Chapter 2 Samantha Tuesday Afternoon 8 17 Scribd

8/9/2019 Chapter 2 Samantha Tuesday Afternoon 8 17 Scribd

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Characters:

Ila Mother to Josh, Sam, and Nan. Ila is taken hostage from the base

Elias Step-dad to Josh and Sam. Biological father of Nan

Josh eighteen-year-old son of Elias and Ila

Samantha sixteen-year-old daughter of Elias and Ila

Nan four-and-a-half years old. Daughter of Elias and Ila. Sister to Josh and Samantha, and the

oldest of the children held hostage.

Telisha project manager at the base co-woker of Ila

Crystal Nans friend, a three-an-a-half year old hostage

Thomas Three-year-old hostage

Youngest hostage one who cries too much and finds herself in grave danger because of it

3 teachers from the daycare are also held captive (flat characters)

Wolfgang Heizer Owner of the Arcade

Will Townies American Bringer Sam knocks cold in the basement

Jim mailman to the Arcade

R. Keene - Highest ranking Bringer (red hair)

Insurgents - four:

Half Heart half-hearted British insurgent with no rank. Hand signal: hand over heart

Chief commander of the insurgents Hand. signal: salute

Fat Boy second-in-command, fat- faced insurgent. Hand signal: hand on belly

Recliner Boy Lazy insurgent. Hand signal: hand on arm, thigh

General Winston three-star general

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General Smith four-star general receiving after-the-fact reports about the attack and events that

unfolded in the Absi household

Fact:

1.

Weather may have been a factor in the Iraqi's failure to use chemical weapons. "... Vice Adm.

Stanley Arthur, commander of US naval forces in Desert Storm, said he was convinced that an

abrupt shift of the wind from a southerly direction at the beginning of the ground war was a

deciding factor in Iraq's restraint. "I'm pretty sure the poor (Iraqi) folks who are sitting in the

field looking at the prospect of this stuff blowing right back on them simply decided against

them,' Arthur said."(41) Fromhttp://www.fas.org/spp/military/docops/operate/ds/weather.htm

2.

Article: How Sahara Desert dust reaches the United States (and a video summarizing Desert

Storm) http://www.helium.com/items/224483-how-sahara-desert-storm-dust-is-reaching-the-

united-states

2
http://www.fas.org/spp/military/docops/operate/ds/weather.htmhttp://www.fas.org/spp/military/docops/operate/ds/weather.htmhttp://www.fas.org/spp/military/docops/operate/ds/weather.htm


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Chapter1 The morning of the attackIla (Mom) Monday morning

After pulling my sweater around my shoulders, I opened the document in my inbox:

Directives concerning the imminent winds attack of Wright Patterson Air Force Base,

Dayton, Ohio. Highlighted text outlined optimal survival procedures, and a map pinpointed the

previously destroyed bases and outlying areas in westerly towns.

Some coworkers called home to talk to a loved one, perhaps for the last time. Many of

the women wandered off to the restroom with tissues in hand. I needed to move, and I followed

when the youngest project manager in my area, Telisha, headed toward the water cooler.

Telisha leaned against the wall and stretched her neck from one side to the other. Wow,

the last email really spelled it out. While were waiting to be attacked, what do they have you

doing, Ila? she asked.

Amazing, I thought, were about to die, and shes still channeling gossip. No problem. I

came for info, too.

Im watching monitors at different airports, I answered. Im not sure who or what Im

looking for. Ive been directed to report anything suspicious. With my military background, I

guess they think I can smell an insurgent through a computer screen.

You cant? she teased.

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Im just a forty-something civil servant these days. Same as Elias-hubby. Were not as

sharp as we used to be, I said, winking and raising my coffee mug in a mock toast.

Im taking screen shots of certain weather patterns, Telisha admitted.

I stood on my toes to stretch my calves. Doing grunt work for a meteorologist?

Yep, some weather man with a PhD. from D.C. gained some attention with a hypothesis.

Appears to me the upper echelon science gurus are grasping at straws.

How do you know? I asked as I refilled my mug with hot water for tea before returning

to my desk.

Were all doing something different with new experts, Telisha said, drawing quotes in

the air with her fingers. The general has flown in from universities, bases, or the Pentagon.

People in cubicles 1-6 are all manning sensors tracking every kind of wave you can imagine,

radio to light, and engineers in desks 9-15 down that hall say they are doing nothing but

watching traffic patterns via satellites. If the generals had a real clue, wed be more focused.

I held my cup with both hands, grasping at its warmth to calm my nerves. Well, they

have us all watching something around Dayton from what I hear, so were focused alright.

Refilling her cup, she said, Yep, and the experts have arrived here. The Pentagon thinks

were next. Little Dayton, Ohio with a big, major base will be next for an attack from the

winds. How are your kids handling this?

Nan is too young to understand, you know, I said. Elias and I discussed moving her

from the preschool across the street, but in previous attacks, the winds destroyed the bases plus

random parts of the town. Since we have the tunnels here at the base, we decided Nan might be

safer here.

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Your teenagers? Wheres their school, again?

Im definitely worried about Josh and Samantha at Chaminade-Julienne downtown.

They have a small basement area, but its too small to hold the schools population. Theyre

frightened. Were all frightened. Why dont you go back to your parents ranch in Texas since

you dont have a husband, a mortgage, or family holding you here? We both knew Texas was

attacked, and they fought off the insurgents unlike the other states.

I have a sense of duty, you know, Telisha sniffed. You dont have to be in the military

to want to do your part and save your country, even if it is just sitting at a desk and watching

radar screens.

We both walked back down the aisle. One pattern makes sense even to me, I added.

The radicals have taken control of major footholds from Hawaii to Texas. There has to be a

reason for moving from west to east.

No matter how boring or annoying our assigned jobs had become, we understood our

Intel might mean something to someonesomeone who could stop the winds. We worked

tirelessly until the attack came later that morning.

On that disastrous morning, the low hum startedthe hum described by the survivors at

westward bases.

Reporting, data secured, we called to one another with panicky voices before leaving

our computers and fleeing to the tunnels.

In the aisle way, a Colonel called, Ila, follow protocol. Come to the tunnels. The

teachers will bring Nanette.

Sir, no sir. Shes only four. She needs her mother, I shouted, almost reaching the lobby.

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Opening the door, I hoped and prayed I wouldnt be swept away before I dashed across

the parking lot to my daughters preschool.

At the Daycares door, several of the teachers almost mowed me over while scuttling

from the building.

Where the hell do you think youre going? I yelled. The wind! The children?!

The wind started to whistle slightly. We had been told: whistling meant it grew in

strength. My words were caught by the wind and blown back reminding me of my mission. I

watched from behind the closed, glass-front door as one of the teachers made it to her car and

pulled away. The others, who had parked farther away from the building, were literally picked up

and carried into the sky. Praying, text message-style to heaven , I didnt wait to watch

whether or not they would smash into the concrete or continue to fly. With sorrow I

acknowledgedthere but by the grace of God go Iwherever they went. Turning, I kicked off

my high-heel shoes just inside the door, and did double-time toward my daughters room.

The teachers who remained in the building followed protocol. The three youngest, most

athletic teachers had strapped on the cloth apron-like baby carriers made for such emergencies.

Each carrier held six babies in large pockets so each teacher could evacuate numerous babies

while running efficiently carrying a seventh baby if necessary.

The older workers shushed the toddlers, directing them to hold onto the rope and to walk

together toward the door leading into the tunnels. I helped secure the last baby into one of the

large pockets in the baby carrier, and the three young teachers jogged with incredible poise ahead

of us as fast as they could, but carefully, intending to protect the twenty infants. The wide-eyed,

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wide-mouthed infants almost all howled, and no one could comfort them. Another quick prayer

Each of the remaining women, including me, encouraged the toddlers to walk toward the

tunnel door. Even though the youngsters were accustomed to walking in such a manner, they

were slow. By the time we had moved a few feet, the young teachers had trotted up the hall,

through the first door, and out of sight. My building angst wanted to grab Nan alone and run, but

my Marine training told me to work with my team and take everyone with me alive. Considering

our collective height, we were a very short unit, but yet, we were in this together, and we needed

to carry on together.

Placing Nan behind me in the second command position, I held her hand and encouraged

her. Youre the oldest. That makes you the top-ranking soldier in your line, so set a quick pace.

Although I attempted to force a smile, parental anxiety twisted it back into a

worried frown.

Before we walked halfway down the hall toward the first door, now swung shut, a small

band of rebels opened the Daycares back door, a service entrance. Looking wild-eyed and

wearing crazed expressions, all four of them surrounded us and pointed automatic weapons at

various heights. The most distraught-looking captors lowered guns at the toddlers heads.

Three of them spoke all at once in Arabic. The fourth one, the one with a British accent,

shouted in English, Bloody hell. Told you we stopped one building short, right? This looks like

a lot of duff to me.

Theyll pull at Americas heartstrings, even if they werent what we had in mind, said

the tallest Middle Eastern man with a heavy accent.

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The pudgy mercenary moved his gun point, leveling off at my midsection. They women

would be easy to guard if we take them.

When it comes to women and children, Americans are weak, Tall-man said again.

Once the gusts die down, our comrades will need to bargain. Take these. His minions followed

orders, sending one teacher ahead leading seven children with the rope and. Nan, myself, three

other toddlers and three other teachers remained as hostages.

The commander squinted at the video cameras mounted in the corners. He spoke a few

sentences in Arabic and ended his directions with Yellah, yellah. My Arabic had become rusty,

but I knew yellah meant hurry. With their guns pointing the way, we were all bound for the

back service entrance.

I just saw several women blown off the ground into the sky out

there, I said to them. You cant take us outside. Come with us to the tunnels, and for your

cooperation

The Arabic commander cocked his gun, said something to the Brit in Arabic, and the Brit

said to me, We parked an Army truck against the service doors. Hopefully, were out of the area

before were tossed. Walk, lady. I almost lost my life at the last base due to a dawdler. If you

dont walk, Ill shoot you here in front of the kids. I assume that one is yours, he said pointing

his gun at Nan who grasped my hand and pushed her face into my skirt.

We walked past the front door, and as I slipped my feet back into the high-heel shoes I

had shed. I recalled a debriefing meeting in which I had seen pictures of the hostages from

Texas. Recalling the bullet-riddled remains of the Texas captives, I hoped our negotiations

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wouldnt compare to Texas outcome. Texans sacrificed their hostages and fought to win back

their base. Surely, Ohio has learned from that experience and will counter-attack differently.

Our captors were right about one point, I thought. The children would be my weakness.

To protect my child, I survived. To survive I walked, one high heel in front of the other.

2 Samantha Tuesday afternoon

Clutching his Ham radio mike, my father stood on the flat part of our porch roof above

the first floor of our two-story Victorian inner-city home. Past his face, a gust of wind blew

leavesgreen ones. He straightened his wire-rimmed glasses. His specs annotated: wearer works

as an aeronautical engineer and flies small aircraft for entertainment. Nerdy, yes, but nerdy like

Bill Gates. His pregnant-looking man-belly got in the way as he reached to pull back the radio,

cautiously keeping the mike from being carried away by the gusta thirty-mile-an-hour blast

left over from the devastating, artificially contrived weather we experienced yesterday morning.

In the last two months, the winds along with those unexplainable gusts had flattened almost

every major military base to the west of us, and yesterday they destroyed our base in Dayton.

A gust pushed against my father as he fought to keep his footing on the roof. He didnt

stop broadcasting even as he struggled with the wind blast. I heard him call into the mike,

KIP2LM, I repeat, any word on the abducted base workers and their children? Anyone see

anything unusual anywhere? I must find my wife and child. I repeat

As I watched him frantically trying to multi-task between waiting for the operator to

respond, fighting the weather conditions, and dealing with the annoying teen below, I thought

about yesterday. I was at school when Father came to understand Mom and Nan were missing.

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On the roof, Fathers over-sized rain jacket wafted around him flapping in the left-over

gusts. Father pulled his jacket up around his neck, and he called into the mike to any fellow

operator listening, KON6 respond if you hear me. Keep a lookout in Montgomery County and

adjoining counties for anything suspicious. I repeat. No one believes the radicals with the

abducted Wright Patt workers traveled far in that wind. KON6, I repeat, do you hear me?

And so it went until he spotted me. He called down, Get your bright yellow hair inside.

Anyone flying a helicopter over our house will spot you on the ground before they notice the old

man on the roof. Keep the drapes drawn, too.

I sighed. Father wouldnt be up there if he thought for an instant someone in a helicopter

could see him. The blue spruce pine trees that surrounded our house and my brothers roof-

garden hid him from view. He had stopped fighting the wind to sit in the middle of a wooden

teepee made from left-over lattice from a neighbors remodeling job. Pole beans covered the

lattice. Green bean camouflage seemed like a natural cover for anyone in my family.

Father, I yelled because the wind carried my voice away.

Hear you, he called. Go up to Joshs room, open his window, and talk to me. Its how

we get out here, you know!

Its how they get out there, I thought, but its notfor me. Most men hang out in the

garage. My father and my brother go up to the flat roof. While my brother plants veggies in his

container garden up there, my father listens to the Ham radio operators, seldom talking, mostly

lurking. I always wondered if listening to the Ham radio operators could really be part of his job.

Can I go to the gym? I yelled, pretending I didnt hear orders.

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No, no gym. These gusts are remnants, we hope, not the beginning of a new attack, but

no public gatherings allowed. Today just like yesterday.

I yelled, My muscles are screaming, Frankly, kidnappers, I dont give a damn! I want to

move.

Youre locked-down, civilian, Father called, seeing I still hadnt moved. Its a police

state, and right now in this area Im the police. Go inside.

I ignored the base jargon. Father, Im all dressed for a run. Can I just run around the

neighborhood? Just five miles! Ill be back in a little over twenty minutes at the most.

No! In other cities, sometimes more attacks followed and those attacks were directed at

civilians. Its why theyre called radicals. Go inside. Help your brother make dinner, and tell him

we sleep in the basement tonight. Go! he shouted.

He wasnt just shouting to be heard over the gusts. He had become angry. I could tell by

his tone since his soft voice never sounded very loud.

Heading in the back door, I tried to send a text to my friend whose father still hadnt been

located. Still dead. Phones, television, radio still jammed somehow. My father had one of the

only working communication devices in his hands, and he stopped using it only to eat. Too bad

all my friends thought Ham radios were dinosaurs. What I would have given for me and all my

friends to have a license and a piece of that old technology.

Walking inside, I decided to talk to my brother about a plan of our own. Surely, we didnt

intend to hide inside and let everyone else rescue Mom and Sis. No way.

Debriefing #1 Elias Absi

Date written June 12, 2032

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heal, not fight. They shouldnt have been guarding a gate, I thought.But everyone was called to

serve intimes like these.

I arrived in the tunnels and darted from area to area looking for my wife and child only to

understand they werent below.

Bad, no horrible news came from one of colonels who had called two other men around.

Almost everyone made it in the tunnel. On the video tapes, we see some dead bodies lying in

the parking lot, but neither your wives nor your children were among them. That was the good

news. However, a few minutes ago, the wind makers claimed responsibility for taking hostages.

Same MO as in previous towns they attacked. The video camera in the preschools hall showed

the kidnappers moving four women and four children into an army truck. Additionally, a guard

tower camera showed the capture of four security police, Bringers, who are trained mostly for

peacekeeping missions.

What the hell were they doing guarding a gate? one coworker asked.

We needed all personnel helping, the colonel said.

The colonel continued, looking each fellow officer in the eye one by one. Your children,

sirs, and Elias, both your wife and your child were among the hostages. Their release probably

will be leveraged against our local government for control of this area. The bastards are carving

up prime cuts of our United States for themselves.

A few minutes later, all known systems died. Telephones, TV, radioall died. I returned

home to care for my step-son and my step-daughter. As directed, we set up an emergency Ham

radio station at home, and I began to map the network of other operators to gain information

concerning the missing hostages.

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3 Ila (Mom) Monday late morning

We were marched from the Daycare center at gunpoint, and I recalled our base directives.

I knew Bringers filled authorized transports to go into the adjoining community because a police

state had been declared.

From the Daycare Center, the three teachers, four children, and I marched into a hot-

wired Army truck. Our captors had backed the truck up to the buildings loading dock, so as we

left the building, the winds could not blow us up and away. Unfortunately, our transport blended

with the legit trucks preparing to convoy to the outskirts of the base.

In the Army truck, I shuffled into a seat beside more American hostagesall security

police, sometimes called MPswho had already been tethered, hooded, and readied for

transport.

The sight of the men with hidden faces frightened the children, and three out of four

children began to cry and squeal remonstrations. Only Nan remained dry-eyed and quiet except

to say, Mommy, Im glad youre here.

Keep em quiet, one ofthem ordered.

Those two pronounsthem and usnever carry much weight until some ofus find an

enemy. Them, not us. They were the them, and we strangers had become us, the Americans.

As soon as we were crammed in beside the police, the quack-soldiers flung hoods over

our heads. The hoods smelled like dirty socks. The childrens soft cries increased to wails, except

for Nan. I sang her favorite song, rubbed her hair under her hood, and to my amazement, she

quietly sprawled across my lap. Fright soldered her to my knees.

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I heard the other teachers each trying to comfort a child, and I felt guilty those children

felt abandoned without a mommy in the truck with the bad men. How simple all this must have

seemed to them minus all the political and religious beliefs I had come to understand. In

uncomplicated terms, these were mean men interrupting nap and cookie hour. Religious

intolerance shouldnt interrupt Nap-n-Cookie Hour.

It occurred to me I hadnt counted the toddlers and teachers before the hoods had been

pulled over our heads. I made a mental note to be more observant if and when the hoods came

off. Who ran into the parking lot? Wasnt one of the teachers missing when I arrived? Maybe she

had called in sick today. ThinkI told myself. Yet, there wasnt much time to think about past

minutes.

The hot, humid summer air forced its way through cracks in the truck. The hoods trapped

the heat from our own bodies, and I mentally fought off the feeling of being tied down and

buried under piles of heavy, dirty laundry as the trucks engine chugged to a start.

One toddlers shrill cry grew into yet a higher pitch.

I overheard an Arab say to the Brit he couldnt tolerate much more of her screaming, and

perhaps they had taken one too many hostages. The truck hadnt pulled away, and we all feared

they considered throwing the child into the parking lot.

A hood-wearing man seated beside me said, Hurt one of these children, and Ill make

you cry just like er.

One of them must have struck the brazen American because I heard a thwack and a

grunt. The seat trembled and our chains rattled from the blows. The Brits voice warned,

Threaten us again, and Ill be sure to mix your blood with your soil, Yank.

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Thwack.

Grunt.

I sang a few lines to Nan and the children stopped whining. Not only did the seat tremble,

but nervous shivers jerked in my muscles. The entire truck vibrated from the wind, and I

consciously tensed my quaking muscles just to remain seated. I heard the Arab command

something in his language and understood the verb secure and the nouns rope and

prisoners. The captors flung over our tremulous, uptight bodies webs of ropes that had been

lying on the floor when we entered the truck. The ropes were fastened tightly around us head-to-

toe. I felt like a male spider, spent and disposable.

Just before we pulled away, the Brit poked me, and in my blinded state I assumed he

prodded me with the end of his gun. He must have thought my singing had calmed Nan. He

ordered me, Sing to all the little ones. Loud. Over the winds,

I thought, gladly. I knew my version of Hes got the Whole World in His Hands lasted

exactly 3 minutes. With my free hand, the hand not petting Nans hair, I counted how many

times I sang it during the ride.

The winds were fierce for the first 5 or so minutes of our trip. The metal parts of the truck

rattled while the canvas cover of the truck flapped noisily. I fought to steadily inhale thick air in

halted breathes. I felt as if we were lifted off the ground more than once, but it could have been a

combination of my imagination and the way the driver flew over speed bumps. Ill never know. I

couldnt believe Nan was quiet. I longed for the ability to see her.

About ten minutes into the trip, the whistling winds changed their tune to the harsh

buzzing like a busy signal sounding from a thousand phones.

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When the truck stopped about fifteen minutes from the base, I had no idea where we had

been taken. We were unloaded from the truck onto a platform of some type, so I knew we had

been forced onto a loading dock. Instead of sinking into soil, my heels scraped along the ground.

I walked on concrete. Holding tightly to Nan and another child who somehow found my other

hand on the rope, at first I feared we might be swept away. When I didnt feel the rush of the

wind and since I clearly heard an assortment of voices, both male and female, consoling the

children, I realized we must be in a building. Forced to step up two flights of stairs, the children

began to panic and cry. Again, we adults spoke with calm voices and encouragement even

though we felt no comfort or calm ourselves.

A unit. We had become a unit, and we walked together to arrive, but where?

Once we turned a sharp corner, we were lined against a wall, pushed into place with

unseen hands on our shoulders and tips of guns shoved into various parts of our bodies.

Smile and say cheese, the Brit chirped.

I knew they were taking our pictures to prove they hadnt lost us in the winds.

With the hoods ripped from our heads, they ordered us to sit in the cold, damp concrete

back hallway. This was not their first tour of duty performing this very scene. They moved

mechanically, playing their practiced roles as they contained and frightened us.

Judging from conversation, I knew the others did not know where we had been taken. No

wonder. Daytonians had long ago forgotten this cloistered mallthe Arcadein the center of

downtown. We were to hide in plain sight.

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Over a decade ago, the city had spent millions to remodel this place. Then the contractor

turned around and bought the Arcade from the city for less than they had been paid to remodel.

But when the building didnt sell, the contractor finally let it fall to ruin.

The Arcade had been closed for business for over 10 years. Only two large doors could

be seen from the outside, and long ago downtown visitors had learned to ignore the locked doors

leading into the Arcade. Judging from our trek, we must have disembarked from the truck onto a

loading dock, but I had no idea where the loading dock stood, and I could not retrace my steps.

I knew the common areas of this place. My grandparents lived in one of the apartments

upstairs when I was a little girl. I also knew a German investor had bought it recently and started

to remodel. In the last few months, Josh, Sam, and I had helped with some of the clean-up work.

I actually headed up the mopping committee, the people who mopped after it rained. The dome

in the roof needed repair, and our mopping services were needed at the moment.

The three teachers busied themselves with the three children who were too young to

question the situation. The two littlest ones wanted to splash in the puddles. Teachers pulled the

toddlers away from the water. The youngest one released her high-frequency wail, and noting the

commanders glare, the teacher relented to the childs desire to play in the dirty water.

I knew of a dry spot for me, one of the advantages of having mopped the floor, and I put

Nan on my lap. One of Nans friends, three-and-a half-year-old Crystal, sat on my left leg. Nan

held Crystals hand.

We huddled together in the heart of my beloved town. How I admired these older

buildings our unique monoliths, our Stonehenge.

Where are we, Mommy? Nan asked.

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I dont know, I lied. I hated to lie to her, but I was sure the radicals assumed once we

were inside the Arcadea building surrounded by other buildings and shut down for so many

yearswe wouldnt know where we were. I wanted my captors to believe I was confused and

unaware that I was actually within less than an hours leisurely walk to my home.

With us lined up against a long wall in the main level back hall, the rebels clicked several

more pictures, and we were directed to the center of what used to be the lower retail section built

in the early 1900s. Directly above we peered at the domed ceilingonce magnificent filled with

beautiful glassand we watched the dark clouds whirl past. Several of the glass panes, large

panes over 8 feet in width and 10 feet in height, had become dislodged or broken from years of

wear. The winds had brought rain, and water had poured onto the floor. Much of it pooled into

the center of the floor.

Our kidnappers worried mainly about the male security police, our Bringers. They circled

around our men nudging them with guns and shouting threats. Our men were being initiated as

prisoners. I knew the routine. The young, uniformed Americans were ordered to stay in the

middle of the lobby, and their clothes quickly became soaked. Anger already beamed from my

comrades eyes, and I could tell the insurgents had captured an noncompliant bunch.

One of our soldiers took off his shoe and started talking into it. The shortest Wind Maker,

the commander, smacked the shoe from the Air Force officers hand and kept it. The other

Bringers chuckled.

Dont treat us like stupid Vietnamese, the tallest Wind Maker roared.

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Oooh, someone has read some America history before challenging us. Good. At first, I

thought you might be stupid. Wait, I still think youre stupid, just informed, the highest ranking,

red-head America officer said.

Thwack

Grunt.

I realized from his bruised face our highest ranking Bringer must have been the one to

speak up in the truck. His red hair gave away his Irish descent, and I pictured him growing up

wearing a t-shirt that said Im one stubborn, kissable laddie.

Spotting drier ground, I was allowed to take a rear position under the balconies with Nan,

the other children, and teachers. Up the grand stairs, retail shops once bustled with business all

around the balconies. Now the balconies simply kept us dry as remnant drops from the rain still

plopped into puddles below. Another center door at the head of the stairs led into apartments, and

I had guessed our prison guards set-up correctly.

From the top of the steps the Brit shouted, Run, and we shoot. It goes for the children,

too.

My military training assessed the situation. From the balconies, the guards could keep us

at gunpoint, under control, and they were out of our reach. One guard had been posted behind the

main stairway halfway down the hall that led to the front door. If we ran down the hall, he could

shoot us before we attacked him. If someone tried to come in the front, the guard could take

down any intruders. Before today, I bet they had already stored supplies upstairs, and I guessed

they had prepared to hole up here for a very long time. If they were found here by American

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Determination to bring Mom and Nan home welled in my gut and added to the aching

muscles from lack of exercise. I began to pace, and Josh flashed his knowing eye; he knew I

needed to find focus.

Josh held up the rolled-out dough. Here, its time you learn how to crank it through the

pasta maker, he said.

Id rather clear my head by my eyes focused on the picture.

I know, he said looking into my eyes. His eyes averted to the picture, and he repeated,

I know, with a softer tone sounding like Father.

At least your method of coping feeds people, I said. Mine just requires a shower. Still,

I dont know how you can think about food even though weve barely eaten since they

disappeared yesterday.

Dad said to make something tasty and maybe wed feel hungry. You know, if he didnt

feel responsible for our safety, hed be walking around looking for his wife and child. He

yammers on the radio because its the only way he can feel as if hes doing something to find

them while looking after us.

Josh stood behind me. From his 511 inch stature, he reached down wrapping his arms

around my 57 frame. His muscular biceps pressed against my shoulders, and his strong hands,

rough like farmers hands, guided mine. I felt like a puppet as he wrapped his right hand around

mine for cranking the machine and steered my left for feeding the dough. The puppet master

stepped away, and he handed me the last ball of dough, a rolling pin, and finally he patted the

machine. Youve seen me do it often enough. Go for it. Ill make the meatballs.

I guess Im a real boy, now, I mumbled.

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What? he asked, and then the joke dawned on him.

Just dont run off and become a donkey. We have enough family problems.

Meatballs were usually Moms part of this meal. I didnt cook, and neither did father. I

overheard Grandma say once that when God handed out personalities, he gave the boy-

personality to her granddaughter and the girl-personality to her grandson. It didnt hurt my

feelings. For years I had accepted the fact I had taken after our first dad, the high-strung just do

it type, and Josh had taken after Mom, the negotiator.

Father really didnt even look at us, and Mom saw right through us, but in their own

ways, they both loved us.

Some girls would have said such a father didnt understand her, but Mom translated us to

her husband like someone translates another language to a foreigner. It takes determined love

from a man to narrow his eyes and decode a child.

We have to find Mom, I said with dough sticking to all my fingers. Josh rolled his

eyes, poured oil on his own hands, and rubbed it all over mine. Feeling the slimy squish between

my fingers, I remembered what I hated about cooking.

We havent found her yet, but we have it narrowed down. Were assuming shes

downtown.

We, who? You and Dad? I was just outside, and it didnt sound like Dad had a clue, I

said. I banged on the dough a few times with my fist. I managed to flatten the dough on the

plastic counter protector Mom always insisted we use. I picked up the rolling pin. Josh caught

the rolling pin mid-air, rubbed some oil on it, and handed it back.

No, me and the Fort Gang.

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The Fort Gang from Middle School? The boys you used to go into the gully with and

create open-air living rooms from junkthe trash you scavenged from the university students

when they moved out? What do they have to do with this?

I turned around looking for Father. Our parents didnt know about most of what

happened in the gully, and I wasnt going to expose what little intel I had.

Josh followed my eyes again just like Mom would have. Dont worry. Middle schools

declassified now by all interested parties. We shredded or burned anything embarrassing.

Must have been one huge bonfire, I said.

We all live in different neighborhoods now, Josh went on ignoring my attempt at

humor, but we still attend the same high school. We agreed before we left school yesterday

wed all sneak around and walk in our own neighborhoods and question the busy-bodies living

around us. Maybe the Internet is down, but the Catholic Net is alive and well. We met at

Belmont Park last night to talk. No one found anything unusual in any of the neighborhoods, so

we deduced where theyre holding hostages.

Downtown. None of us live downtown, and it makes sense thats where Mom and Nan

are being held. We barely had winds around the school, and every other neighborhood got

blasted harder than downtown.

By now I had rolled the dough, but it looked not-so-square shaped. Josh picked up the

rolling pin and with three quick passes over my blob, he created something that would fit in the

pasta roller. I started to crank it through.

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He mixed dried garlic and onion bits in the Hamburger/ pork combo, smooshing it all

together with his hands unwary of the grisly feeling. The aroma filling the kitchen reminded me

of my favorite Italian restaurant.

Our dogs, Juno, the mixed border collie/spaniel, and Lenny, the mixed lab, entered the

kitchen with noses high.

So what is the Fort Gang planning to do with this Sherlock Holmes deduction? I asked.

Were all sneaking out and walking together downtown tonight. Were going to poke

around the abandoned buildings, he answered.

Dad says were sleeping together in the basement. How are you going to sneak out

again? I asked.

Josh picked up the pasta and dropped the last batch into the boiling water while I washed

the flour and oil goo from my hands. Twice.

I dont know, Josh answered, but somehow Ive got to go, and I know Father wont let

me. Go tell him dinner in fifteen to twenty then set the table, will you? I gotta think.

I walked through the dining room, up the stairs, and down the long hall to make the

dinner call from Joshs bedroom window. The feeling of Joshs strong arms around me lingered.

I wanted him to go find Mom and Nan, and at the same time, I wanted his muscles to stay and

help me protect Father. True, maybe our parents are the smart ones, but Josh and I are the strong

ones.

I thought I strengthened this body for some reason, and this must be it, but how would

Josh and I going to care for both of our parents?

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5 Ila Monday Lunch time

Two Arabs, the fat-bodied insurgent and the second-in-command insurgent, dropped

baskets dangled from ropes in front of us about 3 feet from the ground. The Brit ordered, You,

with the hair on fire. Wait, Ill remember that idea for later. Get up and hand the sandwiches and

juice boxes all round before I decide to turn you into FDA unapproved pulp.

I thoughtSounds like all hes read about our country on a juice carton.

Whats pulp? Nan asked.

Shh. I found a few pieces of chalk that had been dropped on the ground, probably

dropped by one of the planners who had been thinking about where to place doorways and

windows for the lower level retail spaces. I want you to write all the words we dont know on

that dark-gray wall behind us. While we wait for our juice, Ill spell it for you.

As I spelled the word, the youngest toddler started screaming again with her high-pitched

howl. The commander who complained in the truck about the child came to the balconys

railing. He said, A short, dead body sent to the base commander sends a very strong message.

Keep her quiet.

Fortunately, Nan was too busy with the last p in pulp to question the commanders

statement.

Now I counted. We stood against them four mercenaries. My unit included four

women, four children, and four Bringers from the base. The same number as my unit on my tour

of duty as a Marine.

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The young Bringer came around to me. Word has it, youve seen action? he asked with

ventriloquists lips.

I nodded realizing he must have remembered my Desert Storm Veteran sticker on my ID.

He reached the basket over to Nan behind me. She had just left her writing on the wall to fish out

a sandwich and a juice box for her lunch.

One of the children, Thomas, had simmered down into a whimper. He had just turned

three-years-old, and she either understoodthis is bad, very bador he calmed down to eat.

Who knows with kids that age?

As we ate, I thought about the action I had seen from the base in California so many

years ago. In my air-conditioned office, I watched the video cameras placed in the field to

monitor the terrorists. The Afghanis would move into strategic areas to place bombs along the

roads. They didnt just plant land mines in the road; they hung them from trees, attached them to

bushes, and flung them in ditches as if they were leaving eggs for an Easter egg hunt. Anywhere

an American foot soldier might stumble upon one, they placed an explosive.

I ordered the pilots to fly into these areas and strike those Afghanistan soldiers, but the

Afhanies were wise to the video cameras and our greatest weaknesswomen and children.

Women and children were part of their arsenal to be used as shields.

It happened often. Id prepare a bomber to drop in an area supplying the coordinates and

giving the orders. Then a childs face would appear on my monitor. The children were instructed

to walk casually in front of the cameras pretending to be unaware of the cameras presence.

Next, Id belay the strike, but I told the pilot to stay in the area. In the background, I

watched the soldiers plant the mines, hang their trigger bombs, drink, and laugh. They felt

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assured as long as women and children appeared in our view, they could safely work. They were

correct. I wouldnt personally order the strike.

I didnt make the final decision. My commanding officer weighed the need for an all

clear in a specific area. Sometimes I was ordered to go ahead with the strike even if civilians

were in the area.

From the Afghanis point of view, they won either way. If we pulled out and didnt strike

due to civilian presence, they could plant their bombs and either slow or thwart the Bringers in

an area. If we went ahead and bombed, they had strong propaganda against the Americans. We

had killed women and children. I sat in my office well aware that no matter which decision we

made, we were to be the losers at the end of the day.

Only the first time after I ordered a strike, I left the cameras running. A woman and child

picked pomegranates in the background. The child had just knelt in the mud to eat the fruit like

Nan sat beside me at the Arcade with her sandwich. The bombs dropped behind the woman and

child leaving the camera intact. The woman and child, innocently eating one moment,

disappeared into a dust cloud the next moment. Poof. And when the dust cleared, a hole appeared

where they had sat eating fruit. This is how I saw action.

Apple? the red-haired Bringer appeared again with a different basket standing in front

of Nan. I could see his name tag, now. R. Keene, it read. Nan accepted an apple and bit into the

red skin with a thankful nod. I picked up an apple and squirreled it away for later.

Hoods, the R. Keene said with moving lips.

He bent down to pick up the hoods on the floor beside me. Again with frozen lips he

murmured, Weird were downtown. As if they knew the police states command base for

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civilians would be in the main post office, so the truck they hot-wired could move along in the

convoy unnoticed.

Yeah, I bet the Brit with American Camos drove. This was well-planned, I answered.

But they dont know how tough our guys are, and theyve apparently never heard the

term, Going postal, he said with a grin despite the bruises on his face. We have to escape.

Someone needs to know about the leak, he said as he looked above.

Our captors didnt appear concerned about our conversation.

We need nicknames and hand signals for our captors, Keene said. The tall one is the

commander. If I salute, Im signaling about him, and well call him Chief. The Brit is half-

hearted about all this; call him Half-heart, he said patting his heart. He put his hand on his

belly and continued, The second-in-command is the fat one, and well name him Fat Boy.

Recliner boy is the lazy one, he said placing his hand on his thigh.

As he moved toward the teacher holding Crystal and offered food, a horrific thought

crossed my mindcould I or would I use my child as a shield?

6 Samantha Tuesday before dinner

I looked at the pasta and meatballs remembering we couldnt eat at all last nightthe

night we discovered Mom and Nan had been taken. We wondered if they were being fed, and if

so, what? Earlier today, Father told Josh to save any of the vegetable plants worth saving after

being hit with the wind.

Father had climbed in Joshs bedroom window with this Ham radio, come down the steps

and through the dining room into our eat-in kitchen. I had set the table with plates we each had

handmade, and I set a place for Nan and Mom, too.

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When Father saw Nans plate from camp and Moms plate she had made while a Girl

Scout leader, a tear formed in his eye. He blinked it away and said, We have to believe they are

coming back. The table setting makes a statement, and I like it.

Thanks, Dad, I said.

Dad? he asked.

I realized he deserved a new title. Staying here with us, unable to look for Mom and Nan,

must be like . I overheard grandma say once it was nice of him to be a parent to us,

treat us the way he did.

I hugged him with all my muscles especially my heart.

We have to keep up our strength to find them. Eat, he said to Josh and me.

I nodded in agreement, passed the salad, and Josh passed the cruet with his homemade

ginger dressing.

Dad, Josh said. Some of the plants are missing vegetables.

Wind? Dad asked taking a very modest helping.

No, I think it was the neighbors last night. Sam told me you wanted everyone sleeping in

the basement tonight. I dont think I should sleep in the basement with you and Sam. I think I

should pop up the pup tent on the roof leaving the front flap open. The gusts seemed to die down

in the last hour or so. Ill keep Lenny for protection, and you take Juno. I can watch for anyone

walking through the yard. Ill pelt them with BBs if they mess with our food. The grocery store

still isnt open. We have to be careful with supplies.

Right, Dad agreed. Were lucky to still have electricity. Some neighborhoods dont

due to downed power lines. Still. So many people are in need of supplies all over the country,

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now. We should protect the garden. Youre right, Dad said finishing the last of the small portion

he placed on his plate. Were at the start of the growing season, but were lucky to have fresh

food growing.

Ill sleep up there with him, I said. We can take turns keeping watch.

Maybe we should all sleep on the porch roof, then, Dad said.

No, Josh said scrambling for a reason to keep Dad from joining us. The tent is only

big enough for two. Just barely. Some of the neighbors know about the green peppers, tomatoes,

and potatoes I have growing in the basement. They also know mom keeps her canned goods

down there with food in the winter freezer. You should sleep down there just in case they try to

break in the basement door and steal that food. Since you sleep so soundly, keep Juno with you.

She barks when an ant crosses the street.

Okay, Dad said, But Im giving you something a little more powerful than a BB gun.

Dad stomped up the steps. Those thuds spoke volumes about his frustration since he

normally walked gently up the steps. Dad returned with a shot gun and a box of shells.

Josh opened the box of shells and looked inside. Far from the norm, Dad.

New technology. You wont kill a man, but youll stun him for a full minute. Its like a

flying taser dart. If you have to shoot at someone, run inside before they become conscious.

Hopefully, theyll be so shocked after they regain consciousness, pardon the pun, theyll just run

away and leave everyone alone. You heard me? I want you inside if you have to shoot, especially

with your sister out there, before the person is able to move.

Heard you, Dad. Roger, AWOL, and out.

That makes no sense. Stick to plants, son.

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Juno started barking. The thirty pound, mixed Border Collie not only possessed amazing

auditory abilities, but her loud vicious bark alerted us anytime someone came near our home.

Unfortunately, she lacked the ability to discriminate between dangerous people and someone

simply waiting for the bus in front of our house. Bottom line: she barked often, and Dad had

learned to sleep through it.

I walked through the mud room off the back of the kitchen, and looked through the glass-

paned back door. An army truck pulled in the drive, and the light with a sensor attached to the

garage beamed a greeting. Six soldiers in full camo gear unloaded from the rear carrying guns

that made our shot gun look like a pop gun. Each soldier took their positions around the truck.

The driver remained behind the wheel. Two men walked to the passenger side, opened the door,

and escorted a man wearing a dress uniform to our back door. I recognized the Air Force

generals rank from the three stars pinned to the epaulettes on his shoulder. One of the soldiers

knocked on the door. The general was almost up the last step and ready to come into the house.

Josh, put Juno upstairs, I yelled over Junos barking. Juno always had to be taken from

the downstairs when we had a visitor because she didnt stop barking at a visitor the entire time

the visitor stayed.

Behind me, Dad commanded, Lenny, go cage.

Lennys cage sat in an over-sized closet-like cubby by the backdoor, and he knew to sit in

his cage until the visitor left. Dad always said Lenny was part Dingo since he seldom barked.

Dad squeezed both my shoulders. Ill let the general in, he said. He pushed gently past

me.

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I stepped aside and saw Josh disappear into the dining room carrying the shotgun in one

hand and leading Juno away by the collar with the other hand. Juno made the most noise, but our

big lab, Lenny, was the real threat.

For years we thought he was just a big, black marshmallow, the dog that would never

hurt anyone, until last year. I had taken him for a run and returned through the front door. After I

opened the front door, he dashed through the living room, dining room, and into the kitchen.

Next, I heard yelling in the mud room, and then I heard the sound of the back door slamming. I

realized someone had attempted to break in the back as I came into the front. Shaking, I walked

to the mudroom. Lenny sat in his cage, hackles raised, and blood dripped down the wall and

dried on the doorknob. Our black marshmallow proved to be a dutiful crime buster.

To commemorate important events in our family, Dad made tent-shaped signs and

placed them one at a time on his desk. When he took down a sign, he added the saying to his

own book of quotes. I guess some people keep photo albums, and other people store memories in

other ways. After Lenny chased away the burglar, he replaced the old sign with one that read:

Beware of the silent dog.

I knew why Josh wanted Lenny to stay with him on the roof tonight. I just didnt know

how we would get Lenny off the roof with us without Dad seeing us escape. Lenny couldnt

shimmy down the porch posts to sneak out like two teens. How would we keep Juno from

hearing us leave?

Lenny sat in his cage as the general walked past him, and the dog didnt budge except for

nose and eyebrow twitches.

7 Ila (Mom) Monday before Dinner

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came close enough to be seen by the foreign guards above, he glanced up, and fortunately, in my

direction. Although I was certain he could see only one insurgent who leaned over the balcony

across the lobby in front of me sending down more food, Wolfgangs expression mirrored our

danger. I pointed up and rolled my eyes around trying to indicate there were more of them on the

balcony. With a hand behind my back, I waved him away, and he left the squeaky, cumbersome

bucket, kept the mop in his hand, and ran on tip-toes back to his office in long strides.

Above, the foreigners ate apples and sandwiches. The Bringers kept watch on the

foreigners movements and eyed one another for comfort.

Still, I caught snatches of their chatter. They spoke mostly in Arabic. I told myself

remember your Arabic. My husband was third generation Lebanese/Syrian, and his parents still

spoke Arabic to one another occasionally. I learned a few words during my tour of duty. I picked

up a word I knewbos which meant kiss. Why were they talking about kisses? The hairs on the

back of my neck stood. Were they interested in the women? Me? The other women were dowdy,

well over one-hundred-and-sixty, and overweight. I tried to calm myself.

I prayed Wolfgang would remember a comment I made to him in passing when I saw he

owned a Ham radio. Call, call someone, please, Wolfgang. Please call.

8 Samantha (daughter)

Dad pulled a chair away from the kitchen table, and he offered our visitor food or drink.

Just water, the weary general said looking in my direction.

Elias, Im General Winston, the visitor said to my dad, and your Ham radio has

prompted this visit.

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I nodded, opened the cabinet to retrieve two clean glasses. The Bringer who stood by the

mud room door watched me. I held one glass up offering to fill it for the Bringer. He shook his

head.

After giving him the water, I returned to my task hoping no one would ask me to leave

the room.

What have you heard? asked the general with an annoying, squeaky voice. This guy

was not Bruce Willis. This man wasnt much taller than me, not much older than dad, and he was

balding. Maybe if he shaved his head, he could be more Willis-like, I thought.

Dad answered, Not much. More Ham operators are signing in and forming a larger net.

Ive focused on asking about the hostages, but so far, no intel concerning their whereabouts.

Someone, Winston said while leaning back in his chair, could know where they are,

but they havent connected with you, yet. Correct?

Right. Think of the Ham radio net forming as verbal email. Several people may have

emails with the location of the missing women, children, and officers, but they havent

forwarded it to me, yet. Same idea.

The general nodded. Were protecting the Ham radio sites with guards. Of course, as

done in any emergency, an operator has been located at all the Red Cross sites.

I know. Ive contacted all the sites I could find in several counties.

Youve charted your findings I assume? May I have the chart? Well scan it in on the

truck and return the original to you.

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Dad returned with a map of the area. He had keyed, color-coded, and footnoted his

findings on a separate sheet of paper. The Bringer smiled upon seeing the yellow stain on the

bottom of the map marked mustard.

The general gulped his water. Im posting guards here tonight to protect you as part of

the only communication net in operation. Youve collected a great deal of data, and it cant fall

into the wrong hands. I need you to expand your questions. Ask if anyone has seen any strange-

looking equipment of any type. Whatever device focuses the winds to cause such destruction

cant be a small machine. Someone has to notice something. He handed Dad a card. Here is

my call number, 4STAF, and my cell phone number if they ever get the blasted thing working.

Of course, contact my Ham radio operator if you find the location of any missing personnel or

info about strange equipment. I have a man with a mike in hand at all times in the back of my

truck.

The officer returned my dads map. I trust youll give the men Im leaving here a sofa or

some place to lie down so they can work in shifts. This is a fairly large house. I better leave four

men here.

I put the skillet in the dishwasher, closed it, started it, and said, Excuse me, before

leaving the room and running upstairs.

I entered the dining room and ran up the steps to the landing. I rushed past my parents

bedroom door on the right of the top landing, turned left down the hall past the laundry room, the

craft room, and my bedroom. At the end of the long hall, I entered Joshs room in an excited

rush. From the closet, he had already taken out the sleeping bags and the pup tent. He had the

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window open ready to place them on the flat roof. On top of a back pack, he also had some real

shells, not just the taser shells.

We have problems, I said. Were under guard tonight. I mean with real guardsM.P.s

from the base. How are we going to sneak out now?

Why are we being guarded?

They want to protect Dad as a Ham radio operator. The general was impressed with

Dads map, I guess.

I never intended to sneak out with you. Lenny and I are sneaking out. I need black

stealth with teeth and the stinging taser gun, but not my little sister.

You cant seriously think Im staying behind.

What do you have to contribute?

Youre not the only one who knows how to shoot. Matter of fact, you know I score

better at the Hunt Clubs shooting range better than you.

Look, if something happens to me, Dad will be pissed. If something happens to his

pumpkin-piehis P-Piethere is no word for the bodily excrement hell release. Itll come from

some organ not yet known to medical science. Im the oldest, the man, and hes half expecting

me to try something like this. Why do you think he gave me the gun?

To protect the vegetables, boy. To protect the vegetables. And he agreed to let me join

you on the roof because he knows who hits the bulls-eye in this family.

Bulls-eye, yes, but youve never gone hunting. Youve never killed. These guys are

going to look like relatives on Dads side of the family. Do you really think you can look at a

guy who resembles Uncle James and shoot him?

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And you think you can? I asked.

Look, keep your voice down. Arguing isnt productive. At least one of us has to be at

Belmont Park in less than five hours. Ill need you to distract the guard tonight. Where will they

be posted?

One in front and one in back, I said pointing in each direction with my thumb. The

general also said hell have someone pick up Dad and escort to meet the general again. If they

follow the base schedule, the first shift guards will still be sleeping when they pick up Dad in

two hours.

Now youre talkin. We have a window of opportunity. I have a plan, Josh said, eyeing

me up and down.

Your plan?

Lets start making you look like a girl. You arent distracting enough in those running

clothes, he said.

Need a smart aleck comment here.

9 Ila (Mom) Monday after lunch

The two of them came down the Arcade steps togetherHalf-heart, the Brit, and

Fat Boy. I had expected uninvited company because I knew the man by the front door would be

brought food by his own men, avoiding the possibility of our poisoning him. The commander for

our Bringers, Keene, hadnt seen them coming at the top of the steps, but I caught Keenes eye

and signaled by patting my heart and my belly. Keene pointed up with one hand and saluted with

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the other. I understood he questioned whether or not the commander remained above. I answered

by mimicking his question and nodding.

I hated to see these two Wind Makers coming together since they obviously had no

respect for one another. Bad chemistry makes for unsafe conditions, and our condition was

already volatile. The two of them circled around us captives to do a head count. Our captors

stopped in front of me and Nan who had returned from the indoor walk with the other children

and the teachers.

Fat Boy smacked the Brit in the belly playfully with the barrel of his gun as he said,

This one looks a bit like your wife. They looked down on us while Nan squirmed in my lap to

find a comfortable postion.

Bloody hell. You think all white people look alike, the Brit said.

I asked, If you have a wife back home, why do this?

Lady, Fat Boy answered, so my wife and kid are fed and clothed. So my parents arent

thrown in the streets. Plus they say if I die in the process of providing for them, I have a better

place in heaven with many virgins. Jihad is my life because I have a family.

I looked at Half-heart. He shrugged. Im Muslim, was his only answer. Im Muslim,

he repeated the second time, but this time it sounded like a question, a weary question.

Making eye contact with Nan, the Fat Boy asked, Child, you are part Arabic, no? Where

do you pray?

Immaculate Conception and home, Nan answered before I had a chance to play with

the idea of lying about my beliefs in order to protect her.

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Ah, someone left their country because they were persecuted for their beliefs. Fat Boy

spat at my feet.

Half-heart smiled and winked at his comrade, but then he shook his head mockingly at

the Arab when he looked away.

Fat Boy looked past me down the hall, and I wanted to distract him lest he notice the mop

bucket.

You said something about kisses a few minutes ago, I said. What were you talking

about? I know only a few words of Arabic from my in-laws.

The Arab squinted at me. We were talking about our wives. We miss them. You have no

fear of being raped if that is what you are thinking. First, you are filth to us. Secondly, we have

morals, unlike Christians.

Nans eyes widened. Its not nice to talk to my mommy like that.

From the middle of the lobby, Keene sent another signal. He saluted. I watched as the

commander strode down the steps.

I patted Nans knee and reminded her, Were not going to argue with the men with the

big guns.

Having heard Nan in his approach, the commander shook a finger at her. Your mommy

is a dirty infidel and so are you. Hold your tongue unless you want to see your mommy hurt.

Fat Boy seemed to think something looked out of place down the hall and I wondered if

he thought about the mop bucket. I held my breath. The hall

was littered with small pieces of old furniture they were throwing away, carpenters tools, and

plans, sitting on feeble tables. Finally, he said nothing about the mop bucket and moved away.

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When they turned to walk away, Nan and I held one another tightly. Nan stuck her tongue

out at them. After I was sure they hadnt noticed her childish response, I stuck my tongue out at

them, too.

10 Samantha (daughter) Tuesday evening

OMG I hate getting dressed up. Whoever created the first skirt ran out of material to

make a pair of sensible pants with pockets. High heels? I dont own a pair. Whoever created high

heels must have been raised in a ditch and later developed a complex causing them to want to

look down on everyone else. In the downstairs bathroom, I pushed my hair up in a headband and

practiced a coy smile in front of the mirror. Finally, I entered the office wearing, as prescribed by

my brother: a skirt I wore to my Junior-year dance, a shirt that showed some skin, and some

smelly lotion. I found the tube of Warm Vanilla with sparkles Mom bought for me in one of

those brain-dead shopping moments of hers. She thought if she purchased more girl-stuff, Id

become more lady-like.

I needed my mom back, so flirting was a necessity.

While rubbing on enough Warm Vanilla to smell like a cookie, and while walking

through the dining room and living room toward the front door, I thought about the romantic

propositions I had previously received. I turned them down. I reflected. I had watched my friends

date, swoon over guys, and break hearts since middle-school. I decided it best to wait. Maybe

when Im older, falling in love would seem, well, mature. Perhaps I will meet someone who

knows Im just what he wants, I in turn will realize he fulfills my requirements for a husband,

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and we can enter into a sensible relationship without all the mush, like a cozy partnership. I held

high hopes a joint-venture kind of love existed.

I went downstairs to follow my brothers orders: flirt with one of the guards and distract

him long enough for my brothers escape to Belmont Park. I hoped Id find the guard somewhat

attractive making this charade tolerable. I sauntered down the stairs hoping the guy didnt look

like trash, because taking out the trash has always been my chore because Josh helped cook, and

I decided long ago nothing is uglier than food wasted. I wondered how Id handle the flirting if

this guys owed rebuff. Buff would be better.

Pausing at the front door, I thought about how to open it. After all, the guard would be

young, inexperienced, spooked after the last couple of days events, and holding a very large

gun. I tried to open the door with some flourish, yet I didnt want a headstone that read: She

opens doors no more.I intended a show of noisy panache.The guard turned, and I realized why teenage boys had no appeal. They didnt look like

men, and this guy, this guy looked like a man.

He sported a five-oclock shadow instead of zits. His eyes werent the droopy Ive-been-

up-all-night-playing-video-games eyes. They were sharp, intelligent, blue-as-the-darkened-sky

eyes. He turned before me as I mentally measured his muscles and ascertained he could run

faster and farther than me. Id bet my running shoes he got up at 5:00 a.m. for his first runthe

easy one. His uniform met smartly around his tight abs.

He snapped his gun down and said with a deep voice, Maam? He said a whole word

without an adolescent squeak.

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No one ever called me Maam before, and my musclesthe ones that ached to be adult

muscleswent weak. I didnt have to fake flirting. I was transfixed, intrigued, and, yes,

salivating. I wiped my mouth fearing drool had escaped.

I pursed my lips together to swallow and be mindful not to lick off the lip gloss I wore.

Never before had I wanted glossier lips.

All the lines I had practiced left my memory as if my C drive had crashed in one brown

out. No power strip could protect my processor from the electric, radiant waves surging from that

uniform.

He added, Maam. You shouldnt be out here.

He was the guard I wanted, I mean, needed; really, let me rephrase here. Josh and I

wanted a guard who had just been posted on duty. Our plan would be more complicated if we

were interrupted with a change of guard. This guard was the one I wanted because I had seen

him in the kitchen about a half-hour earlier yawning. He had been eating breakfast in the kitchen

while Josh and I concocted our plan. He had just been posted. Good, he was fresh; you know

what I mean.

I smiled the coy smile; hopefully exactly like the one I had practiced in the mirror. Im

perfectly safe with you here, I said as nonchalantly as I could while my temperature rose high

enough to fry any love-sick brain. I sat in the rocker letting my skirt inch up, and I trapped one

side of it under my right palm to shorten it just a bit more. I crossed my left leg, and let my

ballerina flat fall off the heel of my left leg. For the first time in my life, I wished I owned a pair

of heels, and I wished I had grown boobs like my friend Janice.

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Good. He looked interested. He jerked his eyes away from my legs and looked passed the

porch posts towards the side of the house. He pulled his collar out, allowing the cool evening air

to reach his reddening neck. Good. I found a legs man, not a boobs guy.

I just thought maybe you could come inside and escort me to the basement. Dad is up on

the roof with his Ham radio working. Josh fell asleep, and Dad wants me to get some things from

the freezer to thaw for tomorrow. With four of you here, we have more mouths to feed. The

basement gives me the willies. Its an old house with a creepy basement filled with my brothers

weird plants. Think about entering Little Shop of Horrors one night after two of your family

members went missing. Thats what I have to do now.

Im not supposed to leave my post, maam.

But youre supposed to be here to protect me, I said with a plea in my voice.

What about one of the off-duty officers, maam?

Call me Sam, uh, I mean, Samantha. The other guards are sleeping, too, it seems. I

knocked quietly on the parlor door downstairs, and there was no answer, I lied.

Samantha, he repeated with a boyish grin. In those few seconds, his gun didnt look

real. I imagined him as some kid who skipped from up the street asking to play cops and robbers.

When he was young, I bet I would have played with him like one of the neighborhood boys who

liked to run, run, run.

Okay, he said after giving the perimeter a once over. I understand the only action in

the neighborhood is a few blocks west at Dots Market. People are trying to loot since the stores

without electricity are still closed.

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I stood and jumped up and down a few times. The hollow wooden porch with a crawl

space underneath was like a big drum under my feet. Yay, youre going to help the damsel in

distress, I said.

I let him enjoy watching my skirt slide up and down.

Upstairs, I knew Josh had heard the drumming of my feet as it vibrated up the porch posts

the all clear signal we established before I took out our enemy, our very cute enemy. Now all I

had to do was figure out how to sneak away, too, after Josh shimmied down the porch posts. I

hoped this guard remembered his orders were to protect us from outsiders, not ourselves,

although we needed the most protecting from our own scheming. No man can protect a girl from

what is inside her own head.

End of July Off-Tuesday Writers Group reading 11 Ila (Mom) Monday late afternoon

During our first day of captivity before dinner, the youngest babe started wailing again,

and the commander threw a box over the edge. Next a roll of duct tape and some Styrofoam and

packing popcorn in a bag plopped from the balcony above. Half-heart and the commander

exchanged angry words in Arabic, but the words ceased after the commander fired a single shot

over Half-hearts head. The other foreigners laughed as the bullet ricocheted up and crunched

through one of the glass panes. I thoughtThis was no school-boy dispute. Half-heart had been

given an order he didnt like, so I was sure I would hate the order even more, and I was right.

Half-heart stepped lively down the stairway, grabbed the box, tape, and the Styrofoam.

Then he snatched the screaming littlest girl from one of the teachers.

What are you doing? the teacher protested as she lunged forward to pull back the

brunette beauty with big brown, soggy eyes.

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sarcophagus with duct tape so she couldnt move around inside.

Shell suffocate. I demanded, You cant do this.

He lifted a knife and started to stab the Styrofoam. He pulled enough Styrofoam away to

expose her nose and mouth. I grabbed Nan as she lunged at half-heart and screamed, No! I

turned her head away.

Half-heart then lifted the casketed girl into the outer cardboard box. He filled the top of

the box with more popcorn, sealed the box, poked small breathing holes in the cardboard, and

affixed a mailing label to the top. He motioned me forward while one of the other teachers held

Nan. Half-heart handed me a pen.

Here, he said pointing to the label, Write your address. I assume someone is at your

house who can care for her.

I nodded and carefully spelled out my address. I added below the addressWere both

alive.

How about a return address? I asked.

Not that stupid, least not today, since Im regrettably sober, he said.

Recliner Boy and Fat Boy dressed in street clothes carried the box outside into the

twilight filled street.

What if no one comes for her? I asked him.

Were putting her by the mailbox. The mailmen are walking around downtown. Theyre

allowed, I guess. Army trucks are shooing everyone else inside buildings. A police state has been

declared. Our look-out man saw a businessman cleaning up his storefront this morning by the

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mailbox. Personally, Im hoping the businessman grabs the box and finds her. Otherwise, theyre

in for quite a surprise at your house, ey?

I prayed theyd find a breathing surprise. How horrible if a dead child arrived.

12 Samantha Tuesday night

Outside on the porch, the Bringer had agreed to escort me to the basement. In the

entranceway, Townies stalled by the parlor door. I wasnt certain if he peered into the rooms

looking for trouble or took the opportunity to sight-see in our old house.

Old house, but doesnt look it, really, Townies said, pausing.

I giggled. It must have been nerves because I didnt giggle, usually. I wanted to catch up

with Josh, not tour our home, but our old house often intrigued visitors. I recanted my Mom and

Dads version of our houses story. Before we moved in here, the house mysteriously burst into

flames. The owner claimed bad wiring caused it. The insurance company replaced the original,

old plaster with wallboard, and they paid to completely refurbish and remodel. To maintain the

vintage quality of the home, the owner insisted on the heavy, dark wooden doors and trim, bay

windows, and other antique features. We better fetch food.

Big chandeliers, too, Townies added.

Yeah, I tried to sound casual. This one closest to us, the burgundy one in the living

room, came from Italy, and the huge crystal one in the dining room takes hours to clean. I

moved to the second light fixture in question, hoping to lure him. Both chandeliers were

compliments of the previous owners fight with the insurance company.

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Before arriving at the basement door, trying to lead, Townies became mired again in

sightseeing. He disappeared into the parlor just off the entranceway. Hoping hed follow, I

called out another random fact about the chandeliers. Its cool to turn on a strobe light in here.

The place sparkles and flashes like you wouldnt believe. Makes for great Halloween parties.

Townies returned to the living room and I hoped hed continue to the basement door, but

again detoured examining other functional roomsMom and Dads offices off of the dining

room. I had to admit, it was interesting the way mom decorated with the contrast between the

functional rooms and the frou-frou rooms, as Dad called them. The functional rooms featured

light oak furniture, bookshelves, and heavily textured upholstery. The living room and the dining

room were characterized with light-weight fabrics and cherry wood furnishings. Mom decorated

with touches of burgundy, green, and blue in every room, but I didnt care at that moment.

Wed better return you to your station after we go to the basement, I reminded him.

Just making sure all is secure, he said.

I tried a new tactic. I called into the office door, Your ID says W. Townies. Whats the

W stand for?

He stepped from Moms office shaking his hands dry, so I knew he had gone into her

bathroom off of her office to wash his hands. William, but my family calls me Will.

The attractive enemy I intended to knock stone-cold was named Will Townies, if I could

ever lure him to the disturbing basement.

From the top of the basement stairs, the eerie illumination from the sunlight bulbs crept

up the creaky wooden steps. The strange old basement belonged to our plants. The sagging

foundation needed paint, and the dirty concrete on the floor was original, over one-hundred years

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old. From the center of the basement, the furnace reached its vents up and out towards various

parts of the house. The low ceiling caused any grown person to watch for the hanging cobwebs

along the way. Spiders enjoyed weaving webs on the wooden ceiling and fancied propelling

down to the plants sitting on long shelves under the artificial sun bulbs. Since spiders pollinated

Joshs plants, so they were sacred here.

Potatoes grew under windows along the walls from wooden casket-length boxes filled

with dirt. Pots, bags of dirt, and vermiculite had been scattered in various places around the room

causing a person to avoid tripping by watching feet, and at the same time above, to avoid

clinging cobwebs, low ceiling, and plunging spiders. Moms freezer, not an upright, but the kind

criminals keep dead bodies in, hummed along with the lights and furnace, droning a buzzy,

beatless cacophony.

I often imagined if I were ever buried alive in a thin-walled casket, such a grave would

smell like this room with its cool, yet humid air so heavily laden with earthy odors.

Once in the basement, I pretended to read from a list. Here, I said to Will, use this

gathering basket. Dad wants us to pick some of those yellow pear tomatoes, two green peppers,

and enough lettuce for a salad. I know how the freezer is arranged. Ill take out the meat for

burgers.

Will looked at his gun in one hand and the gathering basket in another as if he were

suddenly conflicted about his role in life. He started to put down the gun and then snapped his

body into an alert position, looked at the stairs, and considered me all over again.

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I showed a bit more leg, smiled a lip-glossy smile, and said, Oh, please. Help me. This

basement feels like a muddled tangle. I drug out the word tangle, and stuck my chest out

attempting to enhance my figure.

I wondered if he actually heard Josh climbing from the roof. The old house creaked just

when a teenager needed a solid, noiseless structure as if it had learned through the generations of

inhabitants when to speak.

I pointed, spoke louder, and thanked my lucky stars the blower on the fan kicked on to

accommodate the air conditioner. Just go between those two shelves, and behind that one.

Not many people grow veggies in the city, let alone their basement. No one in our

neighborhood in Missouri, he said with a squint and a drawl.

Yeah, Dad and Josh started growing as much food as possible months ago after the first

winds attack. Mom and I started canning the old-fashioned way in Ball jars, I said pointing to a

shelving unit along the wall. People can steal the vegetables growing outside, I explained, and

if the electricity goes out, wed lose the food in the freezer. The old Ball jar method has its

advantages. He still hadnt moved toward the shelves. Funny, how the jars look full of food

and delicious upstairs, but down here all lined up on the shelves, they remind me of the jars we

saw on a field trip to the morgue. The coroner stores body parts in containers on shelves all

labeled and dated, sort of like these, you know.

I pictured Josh leaving the park without me. I wanted Townies to ramble into the shelves

so I could attack, and I thought perhaps equating the basement with the coroners office might

speed him up.

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He smiled, put his gun on the floor, and swung his basket a bit as he took a break from

his role as The Big Bad Wolf. He stepped between the shelves, turned, and I waited for him to

face my direction with his back to the furnace. The shelving unit in front of him had been

constructed of heavy wood left over from rebuilding the back deck. The weighty pots sustained

the dangly, thick tomato vines my brother had nurtured into an enormous amount of growth.

I yelled, Sorry, so sorry, as I pushed the shelving unit over. I spun around hearing

wood, metal, pots, and plants crash all around him. As I topped the steps, with his gun in hand, I

called, Gotta go help my Mom and my sister.

Debriefing #2 Dad (Ask Tony how a meeting with the general would be written)

Monday and Tuesday (date military time?)

Elias Absi

Report the General Smith re: General Winstons actions after the Dayton Winds (How do

indicate 3 stars, 4 stars for the generals? Do I?)

According to my orders, Monday and Tuesday I used call # XXXXX on frequency

XXXXXX to acquire information about the hostages taken from Wright Patterson Air Force

Base (WPAFB) after the winds attacked our base. My wife and child, Ila Absi and Nannette

Absi, were believed to be amongst the hostages taken. The Ham radio remained the only

operable form of communication during this time.

At (O400 hours?) on Tuesday, I received communication from operator(xxxxx)

frequency (XXXXX) who responded to an earlier plea for information. Operator(xxxxx) had

been contacted by Wolfgang Heizer from the downtown Dayton Arcade. Wolfgang Heizer was

the owner of the Arcade at that time. He had been out of town two days

Chapter 2 Samantha Tuesday Afternoon 8 17 Scribd

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