to dig several holes over a span of hours till he found the box. Sometimes, he’d find the box on the first try. Either way, the contents of the box would always be the same … empty. Just some old rusted toolbox with nothing inside.

His mother died within a year of the first box he dug up. She always drove him to the location, because he hadn't yet learned to drive. Ahmed believed there was another reason she did the driving. She wanted to be sure he completed the task. What fifteen-year-old wants to spend hours in a hot desert digging holes? Every month though, she insisted. He could make no other plans on desert days. Even school, which was something his mother never let him miss, could be missed on the desert days. That part of it Ahmed didn’t mind so much. The day his mother died was a desert day. He drove to the desert and dug up an empty box then came home to an empty house.

A social worker came by the next day, to talk with Ahmed. The social worker explained that he and his brother were now wards of the state, since they had no next of kin. She was nice enough as she explained they would be placed into foster homes. It would be difficult however to keep them together because of their age. Ahmed ran away from the first home the second night he was there. He made his way to his brother’s foster home, where the foster parents found him the next morning, sleeping on the floor of his brother’s room. It was the last time he saw his brother. Both boys were relocated to different homes, and they weren’t told where the other one was. It was important, the social worker told him, to adjust to his new home. She promised that once he settled in and things were going well, he’d be able to see his brother again. Ahmed couldn’t wait that long and ran away from foster care for good. In spite of his best efforts, he never was able to find where his brother was placed.

It was time to complete his mission. He’d hoped and prayed that today would be the day. That the message he had hoped for all these years would be found. When he finally arrived and turned off his motorcycle, he was taken aback by how pristine the area was. Either he was in the wrong location, or his predecessors were even more fastidious about respecting Allah’s home than he was. He prayed for the latter, and it wasn’t long before those prayers were rewarded.

Today, July 16, 2012 was the last day on the neatly folded, yellowed paper in Ahmed’s pocket. Along the way Ahmed had mixed feelings about the trip. Part of him didn’t want to go at all, but another part of him wanted to get it over with. He pulled the paper list from his pocket, and opened it. On the reverse side of the list, written in Arabic in his mother’s handwriting, were the words ‘Taqum biwajibuk’ …  ‘Do your duty.’ He felt he didn’t have a choice. Even after all these years, he could remember his mother’s insistence on following the list. She never told him where the list came from, only that it was part of his responsibility. His duty as a man. So, he drove on.

His handheld GPS told him he was at the right location. He pulled a swig of water from his bottle before dropping his pack and unfolding his collapsible shovel. By the sixth hole, he was getting more than a little frustrated. It wasn’t unusual to have to dig this many holes, but today was different. What was the point of digging just to find an empty box? A hundred and twenty boxes to be exact. If he only found one hundred and nineteen, would he still have fulfilled his duty as a man, he wondered? He knew what his mother would say, so Ahmed kept digging.

On the eleventh hole, he heard his shovel clink against something metallic. He knelt and brushed the dirt away from the box. This time, something was different. This wasn’t an old rusty metal box. This time, the box looked brand new. As he pulled the bright red box from the dirt, the only damage to it was the ding where his shovel had hit the top of it. Apart from the fresh dirt covering it, the box looked like it was fresh off the shelf of a department store. This time, the box was heavy. He had to pull with both hands to get it out of the dirt. This time, for the first time, there would be something inside.

He sat back, just staring at the box in the dirt. There was no lock on the box, just like the others. The very last trip after ten years of digging and this time there was something there for him. Why? He wondered what his mother would say. After staring at the box for what seemed like forever, Ahmed knew what his mother would say. He did his duty, and opened the box.

The writing on the case was Arabic, and a phrase he understood well. Ahmed smiled, and felt an anticipation in him than he hadn’t felt in years. His loyalty had finally come to fruition. Today was the beginning of a whole new life for him … and others. Not much longer would he breathe this earth’s air, as he moved closer to his one true salvation. He started chanting the phrase written on the case over and over.
Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar
. It rolled and danced off the tip of his tongue. His heart swelled as he chanted it louder still, while he packed the case away and climbed onto his cycle.
Allah is the Greatest, Allah is the Greatest, Allah is the Greatest.
Ironically, his chanting was drowned out by the sound of his American-built motorcycle racing across the desert. Ahmed couldn’t have cared less; irony was not something he believed in.