Sic Semper Tyrannis (56 page)

The man is a pig and a sinner of the worst kind.  But
, Hakim said to himself with a silent sigh,
he is my brother in the teachings of Allah and we're still on mission.
 

"Pace yourself, Saldid.  Once we board the ship, we will have more than two days before we make land.”

"I cannot
wait
," Saldid said around a mouthful of fish taco.  Bits of meat and lettuce dribbled from the corner of his mouth.  The sauce smeared through his thick, bushy mustache made him look like a fool.

"Indeed, nor can I,” said Hakim, hiding his disgust.  “But we must be patient, brother.  Remember, Allah will provide all things to those who are patient."

Saldid rolled his eyes and nodded his head.  "Yes, yes, I remember my lessons.  I just want to remember what it feels like to take the life of an infidel.  We did not have enough time…"

Saldid’s voice trailed off as the waitress appeared and asked in Spanish if they required anything else.  She winked at Saldid and smiled.  Hakim nearly spit his beer out when he saw Saldid pale and offer a weak-as-milk smile in return.  The man was terrified.

"
Gracias
, but no,” said Hakim.  He switched to fluent Spanish with ease: "We will be departing soon.  Thank you for your hospitality, please take this as a token of our gratitude."  He handed the surprised woman a wad of pesos. 
That’s probably a month's salary for her,
thought Hakim. 

His handler would be upset about wasting resources, but what did Hakim care?  In their rampage through the Arizona, he and Hakim had not only killed and raped but had looted every American body for money.  They had more money now then they knew what do with—to spread that wealth among these poor oppressed Mexicans seemed as a good an idea as any.

"Look!  There it is!  Running that point over there," said Saldid in Arabic.  He jumped to his feet and knocked over his chair, spilling his beer.   "I see it,” he said, forced to squint in the morning sun.  “It looks…"

Hakim stood slowly and wiped the crumbs off of his shirt with his stained napkin.  He reminded himself that the midday prayer call was only a few hours away.  He would need time to clean the sin off Saldid.  With reluctance, he glanced where Saldid pointed and saw a fishing trawler emerge around the palm tree-covered point some mile and a half in the distance.   Hakim could see that the white hull was streaked red with rust. 

It appeared that their accommodations would not be worthy of a cruise line review.  He grimaced at the thought of what awaited them for the next two days as they tossed about on the Gulf of Mexico in that rust bucket. 
Saldid will complain every minute.  Allah, give me the strength not to kill him.

He glanced down at the condensation that dripped from his beer.  He picked up the bottle and drained it, savoring the bitter taste of the dark Mexican ale.  "Drink up, Saldid.  I doubt we shall have access to such refreshments for a while."

"I hear they have restored power in America—"

Hakim shook his head.  "In a few of the northern cities.  Florida is still dark.”  He watched as the wary waitress moved away from them, but she kept her eye on Saldid.  Hakim decided they had worn out their welcome.  It was time to go.  “Come, let us prepare our luggage."

CHAPTER 39

A Good Dream

ERIK STOOD AND DUSTED the sandy soil from his hands.  It was the saddest job he’d ever had to do, but it was done.  He turned and put a hand on Ted's shoulder as the Marine wept in silence over the shallow graves of his wife and eldest son. 

"Mark was a good boy, Ted.  He died protecting his mother."

Ted looked up from where he squatted on the ground next to the grave.  "I never formally adopted him, you know?” he said in a soft, hoarse voice.  He sniffed and rubbed the back of his sleeve under his nose.  “Susan and I had been married and living together for almost 10 years—and I just… We just… We never got around to—"

"He knew you loved him," said Eric quietly.  "You adopted him in your heart.  That's all it matters.  The paperwork is just for the government.  And they're not around anymore to care, are they?"

Ted sighed and got to his feet, the bones in his joints cracked and popped.  "You know, I'm fast approaching the age where a man in my profession gets to say he's ‘too old for this shit’."  Ted looked down at the lump of sand and dirt covered in pine needles.  Two stones and a rough wooden cross marked the final resting place of Susan and Mark Jensen.  He swallowed hard.  "I can't believe they’re gone."  He closed his eyes and clamped a blood encrusted fist across his face.

Erik wasn't sure what to say.  His body fairly vibrated with the idea that they were now free of the Army, once and for all.  At the same, time he felt a soul-crushing guilt he couldn’t do more for Ted.  But, what more could you say to a man who just lost his wife and adopted son?  And it wasn't like they had simply died in a car accident or died after a long illness.  They had been gunned down—
murdered—
by invading Russian soldiers.  Erik frowned. 
What the hell do you say to that?

Eric shook his head in disbelief at the way their fate worked.  Just a few short months ago, he had been sitting in his car on the way to the store to buy stuff.  Life had been so simple.  His wife and been working, he had been attempting to get his Master’s degree and find a job as a teacher.

And now?  Eric looked down at the dirt and sand on his hands.  The smell of the dead soldier that had occupied the uniform he now wore invaded his nostrils.  He couldn't wait to change.  He brushed his hands on his pants.  He still felt dirty.  He had killed men.  Brin had killed.  The world had gone bat-shit crazy.

"This is where you're supposed to tell me that time heals all wounds…" Ted said quietly.

"You're the one that's good about pep talks, remember?"  Erik said.  "I'm sorry, man.  I really am.  I don't know what else to say—I was never any good at expressing my feelings.  Just ask Brin."  Erik winced at the mention of his wife's name.  “Dammit, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that…”

"Don't worry about it," the former Marine said.  His voice sounded completely defeated.  "I don't have the energy, to cry, anyway.  I'm spent."  He looked at Erik with bloodshot eyes and a face that seemed to hang under his helmet.  “You know?”

"Come on," said Erik.  He put an arm around Ted's shoulder and gently turned him away from the graves.  The quicker he could get Ted thinking about the rest of his children, the better.  The quicker they could all escape north, the better.  The quicker they could get the hell away from the Russians, the better.

As they exited the little clearing in the pine trees where they had buried Susan and Mark, they approached the M-ATV where Brin and the kids waited.  Brin sat in the driver seat, one pale leg out the open door, the captured AK-47 across her lap.  Erik raised an eyebrow in question.  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the backseat and nodded.  The kids were asleep.

"I don't even remember when we picked that up…" Ted said as he jutted his chin toward the battle-scarred M-ATV.

"I don't suppose you remember much of the last four hours, do you?" asked Erik.  "You’ve been through a lot, man.  Don't worry about it."

Ted stopped and looked at Erik in the face.  "Thank you.  Thank you for getting my kids out.  Thank you for…I never thanked you for bringing Mark…"

"Don't thank me," said Erik.  He looked down at his sandy boots and forced the memory of Susan’s face as she fell on the grenade from his mind.  He could feel the nightmares coming and it wasn’t even noon yet.  "I tried…I’m so sorry.  If—"

Ted shouldered his Russian sniper rifle and sniffed.  "You did what you could, brother.  You did more than most civvies
could
have.  Hell, you did more than most of the men in that prison camp could have.”  Ted stepped in front of Erik.  “For that, I thank you.  We both know Susan had been injured anyway—honestly, I don't think she would've made it very far even if we had escaped earlier.”

“But, we—”

“We both understood that, Erik.”  Ted shook his head.  “She'd already made her peace with God.  I've been preparing myself for a while.  It's Mark’s…”   Ted’s voice trailed off.  He swallowed, took a breath and continued, “It’s his…death…that hurts the most."  Ted stood there for a moment and stared back toward the secluded spot where they had hidden the graves.  “Saying it out loud makes it real…”

"But," said Erik as they reach the M-ATV.  He leaned towards the window and motioned with his hand.  "That right there’s a hell of a reason to keep going, isn't it?"

The two men stood in full battle load-out and peered through the vehicle window at the sleeping forms of Ted’s surviving children.  The smile on Ted's face told Erik all he needed to know.  The Marine would be okay, in time. 

"It sure is,” muttered Ted.  “I don't know what I do if I'd lost all of them.  I don't know what I'm going to do, now that I've lost one.  But we'll get through it, together."

"You okay?" asked Brin softly from the driver’s seat.  A frown of worry creased her forehead.

Ted and Erik exchanged a glance.  "I should be asking you the same question," said Ted in a quiet voice.  "Listen, whatever happened—" he held up a hand as Brin started to speak.  "Just listen.”  He waited until she nodded slightly. 

He turned and looked at Erik before continuing: “I've had training on how to be a prisoner.  I've had training on what to do when captured.  You haven’t.”  He pointed at Erik.  “Neither has he and you guys both went through a lot of deep, nasty shit.  Okay?”  He put sunglasses on and slapped his own chest. “I have to get over what happened to me—what happened to my family.  For them," Ted said as he placed his hand on the tiny, armored ballistic window behind which his children slept. 

"I don't have a choice.  I
need
them.  You two need each other.  You've got to get over whatever it was that happened.  In your own time in your own way.  Some people like to talk about it.  Others don't.  That's up to you," Ted said.  "When you're ready, just know that if you need someone to talk to, I'm here.  Both of you."  He looked around the clearing and removed the rifle from his shoulder.

“This war is just starting and we have a long trip ahead of us.  We’ve all got to get our shit wired or we’ll all end up dead.”  He looked at Erik.  “And I have no intention of losing any more of my family.  Is that understood?”   He got nods from both Erik and Brin.

Ted shifted the straps on his tactical vest and sighed.  “Here’s the deal.  When we get to your parents’ place in New York, we’ll all drink a bottle of Scotch and have a good long cry together.  Until then, we man up and deal.  We cut down anyone that gets in our way and we stop for
nothing
.  Agreed?”

“Oorah,” said Brin with a slight smile.  Ted put his fist out and bumped knuckles with her.

“Agreed,” said Erik.  Ted gave Erik a one armed hug and slapped him on the back.

"So what's the plan?" asked Erik, struggling to keep his voice normal.

Ted sighed and put his rifle in the front seat.  "First, we gotta get the hell out of Dodge.  We're still in the danger zone.  Ivan’s just south of us.  If I was him, I'd have men out roaming the woods looking for us.  They know who we are—they
really
know who
you
are—" he said and pointed at Erik.  "If I was whoever’s in charge now, I wouldn't rest until I brought you back and slit your throat."

Erik suppressed a shutter and swallowed.  "Well, I for one am glad you're not in charge, then.  I'm glad the guy that was in charge, is dead."  He looked at Brin, but she simply turned away and went to get into the M-ATV.  The suicide door on the other side shut quietly behind her.

"You sure she's okay?" asked Ted.

Erik watched his wife as she got comfortable in between the sleeping children.  "You didn't see what she did to Stepanovich.  She's okay…I think…”  Erik looked at Ted and frowned.  "Hey, I just realized—we never got those free passes from Captain Winters, man.  If we get caught in this thing—"

"Then we won't get caught, will we?  Don't worry about that, Erik.  All we gotta do is keep moving north, right?  We’ll ditch this thing if we need to and grab civvie wheels."  He plucked at the blood-stained Russian camo on his chest.  “And some new clothes…”

"Right.  Finally. 
Yes
.”  Erik took a deep breath and let it out slow.  He noticed for the first time that off in the distance, he could see blue sky.  They were near the edge of the Orlando smoke dome. 

“My parents have a place up on Lake Champlain—all we have to do is get there."

Ted stood in the open driver’s door and rested an arm on the roof.  "You sure about our supplies?"

Erik nodded.  He grabbed his rifle and walked around the M-ATV to get in the front passenger door.  He paused, one foot on the running board.  The M-ATV had incredible ground clearance that would likely come in handy soon, but Erik still couldn’t get used to how high up it rode. 

"Yeah, while you were…" Erik cleared his throat.  "The back is full of food, gas, water, and all the medical supplies we could scrape together from what the locals had scavenged from the camp.  I think.”  He rested an arm on the passenger seat and rubbed the sweat from his face.  “I don’t know, most of it’s in Russian, so it could be toilet paper.   But hopefully whatever the hell we grabbed will get us a good ways down the road.  After that, I don't know…"

Erik slapped the roof of the M-ATV.  He glanced at the M2 .50-caliber machine gun in the turret.  “Hope the hell we won’t need
that
."

“You’ll be glad to have it if we do.”  Ted peered at him over the top of his sunglasses.  “Besides, every adventure begins with a single step, right?”

Erik chuckled softly.  "Man, I am
so
ready for this fucking adventure to be over.”  He picked at a bullet scar on the passenger door.  “I just want to sit back in an Adirondack chair, fishing pole in one hand, a beer in my other, and watch the sun set over Lake Champlain with Brin.  Is that too much to ask?"

Ted started the M-ATV and it fired up with throaty roar that shattered the stillness of the pine forest.  He shook his head.  "No, that's not too much to ask at all.  It's a good dream, brother.  Especially after all the shit we've survived."  He looked down the dirt road heading north through the pines.  Ted stared into the distance, his hands gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.  “That’s a good dream…”

Erik took one last look at the pines that surrounded the clearing.  He suppressed a shudder at the memory of being tied to the tree back at the prison camp.  The faces of the dead men, stacked in front of him like cord-wood, floated across his mind unbidden.

I hate pine trees.

Out loud, he said, “Let's go chase that dream."