The Attack

The Getaway: Chapter Five

12:34 CST August 16th

Dothan, Alabama

Andrei Bovosky, terrorist

I only stopped for gas once on my trip down from Birmingham to Dothan. It was at a Love's Truck Stop. I plopped myself down at on a bench built for two and at my chicken biscuit inside the station.

"New updates coming from Birmingham," news reporter Jensen Bones said calmly, "a new estimate of two hundred sixty-seven dead has been released by the Birmingham PD. 23+ people remain missing."

"What a shame," the Indian cashier said to me, his hand stroking his chin in a concerned manner. "I will loose business because I am a foreigner. I am not like these people at all. These, these terrorists!"

I gave him a look of pity. "I'm sorry, I too wish people would understand we aren't all criminals, us dark-skinned foreigners." I walked over, breakfast in hand, and gave him a 100$ bill. "Maybe this will help you get through."

"Th-Thank you, kind sir-"

"Don't mention it." I said. I had emptied my bank account earlier that month while I was planning the attack. I waved the hand with the chicken biscuit in it as I walked out the door, wind chimes fluttering.

After that talk in Love's I spent the rest of the four hour drive listening to Jay-Z and thinking about what I had done. What had I done? Why had I done it?

I remember why.

When I lived in Bosnia as a child, I had learned computer skills from the Active Islamic Youth organization so I could connect with Muslims all around the world. And I fortunately connected with mujahid'din who showed me the truth. They revealed the blindfold the British humanitarian organizations has put on me-

A car belonging to a drunken driver swerved into my lane. I broke out of my deep thought to honk, flip him the bird and scream out my window. "**** you, ***hole!"

"****** goldfish window pole! I threw a ******* waffle in the river!" A drunk rabbi responded.

Wow, I thought. A lot of strange things happen in south Alabama at ten in the morning.

Rocking out to my music, I cruised along on a relatively quiet highway, looking out at the trees, which were strangely already turning colors.

"Just as the trees turn colors, your heart blackens with every victim."

"Vincent! Why must you return at the uncomfortable moments!"

"Andrei, I love you-"

"No," I say defiantly, gripping the steering wheel hard in anger. "Get away. Stay away. Rot in hell."

I turned sharply onto the exit as if to shake away the spirit of Vincent. The tires screamed in agony and I smelled smoking rubber. Oh, well.

It was time for lunch, and my stomach grumbled. I called my friend up. Curtis.

"Hey, bro."

"Yo, Andrei! What's happening?"

"I'm here in Dothan for a few days."

"That's unexpected. Maybe I can fit you into my schedule."

"Shut up! I know you ain't got anybody to chill with." I chuckle.

"You wanna grab a bite?"

"Where?" I'm eager. Maybe I could tell him over a meal...

"La Parrilla. They have spicy cheese dip!"

"Meet you there in twenty," I say.

I check my phone. Something that when I did it, I felt normal. Not like a terrorist. I had seventeen texts, mostly from my friends asking if I had seen the news or if I was okay. On Facebook, everyone was posting pictures to their wall. "Pray for B'ham, Stop Bombingham, Keep (insert name here) in your prayers, you don't know them but they're dead."

Write something... My empty status update said.

"I'm in Dothan, and I'm okay."

When I arrived at La Parrilla, Curtis was being stupid and trying to get two gimbals from the machine.

"Man," he said to me, going in for a bro hug, "I thought I could cheat the system."

We were sat, luckily, in the far corner of the restaurant in a booth under sombrero-shaped blue neon lights and the mariachi band. We ordered some extra spicy cheese dip and dug in.

"How is school going?" Curtis said. "You failing everything?" He snorted so hard the band almost stopped to rescue him.

"Ha, very funny." I said.

"Okay," he said, scowling a bit. "Why did you suddenly decide to come down here? We haven't really talked in six months, and then you just show up?"

"Can I be really honest with you?" I asked. Oh god, the moment was here. What if he reported me? What if he became a loose end later and I had to kill him? He was American, and his dad was a military officer, but he's a nice guy. The blindfold hasn't been lifted in him.

"Sure," he said casually. "Just tell me. We were best buds from first grade through high school. I was really excited when you called-"

"I am the Theater Bomber."

The waiter walked over to take our order before he could respond.

"What would you like to eat?" The waiter says, holding his hand out so he can take our menus from us.

"Go ahead," Curtis says, teeth clenched.

I gave him a glare as I ordered. "Pico de gallo, please, with extra sauce."

The waiter turned to Curtis, "and you?"

"I'll wish I had some ignorance, and maybe the police department. But I like burritos to. Shrimp burritos. No sour cream. And maybe no friendship."

"Okay," the waiter said. "Why didn't I go to college?" He muttered under his breath.