Galleria Mall, Cambridge, Massachusetts
The engineering company where I worked had sent me on a field trip to Boston. On Saturday we took a break to visit the Galleria Mall in Cambridge, Massachusetts. A nice respite from the job and a chance to buy a gift for my wife. A pleasant day of shopping, eating, fun and relaxation. The job had exhausted the four of us and we all agreed we needed this peaceful, safe and calm time in the mall, besides the company paid for our meal. Walter, Steve and Ruben searched for gifts for their children. I continued browsing the store windows and I especially enjoyed watching the shoppers. It wasn’t like Walmart. These shoppers were affluent and wealthy. We were probably the exceptions.
A few security guards strolled casually through the mall making everyone feel safe and secure.
Some men in dark brown shirts and khaki colored pants with the DHS logo on their shirts strolled past. We continued deeper into the mall, weaving our way through the multitude of shoppers. I noticed more DHS agents in the mall and I also many gay couples both men and women. It still feels strange to see men holding hands. I had friends that are gay and it really didn’t bother me until they started kissing. Then I saw a few more DHS agents in the brown shirts.
For a moment I mused how they reminded me of Germany’s “brown shirts.” I passed it off but saw a few more. Now I had seen about ten and thought it very strange. Maybe they were having a meeting or one of those expensive conventions the taxpayers seem to always be paying.
A few walked away with mall security and I looked around to see if there was a disturbance, but I saw nothing unusual, just more DHS agents. Some of the agents carried military type duffle bags but I only gave it a casual passing thought. Then I saw more. I peered at one for a moment and noticed he carried a duffle bag that touched the floor, his hands over the opening. The bag reminded me of when I played baseball because this man had what appeared to be a bat and the bag filled with balls or something bulky. Half of the DHS men looked like guys I had played ball with in high school. The other half darker complexion and serious looking but some of those appeared to be Middle Eastern and to me somewhat ominous, which was surprising because I liked everybody. I passed it off to an unwarranted paranoia of people from the Middle-East although I didn’t really like women wearing veils out in public. I have always associated masks with criminals. I saw no masks but this was America where they had freedom. At that moment the man I had been watching turned and looked at me. I felt uneasy as his eyes pierced me like bullets. The eyes tell you a lot and, well, I felt uneasy.
Then I noticed they all carried duffel bags and for some reason I felt uncomfortable. For some reason I looked around the mall and turned in a small circle, intent to see what the other DHS agents were doing and sub-consciously hunting for an escape route. To my dismay the area was surrounded with the DHS agents and most of them had duffel bags like the first one I had seen. Something was wrong and I knew it. I didn’t feel comfortable or safe with any of these DHS agents.
It was also too late.
On queue all the bags dropped open at once revealing automatic weapons; they looked like AK-47’s, and wicked looking machetes. I had a permit to carry a concealed weapon, but I never brought my thirty-eight into malls. Instantly, I regretted not bringing my gun but in reality what could I have done with my gun against more than twenty automatic weapons. For some reason I continued to stare at the bags in disbelief and awe, refusing to believe what my eyes saw, but it was really happening. What I thought were probably balls were really dozens of preloaded clips, knives of varying lengths, rope, miscellaneous tools including numerous types of pliers, and what appeared to be giant fishhooks.
Like time had stopped everyone froze, disbelieving staring, gawking. There was no doubt they were terrorists and had come to kill. They continued to move quickly like a rehearsed play. It was surreal. Things moved in slow motion. I tried to run but I felt like I wasn’t even moving.
Things changed quickly; a gun fired, women screamed, men yelled and everyone ran but the terrorists. More weapons fired, people fell to the mall’s tile floors bleeding and screaming. I ran like a chicken with its head cut-off; no reason and no direction. We all ran and with each shot changed direction. Steve was on one side and Walter on the other. We ran for our lives Steve took a bullet and dropped like a rock. Walter and I never slowed. I glanced at Walter just as he took a bullet in the neck. The look in his eyes was of shock and disbelief as blood shot in a stream from his neck like an uncontrolled water fountain only it was dark red. What could I do? Walter crumbled to the fine-polished, cold concrete floor, his blood spraying me as I tried to escape. I never slowed down or hesitated; I continued to run and cover my head as though my fingers would protect me from the flying bullets that seemed to come from all directions. A bullet screeched past my ear; I ran faster. Then a brown shirt in front of me yelled for me stop. I did, also holding my handsup in surrender. Most of the people had stopped running and were being herded into a group like sheep to slaughter. I lowered my arms and moved with my heldless flock. Ten or more guarded us while the others moved to kill more and protect the entrances. We continued to hear gunshots. The wounded moaned and screamed. Many were already dead. Blood and glass littered the floor. My feet felt wet like I had walked through a puddle. When I glanced down I noticed my moccasins gone; I had literally run out of my shoes. My socks were dripping wet—with blood! It was not my blood and it was then that I realized blood from the dead and dying covered the floor. The mall had transformed from a thing of beauty and enjoyment to a tomb of death.
The terrorists shouted a victory cry over and over, “Allah Akbar!”
A girl screamed, “Who are you?”
One of them sneered at her and shook his rifle in the air, “We are the Muslim Brotherhood and today is a good day to die.”
The girl cried.
I’d seen it before on television, even read about the horror and cruelty in books, but I never thought it would happen to me; not me, not here in America. But the signs and warnings had been there for all to see. America had seen it at the Twin Towers or the Boston Marathon. Today would be another deadly sign from the Muslim Brotherhood. There would be no quarter from the Muslim Brotherhood. I was about to die. I thought about the mall in Kenya and realized it had come to America. I was helpless there was nothing I could do but watch the events as they transpired. I guessed there were sixty or more of us clustered together. Dozens lay dead or dying on the blood spattered floor.
One man walked through the group and to people that appeared they might be Middle Eastern. He asked them questions. Many he nodded to and said, “Go.” Some he asked questions and when they responded in what I guessed to be Arabic he motioned for them to leave. None hesitated and they all moved quickly to freedom. While he did this two others moved through the group separating them. Quickly I noticed on group was probably gay and lesbian as they all tended to be clusters of two men together or two women together. All showed affection either clinging together or holding hands which was a dead giveaway. It was then I saw the two men I had noticed holding hands and obviously gay, were still clinging to each other. I had read enough from books to know what Muslims thought of gays and lesbians. None of them realized what was happening. For an instant I felt safe I was in the other group. Or was I safe? And Ruben? Did he escape? The sickness in the pit of my stomach told me otherwise. My friends were dead. Why was I alive?
A dozen of the terrorist surrounded the first group. They carried guns and nasty looking machetes. Suddenly, they attacked the first group hacking off hands and legs so they couldn’t escape. Their plan was cold calculating and hideous; maim and dismember but keep them alive for the effect. With one swing a hand would fly through the air. They went for the legs to prevent them from escaping and while their prisoners lay helpless on the floor they hacked on the extremities. They might crawl but they would never run. Others had their fingers pulled off with pliers. I never dreamed what hideous things could be done with simple tools. It was gruesome. All screamed hysterically. Blood flowed across the floors like it was coming from hoses. I could smell the blood; metallic like iron or rust. The smell boded ill for everyone. Why I don’t know but I remembered going to the shooting range and the smell of gun powder. The smell was exhilarating and had given me a sense of control and power. Today the smell of gun powder hung in the air heavy and terrifying. The mixture of blood and gun powder in the air was ominous; the smell of death. The terrorists tortured all those in the first group leaving them in painful agony. Some they hung with the rope from signs in front of the various store fronts using what I now realized were meat hooks. A once beautiful woman crying and moaning tried to crawl away on her elbows; she no longer had hands. A terrorist marched over and in one motion grabbed her foot pulled it up to waist height, took a mighty swing with his machete. With the foot in hand he knelt to his knees next to the woman’s face. He flashed her a malicious sneer and held her foot closer, nodding as though offering it to her. She groaned and mumbled, her terrified eyes on her foot as he lay near her head. The woman moaned and gasped for breath. Still she tried to crawl leaving a snail trail of blood where her foot had been. The terrorist laughed and walked back to us. Others tried to crawl away but it was obvious none were capable of escape. Death would be soon in coming.
Our group had clustered together as though the closeness would save us. I had seen animals going to slaughter do the same thing before they were killed. The animals knew, we knew, but we still felt there was a way, some way but we had no idea what it would be. Funny how people cling to hope even when it is hopeless.
I thought about my wife. I felt a lump swell up in my throat. I would never see her again. I wanted to find someone so I could send her a message. I wanted to say, “I love you. And I’m sorry.” God flashed through my mind and again I thought of my wife and wanted to ask her, “When the resurrection comes and if I make it to Heaven will you ask God if you can be the one to wake me? I’d like to see your face first.” But there was no one to give the message. My thoughts soothed me and gave me comfort for a moment but they were rudely jerked back to reality. My thoughts would die with me. Where was God?
Then the terrorists came for those of us that remained; their evil work finished on the first group.
It was then that I realized I hated malls. I hated the crowds the traffic—I hated malls! Why had I come today? Of all days why today?
My thoughts were interrupted when the obvious leader of the terrorists stood in front of us and told us to look at him. When he had our attention he said, “If any of you turn to look behind you we will shoot you.”
The terrorist walked up to a man, pulled him out of the group and in front of us. He said, “Are you Christian?”
“Yes,” he cried.
“Give up your God and swear allegiance to Allah,” he demanded.
“Okay,” he whined.
The terrorist looked at the quivering man and screamed, “Allah Akbar!” He screamed again.
The mall shook when the terrorists roared, “Allah Akbar!”
The shopper, trembling confused and scared managed only a whimper, “What? I don’t understand?”
“Repeat after me. I give up my God. Allah Akbar!”
His voice quivered, the horror surrounding him stifled his words, “I give up my God. Allah Akbar.”
Irritated he yelled, “Louder!”
This time the man managed a terrified but louder, “Allah Akbar.”
The terrorist grinned from ear to ear and pointed behind us and said, “You are free to go.” He took one step toward the shaken man and screamed, “Run!”
Horrified the man stepped back, tripped, fell to his knees, but scrambled to his feet and ran and ran as fast as his terrified legs would take him. I could hear him running down the blood stained tile floor of the Galleria Mall. The terrorist picked the man next to me and started to go through the same ritual as he had with the first.
I realized there was hope, a way to live, and a way to save my life. I would see my wife again. I would live! The words would be easy. I considered myself a good Christian but I wasn’t perfect. I would figure out things later. I was scared. I wanted to live. I was already mumbling, “Allah Akbar,” as the second man began to run to freedom.
A pretty girl just in front of me and slightly to the right, probably not over seventeen with fear and terror filling her face still wet with tears and mascara running down her cheeks that looked like hideous tattoos, turned her head slightly to watch the man run. An alert terrorist noticed and without hesitation, took two steps toward her reached over and shot her in the head. Her blood splattered all over me. Momentarily I gasped for air. As I looked down on her she blinked twice in horror, gurgled, then closed her eyes in death. I was suddenly jolted back to reality but with a plan where I would survive. I stared at the girl; how foolish, she could have lived. But I would live to tell about this hell hole. Tell about the girl at my feet and the others. Later I would ask God to forgive me. I would be able to hug my wife again and tell her how much I love her. As I stared at the woman who had been shot I noticed a slight movement from the colorful glass panes decorating the store in front of me. It had a reflection that you could just barely discern the man running who had just been set free. I was excited to see he was only inches from freedom. Triumphantly he reached the mall door and passed through to safety and life. He shook his hands victoriously in the air. Yes! He was free and I would soon follow. But as he passed through the doors to freedom, two terrorists charged him and started hacking his body with quiet but deadly machetes. When he fell I knew he was dead.
We were all going to die! At that moment I realized I was a coward and had turned my back on God. I would forsake him so I could live. I had always considered myself brave even a hero, someone who could survive anything. I didn’t want to die, I was afraid and with that realization, I knew that I was a coward.
A woman was now reciting the same words. As she began to run the lead terrorist grabbed me and pulled me forward. I slipped and almost fell in the blood. Strange I never knew blood was so slippery.
The terrorist went through the same ritual with me. Terrified, afraid and a coward I wanted to cry but my response surprised even me, “Stick it up your ass.” He hit me with the butt of his rifle, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor in all the blood. My nose bled profusely as I spit my front teeth into my hand as though I could save them. I had beautiful straight teeth; now they were bloody and ugly. I wondered why my mouth didn’t hurt more.
The terrorist jerked me to my feet and I dropped my teeth. Then he gave me a second chance. He repeated the now hated words.
If I said them I died. If I didn’t say them I died. The bastard was going to kill us all and I found myself saying, “Mohammed is a faggot.” He roared his outrage and again he hit me and I crumbled to the floor, this time sure my jaw was broken. Again they pulled me to my feet. But before I was erect they took two of the wicked meat hooks and impaled me under each armpit. The shooting pain was excruciating but the fear was greater than the pain. A rope attached to both hooks must have already been thrown over the sign and I screamed as they pulled me from my feet, leaving me dangling a few inches above the floor. The pain was unbelievable unbearable, nothing like I had ever felt in my life. Two men came toward me with evil looking butcher knives. I refused to let them gut me like a deer. I squirmed and shook, and momentarily the terror took away the pain as the hooks sunk deeper. Then a third terrorist came up behind me and I felt a bit of pain just below my neck. My legs and arms quit shaking and went limp at my sides, while my head slumped over on my chest. I couldn’t move anything but my eyes. I felt nothing, there was no longer any pain. A new terror set in as I realized they had cut my spine. All I could do was watch the horrifying attack as they split me from my sternum to below my navel.. My intestines rolled to the floor. There was so much. I felt a tugging sensation but no pain. I could hear but I couldn’t feel as my intestines uncoiled and rolled to the floor. Thank God there was no pain. With my head hanging on my chest I could see part of my lungs moving spasmodically, and the bottom of my heart still beating. Still I tried in my mind to struggle free but no movement came from my body. The veins in my neck pounded like drums. My breathing was labored; I was choking.
The lead terrorist put his face in mine reached for my heart and said, “Take this final memory with you. You are the first. Millions more will die when they drink the Boston water.” He flashed a wicked grin, “Die Infidel!”
He started to cut and everything turned black.
I shot erect in bed coughing, choking surrounded in darkness. I was dead! Mechanically I grabbed my chest; my heart was still there and still beating! The fear subsided as I became aware the choking came from the cold and sinus drainage in my head. I was alive, and breathing. I was also wet from sweating. My pillow was soaked. I turned and watched my wife’s rhythmic breathing and sighed in relief. I bent over kissed her on her cheek and mumbled, “I love you.”
I rolled around and sat on the edge of the bed and tried to relax. I was afraid to go back to sleep. Afraid the dream might continue, I told myself it was just a bad dream. Just a bad dream. Or was it a sign of what was coming to America?
