The AK-47 assault rifle has a distinct sound, making it easily recognizable to almost anyone who has spent time in a war zone. Developed in 1946, the AK-46 was upgraded in 1947 to the AK-47.
Invented by Mikhail Kalashnikov in the former Soviet Union, the assault rifle is known for its simplicity, durability under harsh conditions, low price and easy availability. The AK-47 is used by the militaries in virtually every third-world country and is the weapon of choice for Islamic terrorists, Christian extremists and other radical groups around the world.
As the AK-47 rounds slammed through the upstairs walls of American Legion Post 251 on Duluth Highway, CJ exited the bar, grabbed the 3-wood from his golf bag in the corner and tried to remember who had been upstairs. He hit the main power switch on the gunmetal gray breaker panel, shoving the Post into darkness, at least the downstairs area that had no windows, and wished he had his Glock 33 Pocket Rocket with him.
Jeff, though he was much closer to senior citizenship than CJ or Emmet, moved into action, his Navy SEAL training rushing back from the depths of his mind; and he grabbed the hi- intensity LED mini-flashlight from his trousers pocket and a twenty ounce pool cue. He moved to the base of the stairwell, just out of sight.
Larry Joe continued sitting at the bar as though nothing was happening. He calmly sipped his Bud Light, the other still sitting unopened on the bar beside him. There were no sounds coming from the bar, everyone calm and quiet.
The stairwell door opened, the squeaky hinge now coming in handy; and CJ was glad he hadn’t WD-40’d the hinge the day before, as had been his intention.
“Come out and live. If not, you die.”
The Farsi accent gave the gunman away, probably Iranian- American. Farsi was the language of the Persians, and those who served in Iraq along the Iranian border, like CJ, had a particular distaste for it or even just the implication of the language, as was now the case with the stair-dwelling intruder.
The downstairs was pitch black, no sounds making their way up the stairs; and the intruder thought the basement area might be deserted. He did not know the basement was the bar and hardly ever totally empty. He fired down the stairs, nearly emptying the recently inserted clip of thirty rounds, blowing the unlit jukebox into shattered CDs and plastic shards.
Jeff, Emmet and CJ made no sound, waiting patiently for an opportune time to act. Larry Joe remained at the bar counter, cool as a cucumber, sipping his beer. The intruder slowly descended the stairs, CJ gripping the 3-wood as though he was teeing off on a 240 yard Par 3 at Sugarloaf.
Larry Joe had served during both the Korean War and Vietnam. After Vietnam, he pitched in a semi-pro baseball league and today, often hung out with the Gwinnett Braves at the new stadium, when he wasn’t hanging out at Post 251.
The sound of the intruder’s steps indicated he was nearly at the bottom of the stairwell; and Jeff thrust his left hand into the opening, switching the hi-intensity LED flashlight on and directly into the intruder’s eyes. The LED light temporarily blinded the gunman, and as he fired the remaining rounds into the now deceased jukebox, Larry Joe turned around and landed a perfectly thrown pitch right between the eyes of Mr. AK-47, the unopened Bud Light drawing immediate blood. The intruder fell to the floor, knocked out cold, laying in the midst of cracked jukebox plastic and a CD by Sharon Akins and the Disco Queens, If My Friends Could See Me Now.
“Damn, man. I wanted to hit him with my 3-wood. I need the practice. How did you learn to throw like that?” CJ flipped the main power back on.
“I used to pitch,” was Larry Joe’s only comment, and he ordered another beer.
Chief Belker was the police chief of Duluth and was driving by Post 251 when he heard the familiar sound of the AK-47 and noticed the front door of the American Legion hall was open, something unusual for the middle of the day. He called for backup, and made his way around the left side of the building to the back entry of the bar.
However, by the time the Chief was in position and backup had arrived, the jihadist was bound and bagged for the police, a victim of a Larry Joe fast beer.
After the police workups, Jeff bid Emmet goodbye, shook CJ’s hand and bought Larry Joe a six-pack, congratulating him on the perfect pitch.
Driving back to his Sugarloaf home, he was still somewhat awed by Larry Joe’s beer ball. He called Melissa to see how his ex-wife was coping. The memorial service for Robert Jeremias, her missing and assumed dead husband of three months, was to be the following day at Perimeter Church on Old Alabama Road.
“Hello?” She answered with a question rather than a statement; and Jeff thought her voice was a voice of distress, and stress. His heart ached for her. As much as he still loved her, this was not what he would have ever wanted to happen to her new husband.
“Hey Melissa, just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Will the kids be going to the memorial service tomorrow?”
“Jenni and Jami are going, but Audry is staying in Raleigh with Sheri and Bennett for another couple of weeks. That’s best, don’t you think?”
Audry had not been informed of her missing stepfather and was still dealing with the wreck of Chuck Hutz and his subsequent hospitalization, the first car wreck young Audry had ever seen. Chuck’s body lying in the middle of Creedmoor Road left quite an impression on Audry, and she had insisted she be allowed to visit the gravely injured man in the hospital with Sheri.
“I agree. Melissa, I am sorry about Rob, it seems unbelievable to me. I will be at the service, and you know I will do anything I can to help.”
“I know Jeffrey, you’ve always been there when I needed you. I don’t know if Rob was raptured, as so many are saying about all the disappearances. I just believe that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, so I know there’s a reason? Have you heard about all the people who have disappeared?” Melissa sounded a little more upbeat, considering the circumstances.
“Yeah, I’ve been hearing on the news. Almost 100,000 so far? Is that right?”
Jeff thought about the rapture again, as he had been for the last few days. It was hard to believe that two weeks earlier he had never heard the term, at least as it was being used today. The rapture was surely wishful thinking, more mythology, but if that made Melissa feel better, so what.
“Yep, that’s what I’ve been hearing on the news.”
“We had a break-in at the American Legion Post today. Some guy named Abdul, at least that’s what he told Chief Belker. He shot up the place, but no one was hurt.”
“Were you there?” Melissa wasn’t surprised that Jeff would have been at the Post. Jeffrey sometimes seemed to find himself in dangerous situations, too often she thought.
“I was there but some guy named Larry Joe took care of the matter. Hit ‘Abdul’ in the head with a perfectly thrown Bud Light. Knocked him out cold.
“By the way, have you heard anything from Jack Russell? I haven’t heard much about Samarra.”
“I talked to him yesterday. You won’t believe this! Someone dropped their son, Thomas, off at the emergency room at Rex Hospital in Raleigh. His finger had been severed. He’s now home, but there’s been no sign of the nanny. I haven’t heard the details yet.
“Samarra is still in a coma, as is the security guard, Russ- something; but Jack did say an indictment had been issued for Samarra, in case she recovers. Apparently something to do with Spanish Flu virus but CDC and Emory are keeping it hush-hush. “Jeffrey, do you think this could have anything to do with all the people coming down with that ‘mysterious illness’ that’s going around?”
“I don’t know Hon. Sorry, that’s a habit. I heard on the radio that Europe is having a possible smallpox outbreak. Seems like some really strange stuff is happening.” And he recalled Samarra’s earlier news about the disappearance of the smallpox cultures from USAMRIID.
“Well, if you would ever take the time to read the Bible, you would know what’s happening.”
“Yeah, Abe said the same thing. Said it was the end. Do you believe that?”
“I think I might Jeffrey. There were ‘signs’ predicted before the end, and they are happening everywhere. Scorching heat, disease, earthquakes, hailstorms, terrorism. I think it’s evident, and scary.”
“Want to meet for dinner tonight? I’m available.” Jeff hoped Melissa would say “yes,” but she didn’t.
“Maybe next week Jeffrey. Just let me get the memorial service behind me and a few other things. Call Audry. She said she hadn’t spoken to you in a couple of days.”
“I will.” Jeff knew he had been negligent about that, but he also knew Audry was in good hands with Sheri and Bennett. “I did talk to Jenni and Jami yesterday. I think Jami has a new honey in her life.”
When Jeff arrived back home, he called Audry. Sheri answered the phone and explained all that was going on in their lives in Raleigh, the wreck and its aftermath. She had a way with words and sometimes talked even more than Jeff.
“You just wouldn’t believe what happened, Jeff.”
Sheri ran through the story about Chuck, explaining that she and Audry had visited him in the hospital every day since the wreck on Creedmoor Road. There they met Ophelia, Chuck’s next door neighbor. Ophelia had stayed by Chuck’s side and explained that Chuck had few friends.
“How’s he doing?” Jeff feigned interest, and he found his mind wandering. He knew it was only a matter of time until Homeland Security contacted him about the events at Post 251 earlier in the day. That would be a hassle he hadn’t planned for.
“Well, he’s vastly improving. He appears to have a great doctor, a neurosurgeon named Dr. Arthur Waaland. He is the department head; and Dr. Waaland said Chuck’s recovery was just this side of miraculous, though he is still in-and-out of consciousness. Said he shoulda been dead on arrival.
“We were there yesterday when he woke up, but he couldn’t speak. Dr. Waaland said that was not abnormal and that Chuck may not remember what happened. I hope to God that he doesn’t.”
“Well, I hope he has a good recovery, Sheri. Is Audry handy?”
Sheri called Audry in from the living room where she was glued to the History Channel, as usual. She ran to the phone.
“Hey Daddy! Are you coming to get me? You wouldn’t believe what happened.”
Audry told Jeff the story that he had just heard from Sheri. “I can come pick you up if you want me to. Do you?”
“No Daddy, I want to stay with Sheri and Bennett. I want to visit Mr. Chuck in the hospital. He is a miracle Daddy. That’s what Dr. Waaland told us. I asked Aunt Sheri if Dr. Waaland is gay, because he’s happy all the time. She told me not to mention that.”
Jeff had heard that before, Audry’s confusion with the meaning of the word; and he guessed it could be confusing.
After hanging up, Jeff’s thoughts wandered back to the day’s events, thinking it could have been a lot worse. He went to his bedroom, where a few days earlier the Gideon Bible fell out of his overnight bag; and he fumbled through his drawer hoping that he didn’t lose Judy Ellis’ card. Maybe he would take her to the 1818 Club for dinner, show her Duluth and all the beautiful old homes around Olde Towne.
The phone rang, the landline. Jeff saw in the caller ID it was The Admiral, and his spirits were uplifted. Jeff really liked The Admiral, actually The Admiral, Shirley and Chad, the whole darn gang. He noted Chad had called earlier and wondered what was so important.