Ever Hayes - Emergency Exit

Captain Ade “Eddie” Bayo was a giant. He was also a Nigerian refugee. At age sixteen, he and his younger brother Lazzo were hunting mice in a millet field when rebels attacked their village. As the two of them watched, terrified, the rebels burnt the village to the ground. They killed most of the adults and girls, including their parents and sister, and kidnapped the remaining boys. Eddie knew firsthand what senseless violence looked like, and he wanted no part of it. He and Lazzo fled to Libya with hundreds of others, desperate to avoid the genocide escalating back home.

Libya, at the time, was remaking its world image, fresh off Muammar Gaddafi’s murderous regime. The people were sympathetic to the experiences of the Nigerians, and the boys were welcomed with open arms.

Eddie hated war, but he desperately wanted a higher education. Without enlisting in the military, there’d be no such opportunity for a poor boy like him. He knew he was risking being pulled into a fight he didn’t want, but he desired education more. The military was also the only way he was ever going to get to America, a dream of his since childhood. But visas were hard to secure for Africans, even more so for refugees, unless they joined the military. His English studies were going well, vocabulary wise, but speaking the language itself was rather challenging. He found himself stuttering regularly, couldn’t appropriately nail an American accent, and struggled with the excessive slang and idioms. He feared none of those would get easier without actually living in America. He was convinced if he could get a few years of experience in the United States he could overcome his current impediment and learn to speak like a true American. He had to get there somehow. As soon as he was eligible, he enlisted.

He loved college. Even without alcohol, as a devout Muslim, they were still the best years of his life. He immersed himself in American history, geography, government, culture and military studies at the University of Tripoli. His American knowledge and brilliant strategic mind helped him climb the military intelligence ladder quickly and, perhaps more importantly, kept him off the battlefield. He didn’t have to fight. He didn’t have to kill.

He met his wife his last year at the university, married her that summer, and was granted an officer post in the village of Marat, an hour south of Tripoli, a month later. Eddie was lauded for his character and leadership skills. A well-educated peacekeeper and difference maker respected by his military peers, Eddie, by the age of twenty-five, was rapidly promoted all the way to captain, the highest available rank for a refugee.

His brother Lazzo had followed him into the military and was promoted behind him up to first lieutenant. Both of them worked in military intelligence, and that was Eddie’s entire focus. Lazzo, on the other hand, was also trained as a pilot. He loved to fly, and he could expertly pilot any kind of aircraft.

In September of 2020, Eddie received a visit from Libya’s commander in chief. Curious as to the purpose for the visit and the many personal questions he was asked, he was told only the Libyan chief was searching for his country’s best men. Accordingly, if the commander thought highly enough of him, Eddie should expect to receive a call soon with a special opportunity. A little more than a week later, Eddie and his company were offered an assignment in Mexico for what he was told was a “training exercise.” Eager to make a difference out in the world and to prove his worthiness to his commander in chief, he and Lazzo reported for duty without objection. Eddie left behind his wife and three daughters, and Lazzo left his new and pregnant wife.

As their training exercise neared its conclusion, a week before they were due to return to Libya, their commander called Eddie and all the other company leaders into the main building. He informed them the United States had attacked their homes, unleashed nuclear bombs on all of Libya and many other countries, and wiped out the entire population. No one back home had survived. Officers had been trying to reach family for days, but with no success. There was no home left to return to. They were on their own here. China, Russia, and several other countries had reportedly retaliated with chemical warfare and had managed to wipe out most of the United States. In shock, Eddie listened as he was filled in on the details by his commanding officer. He was given a phone and told to try to reach his family. Everywhere he called he received nothing but static. They were all dead. It was true. There was nothing they could do. How could America have done this? How could America have done this to HIM?

Furious rage quickly replaced his sadness. He wanted to know what he and his men could do. His commander told him, “Plans have changed.” This was no longer a training exercise. The remaining government leaders from the former superpowers had joined together into one unified force called Qi Jia, and they would be making a move on the former American capitol. The commanders assured each of the officers their orders would arrive soon, and they likely would be sent in to finish the job. Libya’s commander wanted to know if he could count on Eddie to make America pay for its sins. With resolution fueled by personal tragedy, a fury for war replaced a decade and a half of peace in an instant. Eddie wanted blood. Hell yes they could count on him!

When the orders came, he didn’t question the incredible size of the already mobilized force. It didn’t occur to him to consider how a million military and mercenary men had been pulled together so quickly and orchestrated into an even more unified dispersal across the former United States. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his commander’s version of the attacks, and his family’s death secured his unquestionable allegiance to the fight.

His papers had his company going to a place called Fargo. Eddie had seen a movie by that name at the university, but hadn’t been able to understand its regional dialect. He shouldn’t have to worry about that now; there wasn’t supposed to be anyone still alive up there. He was assigned leadership to a patrol of eighty men, a small faction of the five thousand soldiers being sent to Fargo, North Dakota. Their orders: “Kill everyone not wearing a Qi Jia uniform.” Simple enough .

On arrival at the Fargo Air National Guard Base, he and fifty other company leaders assembled in the airport hanger. Eddie’s company and four others would head north immediately to a town called Grand Forks. They were to burn every grocery, clothing, and supply store in the city, the idea being to limit the strength of resistance, and life expectancy, of any survivors. They were then to head west in a straight line towards Montana burning every farm and small town to the ground, before eventually circling back to Fargo. They could leave the roads alone. Leave the bodies. Cleanup crews would follow and take care of them, and as evidenced by the hundreds scattered about the base, there would be millions of bodies to get rid of. There were no inconsistencies in the commander’s plan to make Eddie take pause. Now, fueled by vengeance, he was a blindly motivated man.

We arrived in Grand Forks minutes after 2 a.m. Once the rain stopped the full moon emerged, which helped the travel, but driving through the dark with no headlights still wasn’t easy. The tension hadn’t subsided in the least, and we were all expecting to be pulled over at gunpoint any minute, so we spoke very little.

Passing through the small town of Fisher, a few miles outside Grand Forks, we came upon a larger replica of what we’d found in Ely. The smell seemed even stronger here, even with the air on and windows up. Exponentially more cars littered the highways and ditches, occupants still inside. Gaping holes showed in the center dividers and the guardrails on bridges, where some cars were still hanging and others had plunged through. Abundantly more dead animals again covered the roads. This toxin, whatever it was, had spared no creature. There didn’t appear to be any immune. Survival was lucky. Pure luck. I just couldn’t get over that.