On a table some methamphetamine, cocaine, marijuana, heroin, and opioid tablets laid in neat little piles. Mohammad’s eyes glazed over at the spread.
Henrik Colm, contributing editor for the Delaware Times, stepped away from his computer. The glow from his smart devices illuminated his cherrywood skin, cropped Afro. He silenced his smartphone and switched off his tablet and notebook. He wanted to get out into the world and get his information on the six percent of private school shootings that have occurred on American soil from 2000 to 2018.
Enamored with all of the gear, Mohammad looked at the parka, the skis, the gloves, the pants, the jacket, and the ski poles.
The pieces of fabric fell to the floor like joy unraveling. Kitchens remained bereft of all food items. Potato sacks replaced the dresses and suits and denim jeans and t-shirts. Everyone in the United States all looked the same—ashen and like grey blobs of paint against a portrait of utter bleakness. Henrik Niles and his wife Anita were with their three children, Bradford (12), Caxton (eight), and Cecily (five), all huddled in their house as the government officials cleared out their home in Alapocas, Delaware. The expansive space proved to be a gem for the Appropriators to rummage through, ransack, and rob the rightful owners, their property. The sun on this day in August blistered the Delaware area and sent tensions high. Families lined up down the blocks filled with spacious mansions. This anger simmered as the Appropriators went in and out of homes like pest control agents.
A fire truck red pickup truck with chrome around the fenders and dual exhaust pipes roared to a stop at the Marine Corps Recruiting Station in Newark, Delaware. Private First Class Klyde Bakeman hopped out of the truck and yelled, “Oohrah!” He had covered the truck in decals: one read the “Rifleman’s Creed,” in red of course; another showed a bulldog with a KA-Bar between its teeth, another showed the division Bakeman hoped he be assigned to, First Marine Division; and among the dozens of “Semper Fi” stickers he also had a large Eagle Globe and Anchor decal on the hood of the truck in metallic gold. A vanity plate simply read, "Chesty."
The walk from the van to the hangar enticed Mohammad. The prophet scooted along, expecting an exhilarating ride in an airplane above Newark, Delaware. The New Castle Airport remained a few minutes away from Newark but provided the prophet with the chance to discover the latter. Once he received his gear and inspected it, he left it at his nametag on a table with the rest of the packs of parachutes and walked into the training room. In the eight hours of training that rattled against Mohammad’s brain like the little ball in a spray paint can, he felt fully prepared. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his system.