Easy Day for the Dead (10 page)

“Are you upset?”

“Of course I'm upset,” John said. “We're walking across a desert.”

“I thought Jesus did that,” Pancho said.

“You're thinking of Moses,” John said, “and that's only because he was leading the Jews out of Egypt. If he'd had a perfectly good truck he wouldn't have rammed into one of the pharaoh's chariots.”

Pancho laughed.

Alex didn't have the energy to break them up, but for now their bickering wasn't straying into anything that would lead to a brawl. The more they dealt with dehydration, however, the more that could change.

In the evening, Alex's shivering came more quickly and violently, and he was having difficulty thinking. John shivered the most violently. It was a burden to talk, so Alex just stared at Pancho. Pancho got the message and they moved out. All four of them moved in slow motion, but the cold was killing John, who had the least body fat. When John stumbled the first time, Alex stopped the patrol and took a look at him. John's face had become pale and his lips were blue.

Pancho tried to offer John his jacket, but John refused.

“Don't stop,” John pleaded. His teeth chattered. “Gotta stay warm.”

“We won't stop,” Alex promised. True to his promise, Alex continued without stopping. Leila would just have to suck it up—and she did. Alex had to be careful to look back at John and slow down for him occasionally so they didn't leave him bumbling around in the desert night alone. In spite of traveling nonstop, their pace had slowed, and they traveled only thirty kilometers—thirty more to go.

On the fourth day, at noon, Alex knew he should leave his trench to take a leak, but no piss was left in him. Just the small walk to relieve his bladder would wind him, so he was happy not to have to move. Alex felt his heart race. His mouth was dry and his tongue had swollen. He wanted to puke, but he couldn't afford to lose the
body liquids. Alex also wanted a drink, but he had no more water, and he didn't want to take valuable water from the others—who were probably worse off than he was. He had known the desert was more deadly than the Revolutionary Guard, but it occurred to him now that the desert might succeed in killing him.

Out of the corner of Alex's eye, he noticed Pancho stand up, then fall down. Pancho stood up again. Alex caught a glimpse of Pancho's eyes, which seemed far away. Pancho stumbled away from the group like he was going to take a leak. Then Pancho yelled. Alex first thought that a snake had bitten him, but nothing lived in the desert. Leila stood and walked over to Pancho. Before she reached him, he fell. “Pancho, are you okay?” she asked.

Pancho was silent for a moment. Suddenly he broke out laughing, but not the earth-rumbling Pancho laughter—this laughter was feeble. He was delirious. He had the most meat on his bones, so he heated up the fastest and the dehydration affected him the worst.

Leila encouraged Pancho to stand up. Then she helped him return to his trench. She gave him a drink of her water. Alex thought Leila must be part camel not to have drunk all her water yet, but he was grateful to her for helping out Pancho. Alex felt embarrassed about feeling so weak and sorry for himself that he hadn't been the one to help Pancho.

Alex looked out across the desert and spotted water. Then he realized it was only a mirage. The heat reflecting off the surrounding sand seared his eyes, so Alex reached into his backpack and pulled out an Iranian shirt. Then he sank back into his trench, closed his eyes, and covered his face with the shirt.

Later the sun disappeared, giving everyone relief. Alex and his team were slow in getting up, but John started shivering, so Alex and the others hastened to move out. Even though they hurried, they moved like turtles.

The cool air, their weakened condition, and uneven terrain all worked against Alex—his left ankle twisted and a horrible pain shot
through his body. Alex didn't think he'd broken it, and he hoped he hadn't torn ligaments—maybe he'd only strained them. He limped.

“You okay, chief?” John whispered.

Alex's swollen tongue and deteriorating physical condition turned talking into torture. Alex saved his breath by ignoring John. Hot pain throbbed up Alex's leg.

They pressed forward into the night.

Pancho stumbled, Leila slowed, and Alex continued to feel the pain in his ankle. Alex looked back and saw John shivering more violently—hypothermia.
Shit. At this rate, we're all going to die.

On the fifth day, the sun had risen and Alex was lying on his back in a trench.
I don't even remember digging this—my grave.
He looked forward to seeing Sarah but realized his anger at God might prevent him from doing so. It was time to make peace, so he said a short prayer in his heart.
God, I'm sorry for being angry at You all these years.
I still don't understand why Sarah had to die. I still don't understand Your ways, but I want to be patient. If I survive this, please help me be patient with the things I can't understand. If I don't survive this, please help me see her again. Amen.

When evening came, somebody said they had ten more kilometers to go. Alex wasn't sure because his GPS was fried and he didn't have the energy to ask Pancho or John, who also had GPSs—and he was too tired to count his paces and record them with knots on parachute cord. The four of them marched through the dark like zombies. At first, Alex's left ankle hurt and he shivered, but after a couple of hours, the pain and the shivering stopped. Alex blacked out, and when he came to, he was walking alone through the desert. The others stopped him.

He couldn't go any farther, and he was sure no one had the strength to carry him.

“Just another kilometer,” Leila said.

Alex hadn't realized they were so close. He could walk another kilometer, so he pressed on. As time went on, he complained, but
he could manage only a whisper: “We've been walking more than a kilometer.”

“Just half a kilometer,” Leila said.

Alex figured he could last five hundred yards more, so he forced one foot in front of the other. After a while, he was sure they'd walked more than half a klick.

“Just a little bit farther,” Leila said.

Alex realized she was tricking him into pushing forward just a little more. Because he'd persisted this far, he figured he could persist farther. He might not make it all the way to Leila's house, but he wasn't going to give up until he passed out or died—whichever came first.

The sun had begun to brighten the sky, and Alex saw the squat cluster of buildings—Abadi Abad. Maybe he was dreaming it. He continued forward until he reached the village. Pancho led them along the outskirts until they reached Leila's house. After Alex entered her house, he collapsed on the floor. Leila held his head up and gave him water. Alex's mouth and throat were so dried up that he felt like the water was tearing up his insides. Being severely dehydrated, the water gave him cramps, cinching his gut so tight that he passed out. He'd been so focused on his own survival that he'd forgotten about his men—he didn't even know if Pancho and John had survived.

In his unconscious state, Alex's mind began to work overtime. Alex abruptly sat up. “Where are Pancho and John?” he asked.

Leila turned from the kitchen sink and walked to him.

“Where are Pancho and John?” Alex repeated.

Sadness filled her voice: “I'm sorry. Pancho didn't make it.”

Alex's soul sank. Maybe Pancho was still alive. “Where's his body?”

“In the back room. I'm sorry.”

Alex heard a vehicle stop in front of Leila's house, car doors slam, and voices. “You expecting visitors?”

“No,” Leila said.

Alex looked down at his hands—no weapon. “Where's my weapon?” he whispered.

“Behind you.”

Alex turned around and grabbed it.

“Is the door locked?”

“Yes.”

The front door flew open with a bang. Four Iranian men dressed in plainclothes poured in, wielding pistols.

“Contact front!” Alex yelled. He fired two rounds into the chest of the first man. Beside him, another aimed in Alex's direction, and Alex gunned him down. Meanwhile, the two others fired. Rounds hit the floor next to Alex's face—too many enemy too close firing too fast. Alex picked one off just before a round tore through his right hand.
Shit!
The remaining agent aimed carefully at Alex's head. The agent looked like he was smiling until two bullets struck him above the nose.

Alex turned to see where the bullets had come from. John stood in the hallway. “Thanks, brother,” Alex said.

John looked troubled.

“What's wrong?” Alex asked. He followed John's eyes to Leila, who had fallen to the floor. “Leila.”

She didn't respond. Blood spread across her blouse like a blooming rose.

With his left hand, Alex felt the carotid artery in her neck for a pulse. There was none. Leila was dead. Alex didn't have time to mourn. He pulled gauze out of the blowout kit in his thigh pocket and bandaged his bleeding hand. The blood soaked through almost immediately. He stood, walked to the sink, grabbed a thin towel, and wrapped it around his wound.

Alex turned back to John.

“We need to get out of here,” John said. Suddenly a loud crash
sounded from behind John and his forehead exploded. John fell dead on his face.

No!
Alex could feel the words, but he couldn't say them. Instead of making his escape out the front door, Alex wanted payback, so he rushed to the guest room. Inside, one Iranian agent stood in the room while another crawled through the window. Holding his AKMS in his left hand, Alex gunned them both down. Alex looked outside for more, but there were none.

The pain in Alex's hand shot through him like bolts of electricity. He donned his backpack and dragged John's and Pancho's bodies out the front door, hoping to find a vehicle nearby. Alex discovered a black Mercedes sedan idling, then loaded Pancho and John into the vehicle before jumping in and speeding off.

Iranian police lights lit up Alex's rear. He stomped on the accelerator. Gunshots blasted through his rear window. Alex wanted to return fire, just to get them off his back, but his right hand was useless, and he needed his left hand to steer. He raised his left knee to steer and grabbed his AKMS with his left hand. Before he could return fire, a bullet struck him in the back of his head. His upper body hunched over the steering wheel and his eyes closed.

Alex opened his eyes and sat up. He was in Leila's living room on the floor and Leila was doing something in the kitchen.

“Where are Pancho and John?” he asked.

“They went out to find a vehicle.”

Alex closed his eyes briefly, reflecting on how real the dream was and how close to delirium he must have been. He felt a weight lifted from him, knowing that they were all still alive, but his ankle still hurt when he walked.

He changed into his Iranian clothes. Somebody had already filled Alex's CamelBak with water. As he grabbed a jug full of water, he heard a vehicle drive up near the front door.

Alex checked the door to make sure it was locked and readied his
weapon. The door unlocked and a figure stepped inside. Alex aimed. It was Pancho. “Great to see you, too, amigo,” Pancho said.

Pancho and John entered the house wearing their Iranian clothes.

“We brought you a Christmas present,” John said.

“A car,” Alex guessed.

Pancho closed the door. “Ah, you peeked.”

“You both got water?” Alex asked.

“We're all filled up,” John replied.

“Then let's roll,” Alex said.

The SEALs and Leila grabbed their things and exited her house. Outside, an unmarked black Mercedes SUV sat idling. On the roof above the driver's seat sat a single blue police light that appeared removable.

“Leila, I need you to drive,” Alex said. Pancho might look less conspicuous as a driver, but if asked questions in Farsi, he wouldn't be able to answer. Besides, Alex was anticipating having to shoot his way out of Abadi Abad, and he wanted both of Pancho's hands on his gun, not on the wheel.

Leila nodded.

The SEALs and Leila loaded their kit into the SUV, then climbed inside with Leila in the driver's seat, Pancho sitting next to her, and Alex and John in the back.

Leila had been driving east for only a minute when a white and green police car turned the corner and followed them. The car didn't flash its lights but continued following.

“We've got a police car behind us,” John said.

“Stay calm and turn right at the next intersection,” Alex said.

Leila calmly turned right at the next intersection. The police car followed. Fifty yards ahead was what appeared to be a police car parked in the middle of the road.

“No side streets, and we're heading straight for another cop,” Pancho said.

“Turn on the police lights and siren,” Alex said.

“What does
siren
mean?” Leila asked.

Forty yards.

Pancho looked at the center console, where a line of four small red switches rested. Pancho tried one, but nothing happened. “I can't read which is which; it's all in Iranian.”

Thirty yards.

Leila reached over and flicked all the switches but still nothing happened.

Twenty yards.

Above the line of small red switches was a big red switch. “The big red switch,” Alex said.

Ten yards.

Pancho flipped the big red switch and the SUV came alive with siren blaring and blue light, front lights, and rear lights flashing. “Don't slow down,” Alex said, hoping that in the world of Iranian law enforcement, an unmarked black Mercedes SUV reigned over white and green police sedans.

Five yards.

Leila drove around the police car. Even though the road had stopped, Leila drove off-road, heading south. Both police cars' lights and sirens came on, and the police followed her. They turned off their lights and sirens. Alex didn't want to kill law enforcement officers, but if he had to defend himself and his team, he would.