Brian Freeman - Marathon

And now Joni was gone. Dead.

And Shelly had lost her legs.

Travis couldn’t believe it. Saturday morning his life had been perfect, and with one big bang, it all went away. He didn’t know what would happen next. It would be weeks before Shelly could work again. Or months. Or maybe not ever. Travis didn’t even know how long he’d have a job himself. Maybe Wade would open the business again, or maybe he’d kiss off the Duluth winters and move to Key West. That was where he always said he wanted to be. It’s not like anybody wanted to squirm through a tunnel, laying down traps and poison. The only reason you did it was for the money.

Travis popped open the rear doors of the van. He needed to load up. Tomorrow was Tuesday, and Wade figured the city would be open for business again, regardless of whether they’d caught the Muslim bomber. Time to make the rounds on their accounts. Zap more bugs. Haul out the gray bodies of the rats. This was what he did every day, but suddenly it felt hollow and empty to be there alone. His chest felt heavy. He left the garage and watched the breeze blow in ripples across the huge lawn. He couldn’t see another house beyond the fields, just trees. Wade liked his privacy.

Travis walked to the main house. The door was unlocked. Nobody locked their doors up here. Inside, he went to the kitchen, where Wade kept a special refrigerator just for beer. He popped a can of Bent Paddle and sat down at the table. The house was dead quiet, but he could hear voices in his head, like echoes. He could smell Joni’s perfume, which reminded him of a fresh apple blossom. He sat there drinking, and tears ran down his face. Big fat tears like he hadn’t cried since his parents died.

He finished his beer and crushed the can in his fist. He imagined having his hands around somebody’s throat.

Travis went back to the garage and the van. He started loading up poison again. Was that all there was? Life goes on? Joni gets killed, Shelly can’t walk, and he was just supposed to go back to work like nothing was different? That wasn’t right. He couldn’t sit on his ass and pretend that everything was fine.

You were in the path, man, and God saved you.

Wade nailed it when he said that. Travis was alive, when he should have been dead. He’d stood in front of a bomb, and the bomb had passed him by. That had to be a sign. God didn’t save his sorry life so he could do nothing.

Seems like He must have some kind of mission for you.

A chance to do something.

Travis stood alone in the garage and realized the answer was staring him in the face. Right there on the metal shelves was a row of plastic gasoline cans that Wade kept for the machines around the farm. He went over, picked one up, and unscrewed the cap, letting out the sickly aroma of gasoline into the musty garage. Some splashed on his sleeve. He put the fabric to his nose and inhaled. The smell made him dizzy, because it was so strong.

He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew why he was alive.

Just like that, Travis had a plan.

When Malik still hadn’t returned by dusk, Khan began to wonder if something had gone wrong. He was hungry, lonely, and scared. The house was dark behind the closed curtains, and he wandered from empty room to empty room amid the shadows. He thought about walking into the street with his hands up and letting the police take him away. Or he thought about finding a phone and calling the media to say: “I didn’t shoot that cop. It wasn’t me.”

Malik was right. No one would believe him.

More than anything, he missed Ahdia and Pak. He wanted to know where they were, and he wanted to be with them. He could picture his wife’s face and hear her voice, and he could feel Pak’s small arms hanging on when he carried him. He hoped Allah would bring them all together again soon. He had no idea of the time and when he should perform salat , but he prayed throughout the day, anyway. It was the only thing that gave him comfort. His relationship to God was the only piece of the world that made sense.

Saturday morning his life had been perfect, and then, with one big bang, it all went away. He didn’t know what would happen next.

His stomach growled, but there was no food in the kitchen. The toilet, which had no water, smelled of waste. Every remnant of human life in the house had been stripped away. No furnishings. No clothes. Just the dust and debris of what had once been a place where a family lived. He didn’t even see where Malik slept, which was strange.

Everything about Malik felt strange.

Why had he taken refuge here, instead of his apartment? What was he doing in this place?

His friend was hiding something, and Khan wanted to know what it was.

He began opening doors, because he was sure the answer was there somewhere. One door, which he’d assumed was a closet, was actually the entrance to the basement. Wooden stairs led down into darkness. He flipped the light switch, but there was no electricity. He returned to the living room to retrieve a small flashlight that Malik had left behind, and with that light guiding him, he took the stairs to the underground level.

The air was cool and damp. He reached the bottom of the steps, where the foundation was made of concrete. His light lit up only a small portion of the space in front of him. The basement was unfinished. Pink insulation filled the seams where the beams of the house were joined to the walls. On the floor, scattered like confetti, he saw mouse droppings. Water and venting pipes made a maze above his head.

He saw a sleeping bag and pillow. This was where Malik spent his nights. He also saw a rickety wooden table and an open bag of vanilla sandwich cookies and a jar of chunky peanut butter. He scooped out peanut butter with his finger, and he wolfed down the rest of the cookies in the bag. His mouth felt sticky and sweet.

Khan shot his light around the walls. He saw barred windows and grew nervous when the light passed over the dirty glass. Anyone outside could see it. Malik had rigged heavy drapery that could block the windows at night, but he hadn’t lowered them yet.

It was time to go back upstairs.

As his flashlight beam swept across the floor, he spotted a worktable and a chair in the middle of the basement. He felt a wave of horror when he realized what he was seeing. The concrete around the table shined with bits of wire. The table itself was a mess of tools, nails, black powder, plastic jugs, and electronic circuits. Beside the table, hanging by shoulder straps on the back of the chair, was a black vinyl vest, in which multiple pockets had been sewn. The pockets were filled with sealed jugs that had been carefully wired together.

Khan wanted to scream.

He knew Malik’s secret now, and it was worse than he’d imagined. It was a suicide vest. It was a human bomb, with only one purpose. To kill the person wearing it and everyone around him.

He swung around sharply, and as he did, his flashlight beam lit up a face, and he jumped. Malik stood directly behind him. His friend’s face was bone white in the light, like a corpse. His eyes were dark and devoid of emotion.

“You shouldn’t be down here, Khan,” Malik told him. “I was outside. I saw the light. Others can, too.”

“Who cares about that?” Khan asked.

He shoved angrily past his friend, their shoulders colliding. Khan made his way by feel, bumping into the wall with his hands until he found the wooden stairs. He took them two at a time, back into the deep shadows of the house, and he heard Malik running behind him.

“Khan!”

Malik caught up with him in the hallway and grabbed his shoulder. Khan spun around and pushed Malik hard. His friend lost his balance. Khan marched for the rear door of the house, and Malik charged after him. They wrestled in the hallway, but Malik was strong and soon pinned Khan’s shoulders to the wall. His friend’s breath was hot on his face, although he could barely see him.