End Days Super Boxset (22 page)

The general slapped his hands together amidst all the grumbling from his crew. “Let’s quit the whining and do this already. The American is bound to screw it up a few times. But we’re close, I can feel it.”

For Craig, the issue wasn’t so much reciting the message verbatim, as was the fear that once he did, they would kill him. He knew how mock executions went. He had studied their videos before. Captives were convinced everything was just an act, a piece of propaganda. For when a person knows they are going to die, it’s harder for them to concentrate on whatever message their captors want them to deliver. ISIS 101.

Craig knew their game and was trying to make it as difficult as possible for them. No matter how many times Adam flashed the knife in front of his face, Craig believed they would not kill him until he delivered the entire message.

“All right, let’s try this again,” the general said, lighting up another cigarette. “Go!”

Craig recited the first part without issue, and then continued.

“Your government’s crusade throughout the Middle East has murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqi and Afghanistan people, all through a misguided, imperialistic campaign of lies. You have since been at the forefront of the aggression toward the Islamic State, interfering with our affairs, which should be no concern of yours. Your day of reckoning has now come. You will answer for the crimes of your government, the atrocities of your people, and your wrongdoings against Islam, in a just manner as dictated by the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.”

Craig stopped. All eyes focused on him in anticipation. He was close to finishing. The general’s cigarette dangled in his mouth as he stared at Craig, frozen and waiting for him to finish. Instead, Craig began coughing.

“Can’t I just do it?” Adam shouted out. “Why are we even wasting our time with this American? Let me say the words and let’s be done with it!”

The general stepped forward. “Because this is what Ma’mun wants. And what Ma’mun wants is what Allawi wants. Got it?”

There were no objections from the group. The general tossed his cigarette and spat on the ground. “Now from the top. Let’s go!”

***

Husein moved quickly across the bay, behind any machine he could hide behind, trying to remain invisible. No one seemed to take notice of him, but he didn’t want to look around to find out. He was close, the door was a quick sprint ahead, when suddenly a man he did not know walked out of a nearby restroom and made direct eye contact with him. Husein looked immediately to the ground and tried to walk past the man. His hand went to the pistol stuffed into the back of his jeans, and he went on, staying as inconspicuous as possible.

A hand touched his shoulder, causing him to stop. He could barely bring himself to look up. When he did, he saw the stern face of a man with a chin beard, thick eyebrows, and glasses. The man spoke in Arabic as Husein stared blankly ahead. On a gamble, Husein spoke back in his native tongue. To his surprise, the man smiled and responded in Chechen.

“You’re from Chechnya?” he asked. “My mother was from there. What part?”

“Grozny,” Husein said.

“Ah. Mother was from a small town. Argun. Are you Russian?”

“No,” Husein said. He had always been taught to hate the Russians.

The man looked intrigued. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ismael.” The man stuck his pudgy hand out.

Husein shook it. “I’m Husein.”

“What are you wandering around for? There is much work to be done. Walk with me.” He grabbed Husein by the arm and pulled him in the opposite direction.

Husein resisted, thinking of the first name that came to mind. “The general requested my presence in the basement.”

Ismael stopped. “Hm. What would he want from you?”

“I don’t know.”

Ismael turned and pulled Husein around again, back to his original direction. “Let’s find out then. I don’t trust him, myself. Did you know that he was a former Shiite? They never change, if you ask me.”

Husein yanked his arm free, causing Ismael to stop. His face went from friendly to offended and angry in an instant.

“No offense, brother,” Husein said. “He asked for me and me alone.”

Ismael gripped his arm and pulled Husein toward him. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Let me talk with him.”

Husein swallowed. His throat had long been dry. He didn’t see any way out. He looked toward the operations area of the bay. The men remained fixed at their monitor screens.

“Very well,” he said.

Ismael pulled him along as they approached the basement door, certain to surprise those involved in the production taking place downstairs.

***

“Can we do this sometime today?” the general asked in an exhausted tone as he leaned against one of the basement pillars.

“I told you what the problem is,” Adam said, pointing at Craig with his knife. “Let me do the lines. I’ll explain it to Ma’mun.”

“Not happening,” the general said. “Now, let’s take it from the top.”

All eyes went to Craig. His distant, vapid stare showed them a man who had mentally checked out.

Adam could take no more. He swung his leg and kicked Craig directly in the back, sending him to the ground. Craig saw a white flash the moment his face struck the cement. He lay there in a puddle of drool, all the while holding onto the shard of glass.

“Enough!” the general said. “You kick him around anymore and we’ll get nothing from him.”

Adam looked at the general and shrugged.

“Get him up!” the general shouted.

Adam reluctantly lifted Craig up by his arms, leaving him wobbling in front of the camera. Then he pushed him down onto his knees.

“From the top…once again,” the general said.

He gave the go-ahead and Craig tried again. He had neared the final paragraph last time and didn’t know how much longer he could stall. He began from the start and went through it without issue. As he neared the final sentence, Adam gripped the knife tightly in his hand and got ready.

“The port attacks on Long Beach, Houston, South Louisiana, Wilmington, New York and New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Florida were intended as a wakeup call and nothing more. Now that you know we’re serious and that war is upon you, we welcome your aggression. But we will not subject ourselves to your indiscriminate drone killings, responsible for the daily deaths of innocent civilians. You will not play judge, jury, and executioner any longer. We are fighting back, and we’re taking the fight directly to your shores as a matter of unilateral action.

“We are everywhere. In your towns, neighborhoods, and communities. We are in your shopping malls, movie theaters, and restaurants. We’re already here, and there is nothing you can do about it. We will, however, give you one option. If the U.S. abandons all military bases overseas and agrees to stay out of the affairs of our people, we will end our jihad. If you choose not to comply, you will suffer a fate far worse than today. For what we have planned next is certain to reduce the United States to a crumbling pile of ash.”

Craig stopped. He had one line left. The general leaned forward in deep anticipation.

“Come on…” Qadar said quietly from behind the camera.

Craig continued cutting the rope. He was almost there. It was nearly split in half.

“In closing…” Craig began. He stopped and waited. He could feel Adam’s looming presence above him, knife in hand. “In closing…” he repeated.

The upstairs door opened. All heads turned. They figured it was Ma’mun, for he was the only one who could get away with interrupting a video shoot. But as the two pairs of legs descended the stairs, the general became annoyed.

He was even more surprised to see Ismael come down the stairs with Husein at his side. He immediately walked over to them.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” he seethed.

“Husein here says that you asked for him. Do you not understand how much work there is to be done? You look like you have plenty of people here. What on earth are you bugging a young man like this for?”

Whatever their relationship, Husein didn’t know. He saw Craig in the corner of the room on his knees and with a knife at his neck. There were three masked fighters standing behind him like statues with rifles in hand.

Craig shot a knowing look at Husein and nodded. No one seemed to take notice.

“Get the hell off my set,” the general said to Ismael.

“Don’t you dare disrespect me,” Ismael said. “Wait until Ma’mun hears about this.”

“Should I stop?” Qadar asked, rolling his eyes.

“Keep filming,” the general said, waving him off.

The shard of glass made one final cut, slicing through the last strands of rope. Craig could feel himself free. He took a breath and glanced again at Husein. "I was saying,” he began.

To their collective astonishment, he pulled his hands free from behind his back and jumped up in the air.

“God bless America!” he shouted.

He turned to Adam and jammed the shard of glass up into his throat. Adam stumbled back, gagging. Blood poured from his mouth. The onlookers in the room were stunned. Craig kicked Adam to the ground then turned to Husein. “Weapon, now!”

Husein pulled the pistol from the back of his jeans and tossed it over the general’s head directly into Craig’s waiting hands.

Before the others could even comprehend the situation, Craig turned around and fired the pistol into the head of each masked gunman. The blasts sent the general and Ismael scrambling to the stairs. Husein wisely jumped out of the way and crawled to the corner of the room.

He looked up just in time to see Qadar take a bullet between the eyes. Yassif ran from his guard position near the lights toward the stairs. The back of his head split open with one shot, and he went down. Like a steady assassin, Craig moved toward the two men left. He shot Ismael in the back without hesitation. The large man’s body slumped to the ground. His head hit the bottom stair and went motionless. Craig adjusted his aim and fired two shots into the general’s leg.

The general screamed in agony and crawled toward the stairs. Craig approached him slowly, confident he had enough rounds to finish the job. Husein squatted in the corner of the room with his hands over his ears.

“You American pig,” the general said, crawling away. “You’ll never make it out of here alive.”

Craig hovered over him with the pistol aimed at his head. “I haven’t gotten a chance to repay you yet for kicking me in this face.”

The general grunted and inched desperately toward the stairs. “Go to hell.”

“You lose,” Craig said, firing a single shot into the back of his head. The general went limp as blood and brains and bone flew from his skull. Twenty seconds after Husein had tossed him the pistol, there wasn’t a man left alive in the room.

It was evening, and the planned ISIS video never made it to prime time television. Craig had won the first battle, but knew that he had a long way to go if he expected to survive.

“How many upstairs again?” he asked Husein while moving quickly through the room and grabbing the weapons of his dead captors. The pistol was out of rounds, leaving him with three AK-47s. He checked the magazines for each rifle and did a quick functions check. Afterwards, he handed one to Husein, who then nearly dropped it.

“You expect me to shoot this?” Husein asked.

Craig pulled him to the side, under the stairs, as footsteps sounded from outside the door. “Listen,” Craig whispered. “We’re sitting ducks here. There’s a good chance they heard the shots. We have to be ready.”

“I’ve never shot a gun before,” Husein said.

Craig gave him a cockeyed look. “Never? Well, there’s nothing to it. You just point and shoot.” He slung one AK over his shoulder and held up the other one. “Just don’t shoot me.”

Husein struggled with the weapon, trying to find the right placement for his hands.

“Here,” Craig said. He took the rifle, pulled the charging handle back, and locked the bolt back to the rear. He then released it with a loud snap. “That’s all you have to do. Just pull the trigger and you’re ready to go.”

Husein couldn’t have imagined that Craig, who—only a day ago—had put a gun to his head, was now giving him one. He reluctantly took it back. It felt big and awkward in his hands.

Craig could sense the hesitation. “All I need you to do is cover me. Don’t just shoot into the air, because we need every last round.”

Husein scanned the room, observing all the limp, lifeless bodies. It had been a massacre. He didn’t know how much more he could take. His ears rang, and the gunsmoke in the air gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. He did, however, understand that in order to survive, he’d have to follow Craig’s every instruction.

Craig stood up straight, poised and ready to make their escape. “The only way out of here is through the front door. Are you ready?”

Based on what he had seen of the warehouse, Husein racked his brain to think of any other exits but couldn’t come up with anything. “There’s just so many of them up there. I don’t know how we’re going to do it,” he said.

“We’ll find a way,” Craig answered.

Husein took a deep breath and followed as Craig carefully approached the stairs and moved up each creaking step with the rife aimed steadily toward the door. Once the door was opened, there would be no turning back.

“Stay low,” Craig whispered.

They came to the last step. The blank door stared back at them. Craig gripped the door handle with one hand, turned it, and slowly pushed it open a crack. He could see what comprised a busy operations area, with large ISIS flags hanging in the rafters above. Nobody was waiting for them. Apparently the noise from all the TVs had masked the gunfire from the basement. With concrete walls and floors, there was nothing to absorb the noise of the equipment and TVs.

“There’s a table,” Husein whispered.

“What?”

“There’s a table with weapons of all kinds on it. That’s where I got the knife. The knife I used on Ma’mun.”

Craig turned his head back. “So you? You killed him?”

“Yes,” Husein said.

“Where is this table?”

Husein told him.

Craig examined the area. Workstations were aligned in columns like a classroom. Television monitors set up on large stands broadcast news from stations all over the world. Militants in desert combat fatigues filled the area—some walking around, others on their laptops. Craig did a quick count. There were more than twenty. Each of Craig’s rifles had thirty rounds, full magazines. It was plenty of ammo if they used it right.

The time came to make a move. He pushed the door open and emerged, walking low to the ground and slowly toward the open bay. Even with his adrenaline rushing, his legs felt like heavy weights. Husein followed behind and tried to mimic Craig’s careful movements.

They took cover behind an assembly machine and continued moving. Craig wanted to get as close to the unsuspecting militants as possible. He observed their operations area closely, abundant with computers and laptops. Acquiring that equipment would be critical to the U.S. in figuring out their next move.

“Try not to shoot any of the equipment,” he whispered to Husein.

Husein nodded. If he could help it, he planned to not shoot anything at all. They watched the militant group. Some were armed, with pistols mainly. With others, it was hard to tell. Craig could see the table ahead that Husein had been talking about. It was piled with rifles, shotguns, and knives. Craig focused on a set of grenades sitting in the corner amid all the other weapons. It was clear to Craig that ISIS was preparing for all-out war.

The weapons table was close. And with all the militants facing away, distracted by their work, it was a real possibility that he could get his hands on a grenade.
So much for trying to preserve the computers
, he thought. He told Husein to remain in place and keep watch. Husein asked him what he was planning to do.

Craig pointed to the table. “Trying to prevent a firefight. I’m going to get one of those grenades.”

“But they’ll see you!” Husein said.

“Let’s hope that they don’t.”

He left the concealment of the machine and ventured to the warehouse floor, crouched down, where the militants convened only twenty feet away. The latest news report had gained their attention. Craig steadied toward the goal at hand as cheers erupted from the militants. Men got up from their desks and ran toward the television screens. Craig looked over and saw them standing in one group, watching the news unfold with excitement and anticipation. Craig looked to see what all the excitement was about.

A banner scrolled across the screen: Power Plant Explosion Sends Tennessee Town into Turmoil.

The cheering continued. Another screen flashed the latest death toll, which gained wild approval from the militants: Death Toll Exceeds 3,000. Major cities undergoing evacuation.

Husein watched as Craig stopped and slowly rose to his feet. “Craig,” he said in a hushed voice. “What are you doing?”

The militants hugged and laughed and cheered in celebration. Craig was more disgusted than he had ever been before. Not just with the Islamic State, but with humanity overall. As he raised the rifle and aimed it, he no longer seemed interested in the grenades.

“Hey, you there!” a man shouted from behind Craig.

Craig whipped around to see a burly, confused militant standing on the other side of the machine Husein was crouching behind. He immediately went for his pistol, but Craig unloaded on him before his hand could even reach the holster. Gunshots echoed throughout the factory floor. All the militants at the televisions turned around in confusion.

Husein brought his arms close to his head and covered his ears, trembling as his barrel pointed at the floor. “Take cover!” he shouted to Craig.

Astonishment and shock seemed to momentarily paralyze the militants when they saw Craig standing with rifle aimed. They immediately scrambled as he fired into the crowd from left to right. He ducked down, dodging return fire, and shot anyone in range. Bodies dropped like dominoes. The more savvy militants took cover and returned fire while several others repositioned themselves. Gunfire flew in both directions, hitting the walls, windows, and machines. Husein sank to the ground with his eyes shut, gripping the rifle in trembling hands.

Craig dove to the ground and crawled to the table as rounds breezed past his head. The front entrance doors swung open, and more militants poured into the room from outside. Those already taking on the ground shouted to the newcomers to take cover.

As Craig crawled flat on his stomach, the return fire was relentless. Bullets tore through computers, monitors, and laptops, reducing them to broken bits as sparks flew into the air.

The militants moved quickly from concealed positions, steadily advancing toward Craig. He pushed himself up and fired back, just to keep them at bay. They immediately fired back, shattering a large office window above him. Glass rained down on him in shards and slivers, but he kept moving. The weapons table was within reach.

Husein stayed low and flinched as heavy gunfire rang out. During a pause, he opened his eyes and saw a man rushing out of the hall in front of him where he had left Ma’mun. The man looked dazed and baffled. Their eyes quickly met, and the man wasted no time advancing on Husein with his large, hairy arms outstretched to the side and a look of fire burning in his eyes.

Husein held the barrel of the AK ready to fire.

“You!” the man shouted. “Chechen traitor!”

It was one of the escorts who earlier had taken him to the room to meet Ma’mun. The man advanced quickly, giving Husein little time to react. Husein pulled the trigger, blasting the man’s chin and jaw off his face.

Husein rolled out of the way just as the man smacked the floor. More gunfire continued from the militants, some of it now coming his way. His stomach twisted and tightened. He could barely bring himself to look at the mutilated man lying facedown next to him. There was blood on Husein’s hands and shirt. He tossed the rifle away, disgusted, and tried to wipe the spots of blood from his skin and the fabric of his clothes.

He felt a tightness of breath that sent him into a trembling fury. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, and thought of being somewhere else: back home with his parents at the cottage they’d had when he was five.

From next to one of the destroyed work stations, Craig fired more rounds. The rifle clicked. He was out of ammo. He tossed the empty AK to the side and pulled the other one from his shoulder. The militants were shouting to each other, attempting to get organized. Craig wasn’t sure how many he had killed, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There were many different voices calling out to each other. Maybe Husein had been right about the number, fifty of them.

He charged the AK while lying flat on his back. He breathed in deeply, preparing to make the last move for the grenade. The sounds of boots running across pavement grew near. They were closing in, and time was running out.

Craig swung himself upward and fired at the advancing militants. He heard screams and immediately went for the grenades on the table. Shots rang out close by, blasting nearby computers into fragments. After the firing stopped, Craig jumped up and grabbed the first grenade he could get to.

Shots whizzed across the table, narrowly missing Craig’s head as he dove back to the ground. They were getting closer. The M67 grenade rested in his hand, ready to be launched. He looked ahead from under a desk. He saw pants legs advancing. Shots hit the wall behind him. They would stop at nothing to kill him.

Craig pulled the pin and jumped to his knees. He released the safety clip, and as the clip pinged on the ground, he reeled his arm back and threw the grenade into the air. He then fell to the floor with his hands over his head as he heard the grenade hit the ground and roll. Shouts of panic filled the air, followed by a deafening blast that blew up televisions, computers, and anything and anyone within range.

Debris flew over Craig’s head as his eyes remained shut. He waited while the ringing persisted in his ears. The shooting stopped. He rose slightly and looked back toward Husein. In the boy’s former place was a dead man, lying facedown on the floor next to the assembly machine. He peeked above one of the few desks still standing and saw charred tables, chairs, and electronics everywhere, lying in pieces. Blackened bodies lay flat on their stomachs, some missing arms and legs. A high-pitched smoke alarm rang out through the entire factory.

“Husein!” Craig called out.

“I’m here!” his voice cried from behind the assembly machine.

Craig stood up, slightly crouched, and held the rifle up. “Let’s move!”

He examined the weapons table and found that most of the rifles had no magazines in them. He grabbed one of the knives and moved on with caution. Husein crept to his side, low-crawling from his concealed position.

“Where’s your weapon?” he asked.

“I don’t want it,” Husein said.

“Go get it now! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Husein looked hurt. He reluctantly crawled back and retrieved it.

Once they got situated, Craig fired several more shots, a test of sorts. He received no return fire, only silence.

“Stay close,” he said, moving quickly past the carnage. He stopped at a desk that had flipped over. There was a laptop lying on the ground, completely intact. Craig grabbed it and yanked it from its docking station. There was a sticker on the laptop with the name “Ma’mun” on it. A carrying bag lay nearby too. He stuffed the laptop inside the bag and stood up.

“Okay, let’s go.”

They moved toward the front exit, ignoring the dead bodies in their path—some ravaged with bullets, others burned from the explosion—while trying to be alert for any survivors or threats. “Keep a close eye out once we get outside.”

Husein nodded. He glanced at the bodies as they passed them. Some were missing limbs, another was missing a face. He shuddered and tried to stay close to Craig. The double doors were close by, and when Craig was only a few yards away, he stood up and ran. Husein did his best to keep up. They pushed the doors open and were met by a black night sky. The muffled ringing of the smoke alarm continued from inside. Outside, however, there was nothing but silence.