LAIR OF THE WULF- a Barbarian in Chicago- part 2
CHAPTER NINETEEN

Abdul Escapes

It had been hours since Abdul, the leader of the terrorists, had been freed by the Ojibwe nation. He had run through the night, with no real interference since he had abandoned Tyrone to the jackals. He smiled at the thought, not feeling that he had abandoned a comrade at all, but more as if he cleverly had devised a ruse to not only get rid of an unwanted alliance, but to dispose of a troublesome ally at the same time.

Once, as he had been running fleetly through the dark woodlands, he had heard a growl. Drawing his twin knives, one in each hand, he had turned about in terror. With no one to sacrifice, he assumed that he was doomed to die- a large black bear slowly came into indistinct view, standing upright and obviously ready to fight.

But Abdul, fox of the desert, had obviously overestimated his standing in the forest. The bear was utterly ignoring the puny human, and was facing instead another real predator- a cougar, snarling at the bear, hair upraised on his back.

Abdul, realizing with a deflating feeling that he was indeed but a small creature of prey, not a mighty slayer of Islam, ran off like the cur he really was at heart. He once again resolved to redouble his efforts to slay the Christians, and Jews, and anyone who did not accept the superiority of Islam- this made him feel once again more like a mighty warrior, and not a small pitiful prey animal released out of sheer indifference.

Abdul had almost convinced himself, as he ran through the dark, that he was like a swift fox, running like the wind, running on a sacred mission. In fact, as he ran, he felt bigger and more powerful as he went, and it really helped that the first blush of dawn was gradually suffusing the sky, rendering the north woods a much less unfriendly place as he went. His confidence mushroomed, and he felt positively heroic as he neared the edge of the western woods, at last.

’I shall sacrifice to you, Mohammed, hundreds, nay thousands of the infidels,’ he thought, running happily for the sunrise that was illuminating the wood’s edge. ‘For bringing me from this trial, Christian men, women, and children shall die for their unbelief, in your honor!’

The sunlight beckoned at the edge of the trees- beyond there was a clearing, at last. Sweat bathed the Arab runner, and that made him feel like the winner of a mighty contest. He was the desert Fox- he had triumphed! He raised his hands on high, as if winning an important race or contest, and emerged from the trees in his imagined self as a conqueror. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The morning sun struck upon Abdul’s smiling face. Free at last from this dark prison, he smiled, showing white teeth in a dusky face. Free and safe, at last! He had triumphed, for Allah and his people, against these infidel heretics- he ran joyfully into a large clearing beyond the woods. Now, he would gain a town, and telephone his people, who would send him transport back to his native land, from whence he could again attack these unbelievers-

His thoughts stopped, all at once, at the sound of an audible “ka-rich!” came, the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked back.

“Kess Ommak!!” shouted Abdul Jawaak, and unfortunately, that is the damning swear that he cursed himself with as he entered Jannah, the “heaven” of Islam. (Although Islam countenances killing “infidels”, such swearing is damning to the faithful!)

Briefly, Abdul saw once again the dark green, ancient pickup that had interfered with him in southwestern Wisconsin- that same pickup which had disgorged the old man, that Viking of the white hair and beard- he that had stopped him from destroying that whole pitiful gas station, stopped both him with his faithful, and the Black Lives Matter group…

But that was all he would see again, ever. Old Ragnar, and his grandson Eric, had been patrolling this area daily, hoping and expecting at least some of those radical Islamic terrorists to re-emerge from where they had disappeared. They had figured that this was where they had been headed, and as supporters of the renegade Wulf they had read about and seen on TV, they decided to patrol the western side of the reservation. And this morning, their determination was to be rewarded.

Ragnar, white hair gleaming like silver, back leaning against his old pickup, set loose a blast from his shotgun. A heartbeat later, a second blast came from his grandson Eric, who was off to the right at wood’s edge.

Abdul Jawaad, pride of Arabia, the Fox of the Desert, terrorist, and the slayer of many children and women of Christianity, virtually disintegrated in the hail of shot that riddled his body. The only witnesses to his inglorious death were an old man and his grandson.

And they only smiled.

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