“Upper,” Zeyad yelled.
“What?”
“Upper. You shoot upper,” Zeyad said pointing up.
“Higher?” I said. Again with the English.
“High. Yes.”
I gave him a look and turned back down the sights of the AK. I could hear Zeyad’s silence, but me pulling the trigger sure shut that shit out of existence. He was right though. I was shooting way too low. The sand around our targets exploded.
I thought they might give me a second to relax in my bed this morning, but first thing in the morning there was a giant thud on the door. It was a big assed knock. When I opened the door it was Zeyad and another guy, I think Abdarabbit or something. They pulled me out and I was on my way. “Yullah Hefty,” Zeyad said, and next thing I know I’m standing in a line with all the other ISIS kids. Zeyad got into a truck, and started yelling, saying “Yullah” a whole hell of a lot. The kids all started to run. I didn’t want to join them, I really didn’t, but what else could I do. I cramped the entire run. We ran all the way to a shooting range. I couldn’t believe I survived this death march.
At least Zeyad was in charge of training all the kids. He was so funny. He was always cracking jokes with his gun, making it seem like the safety was off when it really wasn’t. It was pretty unsafe, but hilarious. Like that shit would never fly at my grade school. Someone would have been fired. Or arrested.
Not here.
I unloaded my clip. I loved the AK. It was definitely my favorite. It just had so much power behind it. “Yullah yullah Taliban!” I heard from Zeyad.
We all stood up, and Zeyad came straight up to me. He took the gun from me. He started speaking in rapid-fire Arabic. Everyone was looking at me and saying things. Anas, this tall kid, approached and started calmly talking shit to me, grabbing my arms like he was showing me something. He ripped them away.
“Hey, English,” I ripped, “fuck.”
“Poosh. Blachdaka,… ahh.. Poosh. Poosh.”
What in Christ were these people trying to do to me?
Zeyad stepped in between us with the gun. He was trying to get to my head, but his mouth just couldn’t make the connections. He grabbed my hands, just like Anas. He put the AK in my hands, with his hands over mine.
He stepped behind me. For a second I imagined I was learning golf with my dad. One time, Dad stood behind me, grabbing the golf club, and slowly pushing me through the motions.
Zeyad was doing the same only with the AK. Only he had his hands on the magazine clip of the gun. “That’s dumb,” I said out loud, and put my hands back on the wooden handle.
“La!” Zeyad spat and smacked my hands back down onto the magazine. He whispered quickly in Arabic. He mimicked the gun. He mimed the recoil. This was stupid. “Why am I holding the magazine?”
I looked around and saw that all the kids were looking at me like I was a fucking idiot. “I’ll break it off.” I said that, but I felt that the gun was rock solid. It was a really beautiful gun. Zeyad slowed down a bit, then showed me that I needed to grip the magazine tight into the gun as it fired.
He let go. Then turned me by the shoulder. He popped out the clip and put in a single bullet. He was miming the bullet. He showed it going in at an angle if the magazine wasn’t pushed back, then he turned it. If the magazine was being pushed into the gun… “It straightens out the bullet.”
“Strait! Strait!” he said, then loaded the mag with the single bullet, and bopped me on the head with the wooden stock of the gun. It wasn’t a hard bop. Zeyad was so fucking cool.
He spun around, and in half a second, popped the bullet downrange. The ping of metal hitting metal meant Zeyad got his round into one of our targets.
The kids all started clapping. I joined.
“Musadas! Musadas!” Zeyad started chattering. The kids all booked it for the gun boxes. “Hefty!” he said to me. I walked over, and he gave me the AK, showing me to grip it at the Magazine. I took it, holding it the right way. He smiled at me. Man, I wish he could be in charge.
He pulled out his pistol and slowly approached the target. His pistol was pointed down. He was walking with some speed. I watched on as I was returning the AK, hand on mag. I ran into Anas on my way back. He gave me a shove, but it wasn’t mean. He was just frontin’.
Zeyad unloaded and hit every target. This guy was hella on point. On point and cooler than a cucumber.
I put the AK back, and grabbed a Glock. It wasn’t pretty. It was hardly even a Glock. It was like 4 different gun parts all screwed into one. I grabbed a couple of bullets and started filling the mag.
Flashes started booming from the kids’ guns, and I saw them doing like Zeyad. Man, a few more weeks of this and we would be killing machines. I mean, them more than me. It was awesome that I got to have this training, but I really wasn’t going to use it. I was happy I didn’t have to do it every day. The running at the beginning of the day was WAY too much for me, but guns were awesome. If it wasn’t for Zeyad being so cool, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity. Thank god he was the coolest dude in all of ISIS. They should have put him on all the ISIS videos. I bet a million people would have joined if Zeyad was the face of this whole operation.
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I ran over, cocked the gun, and pointed it. Then it got karate chopped. I tried to pull the trigger, but nothing happened. The gun was jammed. I looked up and saw the worried face of Zeyad. He was stern, but he wasn’t angry. It’s like this dude couldn’t be angry.
He just shook his head, then he ripped the gun out of my hand. He pointed at a kid, then at another kid, then at that kid. They were all downrange.
“I get it,” I realized. “No shooting if people are there.”
“No shoot. Not shoot.”
He then took the gun and showed it to me. He cocked it back a little, just a hair. Then pulled the trigger. I flinched, expecting a boom. Nothing.
He did it faster. No boom. Then faster again. Nothing.
He showed me how to do it. Karate chopping the gun. ouch. Chopping into metal hurt like a mother.
He motioned for me to chop at him. He turned and aimed to shoot. I chopped at the gun. Bang! He shot a bullet, as the fire off the hot muzzle made me burn. “Fuck!” I yelled. My hand was hurting.
He laughed. Fucking Zeyad. If he wasn’t one cool assed mofo… I don’t know.
He started yelling out to the kids, and in 2.5 seconds, the gunfiring was over. The kids jogged over to us. As soon as the last kid approached, he yelled out, in Arabic, and gun clicking started. From everyone.
“La bullet. No bullet!” he translated for me. The kids all took out the magazines from their hand guns. They cocked their guns back about 5 or 7 times to make sure there were no more bullets in the chamber. I did the same.
Zeyad was giving orders. Where the hell was Omar? The kids started pairing up, and it was gym class all over again. The kids ran across to make their pairs, and then it was just me. Even out here, I wasn’t able to find a partner but then Anas came tumbling out of the dust. He walked right up to me. He was much taller. He could have been confused for an adult.
He stood, looking at me like he was gonna try to take a bite out of me. Good luck douchebag, I’m the fattest kid on this block.
Zeyad started to give more directions, and the kids all started to wrestle. It was crazy. Someone would hold the handgun. The right way, and then the other kid would grab it. That’s how they started. Then, they started wrestling for it. To get it out of the other kid’s hands, or to be able to use it.
I thought about that karate chop Zeyad just taught me. How if I pulled back the top of the Anas’ Glock just a bit, it couldn’t fire, not that it would anyway.
“la la shoot,” Zeyad whispered in my ear, wagging a “no” with his finger. He gripped my hand and put Anas’ gun pointing right at my stomach. My hands went on top. I was gonna get this dude. As soon as Zeyad said, “Yullah,” I heaved into the gun. I could feel the thing slide and knew it couldn’t go off. I rushed Anas. He might have had a foot on me, but I had a solid hundred pounds on him. He tripped, and I fell smack on top of him. The gun angled sideways between his hard stomach and my fat sweaty one. An orange notch sticking out of the handgun slashed my thumbprint just the tiniest bit. It’s crazy how well you can feel when your hands are pressed together. I pinched his fingers and started ripping at his hands. He yelled out in pain. Zeyad slammed into me. I tumbled into the dust.
Anas was yelling, crying really. Fuck you dude. I told you. Zeyad started laughing at Anas, pointing at me. I could tell he was saying something like, “you let HIM get you?” as if I was some kind of newb. I mean I was, but I was also Hefty as fuck. I didn’t play when it comes to tackling. Anas was kicking dust at me, and Zeyad slapped him. He made another kid change partners with Anas. I saw a glare in Anas’ eyes. Great, another friend I’d made out here. At least I knew I wasn’t gonna have to worry about him.
I got linked up with another kid. I didn’t know his name, but he put his hand to his heart and said, “Isme Abdulwab.”
I just stared at him. I knew Abdul was a name, but the other part sounded like he was chewing on some rice. “Salam Abdul. Isme Hefty,” I said putting out my hand.
“Adbulwab.”
“Hefty.”
“Abdulwab!” he said, yelling something out to the kids. Laughter erupted from everyone. He turned from the laughing kids, his eyes now trained on me. He wasn’t too big. A little pudgy, really. This wouldn’t be too hard. He pulled out his gun. I grabbed it, and as soon as I went to rush him, Abdulwab jumped over my right shoulder. He did a crazy backflip, and as he did, my ass tumbled down with him. My hands went straight over my head, and my wrists hit the rocky ground. Fuck! My hands! I couldn’t remember feeling for the gun, before a knee came down on my chest and I looked down the barrel of pistol. Click.
Whoa. That was fast. I kinda shit myself a little.
“Abdulwahb,” he said getting off me.
“Abdulwab.”
“No!” he chimed. “Abdul-Wahab. Abdul. Wahab.”
“Oh, Wah-Hab. Abdul. Wahab.”
“Salam, Hefti.” He picked me up, and as he did, an explosion happened behind him. He turned, and I looked up. Anas was on the ground. Motionless. The kid Anas was with was rapid fire screeching to Zeyad. The kid was looking worried. Then I noticed the orange notch on the gun he was holding. It was Anas’ gun. I looked at my thumbprint and saw the little cut. Fuck. That gun was loaded.
I shuddered, imagining a bullet slapping through my stomach. Anas’ shirt had a red mark right where his heart was. Zeyad knelt to look at Anas. He was toast. Donezo Ferrari.
The kid who shot Anas was yelling up a storm at Zeyad, and he wasn’t saying anything. His silence was so much more sinister than if he was yelling. The kid eventually calmed down. Zeyad took his gun and inspected it. He yelled something in Arabic, and Abdulwahab ran over, along with half the other kids. Zeyad went through and inspected the other guns, cocking them like crazy.
I thought about Anas’ eyes as he walked away. About his crunching fingers under my belly. Was he trying to kill me?
I stopped hearing, and just kept thinking of that bullet blowing up my belly, and the guns. Big Ass, and Beardo. All the heads I’d seen blow with holes. Now Anas. Then I heard “Hefty”. There it was again. “Hefty”.
Then I saw Abdulwahab. He was smiling. He said something in Arabic. A joke probably. I fucking HATE when people talk in another language right to your face.
He motioned for me to get up. Like our training wasn’t over. I realized then that Abdulwahab looked a little older than me. He might have been a full 16 years old. He showed me his empty gun, then gave it to me. He got behind me and hugged me. He put his hands over the gun, from behind, and yelled Yullah. The wrastlin’ began, and just as he got the gun twisted, I yanked my hands in, twisted my wrists, jambed the muzzle upwards, and clicked the trigger. It was pointing straight up Abdulwahab’s neck. Kill shot, bitch.
Then he gave out a great laughter. It wasn’t harsh. It was welcoming. He spat to his friends in Arabic, and I could hear him say, “FAT” somewhere inside his words. Fuck you, dude.
Abdulwahab smiled at me. “Okay okay okay.” He twisted me around, and then I was grabbing the gun from behind. As I did, I saw Zeyad and the kid who shot Anas, carrying Anas’ dead body over to a truck. Adios, Anas. Hope it was worth it. Then the next thing I remember is feeling a grip on my wrist and going over Abdulwahab. My face ate the dirt, and as I tumbled over, I saw the same barrel of a gun. Click.
I would definitely need new clothes after this shit.