The Last 3 Days (11): Blueberries and Shariah Law

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43:12:34

On any other Saturday afternoon, Southview Cadillac would have been busy. Not today, though. Today it was closed, the last employee so eager to leave they left the lights on and, like a moth to a flame, Ryan couldn’t help himself.

Like a human version of the asteroid, the others trailed close behind Ryan across six lanes of intermittent traffic and onto the dealership lot. The Escalade, a ride fit for a king, was his to take. He leaned down and picked up one of the decorative rocks lining the lawn, hefted it once to gauge the weight and hurled it at the plate glass.

“Aren’t there alarms?” Bobby managed to say after the sharp ‘crack’ of the rock’s impact followed by a softer patter as the tempered panes became a flood of glittering pebbles.

“Nope,” Ryan replied in the ensuing silence. “Come on.”

He found the key in the ignition, just as he expected. It was meant to be. He started the engine and took in the sound of 650 horsepower refined and muted through the silencers in the muffler. ‘Fit for this king,’ he said through his grin, and slipped it into Drive.

41:43:54

A dream of being strafed by flies and a rising pressure in his head woke Nick, but left him confused because nothing changed when he opened his eyes. Worse, he couldn’t move his arms to swat at the relentless assault.

And the world was upside down. No, he was upside down, suspended by his feet, his hair brushing his pants, which had slipped from his head.

“What the fuck?” Twisting against the bonds that held his arms behind his back proved fruitless, but his effort spun him around in a gentle parabolic arc that brought him face to face with a deer carcass hanging next to him.

He screamed then, simultaneously jerking his body away as much as he was able, which only increased his arc and sent him crashing into the young buck, nose first into its partially open muzzle.

Spitting furiously, it took him a moment to realize something had stopped his movement. Nick stared at a pair of dirty combat boots, which proceeded to move away a few steps. The figure sat down on the upturned bucket and laid a rifle across his knees, though his head was turned, seeming to gaze at something nearby.

After a moment, Nick noticed the one eye he could see studied him, and then his captor swung his head to face him. Nick gasped at his deformity.

Tomas ignored this as he spoke, his tone conversational.

“In Afghanistan, Shariah law says a thief must lose his right hand for a first offence. If he is foolish enough to steal a second time, he loses his left hand. But Afghanis are nothing if not practical. They are poor enough to understand a man who steals to feed himself. So, more often than not they think killing the thief is a more just punishment, as then he is able to enter Heaven with both hands intact — easier to fondle the virgins, I expect. This way he pays for his crime but not for his need.”

“No,” Nick grunted. The blood pooling in his head had also swelled his tongue, making speech difficult.

“No, what?”

“Don’t cut my hand off.” Nick forced the words out. He sounded drunk. “Or kill me. Please. I didn’t steal anything.”

“You ate my lunch. Drank my water. Without invitation. That’s stealing.”

“No,” Nick replied, but then shrugged. “Well, yes, technically. But I wasn’t stealing them.”

Tomas tilted his head as if considering the teen’s answer. “Technically? Did you or didn’t you steal my rations?”

“I did. I ate the berries and drank the water. Because I was starving.”

The vet frowned, his gaze momentarily elsewhere. “Starving? Hardly. If you’ve eaten anything in the last week, you’re not starving. Stupid to come out here without water in the first place. Who is that dumb to come out into a desert without water?”

Nick shook his head to try and loosen his tongue from his teeth. It was getting harder and harder to speak. “Not here by choice. Kidnapped. Beaten and dumped in a car trunk. Where am I anyway?”

“You are currently in my custody while I decide which part of Shariah law best applies to you.”

“Shariah law?”

“Muslim social law,” answered Tomas. “There’s a lot of common sense in Shariah law. A soldier’s kind of law. Black and white. If this, then that. No options, no doubt, just consequences.”

“Are you a soldier?”

“Was. Three tours in the highlands. A man learns a lot about his enemy in three combat tours. Learns how he thinks, plans. Learns his laws. Shariah is like the Muslims, direct and unequivocal. It’s also what makes them so — “ Tomas paused. “Relentless. They’re just doing what they think God wants them to do. Bastard’s got a lot to answer for.”

“Muslims?”

“God. Should I let Allah decide how to punish you?”

Drawing a coin from his pocket, he held it out for Nick to see. “Heads your hand, tails your head? Ha ha. No. Heads, your head. Tails, your hand.”

He flicked the coin high up into the air, palmed it when it landed, but not before checking to see which face prevailed.

“No! I’m sorry. Look, I’m not here by choice. I was ambushed outside a friend’s apartment, beaten and kidnapped.”

Tomas tossed the coin up a second time, caught it again and checked it once more. He shouldered his rifle and drew his knife.

“No, no, no! Please,” Nick begged. “Listen. I — I woke up in the middle of nowhere, no phone, no money, ID, nothing. I just want to get home.”

Tomas arced the knife at Nick, who squeezed his eyes closed and screamed once more. The knife sliced through the rope suspending him and he dropped onto the ground.

Standing, Tomas ordered, “Put your pants on. You have berries to pick and water to draw.”

As Nick dressed, the vet added, “That was quite clever, by the way, using your pants to prevent heat stroke. Probably saved your life. Where’s home?”

41:03:23

Anne stood in front of the TV, listening to the news anchor struggle to prevent his emotions from colouring his delivery detailing an emergency UN Security Council meeting.

“The Emergency Session of the UN Security Council to resolve the impasse between the world’s nuclear powers is on hold to give delegates a chance to report to their governments. There is still no decision as to whose missiles will launch. We’ll be back after — “

Shaking her head in disgust, Anne muted the TV and headed upstairs.

She knocked on Jack’s bedroom door but walked straight in.

Her younger son sat on the floor, his back against his bed and his attention focussed on a video game. “Jack, honey. Are you hungry?”

He didn’t look up. “I’m good, mom, thanks.”

She sat down close to him, too close, toyed with his hair as he played. When he encountered a huge monster, she said, “How are you going to beat that — that thing?”

“I’m not. I’m going to distract him and sneak past. Just like Nick taught me.”

41:01:08

Next door, Eileen Taylor set the decanter on the side board and carried her whiskey to her post at the edge of the front window, where she could watch for her son, unnoticed by passers-by.

She ignored the TV, even after the commercial break ended, thus missing the anchor toss his prepared script aside and loosen his tie. “I for one find it sublimely ironic that as our planet faces the greatest existential threat in 65 million years, we stand on the brink of global thermonuclear war, so great is the level of mistrust between the world’s nuclear powers — “

40:59:14

Across the street, concealed by a row of shrubs, Jay watched the regular jerk of the sheer curtain whenever his mother checked her blind spot and let his tears run.

Wondering if he would ever find the strength to face her, he wiped his eyes, stood, and crept away.

40:38:21

Tomas led Nick, properly dressed now, through the bush.

“So is it people or just cities you don’t like?” Nick asked. “That makes you live out here?”

The veteran looked back, showing his undamaged profile. “Neither. You’ve got it backwards.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you see this face behind a counter? Would you let it into your home to fix your plumbing? People see me, they look away. They don’t see my sacrifice, they just see a monster.”

Nodding, Nick said, “Yeah. You scared the shit out of me back there, but now your scars don’t bother me.”

Tomas didn’t answer, just slowed momentarily and crossed behind to Nick’s right.

“That’s because I’ve kept you on my good side.”

Nick’s expression was proof enough. “OK. So it takes some getting used to. But you’re wrong about people not recognizing your sacrifice.”

“Wrong how?”

“There’s a new memorial for vets of Afghanistan that was cancelled over budget cuts. People were so outraged, they crowdfunded it. Now the park is popular because people feel — Connected. You should see it sometime.”

Suddenly the thicket ended. Before them lay cultivated fields, roof lines in the distance.

Tomas halted. “See those buildings? Stay away from them.”

“Why?”

“They’re not like the rest of us.” He pointed a few degrees aside of the buildings. “Follow the gravel road. There’s a town about five miles on where you can get help.”

Then he turned away, stepped towards the thicket.

“Hold up,” Nick said. Moving to the veteran’s scarred side, Nick proffered his hand. “I’m sorry I drank your water and ate the berries. But I’m happy to have met you, Tomas. Thanks.”

“Good luck, kid.” The veteran vanished into the bush and Nick set off with renewed energy.

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