Hail Warning

Rond Point Port — Aboard the Hail Proton

Hail couldn’t sleep. Instead, he found himself pacing the top deck of the massive ship. The weather outside was mild. A soft wind twisted its way in between the rows of nuclear waste containers, creating strong funnels of air that would be there one second but gone the next.

When walking didn’t help, Hail began to run slowly at first like he was a long-distance runner pacing himself. The mild jog did not appease the anxiety he was experiencing, so he ran faster. He hadn’t planned on exercising. He just couldn’t get to sleep, so he decided to go on the deck, wearing his short-sleeved pajamas and shorts — he had forgotten his shoes. As he ran around the perimeter of the Hail Proton, he hoped no one would see him. He assumed a middle-aged man, dressed in pajamas, huffing and puffing on the top deck of a cargo ship looked crazy. But he couldn’t help it. He felt he was either running away from something or running toward something. And both emotions were positive because he was moving and not just sitting in one place waiting for something to happen. He understood that besides looking crazy, he was probably a little coo-coo in the head. But he couldn’t stop running. A regular frickin’ Forrest Gump, he was. The deck of the Hail Proton was littered with video cameras, and he surmised that the security center crew was probably getting a laugh. But hell, they worked hard. So, if he could bring a little levity into their lives, at least he was doing something positive other than just running.

Just before sunset, his body resisted further movement. His lungs felt as if they were about to spontaneously catch on fire. His back was wasted. His knees, which had never been a problem in the past, had turned into rusty iron hinges. Perspiration had long since dried around the collar of his dark pajama top, leaving a ring of white saline encircling his neck. His hair was glued to his forehead, and his face was bright red and puffy. He stopped at the starboard railing of the ship and put his hands on it. He bent over, facedown, and let his head dangle between his arms. He did his best to breathe, attempting to recover. Once he was relatively certain he would not pass out or have a heart attack, he exited the top deck and climbed down the ship’s metal stairs. Once back in his stateroom, he shed his pajamas and went into the bathroom to take a shower. Tucked in the corner of the mirror was a photo of his wife and his little girls. He liked having it there. He saw it each morning and night. What would he give just to have another five minutes with them? Hell, he’d give everything. Every dime he owned. He would sacrifice his life if a magic act could be performed bringing them back to life. And that’s what was so frustrating. There was nothing he could do — no amount of money — no amount of retribution could ever bring them back. All he had was the photo in the corner of the mirror and some videos they had taken during Christmases, vacations and birthdays. He so badly missed those special moments. Now as he looked at his lovely wife and innocent blond girls smiling back at him he realized he missed the normal stuff just as much. He missed getting them ready for school, picking them up from soccer practices, and giving them big hugs in the morning and kisses at night. He missed their high-pitched laughs and his wife’s crappy cooking. As Hail stared at the three faces smiling and staring back at him, he felt helpless. He felt trapped inside a life he had never wanted. But at this point, there was no turning back. The faces that looked at him didn’t deserve to die so young. If he could prevent another family from being destroyed by terrorists — and while there were men who didn’t have a clue what the word humanity meant — he would continue with this new life. He would keep hunting down the abhorrent animals, exterminating them.

As he stepped into the shower, Hail let the water wash away the tears streaking down his face. He spent a full five minutes under the hot water, letting it burrow into the back of his neck while he stared at the water going down the drain. He had already broken his father’s rule, taking a military sixty-second shower — a ritual he had not broken his entire life. But, it seemed this was the year of breaking old rules. He and his crew had killed one of the top notorious North Koreans and were close to killing an equally repugnant Nigerian. Taking an extra sixty seconds in the shower didn’t seem to really stack up against the sins he had committed against his fellow man.

Hail eventually stepped out of the shower and dried off. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He donned a pair of cargo pants and a green polo shirt. As he was leaving his stateroom, he noticed his white cowboy hat on his bed. He picked it up and stuck it on his head.

“Yippee ki-yay!” he said to himself as he left his room.