Tom Locke: Surviving Today XIV
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- A ticking clock on the face of the moon
The last few days of sun and the moon revealed a few things to Tom Locke. The first was just how powerful religion is in a society where the whole of the media claims its dieing. If just this one mountain was topped with a training camp for jihadists all fueled by the pages of some ancient doxy with God knows what ties to keep park officials or even Homeland officials quiet what did that mean for this nation as a whole. Second, and even more thought provoking, was that the human animal seemed conditioned to kill. Not simply for food but conditioned to kill one another. He saw it in these monsters, he saw it in Najair and as he looked down the butt end of his small-minded attacker Tom saw it in himself.
Taking this mans life happened as though it were preplanned. Once his rifle butt grazed Tom he raised his gun into the man’s belly and blew off several rounds. The body fell in his wake as Tom took of into the night. His shots would surely alert the rest of the part to his position.
Najair was close. It was time to find him him and disappear down this mountain. Unless they had a helicopter on their extensive property it would take some time for the next party to head down the mountain. They would never catch up once they realized this group had been extinguished. There was really only one goal and it was to alert the country to the devastation these monsters had planned.
A rustling in the brush ahead of him caused Tom to halt. The head that popped up was Muslim but not of the kind he was avoiding. It was the head of a man who interpreted the Quran in a way that better his life and those around him. A man who represented the Muslim with great respect and dignity as opposed to these villains that seem to be somehow reborn through history.
“I think I took out the last of them.”
“It is impossible to know. Though I doubt seriously they sent over 10 men to hunt just 2 and we are not dangerous targets.”
“Speak for yourself, Najair.” Tom spoke and realized it wasn’t the best time for sarcasm.
Najair did not notice Tom’s poor timing and even more pathetic attempt at comedy. Instead he headed off into the thick again. Further down the mountain.
Tom thought about a woman from Washington State named Sharon Lander he met at a conference once. She was a short full woman with dark hair and deep brown eyes.
She said, “Tom your mountains are like hills here.”
Over the next uncounted hours of escape those words repeated in his head. Through thickets and dense pine forests they moved all night. Over rocks and into territory that seemed as though predators must inhabit it, they pressed on. There could be no going back. Hell, there could be no looking back.
“….mountains are like hills….mountains are like hills……..”
At times Tom couldn’t feel the earth beneath his feet and thought he had fallen asleep miles back while Najair pressed on. That was of course until they split through a tough patch of brambleberry and his foot hit pavement. A road.