Level 2: Fire Eyes

 

Level 2:

Fire Eyes

 

 

12:32pm

     Leaving work, Steven Johnson walks out of the doors of an auto assembly plant. Steven walks by a group of younger men all smoking cigarettes. Steven waves to them. “Have a good day now!”

The three men smile back and one of them named Mike, whose face is covered in grease, responds, “I wish I had one half day every week!”

Steven while still walking to his car, turns around, walking backwards facing the three men he says, “It’ll come, just give it thirty years or so!” Mike laughs and Steven walks away to his car. Steven’s cell phone begins ringing. He scurries through his pant pockets trying to find it. “Damn phones,” he mutters. He finally finds the small phone and answers it. “Hello?” The look on his face is delight, but it is shattered within the first words out of his daughter’s mouth. “What? Lydia slow down, I can’t understand what you’re saying. What happened at James’ school?” He retrieves the information and closes his eyes and quickly opens them.

Steven is a war veteran and the thoughts of death, massacre and bloodshed begin to find a home in his mind once again blooming from their burrows where they patiently slumbered. He could handle what he had to do there, but the fact that it has happened to his grandson is a defeating blow to his soul. He just can’t come to grips with something so horrible actually happening to children and he can’t help but think of the smell of metal as blood flooded the ground around him in the past and the heavy aroma of iron filled the land.

     “I’m coming, I’m coming!” He jumps in his car and quickly turns the engine on and pulls out. Mike yells to him. “Everything alright?”

Steven responds, “my grandson was shot at his school.” Steven doesn’t hesitate in leaving following that brief and disturbingly shock filled description. That is all he has time for. As he is driving frantically, he resorts to something he had only done in war, something he never thought he’d have to do again, he begins praying. “Lord Jesus, please help my daughter, Lydia, in what is about to be the most difficult time that she will experience in her life. I plead with you, let James live, take my remaining years and give them to him, please Lord.”

No one knows yet of how severe the situation is, not even the authorities on the ground at the scene. They still believe that this is just another school shooting, but one that was more devastating than any previous accounts. The traces of chemical and nuclear material hasn’t even been detected yet, and for anyone in the surrounding area, they are breathing their last breaths and aren’t even aware of it.

 

     As he is praying and driving he hears a voice that’s very soft, that speaks just one word to him, “radio.” Steven pulls the car over thinking someone is in the car; he checks the back seats and finds nothing. He knows he just heard a voice but he can’t find the source. In his mind he thinks to himself, “I know I heard a voice, it can’t be God. I don’t listen to the radio. That was the same voice in Vietnam.” He begins to pray again even though he doesn’t know why he feels obligated to as he remembers being saved many times by a divine force in war. “Dear Lord, be with my family now more than ever, just as I know you were with me when I needed you most. If what I just heard was the Holy Spirit please tell me, give me a sign please, I need it.” Just as he finishes saying the prayer someone taps on his driver side window. Startled Steven looks up and there stands a young man with a Radio Shack shirt on.

“Sir, are you ok?” asks the nice young man. “Do you need any help?” Steven pushes the switch and rolls down his window.

 “No, no thank you, I was just…,” he laughs as he speaks because he can’t believe he’s telling a total stranger, “I’m, I’m just praying.”

“Oh well, that’s not a bad thing, I just wanted to see if you were ok.”  Steven notices the young man’s shirt.

“Excuse me,” says Steven, “do you work for Radio Shack?”

“Yes sir, I do,” responds the young man. “I’m out here handing out flyers for the new Radio Stevens HD, here take a look.” He hands Steven the flyer that reads, “Listen to Radio Stevens the new satellite radio from Hopkins electronics.” Steven looks at the first part of the sentence in awe.

He can’t believe his eyes, he looks up, “well, thank you for...,” before he could finish his sentence, he was hit with the reality that the young man had completely disappeared, nowhere to be found. Steven, shocked, turns on his radio to a news channel and begins his journey to get to his daughter as fast as he can.

The radio broadcasters seem full of panic and truly disturbed. “This is happening all over! Ten states have now confirmed the exact same type of incidents, Washington, Montana, Minnesota, New York, Maine, Michigan, Ohio, Colorado, Illinois and Pennsylvania. Here in Michigan the news broke early and then reports began coming in from other states that were duplicates of the same events, one occurring yesterday, but now we are just learning that we are under attack. Once again the United States is under attack.”

Steven realizes what’s happening and dials his daughter’s cell phone to find out what she knows and where she is. 

Lydia answers the phone after one ring. “Hello, dad!” She is crying and is very hard to understand.

Steven responds, “Honey, where are you?” His phone abruptly loses the signal. “Hello? Hello?  Damn!”

The radio broadcaster continues in the background. “For those of you who are just joining us, it is imperative that you listen very carefully. The worst news we have ever had to report is crossing the wires and is coming out of ten different states presently, including this one. Earlier today around eight thirty, two Caucasian men dressed as detectives opened fire on unarmed civilians in the east side of Detroit killing seven people and injuring many more, all of the victims were African American. The reports we are getting from eye witnesses are that these were unmotivated, unprovoked, cold blooded killings. This incident has sparked an urban war, with local and state police taking fire from neighborhood to neighborhood in some of the worst parts of Detroit. The escalating violence is getting worse by the hour and only an hour ago we learned that the same event, step by step, is happening in nine other states. Riots have broken out in each one. Michigan State police commissioner, David Welton spoke only moments ago, here’s what he had to say.”

      The radio broadcaster plays back the audio from a press conference that just ended. “The bodies of the two detectives have been recovered and we have learned with certainty that the men who murdered those civilians were imposters. Let me repeat, they were imposters and we believe they are linked to an Al Qaeda cell. This information was easily attained as the two had notes on their person, statements written in Arabic with contents and exact words we cannot disclose at this time. I have contacted other commissioners in the other states and we are confident that they are experiencing the same thing. The two instigators in each state are believed to be Al Qaeda members. These atrocities have been committed to begin riots and turn common people against each other and the authorities, and to be perfectly honest, it is exceeding the planners’ expectations. This I can assure you. We are asking the residents of surrounding neighborhoods of the hostility to evacuate.  We are also reaching out to community leaders and all African Americans to please help us stop these riots. Help us make clear that these two supposed detectives have no affiliation with the police and were trying to achieve this exact response. This was not a racially driven crime, this is a terrorist attack.” 

The radio announcer stops the audio and comes back on. Steven looks confused and worried. “The second wave of attacks is so despicable and I don’t even want to repeat them, but they took place at 11:30 Michigan time at Campbell Middle School. The gruesome and horrific actions displayed today shows how evil and determined this enemy of ours really is.

  “Two Pakistani young girls gunned down an unknown number of their class mates and detonated suicide vests that were filled with chemical weapons among the explosives. The evacuation of that county has already begun and the National Guard is on hand trying to contain the situation. The exact same thing has happened in the nine other states we previously mentioned. Authorities are asking people not to panic but stress the urgency of a safe evacuation in both areas in the state. Do not go into downtown Detroit, schools will be releasing children soon, but they are in a nationwide lock down.” 

  Steven’s knuckles look like they had been doused in bleach, the color white resonates as he squeezes the steering wheel with anger and despair. He drives onto the freeway where the on ramp is packed, a slow stampede of cars. As he sits in the car, he looks up at the sky at a beautiful collage of clouds that form strange and fascinating arrangements of shapes and characters. Steven begins to pray again; his eyes close slightly as he breathes in a breath of panic and pain. The heavy thoughts of his daughter cloud and block all other thoughts from entering his mind. When he opens his eyes, he looks at the people in the cars surrounding him and he can feel their pain and turmoil. 

     His phone begins to ring while the cars in front of him stay stationary, as stagnant as the water in a pond on a windless day. “Hello? Lydia?”

She responds, “Daaad!” She sobs deeply and her outpour of mourning is extreme. Just then the phone loses the signal again.

“NO!” Steven screams, half crying and flowing with frustration. He dials her number but the call goes directly to her voice mail. “Please God,” he mutters in a desperate plea. Immediately after pushing ‘send’ again he reaches her. His daughter’s voice reveals the excruciating suffering and frustration of a mother who has lost her child but still hangs onto the hope that he might be alive. “Baby, where are you?”

Lydia responds with, “I’m on the 401 freeway.”

Steven snaps into alertness, “I am too!” he states. “Where, what on ramp, or are you on the actual freeway?” As he asks that question the cars in front of him begin to slowly move and he makes it on to the freeway himself. Once he is on the ramp, he can see cars lined up for miles ahead and behind him, almost as if the entire world had gotten into their cars and were converged on that one freeway. 

An extremely large semi truck is directly in front of him, and he looks around to find a way around the obstacle. It is seemingly impossible to get around this monstrous black truck with no logos or identifying marks of any kind. Lydia responds, “the Joslyn exit is on my right, I’m a few... I’m a few exits from James’ school. Dad, why did this happen? Why?” Lydia is in such shock and distress, she just wants her father to tell her everything will be all right but she knows that’s not going to happen, because nothing at the moment is all right.

“I don’t know honey, but James is fine, he’s a smart boy just like his mother, where’s Christopher?” 

“He’s out of town on a business trip,” she responds. “He’s flying home right now.” Steven notices that he is not that far away from her, walking distance even. “I can see the Roslyn exit, from where I am, I’m only one exit behind you.”

“Where?” she asks.

“The south boulevard exit.” he tells her. “I’m behind a huge black semi truck; you probably can’t see me.”

“I am too, same color and everything, the God damn thing

 is in the way!” she shouts.

“Really?” asks Steven. 

Steven hears a small explosion that startles him. It originates from behind him and towards the downtown area. “Honey”! Lydia!” The phone has disconnected once again. As Steven looks around, it grows more apparent to him what’s happening. People in the cars looking back towards the downtown area are displaying their fear as they hastily scatter trying to escape the imminent situation.  

As he subtly scans the people, he sees a lot of mothers and fathers in tears on the phone just like his little girl, Lydia. He can’t hear them but he can see them visibly begging for answers, arguing and denying the harsh truth that has been laid in front of them. As he scans and gets a little visual room as the truck in front of him eases forward, he also notices something very strange. 

Four black trucks just like the one in front of him. Each one scattered and separated from each other, as if the distance between them is strategic. Steven, like many others, steps out of his car. He walks alongside the truck in front of his car and gazes ahead with curiosity. He stares into a herd of vehicles and looks behind towards downtown and to his surprise can see four more trucks, identical to the four ahead and one right next to him. The nine trucks spread out and cover a five mile radius and are surrounded by hundreds of vehicles. 

     He notices something extremely out of the ordinary; the trucks have no licenses plates or markings of any kind which is illegal. He can see the trucks behind him have the front lights, and the brake lights of the trucks in front of him, are painted over with black paint. His face is soaked in grief and fear because something is very wrong. He quickly returns to his car to call his daughter. The section of freeway that they are on is a bridge with a main road underneath it. Once in the car, he dials and Lydia picks up. “Dad, I finally got the school on the phone and they still have nothing to tell me, no new news.” says Lydia. Her words are barely understandable because of the heavy sobbing and frantic breaths in between. 

     “Lydia, listen to me now, get off the freeway whenever you can, trust me.” Steven doesn’t want to worry her anymore than she already is, but he has to warn her.

“Why?” she asks. “What’s going on? Whoa!” she screams.

“What, honey, what?”

“The doors of the truck in front of me just blew up. Oh my God, they have guns!” The sounds of Lydia’s screams and AK47 fire fill Steven’s ears.

      Just before he can step out of the car, the semi’s door in front of him also levitates up and Al Qaeda members come flowing out, with AK47s. Forty men with scarves over their faces come pouring out and fire their weapons on every vehicle and every one they see. People are being mowed down and Stevens’ body is raped and ripped with bullets and blood spews out of his mouth. All nine trucks are carrying forty members with AK47s including the driver. The thunder of gunshots tremble through the air and bullets strike like lightning and the smell of burnt flesh and clothes smear the air. The terrified screams and gurgles of blood as peoples’ lungs fill with it, only increases as the massacre continues. 

The same tactic used hours earlier by Amanda at the school is employed here. The empty clips drop out of the AK’s onto the concrete and so does the weapon it came from. Each attacker has a suicide vest on. They sprint at the survivors and jump onto their cars and vans and massive explosions decimate the freeway. 

As people try to flee, booby traps ignite and roadside bombs that were linked to the suicide vests remote, explode on the side of the freeway and the concrete structure itself falls down. Smoke, dust and ash fill the air and surround the rubble of what used to be a freeway overpass. Thousands of mangled bodies lay lifeless, cell phones and car parts scattered and no sign of help for those who are injured and hanging on for dear life.