The Terror

The pink, brown, and gray rocks glistened with breathtaking beauty, whether enhanced by the dampness of the earth or his own heightened senses, Abad wasn't sure. They rose upward in circles of bright color on the well walls as he fell. A serge of pure joy filled his heart even as he plunged, in seeming slow motion, downward to oblivion. As the wind twisted his face into a crooked smile, he had time enough before impact to remember the day.

"They call us terrorists. Ha Wait till I get done, they'll call me more than that." Abad said to the imam who had confronted him this day. Do you think you can nudge my conscience. They are the Satan of the world. I will put them down."

The Imam threw his cloak over his shoulders and turned away. "You disgust me. True, America may be Satan, but now you have become Satan too. You have become like the enemy. You now play his game."

With those words the imam who spoke for the small village turned and walked away down the rock strewn road, dust billowing in little whirlwinds behind his feet.

Abad glared at his retreating back for long moments until the imam's cloak blended into the rock of the landscape before he turned back towards the cave entrance. He motioned to his guards that they could relax as he walked past.

In truth he was troubled, but it wasn't his own conscience that bothered him. The American nation is a devil and his bombs against their ships was nothing but fleas on a dog. But in a few years my big plan will make the world sit up and listen. No, what bothered him was an inner feeling of distress at Ali's change. What pulled at him to betray the cause?

The uneasy feeling persisted as he walked between sweating rocks and scrub roots. His inner mind spoke up. "He was corrupted with money. Look around at the dirt. Look at the riches in America, at how their money trespass on even the souls of the faithful. Your people starve while, they eat like pigs. Ali wanted to eat like a pig too."

Abad shrugged at the explanation. Must be. He thought of the stark landscape of his adopted country's rocky ridges and bare hills. No green trees here, or growing plants or even seeds. Nothing. The only thing that blossoms here is war and death.

You are right. He spoke to his inner voice. You are right.

A young man from the town, perhaps the newest recruit, was leaving the cave. He waved at Abad.

Abad called out to him, "So what do you think, Ayad? How goes your thoughts?

Sheepishly, Ayad grinned and shrugged his shoulders. He had beautiful blue eyes, a rarity in this forsaken land of browns and blacks.

"You haven't made up your mind yet? A little more hunger and you will. You will." Abad said good naturedly as he walked past.

The inner voice spoke up then saying, "The young man is a liar. He will turn. He has turned. He is here to disrupt your big plan."

Abad turned around to look back and take another look at the young man now far down the path and lit by the huge sunshine outside the cave, a seemingly tall figure stepping outside of the darkness into a point of light.

A betrayer you say?

Yes, check his left pocket.

We checked him already.

Check it again.

Abad motioned to one of the men sitting against the rock wall who got up and came over right away carrying his rifle with him as they all did. Abad whispered, "Check him out again. The left pocket."

A few minutes later, Abad heard a yell at his back just beyond the cave entrance, but kept walking.

A half hour later while he sat in repose against the rock wall of the cave in his inner chamber he heard a salute and soft call at his door. Actually a red and yellow patterned rug that hung down to cover the opening in the rock.

"Enter"

The guards eyes were big as he reported.

"We found this on his person. In the left pocket just like you said."

He stood at attention. His face was awestruck with wonder at Abad’s greatness. His reverence thickened the air of the room. It was almost palpable.

Abad thought the guard might next lay down bowing on the floor if he didn't prevent it. Good to keep the respect flowing, but too great a worship would put him too high, he needed to stay one with his people. They were all one in the cause.

"We work together to destroy Satan."

"Allah is great"

"Where have you put the young man?"

"Under guard in the side barracks until you decide what to do."

"You did well. Let me see this pocket evidence."

The guard handed over the slip of paper. Abad looked down at it and recoiled.

"You may leave now." He said to the guard. "I will decide shortly."

Another impossible sneak, Abad thought as he sat back down with the evidence in his hand. This piece of paper could only have come from my own personal belongings like the other one. This paper he had folded himself just last night before sleep.

His mind returned to his memory of Ali, as it did frequently. Once more he saw the sweat on his friends forehead, dark hair wet with it, eyes bulging as he was dragged away. "Not me, Abad" we are comrades, friends, I would not. I did not betray you. Noooo…"

He turned the paper over again and again seeing his own signature on the note along with the smudge of sweat from his own hand. I have been in my private quarters until just an hour ago when I went out to meet the Imam. How did the young man, Ayad, get at this paper? I was here. It was inside my bag.

He walked over to the old, canvas duffle bag he had kept with him for many long years. Made well, it persevered and got tougher with age, as he did. It held all his possessions except the cloths on his back. He dug through its contents until he came to the folder where he kept his personal correspondence. A letter from his oldest boy wanting to join the revolution, notes from close associates, and private scribbles.

The paper from Ayad’s pocket had come from this stash. It was one of his own scribbles. A piece torn in half from the page.

Yet Abad had to ask himself why? It said nothing. It was nonsense. Just an idea he had jotted down about the hated America. Not a plan, not anything, just a thought. So why?

He looked at the piece of paper once more. Nothing much on it. For this a young man, about to be married, dares his life?

Once more his thoughts ran to Ali's eyes as he was led away. Abad tried to shake off the inner vision, but more and more it refused to go away.

This man must be hanged immediately, his inner voice said. You must show the others that you will not allow betrayal. It will make you look weak.

"What do you know, Abad yelled out into the cool stale air. How did he get this?

“You know how he got that piece of paper.”

"No, tell me."

“Ha ha ha.”

"Tell me. I demand it."

Suddenly there was a motion by the door and his name was called out once more.

"What is it?”

A guard stood at the door. "We await your decision."

"What is the fate of all traitors? Make the arrangements for the execution."

"Right away." The guard gave a short bow as he left.

Once more alone, Abad thought of the young man who he was about to execute. His wedding was set for a month from now to a girl in the village. A pretty thing with big eyes. Now she won't be getting married.

So sad, yet I cannot allow betrayal. That is the truth.

Abad slid the paper fragment back into his folder and closed the clasp. Then shoved the hard folder down between his cloths to keep the outside of the duffle bag soft. It was useful as a head pillow. Besides his computer, this bag was all he owned or kept with him. He kept himself as sparse as his men and almost as hungry. Fervor kept them full, the need to destroy the enemy. That is what drives my men. How could even one of them betray me? Now, two? How many more?

His chambers suddenly felt too stuffy to be comfortable. He shoved his pack next to the mattress pad on the floor of the cave and left to initiate the execution.

Young Ayad stood tied and blindfolded against the rock wall. Guards held him up on his feet. He was slobbering with his tears. "I don't understand," he said, "I don't understand. Please help me."

"Here is our leader. Stand at attention." The guard ordered him.

Abad walked to the group and said, "Allah is great."

At Abad's voice the young man began shivering and crying out to him. "Be merciful. I will join. I will be a good solder."

"We don't accept traitors."

The young man shook and began to scream. "I don't understand. I did nothing wrong."

"He understands," said Abad's inner voice.

"A paper from my personal folder was found in your pocket." Abad said to the young man but for the benefit of his men who were standing at attention, waiting for his decision.

"Shoot him."

At once, three guns fired. Tiny bullets hit the rock wall splintering gray pieces off as if nothing of substance stood in their way. The air pinked for a second then fell to the ground layering atop the black mire of the last execution.

Disgusted at the necessary carnage, Abad motioned with his hand that he was leaving now and told the nearest man, "Put his body next to Ali's. A bed for traitors."

As he walked away, the many calls of his men followed him, "Allah is great, Allah is great."

They don't even see the evidence. How do they know? Yet, they do as I ask. What loyalty. He beamed in pride and turned with a smile back to his men. "Yes, Allah is great." He said. Then continued his retreat to his chamber.

Weariness overcame him as soon as he was out of his men's view. A nervous tick played at the side of his mouth where a bullet had scrapped once, long ago. Two traitors to the cause in one week. It is too much.

When he reached his chambers he sat in his cot and held his hands between his head. How can this be. Has God forsaken me? My best friend and now this young man.

I remember writing the note. Then I had a drink and lay back. He reviewed his own actions during the night and the morning. His position on the bed. What he saw was his own elbow leaning on his bag before he put his head beneath it for the night. Yes, last night my head lay on my bag. He tried to remember his position when he woke up this morning, but couldn’t.

He jumped up off his cot in nervous energy and began to pace around the room. How did young Ayad get the paper out from beneath my head? It was on the bag all night. Is he invisible? That young fellow? Well, he is now, of course, but before?

“You know who took the note out of the bag.” A voice said both inside his head and outside in the room. “You know how it slipped into his pocket. Ali's sin was the same.”

"No, no,” Abad cried out into the damp air. "I didn't do it."

He turned in a circle in the room. “Where do you speak from?”

The voice said, “You know where I speak from. I am part of you.”

"You did it. You did it" Abad said with surprise. "It was you!"

A sudden laugh filled his mind, a cackling laugh that didn't zero out when he blocked his ears.

"It was you who put the paper in Abdul's pocket?" Abad whispered into the room, frightened now in his own chambers.

“Oh, you would be shocked at all I can do.” That laugh again.

Suddenly Abad could feel his knees quake. "What about Ali?"

"What do you think?"

Tears came to his eyes this time. "What are you doing to me?"

"Helping you run your revolt. You require my help."

"But you are taking it over."

“Yes. I have noticed that humans are inferior at making plans and decisions."

Abad said loudly into the room, "This is my battle. Not yours."

"I will run it now. I admit I like your big plan for the future. In my hands it will be even bigger than you can imagine."

Immediately, Abad understood all that had been done to him. His cause taken over; his actions driven by this mad voice; his battle fought by something foreign to his being. Or was it?

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

"No, I really don't."

"I am God."

"God!"

"Oh, yes. I gave you life. I made you important. It is my privilege to take back what is mine."

Hesitant, Abad said, "You don't sound like God."

A whirlwind of angry wind swirled around him dragging up dust from the rock hard floor and choking his nostrils and mouth in its rank eons old stink.

Abad grabbed his rifle, never too far from his side, and aimed at what? He turned slowly, rifle pointed towards his chamber walls.

"Would you shoot God?"

"You are no God."

The croaking laughter sounded once more. This time surrounding him with painful mockery. Then the laughter sank from the air and entered his head, where it had been nourished for many years. Abad saw that now. As clear as a bright, sunlit day.

The voice spoke again from inside him mind, "I am indestructible. Legion."

This statement startled Abad and made him think hard and swift about just that, how to kill this being.

"I won't have you in me. Get out, get out. This is my fight."

"You agreed to serve me."

"No, no. When?

“When you bowed to my desire.”

Abad ran from his chamber and motioned for the guards to stay back as he ran. He ran past large boulders and small stones and stacks of high piled rifles. He ran through dark chambers that smelled of mold and age until he got to the well. There he climbed up its rampart of heavy rocks. Quickly, so as to not warn the being that rode with him of what he was about to do, he squeezed his eyes shut, said a prayer to Allah and jumped.

The cool air caught his robes into a billow as a silent testimony to his last act. He did not scream. Fear did grip his guts, but only for a short second, as he fell feet first to the depths below. He opened his eyes wide to watch the beauty of the world flow past for the last time in his life.

A hundred fifty feet down, at least; yet it seemed more like ten thousand. Slowly, he watched as pink, auburn, and white rocks floated beyond his point of view. They encircled his tomb like a flowerless wreath. A trickle of water ran rust red and yellow on the north side of the well. It dripped slower than he did for a moment, hanging suspended before his eyes. He reflected, for that moment, on the rock, hard ground of the dry well that would soon smash up at him. This sacrifice for his fellow men kept the smile on his face and was his last thought before he hit.

Suddenly, at the top of the well, a great many men bent over its edge, lowering ropes down.

"Great is Allah," they cried in unison at the miracle of such a leader, a leader unbroken and unharmed, standing at the bottom of the hundred fifty foot well. "Great is Allah."

The leader looked up at them with glaring eyes, laughed a mighty cackle, grabbed the rope, and began the long climb up.