Shoot! I forgot I’d be driving east when I set off. Just under four hours of solid driving still to do before reaching Grammy’s. She’s my alibi. She’d say anything for me. She’d say I’d been taking care of her all night - but more to the point, she’d do it for little Julie. Yeh … gotta keep driving … gotta keep on. But the sun’s gonna be a real problem. Straight in the face like that, it gets to you. Sunscreens just don’t cut it. Gotta keep on. Eyes hurt … blinding headache starting. It can only get worse!

The look on his face was pure gold to my heart. He just couldn’t take it in. But the knife went in all right. Smoothly. Like cutting through butter! That’ll teach the smooth-talking, child-killing, drunk-driving, no-good that death is final. My little girl wasn’t coming back … and neither was he now.

That sun just isn’t gonna let up. If it wasn’t for the fact that someone might remember me calling in to buy stronger shades, I’d maybe chance it. They do say the best laid plans of mice and men ... but I hadn’t factored in the sun slowing me down like this. I thought I’d be well and truly back by sun-up.

I had it all planned. The child-killer hadn’t realised that my cousin had followed him to his hideaway cabin just after the trial failed on a technicality. He maybe thought he’d hide out there until all the brouhaha died down, but now we had him. Five hours from Grammy to his hideaway cabin - and then maybe an hour to scout and make sure he was alone - do the deed - and then five hours back to Grammy; all done during dusk, through night, reaching Grammy just after dawn.

But the murderer of my little Julie hadn’t arrived back at the cabin until 3 o’clock in the morning, so I’d had to wait and wait and wait. I got him just as he reeled out of his car - drunk!

All the family had tight and true alibis, and mine would look solid since Grammy lived so far away; a good ten hour round trip by road. If I could make it back before his body was found - and if I could give this customised written-off car back to Grammy’s neighbour Don, then maybe we could pull this off.

Don runs a scrap yard with a powerful vehicle crusher. This vehicle will be a cube in no time. We just filled the trunk with extra cans of gas so that I had no stops at service stations – just topping up through the funnel as and when needed through the night – no incriminating gas station videos. Easy.

Now I’ve got just three and a half hours to go … but my head is light and reeling from that glare. There’s no turn-off - its east all the way to Grammy. Gotta keep going. Just gotta keep going, keep g……

Thwack, thwack .. thwack ….

Dear God! Don’t panic. I can do this, I know I can. It’s an empty road. Just pull over. Take a deep breath. Keep calm. You’ve changed tires before.

Don’t just sit there - swallow that bile and get outta the car. Open the trunk and get to work. Keep going, keep going … out of car … open trunk … ?? … no tire!

Just cans of gas … lots of cans of gas …

“Good day, old chap!” exclaimed D'Artagnan Distilliger XVI. “I’m quite surprised to see thee on this good morning, I must say! And so far thy must have traveled, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Indeed!” replied Flibicus, Lord Brownsacks of Hyde. “Indeed, my journey is not without great purpose, for I have heard of a mighty fortune to be found in these lands.”

“Fortune?” D'Artagnan returned, stroking his long, shaggy beard. “Do tell, good friend, do tell!”

“As representative of the Hyde clan, I come seaking your aid and permission in finding it, as it is believed to reside within your domain” explained Flibicus. “By chance, have you heard of the Great Cache?” As he spoke this he began rummaging through his old, rusted shopping cart. “The Great Cache of Houston Street?”

He handed D’Artagnan a torn, yellow piece of paper.

Grumbling as he read it, D’Artagnan adjusted his cracked monocole and leaned on his treebranch walking stick.

“I say!” he proclaimed, raising a dirty index finger in exclamation. “1-2-2-4 East Houston. The ShopWise market, no less! I have heard of it, but it has been lost to us for years! Tell me, my friend, where dids’t thou obtain this prophetic letter?”

“The telephone booth of 144th Avenue contains a magnificent tome,” replied Flibicus lowering his voice and darting his eyes about. “My people consider it sacred. They do not know I have taken this fragment. They cannot know!”

“Well, then, we must go at once!” declared D’Artagnan. “I shall adorn my finest garments for this pilgrimage!” D’Artagnan ruffled through his own shopping cart and, amongst the aluminum cans and newspapers, produced a ragged Christmas sweater. “Let us be off, friend!”

And onward they went.

***

A few hours later the pair approached their destination: the parking lot of the ShopWise market. Many patrons were going about their daily business.

“1-2-2-4 East Houston!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, opening his arms to the air. “The prophet and fulfiller: we have arrived!”

“My, God,” proclaimed Flibicus, his eyes wide and unblinking. “It’s magnificent!”

“Verily,” replied D’Artagnan. “One of the greatest and most bountiful bastions in all of New York, it is! For so long this location was forgotten but we have found it again! What joy!”

The two hurriedly pushed their shopping carts to the rear side of the building and observed four large, black dumpsters brimming with fresh garbage and flies.

“Eyes, deceive me not!” pleaded D’Artagnan. “These coffers run aburst with swag!”

He began running towards one of the mighty bins, when suddenly Flibicus cried out: “D’Artagnan, STOP!”

Confused, D’Artagnan halted and looked back at his companion. “Sir,” he replied. “What be thy concern?”

“D’Artagnan,” Flibicus began, “I must explain.” He chuckled lightly. “I was not of full truth earlier. I had not stolen that parchment from my people.”

D’Artagnan blinked. “Pardon,” he replied quizzically.

“No,” Flibicus explained. “No, I didn’t take it from them, I took it for them. I knew you didn’t know me well enough to distrust me and that you’d lead me here.” He approached D’Artagnan. “And now that you’ve done just that, I think, perhaps, I shall take this bounty for myself.”

With a swift knee to D’Artagnan’s groin, he fell.

“HUNNGN!” groaned D’Artagnan painfully. “UNG… HUNNG. JESUS! OHH!” He writhed and sputtered on the ground in agony.

“I do thank you for your cooperation,” smirked Flibicus. “I could not have navigated the trip without you!”

***
Hours later, D’Artagnan began to regain consciousness. Still groggy from the blow, he staggered to his feet. The garbage bins were now empty.

“OH!” he coughed. “Deceiver!” he shouted, shaking his fists at the sky. “You trickster! You fiend!” He began to cough and wheeze. “OH!”

He groaned and fell to his knees. “I called thee a friend but thou art a fiend!”

He began breathing heavily but slowly managed to calm himself. He swallowed hard and stared at the ground.

“Oh, yes, ye have knocked me down,” he began as he struggled to his feet. “But I shall not stay there.”

Now standing, he continued: “No. Rather, I trust that I, the hornet, of whose hive you have so harshly stirred, will not buzz around idly.”

He roared a fierce roar into the air which echoed for miles. The alleys began to stir with life as the denizens of the street answered the call. They began to gather and to march toward D’Artagnan.

“There will be blood this night,” he roared. “And the sun shall rise, stained by wicked blood! My brothers, our bond has been forsaken! Our trust, disrespected! Our strength, challenged!”

“Flibicus,” D’Artagnan menaced, “as Thunderbird as my witness, my cart shall adorn a pike with thy head! To war! To war!”

The march was on.

Four years. That’s how long he had watched her. He watched her fall for the boy-band dujour, cut her hair ridiculously short, then grow it back out, learn to wear makeup instead of letting the make up wear her. In short he watched her grow up. She, on the other hand did not even know he existed. It never bothered him though. There was always tomorrow. They would be graduating soon; he was careful to find out what schools she had applied to and made great effort to follow her. He reminded himself this was not stalking, this was true love. She had had a few boyfriends and he felt no ill will for them. She had to know what it was to date other guys. He rationalized that, this way when he got his chance she would appreciate his devotion more.

He planned on asking her to the senior prom. She was not currently involved with anyone and was bemoaning having to go alone or worse, not at all. He knew better than to fool himself, he was painfully shy and actually asking her was going to take all of the courage he could muster. Every night he practiced just what he would say, trying to find just the perfect way to phrase it so that she wouldn’t say “No”. Should he buy her a flower? What kind of flower? Would a rose be too pretentious, daisies seem too cheap? His mind reeled with these questions. Should he wear the black jeans and blue t-shirt or slacks and dress shirt? Sleep evaded him; dreams of her saying "Yes" mixed with the fear of her saying “No” skittered through his subconscious.

The following morning his mother informed him that they would be going out of town for the weekend. He was elated; a weekend at the lake would give him time to think. His proposal had to be perfect! The last two days of the week went by quickly. He watched her, glad that she finally gave up that silly diet of carrot and celery sticks. He spent hours at night wondering how she could think she was fat. She was gorgeous! Her auburn hair glittered in the sunlight; her smile could light the darkest gloom. Her figure flirted with him regardless of her outfit. A flash of leg here, the subtle curve of a breast there she was his Venus! She just had to say yes!

Finally Friday arrived! He was excited, yet sad too. This would be the last time he would get to see his beloved until his return from the lake on Monday. He watched as she waltzed past him on the way to her locker, was he wrong or did she actually make eye contact with him? Nah couldn’t be!! He went to first period class but was too flustered to pay any attention to Newton’s laws. She did look at him, he was certain! His heart did flip-flops in his chest. He would not allow himself to get too excited he would wait and see what else happened.

At lunch he was sitting under the same tree he always sat beneath, enjoying the cool breeze playing thru the leaves. When she appeared right in front of him, a vision of perfection, standing right In front of him. He almost choked on his soda with the utter surprise of it all. Was she talking to him? Oh, god she was; what was she saying? “So, um do you have a date for the prom?” His jaw dropped to his chest. Was he dreaming? Was this a trick, a cruel joke? He looked around to see who else might be watching but saw no one.

She looked at him with a hard gleam in her eye and said,”Well, if you don’t want to just say so. You don’t have to pretend to not hear me!” He tried to talk but his voice froze. All that would come out was an odd squeaky sound. She turned on her heel and stomped off.

As soon as he recovered from the initial shock he was up and running after her, his heart was pounding and an odd loud buzzing in his ears. He had to catch her and tell her the truth; that he would walk through molten lava and back again twice for her! When he caught up with her he couldn’t control himself he grabbed her by the arm flung her around and...

"Carrie, put that book down and get down here! Dinner was ready ten minutes ago!"

Smokey demons swirled up and away from the flames, gently caressing the leaves against the moonlit night. Somewhere off in the distance a hyena broke the quiet, its screams of sadistic laughter ringing across the land. Tired birds restlessly flitted from one tree to the next, seeking the perfect roost. Lazily, Jerry poked at the fire sending up a small contingent of sparks, added another log and, went back to sipping his cup of strong sludge-like coffee.

He surveyed the camp looking for anything out of place. The crates were in a line forming a wall behind the tents. The Jeeps were parked beside the crates, their weapons all formed up into tee-pee’s. Every thing looked to be just right. He shrugged off the thick mantle of exhaustion; he agreed to take second shift watch thinking a few hours sleep would revive him from the long 3 day trek to get out to this God forsaken place. He had tried to sleep. All he could think about was the heat. It was so hot that there were little rivulets of sweat coursing down his sides, and his scalp.

Sleep teased him as he caught himself nodding. He nearly fell off the log he had perched on when his overly heavy head drooped just a little too far forward. He caught himself, and shook his head. His eyes wanted so badly to close. His mind whispered, “Who would know? Just a 15 minute nap, that’s all.” He knew at this point there would be no 15 minute anything. If he closed his eyes, he would be out until morning. He stood up and stomped his boots and walked a circle around the fire. He was so tired he never heard the small crack behind him.

He looked at his watch, hopeful that much time had passed and his relief would wake soon and he could collapse. A cool breeze flirted with his shaggy hair as he fumbled with his watch. He saw that it was nearly five am. Only another hour to go until people started waking up and he could drop off to sleep. Two eyes glistened in the firelight. They followed as the man went back to his log and sat down. One paw moved ever so slowly in front of the other. Closer, just a little closer the scent of fire wafted across sensitive nostrils and whiskers twitched. A tinge of fear momentarily tested his resolve; fires were evil, painful things.

Jerry wandered over to the Jeeps under the pretense of checking them over, he really needed to keep moving or he knew he would fall fast asleep. These men were not paying him to sleep on their dime. He eyed the myriad of weapons tee-pee’d neatly in front of the tents. They were not cheap, and were very uncommon. He checked the heavy hasps on the crates; these things were built to last! He could only guess what these men hoped to catch, lion maybe? He was certain he knew that the lions around here were cunning and known man-eaters. The very thought sent shivers down his spine and goose bumps up his arms.

The fire was threatening to die down and was sending up smoke signals. Tendrils of the dying fire danced along the night sky tickling a sensitive nose. He shook his head to rid himself of the smoke and a brilliant fang glittered for just a second in the moon kissed night. A tail twitched with frustration over it all. Slowly, one paw in front of the other being oh so careful to not make any noise he worked his way over to the metal monsters.
His quarry was so very close; he could smell his sweaty, musty stink. He crouched as low as he could; swept his ears back against his skull. Even his traitorous tail was motionless. He had to wait for just the right moment to spring. The human was moving away now, and two shiny green eyes followed him back towards the fire. Jerry knew there was little chance of him staying awake. He walked back over to the fire and sat down on the log.

He looked at his watch in the just dawning light and could just see that it was nearly 6. Surely someone would wake up any moment and let him off the hook. His head bobbed again dangerously low this time, he almost lost his balance on the log. Behind him a set of ears twitched as a body froze close to the ground.

Thomas put his pencil down and squinted at the paper in front of him. He tapped the eraser on his temple trying to concentrate. He had to find just the perfect ending. Maybe it would come to him while he slept.

Toting my rifle cautiously down the bombed-out alley, I'm patrolling close to a building and moving to investigate the side door of an abandoned store. My helmet's drenched in sweat, my shades are getting foggy, and my flak jacket's getting heavier and hotter. All of a sudden, I get a strong odor of residue from explosives and launched rockets. Ready for a hiding surprise, I aim my weapon in the open doorway, and quietly walk forward. Listening intently for movement, I pull down my shades, let my eyes adjust in the silence, and step inside. My rifle light bursts through the darkness, where it looks completely abandoned, but still doesn't smell right. I look around. Not even a roach tracked through here for at least a week. The few sunbeams coming through the ceiling show still air and sandy dust settled on debris and garbage. Down a hallway I see sunlight burning through a window onto the wall and make deliberate steps, avoiding the noise of sand grinding under my boots. Finally at a stairway, I make a slow and careful ascent. The second floor is dark and I flash my rifle light into it where sunlight doesn't break in through cracks in the roof. The attic's almost empty, except...

The executive tapped his office phone volume button until he could hear the ring tone over his own sales pitch warm up. He grimaced, heard a voice mail greeting and squinted until it was over, "Listen Mike, we can tweak our program if you give us more of the specs and features you want. Don't worry about any jamming issues, we've updated the anti-jam/detection compensators and it'll still talk through satellites or power lines. No one else's remote detonation surveillance munitions will ever come close to our product. We're years ahead on innovations in battery life, communication-command-control encryption, multi-freq cycling, net relay, and authentication. Other branches and even nations will be begging you to implement and deploy systems in this current theater of operations for them! Hell, you could even watch a football game and blow up terrorists from your damned couch! How's that for a goal? You can read all about it on our website and our Weekly Defense Shag Mag story next week. I've already got plenty of interest so call me and we'll seal the deal."

In a heavily fortified government building in the eastern hemisphere boomed the voice of a commanding general, "Yes, Mistah Sang, you did very werr for us! Your sares wirr get us deepah in western govament contracting and defense. Once we undamine their infrastructure, we wirr easiry contror their economy with what they think is their wor. You wirr be accordingry werr compensated. Your work in the strategic office wirr be increasing."

"Thank you, general. I was confident fundamentalist factions would grab our latest, remote detonation clones. They have strong beliefs in their cause and ours against our common friendly enemy. The agreement will last as long as our clients feel they can exploit the enemy's sympathy for people they think they're liberating."

"Mr. Sang, remember it is us and our benefactors the enemy's money and forces are iberating when you imprement your economic warfare strategy."

"You know I will, general." The two men shook hands with proud smiles, exited their surveillance-proofed room, and walked past the outer guard who secured it behind them with the puff of an airtight seal and the heavy sound of a vault door. Strolling down the hallway, the two chatted about the quality of some new restaurants opening in the city nearby. This established which ones the other would avoid so as not to associate with each other in public. When they got to the end of the hallway, echoes of their footsteps paused for a moment before they departed to different directions and offices.

Somewhere in a city, members of an invite-only "Elite Gamer's Club" just went downstairs below a twenty-four hour, seven day den sparsely filled with online gamers on nearly state-of-the-art computers. The "elite" club gamers were actually operatives on a staggered shift meant to prevent suspicion. Their's looked like a surveillance room except once in a great while there was a flash on someone's screen. After infra-red proximity sensors detected an approach within range, onscreen and audible warnings alerted the operator who would then initiate a destruct command, triggering explosives at the maximum opportunity to affect their target. Lying in wait, one operator's `remotely controlled surveillance munition hadn't made infra-red confirmation yet, but warnings started with the appearance of a sudden flash of light. It wasn't a flash of explosives. A beam from the floor illuminated the tip of a rifle slowly sweeping its light across the screen...

At age three, I’d already seen the world turn on itself and then collapse. My father was an investment banker for one of the biggest banks in New York City. He loved nothing more than money. He was the type of father who would buy you anything you wanted, but would never truly love you. Money seemed to fix all of his problems, and when it didn’t, well….let’s just say he’d have it “taken care of.” It was the booming 20’s so everyone was movin’ on up to a deluxe apartment in the sky. MONEY! MONEY! MONEY! It was all they cared about!

When the Depression hit suddenly everyone was about loving each other and stickin’ together through these hard times. These were better times. Money seems to make everyone so phony. After the war, I learned what true brotherhood was, and I stopped caring completely about money. All I knew was I didn’t want to turn out like my father. I got a job working for a shipping company and sailed all around the world. All of my shipmates were into hard drugs, and under peer pressure I joined them. I started to become quite the drug addict, but I figured everybody was doing it, so we were all in the same boat. Later that year, while lifting a huge barrel that was a bit too heavy for me, I dropped it right on my foot. I couldn’t go back to work with a broken foot, so I was sent to the streets. By the time I recovered I didn’t feel like finding another job. I hated money, but I obviously needed it. I would be able to find food and shelter, but any money I got would go straight to my drug fund.

I fell deeper and deeper into depression. My life had been tumbling downhill since the day I was born. As I stood there, looking in the mirror of a filthy Conoco Station bathroom, I realized I had become the exact opposite of my father. I had never really had any dreams, except to not turn out like him. Well, dream accomplished! The life I was living was awful, but at least I was living. I could straighten up and turn myself into a respectable person, or I could continue living my miserable little lie of a life. As I sat on the toilet, I started to mark the differences between me and my father. If I took the path to normalcy, I would end up just like my father, ruining the one goal in life I had. If I stayed on the path I was currently on, I would most likely end up dead. Either way was awful. I had to choose. As I walked out of that bathroom, I knew what my awful fate would eventually have to be.

“Well that was a complete waste of time,” Joe Carrington muttered to himself. He walked out of the plain brick building and started back toward the base. Joe began reflecting on everything that had happened in the last 12 hours.

12 hours ago, at 2100 hours, Joe had been in the barracks getting ready for lights out with the rest of his unit.
“TENNN-SHUN!”
Instinctively, Joe snapped to attention and the edge of his bed while all of his bunkmates fell in line and did the same.
“At ease. As you were, men.” Drill Sergeant McKinney walked briskly into the room. “Carrington, up front.”
Joe’s insides turned. The last thing he wanted right now was any ‘special attention’. As McKinney walked towards him and the rest of the men resumed what they were doing, Joe stood where he was, curious but terrified to see what was coming.
“Special delivery, Carrington.” McKinney thrust a plain looking envelope into his hands. “Any idea what this is about?”
“Sir?”, said Joe with an inquisitive look on his face.
“I was told to bring this straight to you. Hand it over personally. No one else allowed to even see that I had it. What’s this about?”
Joe started to sweat. He’d managed to escape the 9 weeks of hell without drawing attention to himself. And now, on the last night, here it was. “Sir, I do not know, Sir!”
McKinney eyed him for a moment, then said, “Very well. As you were”, and he turned and left.
Joe sat on his bed and opened the letter. The first thing he noticed were the two red-inked stamps at the top of the letter, one saying “Top Secret” and the other “For Your Eyes Only”.
Joe scanned the letter quickly to see what it entailed. The fact that it was brief and to the point managed to say a lot, without saying much at all. There were no specifics, except a time and location of somewhere he was supposed to be. He raised his eyebrows when he read, “Your Superiors at your base have already been notified that you will not be attending the Basic Training Commencement Ceremony. You will be given $3,000.00 as compensation for missing said ceremony. Please arrive at the specified time in plain civilian clothes.”
All Joe knew was that he was being given 3 grand to miss out on a ceremony he wasn’t too thrilled about attending anyway.

The next morning he awoke and dressed in his civilian clothes as everyone else was getting into their Class A uniforms. The other men gave him odd looks as he walked down the center aisle and out the exit. He thought he even heard one person say “did he wash out?”
The address had led him to a non-descript red brick building. He walked into the front door met a man in a suit, holding a manila envelope. “Are you Joseph Peter Carrington?” asked the suit.
“Yes I am. Can you tell me what’s going”--

The screeching tires suddenly brought Joe’s concentration back into the present as he was crossing a busy street, heading back towards the base.
A large white van skidded to a halt inches in front of him. The side door slid open, heads and hands reached out and grabbed, something heavy hit his head, and the world went black.

The rhythmic thumping of the tires pounded in his head. It felt like a crowbar was wedged between his eyes. Then he realized it was the pounding of his own blood that was making his head pulsate.
“What did they tell you?” A gruff voice came out of the blackness that surrounded Joe’s eyes. He realized he was wearing a mask.
The butt of a rifle landed heavily in Joe’s stomach, rendering him breathless. The voice spoke again. “I hate having to ask for things twice, and I will not tolerate a third. What did they tell you?” This time each word was emphasized as the voice said it.
Joe found his own voice. “I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid with me boy. And don’t play games. I have the upper hand here. If you don’t tell me, I simply kill you and find out elsewhere. If you tell me, I let you live.”
Joe wasn’t sure what made him say it. He was no hero, nor did he ever want to be one. He heard his own voice saying the words before he realized what was happening. “Well I guess you’re just going to have to kill me then, aren’t you?”