Sunset: Survivors

Amir Baghira New York, NY October 3rd, 1991

My last day on Earth. Please let my last day on Earth please Allah. I have nothing left to live for. So I give my life for Allah and the al Qaeda. My family perished at the hands of a faceless and godless government. Now I am alone save for my new brothers.

Yesterday I received my final instructions. Drive the van to 26 Federal Plaza. Park as close as you can to the building. Wait for the end of the work day. (This way the streets will be full of cattle unaware of their imminent slaughter.) Detonate the explosives. Get busy with my 72 virgins. Man, they better be right about the virgins.

I leave our apartment in New Jersey. It is a filthy pitiful place but it meets our needs. It is cheap and isolated. We have spent the last three weeks collecting the needed supplies. Now we fill the van with the explosives we made out of various household products and cooking ingredients. The deadly packages fill most of the cargo space in the van. The detonator is made out of a car battery bought at a local hardware store. When the time comes, I will detonate the explosives by taking two ends of battery cables attached to the battery and close the circuit by touching them together. I should feel nothing.

The van is now loaded. I say good bye to my brothers. They look at me with awe and envy, wishing they were the ones to carry out this task. I have been chosen because of my years of loyalty and dedication to the cause. Right now they must move on to the next phase of our mission. They must drive North West to Chicago. Find another isolated location in the city and wait for instructions. Their opportunity to make the ultimate sacrifice will one day come.

As I drive it begins to rain. The cattle bring out their umbrellas. Will they melt if they get wet? In my homeland the rain is celebrated. People would be seen dancing in the rain and letting it drench their entire bodies.

The buildings seem to lean and tower over me like a school yard bully tormenting his victim. I still have not overcome the suffocating feeling I get when in the city. Sometimes I feel as if they are tilting over and will eclipse the sky. Eventually they will tumble down on top of me burying me in their steel and concrete rubble.

My claustrophobia intensifies as I traverse the Holland Tunnel. This is what it must feel like to be buried alive. I take deep breaths and focus my attention on the road. It takes all of my willpower to keep myself from passing out. My tension is relieved when I can see the end of the tunnel approaching. The tightness in my chest eases and I am able to breathe at a normal pace.

It grows near the end of the work day for the cattle. I must hurry. More slaughtered cattle are better. As I near my target I see no available parking spots. Double parking will draw unwanted attention from the authorities. This will not do. I circle the building until I find one close enough. After I park the van I scan the streets. They are not nearly crowded enough. The cattle have not yet begun their death march. I must wait.

I see a woman hurrying a young child along, sheltering him with her umbrella. I feel no pity for them and I have no remorse for what I am about to do. Although I do not believe the child is any threat to me or my cause right now, there will come a time when he will be. The filthy cow headed Americans do not know what terrible things their government has brought upon my people. Nor do they care. They go to their prison cells for eight hours a day. They are chained there by telephone and computer wires. Then they go home and lock themselves into their suburban coffins. They are chained there by their television sets and Internet. All they know is what the media tells them. They believe they are good because they are told they are good. They do not see what evil their mere existence causes others.

I must focus. The streets are becoming more crowded. The time draws near. I watch the cattle pour out of their prison towers and fill the streets. They open their umbrellas or pull their collars close around their necks. Despite the rain and cold they are overjoyed to be released from their prisons for another evening. It will be a pleasure to end their miserable existence.

It is time. I get up out of the driver’s seat and start moving to the back of the van. I am jolted off of my feet and I land on the floor between the driver and passenger seats. Someone has run into the van with their vehicle. I sit up and look to the rear of the vehicle. I can see a red sport utility vehicle pressed up against the back doors of my van. The idiot must have been going too fast and slid on the wet streets. I curse him under my breath. I must detonate the explosives before the police come to investigate.

I pull the tarp off of the battery and find the cables which will act as the detonator. I have wrapped the metal ends of the cables with towels and taped them in place to avoid an accidental closing of the circuit. I did not want the explosives to detonate accidentally before I was anywhere near my target. I pull off the tape and remove the towels. The time has come. I say my final prayer and hope that the gift of my life pleases Allah. I close my eyes, bow my head and bring the battery cables together.

Nothing happens. I sit there for a few seconds with my eyes closed and listen. I can still hear the large rain drops explode as they impact the roof of the van. I look up at the cables in my hands. The metal ends are in fact touching each other. I pull them apart and say my prayer again. Once more I close my eyes, bow my head and bring the battery cables together.

Still, nothing happens. A cold streak of fear rises in my stomach and fills my entire chest. Soon I will hear a rap on the window. A police officer will be asking me to get out of the vehicle. He will be concerned about my safety and insist that I get out. Once I am out he will notice the tarps in back and inquire about the objects beneath them. Spending the rest of my days in an American prison is a shame that I cannot bear. I must flee.

I move to the front of the van and try to look out of the front windshield. The rain blurs my vision. There does not appear to be any movement at all. I can see a glow from what appears to be a fire from up the street. Nothing else appears to move.

I roll down my window and look out. My eyes must deceive me because what is happening cannot be a reality. The sidewalks are lined with fallen cattle. No one moves. It is as though everyone on the street fell asleep at the exact same moment. Cars are scattered everywhere. Some have smashed into other cars and some have just rolled to a stop. Others have made their way onto the sidewalks and plowed through groups of people. I can see the tire tracks on the coats and suits of the people who were crushed under the wheels. I hear car alarms and a horn being continually sounded. I hear an engine racing somewhere behind me. Smoke and flames pour from a delivery truck that smashed head first into a building a block ahead of me. I am in a state of shock and confusion.

I am afraid to get out of the van. I stare at the bodies that seem to surround me. Will what happened to them happen to me? If so, what is the delay? Why has it not happened already? I appear to be in the center of a mass suicide.

My fear subsides slightly and I am able to get out of the van. I look up and down the street. There is no movement for as far as I can see. The cattle have all fallen. My mind feels like a cyclone of water swirling down a giant drain. Each thought that comes into my mind is quickly replaced by a question or wiped away by a horrific scene. I cannot think straight. There are no answers to any question that my mind produces.

Is this an act of Allah? Have I done my deed and moved on? Is this my heaven? Or hell?