Brian Freeman - Marathon

“What the hell was that?” Maloney demanded.

“The suspect opened fire, sir.”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“No, sir.”

Maloney placed his hands flat on the table. “I guess we have Rashid’s answer.”

The room was silent, but then Agent Durkin said, “Not necessarily, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the gunfire on its own doesn’t make any sense. Rashid can’t see anything from inside the shed. Maybe he was emptying his weapon. We asked him to open the door and toss his gun out. If he’s not physically strong enough to do that, he might have been trying to prove to us that he’s no longer a threat. He fired until he ran out of ammunition.”

Maloney frowned. “Stride?”

“Or he may be trying to lure us in.”

Maloney opened his mouth to reply, but a voice over the microphone interrupted him. It came from the transmitter mounted on the robot at the scene, and it was almost impossible to interpret.

“Commander, what was that? Was that Rashid?”

“I think so, sir.” And then, louder, over the bullhorn: “ Rashid, repeat your last communication .”

They all heard it this time.

“ I surrender .”

Khan awoke on the floor in the house at the end of Redwing Road. The pain made him feel as if his skull had been split in two. When he touched the back of his head, the slightest graze of his fingers set off lightning bolts. He pushed himself to his knees, feeling dizzy. When he stood, he fell against a wall, barely able to keep himself upright.

He was alone.

“Malik?” he called, but he knew his friend was gone. The gun that Malik had left for him was still on the floor at his feet. Next to it was a folded sheet of white paper. Khan squatted, feeling the whole world spin, and he retrieved it. He tried to read the note, but the darkness was too black, so he carried it to the front window, where the glow of a nearby streetlight reached inside.

I’m sorry, my friend. This was the only way to set you free. Leave the way I told you, and don’t look back.

Khan wondered what time it was. Was it midnight yet? Malik had said he’d know when it was safe, but he had no idea what that meant. And then he realized, looking outside to the street, that something was different.

The police were gone.

There were no flashing lights. No parked squad cars. No uniformed officers going house to house. He was alone. Somehow, Malik had drawn them all away, just as he’d promised.

Wherever the police were, the emptiness in the neighborhood wouldn’t last. The window of escape would only be open for a brief time. Khan realized that Malik was right. It was time to go. He’d thought it would be difficult — impossible — to leave his life in Duluth behind, but now that he was at that moment, he realized he had nothing else to do but walk away. His wife was gone. His son was gone. The only thing he had left were memories, and he could bring those with him.

Standing there in the house, Khan felt something ugly inside his chest. He realized he was bringing something else with him, too.

Hatred.

Anger.

He didn’t like those feelings. They were foreign to him. He wished he could drive them away, but they clung to him like ticks that had dug their way into his skin and were feeding on his blood.

Khan walked over to the gun on the floor, picked it up, and shoved it into his belt. He had nothing else to take with him. His head throbbed. It was hard to walk. But he couldn’t wait any longer.

He opened the front door. He expected lights and rifles and angry shouts, but instead, the darkness welcomed him. Crickets sang, and frogs croaked out a chorus in the swampy woods. The trees fronting the golf course were on his left. All he had to do was cut across the hilly fairway under the protection of the night and find the burgundy Ford Taurus that Malik had left for him. Get into the car. Drive. Escape. Leave his life behind.

Start over.

He tried to go, but he hesitated on the threshold. He couldn’t stop thinking about Malik. Where was he? What had he done?

What was his plan?

By then it should be safe.

Why?

Because they will no longer be looking for you.

Khan’s headache made it hard to think. To understand. To puzzle out the answer to the riddle. It made no sense for Malik simply to draw the police away. Once they captured him, it would be clear that it was Malik in their hands, not Khan. The search would begin again. He wouldn’t be safe, not here, not on the road, not in Minneapolis. There was nowhere to run.

A day or more. It will give you time.

A day for what?

Think, Khan.

And then he knew. Horror crept into his body, starting in the soles of his feet, wriggling up his back. It was hard to breathe. He spun around, too fast, and he lost his balance. He went back inside the house, leaving the door open, and braced himself against a wall. The darkness and dizziness followed him. He could barely see. Like a blind man, he stumbled forward, and he realized that, along with the shuddering pain in his head, tears had begun to fall from his eyes, as heavy as rain. He felt for the door to the basement; he knew it was there. He ripped it open. The stairs felt impossible, as if he had to lower himself into a cave. He only made it two-thirds of the way before he fell, crashing down, feeling his shoulder hammer the concrete floor.

When he got up, he squinted. Faint light glowed through the window wells. He let his eyes absorb it, and he let the room slowly stop spinning in his brain. He inched across the floor, kicking debris. He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. The curtain of tears turned the basement into a gauzy dream.

Khan knew what he would find down there.

Nothing.

The wooden chair was empty. The suicide vest that Malik had assembled was gone.

I surrender .

Malik knew that was what they wanted from him.

Give up the fight. Offer no sacrifice at the end. He could never do that. He was going to die, and when he did, he wouldn’t die alone. He’d take as many of the Unbelievers with him as he could in a single moment of bright light. It was a glorious thing, to walk with head held high into the Hereafter.

And the others?

Taste the penalty of the blazing fire .

It would be days before they could run their tests on blood and tissue and realize that they had all been fooled. By the time they knew who had died here tonight, Khan would be hidden in another life.

Malik lay on his back. He stared upward, seeing nothing. His heart pumped; his blood spilled to the floor, leaving him light-headed to the point of euphoria. He felt keenly aware of everything around him. In the fierce buzz above his face, he could distinguish the flutter of wings of each individual bee. He could identify each leg of each beetle that traversed his skin. Somewhere nearby, he smelled roses and honey, rising like sweetness above the manure in the shed.

His breathing came with difficulty now. When he tried to move his legs, he found that they didn’t obey his brain anymore. Instead of pain, he felt numbness. He didn’t have much time. It didn’t matter; he had no fear and no regrets. The flat, plastic trigger was already in his hand, and all he needed was the barest touch of a finger to fulfill his goal. One spark, sent along the wires, exploding flesh and bone into a billion fragments. Online, his brothers had assured him that he wouldn’t feel a thing. One moment, he would be here in the dirt and darkness, and a millisecond later, he would be walking in the Gardens of Paradise.

“ Rashid, we are coming to get you now .”

Yes, yes, come, he whispered soundlessly to himself. Bring as many as you can. Meanwhile, hopefully, Khan was already gone, on his way to freedom.