Tears of Abraham

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Heaven and Hell Are Relative

AMARILLO, TEXAS

Tony decided war was even better than sex, although his experience with both was limited. He loved the beautiful explosions, the raw power and destruction, and the feeling of being the hunter of game that shot back. It was better than Call of Duty because it was real. It was majestic.

He was nineteen and overweight six months before the war began, spending most of his time gaming in the basement of his mom’s house, lost in virtual worlds, immersed in team death matches where he could be a hero. His friend Buzz, a guy Tony had known online for years, invited him to go to the shooting range one day, a real one, and it was glorious.

Buzz was part of a militia group because his parents had founded that group. Real hard-core people. Tony got to shoot an old .50-caliber Browning, shredding targets from a hundred yards away. It was like a dream come true.

Tony started borrowing his mom’s car on weekends to make the forty-mile trek out into the desert, surprised at his good fortune. He learned how to shoot, and was amazed to discover that he had a gift. He was, according to Buzz’s daddy, the “best shot in Texas.” Tony warmed to the praise, and within a month, he told his mother he was moving out. She was not sad to see him go. When Buzz showed up with his jacked-up truck to load Tony’s clothes and electronics, she didn’t bother to ask where he was going. Just sat there on the front porch with her gross, sagging boobs squished into a bikini top, swatting flies and drinking her wine in a box. If Dad had been around, maybe things would have been different, but he was dead and gone, and so was Tony. Gone.

Once he moved into “the Ranch,” the weight melted away. He stopped playing video games and started living. He was up before dawn, milking cows, cleaning chicken coops, tending the hogs, dirt under his nails and the sun on his back. In the afternoons, he and Buzz would take horses out to check the fences and cameras and make sure the motion sensors were working. Tony transformed, and he knew it, embraced it. He was no longer a chubby, pasty teenager with no real friends or family; he was a sun-bronzed man who finally belonged.

He learned firearms, discipline, and a great deal of history. He’d never cared much for history or current events before, but now he saw the connections. He saw how Texas and the rest of the country was being taken advantage of. Texas was its own country before it joined the Union, and there was nothing to say it couldn’t be again. Folks in other parts of the US didn’t know what it was like to have illegal immigrants wandering through their backyards, with the drug cartels and the gangs taking over. Tony didn’t have anything against Mexicans; he just wished they’d stay in Mexico.

When word came down that it was really happening, Tony couldn’t sleep. He would be attached to an expeditionary force of Texas National Guard infantry, supported by air cavalry and armor. “Contact,” which is what the real soldiers said, was even better than he’d hoped. He’d gotten out of his bed at four in the morning and driven in a convoy of pickup trucks for hundreds of miles, until they linked up with the actual army guys. They pushed north, mopping up resistance when there was any, which didn’t happen enough. It was a week before Tony got to fire his weapon.

Now that his first engagement was finished, Tony couldn’t wait to hit the next target. The waiting was killing him. He could see the enemy soldiers, some on rooftops, some clustered behind circles of sandbags, tanks and armored vehicles at angles in the sprawling suburbs. He’d heard that negotiations were under way, but he hoped, down deep, that they’d fail. He didn’t want this dream to end.

There were rumors that it was about to go down, but every time there was more waiting. Tony and Buzz played poker, weapons within easy reach, while they told lies and joked with other soldiers and insulted each other in creative ways. Tony tried not to think too much about his big brother. When those thoughts came, he pushed them away.

The memories came back, though, and threatened to pierce Tony’s euphoria. His brother James was always smarter, cooler, five years older, and had gotten all the breaks. Tony loved his brother, but he damn sure didn’t like him much. Not after the way he’d run off on his family after Daddy died. At least James got to know Daddy. They’d gone fishing and hunting together, and Tony heard all about it for years. Campfires and practical jokes. Tony’d never been there for that. He was always too little. And then it was too late.

The idea that his big brother might be in that town made him shiver. It was a thrill. A comeuppance long overdue. The ultimate competition. The Big Army Big Brother against little Tony. It was like a video game, except better. His brother always won, but maybe this time would be different. Tony was part of an army now, too.

The rifle felt cool and heavy and real, not like in a game, and he stripped it down and reassembled it again because he could, and this made him smile.

It was dark when the shelling started. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Fireworks on steroids. The sky burst into color, orange, yellow, white, and red, and the sound was a crescendo of destruction and power and glory. A thing he felt in his bones, in is teeth, in his soul. The reality of it was like seeing the Grand Canyon in real life for the first time, even though he’d looked at pictures before. War was breathtaking like that, in a way the best game could never be. He felt the earth shudder, smelled the fires and the sharp scent of propellant, his heart hammering and his mouth dry, a surging, triumphant song in his chest as he charged when the platoon leader gave the order.

He felt light, as though he was in a dream where he was meant to fly, racing up the interstate behind armor, the sound of boots smacking the road and the rolling thunder of artillery and bombs detonating and rounds zipping and snapping through the dark. His commanding officer gave the order to hold west of the city.

Jets ripped through the sky, and Tony wished he could see the aerial battles. There were flashes and explosions, and some AA fire from the city. Probably on the air force base, which he’d heard was home to a bomber wing.

The suburbs burned bright, and as the fires joined and turned into one enormous firestorm, there was a wind that came rushing toward the town, the fire sucking in oxygen. It was like a work of art on a canvas the size of the Texas sky.

What he wasn’t ready for was the counterattack.

Bombers dropped cluster bombs behind Tony’s position, devastating huge swaths of infantry and supply vehicles. Less than a minute later, shells were exploding all around him.

“They’re hitting us with UAVs,” someone shouted. “Fucking drones!

”For the first time, Tony was afraid. Men were running, abandoning their positions. His platoon leader was nowhere to be seen. Vehicles were on fire, and every so often, rounds would cook off, adding to the general frenzy.

“Let’s bail,” Buzz said, his face inches from Tony’s. Tony’s hearing was pretty much gone at that point, but he got the message.

He was fleeing, his weapon forgotten on the road behind him, eyes rolling with panic, when Buzz went down face-first. Tony thought he caught a fast-moving shadow right before it happened, a dark blur the size of a bee that streaked into his friend’s head.

He knelt down to check on his friend, and then there was another dark blur and this one came for him. He died on the interstate on the outskirts of Amarillo without time to reflect upon his sad, lonely life.