Brian Freeman - Marathon

“What I want isn’t the issue. You’re seventeen years old. You’re smart as hell. You know what’s right, and you know what’s wrong, so don’t pretend you need me or Stride to tell you what to do. We’re done with that. It’s up to you, Cat.”

Serena kissed the girl’s head, and then she walked away without another word.

She hoped that she hadn’t made an awful mistake.

Khan beat his fists on the wooden floor and cried, but nothing brought his family back.

For hours, he wailed to Allah, looking for answers where there were none. Malik kept trying to quiet him, because he was afraid the neighbors would hear. Khan didn’t care. He thought: Let the police come. Let them draw their guns and kill me. His life was as good as over. He thought about strapping on the awful vest that Malik had built. End everything in a brilliant flash of light, rather than face the long, empty years of loneliness ahead of him. Even so, he couldn’t do it. He sat in a corner of the deserted house, surrounded by dust and darkness, with no idea how to go on.

Khan was devastated, but Malik was angry.

“Now do you understand?” his friend demanded of him, his face reddening with outrage. “Now do you see what I’ve been saying for months? This country hates us. It would murder us simply for who we are. All your talk of peace — what did it get you? You thought you could hide in your little town, your little neighborhood, your little house, but you can’t.”

Khan had nothing to say, but this time, he knew Malik was right. There was no place to hide. He’d run from Pakistan. He’d run from Chicago. He’d asked nothing from life except to live in tranquility with his wife, his son, and his God. But no. You can’t run forever. Sooner or later, the monster always finds you.

“Don’t you see the truth now?” Malik went on. “ Muslim is tattooed on your forehead, Khan. It’s all they see. You can never be a part of them; you can only be a part of us .”

Khan stared at his friend from red-rimmed eyes. “Who is us?”

“Those who would fight and die for Allah,” Malik said.

Khan shook his head wearily. “What does violence do? Violence solves nothing.”

“So what, you’re afraid of them calling you a terrorist? They’ll do that, anyway. Meanwhile, the real terrorists are right here. The terrorists are the ones who murdered Ahdia and Pak last night.”

“Don’t even speak their names,” Khan told him.

Malik took a slow breath. He slid down the wall and sat next to Khan. “I know. I’m so sorry for your loss. This tragedy is beyond anything a man should have to bear.”

“The wound will never close,” Khan replied. “Never. I keep thinking about what they went through. I can feel the fire on my own skin. I choke on the black smoke. I should have been able to save them, Malik. I should have sacrificed myself, and instead, I was a coward.”

“Nonsense.”

“I wasn’t strong enough,” Khan murmured, mostly to himself. “The fire drove me back. I should have been stronger.”

“Even if you’d made it inside, all three of you would be dead. There was no way out.”

“Then I wish we’d all died together.”

Malik grabbed Khan’s hand. “I know you have to grieve, but you also have to think about what comes next. You don’t have the luxury of mourning them in peace. You don’t have time.”

“I don’t care what comes next.”

“So instead, you walk outside and let the police fill you with bullets? That may sound preferable right now, but is that what Ahdia would want? For you to give up?”

Khan felt the tears again. He stared at the ceiling in resignation. “What do you want from me, Malik?”

“I want you to get angry . Underneath your grief, anger boils. This was your wife! Your son! These people took them away from you. Murdered them. If you give up, they win.”

“Nothing boils inside me,” Khan said. “I can’t feel anger. I can’t feel anything. Don’t you see that? I’m dead inside. I’m going to walk out that door with my hands up. If they shoot me, so be it.”

Malik squeezed Khan’s hand until his fingers hurt. “No. I won’t let you do that. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“How? There’s a police car not even fifty yards away. Two police officers watching the street.”

“We wait until dark, like last night,” Malik said.

“There are still streetlights. We’re not invisible.”

“I’ll draw the police away somehow. Once they leave, you’ll be able to escape.”

“And then what? Where do I go? You said it yourself. There’s nowhere to hide. Sooner or later, they’ll find me.”

Malik pushed himself off the floor. They were in the living room, hidden in shadows. Outside, just beyond the window glass, Khan could hear the trill of a cardinal. The red birds with their tufted hats had been Ahdia’s favorites. She’d put up a feeder and bought food to attract them, but it seemed as if cardinals couldn’t be tempted by easy offerings. They kept their distance, even when their song was in the trees; they showed up only on rare occasions to grace the humans with their presence. It made every sighting special.

He wondered if Ahdia had sent the cardinal to him now and what message she wanted him to hear.

What would you tell me to do, my love?

“I’ll set up an underground railroad for you,” Malik said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll make contact with my friends in Minneapolis. They’ll arrange a meeting point and a safe house. From there, someone will drive you out of state. You can take refuge in another city. Chicago. New York. Los Angeles. If necessary, if it comes to that, they can find a way to smuggle you out of the country.”

“My home is here,” Khan said.

“Your home was here. You have no home now — don’t you realize that?”

Khan took a deep breath. Malik made it sound so easy to pick up and go. He found it hard to imagine a world outside Duluth, where he’d always assumed he would spend the rest of his life. But Malik was right. His home wasn’t this city. His home had been his wife and child, and now his home was gone. It didn’t matter where he went. He had nothing to leave behind.

“Assuming I left,” Khan said, “how would that even happen? How would we get from here to Minneapolis? As soon as we tried to run, we’d be spotted.”

“We’ll stick to back roads. We avoid the freeways.”

“You don’t think they’ve thought of that? There will be roadblocks. They’ll have the entire city in a box. As long as the search goes on, we’re marked men.”

Malik nodded thoughtfully. He looked like an engineer contemplating a design flaw that seemed impossible to solve. “True. You’re right.”

“So what do we do?”

His friend shook his head. “I’ll worry about that part of the plan later. First things first. I need to make sure the car I was using is still safe. It’s not registered to me, but any car that’s been parked in the same place for a while may have attracted the attention of the police. If they found it and they’re watching it, then I need to find something different.”

“How will you get to the car without being seen?”

“Carefully,” Malik said, smiling. “Don’t worry, I can slither on my belly when I need to. Once I reach the car, assuming it’s safe, I can map out our route and arrange a welcome from my friends in Minneapolis.”

“And what do I do in the meantime? Sit here alone?”

Malik squatted in front of him. “For now, yes. Get some sleep if you can.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.”

“Well, try to rest, anyway. It’s going to be a long night. And listen to me, Khan. Whatever happens, don’t be foolish. These people would put a bullet between your eyes on sight. To them, you’re a cop killer. Do you understand?”