Chase Jackson looked over his shoulder. The man looking in the window of the storefront was familiar. His ‘friend’ wasn’t looking for Cuban cigars; his eyes were watching Chase in the reflection of the window.

A quick look to the streets and Chase raised his arm. The taxi peeled to a halt in front of him.

“Talum. Take me to the entrance of the ruins,” blurted Chase as he dove into the dirty taxi.

“Ah Senor, you wish to see the glory of my ancestors?”

“Yeah. Make it quick.”

“Si, Senor. You want quick? 300 pesos for quick! You pay?”

“Do it.”

The tires bit the gravel and spun into action. The furtive glance of the driver confirmed his intuition. He looked in the mirror and saw another taxi veer into traffic behind them.

“We have company, amigo. They are friends?”

Chase looked over his shoulder and saw his ‘friend’ in the back seat of the other taxi. He could see the scar rambling across his cheek from the thirty yards that separated them.

“He’s not my friend, amigo. I need a friend right now. Can you help?”

“Paco is ready. You wish to lose them?”

“Ditch’em and you get an extra 1000 pesos.”

Paco’s foot fell in love with the accelerator. It was dance of passion as his feet did a samba on the break and accelerator. The battered Toyota surprised even Chase as the dirty white land taxi shot through the markets.

“You may wish to hold on Senor,” warned Paco as the taxi careened sharply.

Chase noticed that they rounded the corner on two wheels as Paco helped himself to a sidewalk that was somewhat clear. The cheap horn blared warnings to the lazy pedestrians looking for bargains. They scattered like bowling pins.

It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation in Cozumel. But life was never leisurely for Chase. A simple purchase in a small village outside of Cozumel and Chase’s vacation had turned into a treasure hunt. The small statue he purchased turned out to be a real relic, not a forgery.

The small figurine was solid gold and only three inches tall. It had emeralds for eyes and the hollow spot in the back of the head gave the illusion that the eyes glowed green.

A search on the Smithsonian data base revealed that it was the lost key to the Mayan Treasures. It was rumored to have been destroyed in 1597, yet in was in Chase’s hand staring back at him.

Unfortunately, someone in the hotel was monitoring his internet connection and now the race was on. Somehow, they had found out about the treasure and the lost key. They knew that he had it.

A sudden jar brought Chase back to reality as he flew through the car banging his head sharply against the metal roof.

“Sorry amigo. They are very good. We must take some chances if you wish to be alone.”

Paco looked in his mirror at Chase’s eyes and didn’t wait for a reply. Both feet hit the brakes as he twisted the wheel hard right. The skidding car did a perfect 180 in the middle of the street. Sleeping dogs and people scattered. Just as the other taxi rounded the corner, Paco gunned his engine before he popped the clutch. He rammed their left rear bumper and flipped it hard on its side.

Chase saw the eyes of his ‘friend’ as he tumbled within his taxi. His eyes were filled with rage and zeal. He was a local. His dark skin and prominent nose gave him away. Chase flashed him smile as they sped off down the narrow alley.

Paco took no chances. He never hit a main road again.

“I know a way, Senor. It is not pleasant, but we will arrive safely.”

Chase flashed a stack of fifty 100 peso bills. Paco punched the pedal and they flew like a drunken sailor down the alley. Chase knew better than to worry. He closed his eyes as screaming curses rattled their windows.

Faded whitewashed walls blurred by. Wide eyed locals tried to grab a glimpse of the passenger, but Paco was too fast.

As the car bottomed out, Chase opened his eyes. The bouncing car was jumping up and down like a puppet under the control of a madman. His name was Paco. The road no longer existed. It was now a trail through the streaming green jungle. Paco would hit a rut and jump into the air and turn the wheel all at the same time. He looked like a bull rider on a bad day.

Chase looked at his watch and tried to read the time on his thrashing hand. His eyes popped open. Time was of the essence.

“Paco, hurry!”

Paco wove the car through the underbrush and touched the plastic statue of Mother Mary on his dash. The next five minutes beat Chase like a bean in a maraca. Chase began to feel sick.

The car hurtled to an instant stop. Paco yelled, “The wall! It is the wall around Talum! Senor, jump the wall and you will see the Shrine!”

Chase threw the stack of pesos to Paco and ran. He jumped the wall and looked around to gain his bearings. The Temple was crowded with tourists. He looked at his watch. Only a few minutes remained. The sun was setting near the peek.

He ran below the Temple and saw a small obscure limestone building. He pushed the few tourists away and saw the slot cut in the rock. He set the statue in the slot just as the sun shone through. The green eyes glowed. A beam shot forth and pointed to a cliff.

Chase thought to himself, “How did Paco know that I was going to the Temple Shrine?”

Paco’s gun answered the question.

“Thank you, Senor.”

Chase felt the bullet slam into his shoulder before he heard the gun fire. Tourists were screaming as he blacked out.

Simultaneously,

Sigma 1,
Sigma 2,
Sigma 3,

felt the light vibration on the underside of their wrists. Unconsciously they each began the sixty-second countdown. They didn’t need to look at their watches. They knew sixty seconds by heart. Their targets had been selected, sited, and now would be secured.

Sigma 3 knew thirty seconds and pressed a small button on his wrist. Fifty light thermal bombs came to life on the north side of the complex. They were scattered over an area of half an acre. Their temperature was 99 degrees Fahrenheit.

Sigma team waited for the last twenty seconds on the south side of the complex. They became machines and focused their rifles on the twenty-four targets. At precisely fifty seconds after the alert, a silent black helicopter came flying over the ridge to the south side of the complex. It had never been more than eight feet off the ground. It flew incredibly fast. There was no sound.

Three.
Two.
One.

Sigma Team fired their powerful rifles. There was no sound. There was no smoke. In a period of twelve seconds, twenty-four external security cameras were picked off by these elite marksmen.

The helicopter landed at the loading dock as the last cameras were shattered.

Captain Sayhir woke up from his day dream. Alerts and flashing lights were screaming in unison in the Command Center. The soldiers stared at the security screens as the south side went black.

“Captain, we’ve lost sector six!” yelled one soldier.

Sigma 3 pressed another button and multiple percussion bombs began to go off at the front entrance on the east side of the complex. The lights from the bombs got their attention quickly.

Beta team jumped out of the helicopter and charged the loading dock. Eight seconds, two charges, and the loading dock doors were blown away. Precisely, Sigma 3 pressed another button and three mobile rocket grenades launchers remotely sent their payroll into the east doors scattering mayhem and blood.

Beta Team tossed in percussion bombs into the loading area. Blinding lights and explosions knocked the guards off their feet. Beta Team took out the overhead lights. They donned their night vision goggles and advanced like deadly snakes.

Captain Sayhir yelled, “What in Allah’s Name is going on here?

A corporal yelled back, “There’s over fifty on the north side! I can see them on the infrared camera! We need to do something!”

Before Sayhir could respond, the east side burst into massive balls of flame.

“Captain, they’re attacking the main entrance!”

Sigma 3 pressed another button. Sigma 1 and Sigma 2 responded and fired their armor piercing rounds into the generators. The complex faded into complete darkness. There was no moon to help them. The back up generators tried to come to life. Panic erupted everywhere. Except at the loading dock. Beta Team efficiently removed a large container from a pallet and began to roll it out to the waiting helicopter.

“Captain! What do we do?!”

The alarms were screaming everywhere. The dim backup lights revealed utter chaos. Sayhir panicked and called the troops to General Arms. The additional sirens only added to the confusion. Sayhir stood with his mouth hanging open unable to let out a command to his scared soldiers. He could not comprehend what was unfolding before him. He pulled at the black hairs of his mustache.

Beta Team loaded their payload into the helicopter. They scrambled into the quiet beast and began to lift off. Three minutes, forty-six seconds.

Beta 1 calmly said into his shoulder mike, “Extraction complete.”

As the copter lifted of the ground, soldiers began to pour out of the loading dock doors. As they lifted their rifles to fire, Sigma 1, Sigma 2, and Sigma 3 began to pick them off one by one.

The copter disappeared over the ridge hugging the landscape tightly. It was enveloped into the darkness from which it came. As the soldiers continued to pour out of the loading bay, Sigma Team finished their work. As fast as the soldiers came out, Sigma Team picked them off, their heads exploding like watermelons ripe with red meat.

Sigma 3 was actually smiling as the sound of sirens covered the sounds of bursting skulls. His smile increased as the soldiers met their doom.

“It’s just like a turkey shoot.” Sigma 3 loved his job.

Sigma 3 rolled over on his back as the five minute vibration reminded him that it was time to go. He peacefully pressed another button on his wrist. Charlie Team was already there skimming over the ridge in their black helicopter. Fast and silent, Charlie Team made their entrance.

“Ten seconds,” said Sigma 3 to himself.

Sigma 3 rolled back over and popped three more soldiers as they exited the loading dock.

“Three seconds.”

Two more dropped like flies.

“Boom,” said Sigma 3 and the loading dock exploded into a fiery ball of death.

“Bingo.”

Sigma 1,
Sigma 2,
Sigma 3,

ran to the ridge where Charlie Team was waiting in the copter. They slid in like greased eels and Charlie Team disappeared.

Captain Sayhir stood there, with his mouth still open. He had no idea what had happened. In fact, he thought it was still happening.

His counter-part, Commander Dennison, Alpha Team Leader, looked at the large container in the helicopter. The red and yellow radio-active sign on the side of the container said it all. He gave it a friendly pat.

He looked at his watch. “Six minutes, eighteen seconds. Not bad for a night’s work.”

Meanwhile, in Charlie Team’s black helicopter, Sigma 3 looked at Sigma 1. He showed him his wrist pad. Sigma 3 smiled and raised his eyebrows as an invitation to Sigma 1. Sigma 1 reached over and pressed the final button.

They laughed as Sigma 2 said, “It’s boom time.”

Captain Sayhir’s nightmare had just begun.

“Check the nav, we should be coming up on the first waypoint”

Andy handed the navigation chart to his co-pilot Mike, and then looked out the window of his SeaHawk helicopter. The dark, rain swept, waters of the Adriatic flashed by just 10 feet below.

The Navy rescue helicopter made steady progress towards the Croatian shoreline, headlong into the stormy winds.

Andy wiped the sweat from his brow. At this altitude, the slightest miscalculation would send his aircraft hurtling violently into the sea. Glancing at his watch, he pressed the intercom button and spoke.

“Almost 3:00 a.m. Mike... We should be coming up on the beach any time now.”

Mike nodded in agreement as he corrected the flight path in the navigation computer.

“Nav has us about 10 minutes out Skipper. I can see the shoreline,” said Mike.

Andy adjusted his night vision goggles as they approached the sleepy coastal village of Zabrit. The lights of the small town created an eerie green glow in the lenses of his night vision goggles.

Flipping the intercom switch, he barked to his crew, “O.K. guys listen up! We’re ten minutes out from bad guy country. Gunners, lock and load. Fire on my command only”

“Roger!” replied “Pug”, the young gunner on the left.

“Got it skipper,” said Danny, the crew chief manning the right door gun.

Danny Looked over his shoulder and tapped the top of his helmet, motioning for the SEALs to check their weapons. It would be their job to grab the downed pilot when they arrived at the landing zone.

Holding both of his hands up, with his fingers outspread, he mouthed “10 minutes out”.

The rain was picking up and the visibility getting worse by the minute. Both pilots focused intently on the sky ahead. The faint outline of a mountain was now coming into view. Pointing a finger ahead, Andy motioned to his co-pilot.

Smiling, Mike checked the navigation display again. The mountains were their first reference point, indicating that they were right on course… so far, so good, he thought.

Through the window, Andy could see the waves breaking violently on the rocky shoreline below. Doing his best to conceal the mounting unease he felt, Andy pushed the radio button on his controls and reported their position to the ship.

“Whiskey Tango Seven, this is Zulu Niner Golf.”

“Go ahead Zulu Niner Golf,” responded the young air controller back on the Enterprise.

“Roger… we are feet dry. Proceeding to checkpoint Bravo.” Feet dry was the Navy’s way of saying “I’m over land.”

“I copy Zulu Niner… CAP is inbound. Estimate 3 minutes to your position. Good luck!”

Andy was relieved. The CAP or “Combat Air Patrol” was the group of attack jets that would fly cover above them, providing protection for the lightly armed helicopter if things got hairy.

Andy flipped the intercom switch and spoke to the crew… “Alright guys, let’s look alive back there. This one’s for real! We’re coming up on the first checkpoint and the ride is gonna' get a little bumpy from here on out.

Pulling slowly back on the control stick, Andy thought to himself, “Here we go!”

The engines groaned as the SeaHawk raced over the village rooftops, climbing slowly over the first ridge.

Reaching the crest of the mountain, Andy pushed the control stick forward… sending the aircraft abruptly down and over the other side, just a few feet above the trees.

Keeping one hand on his weapon and the other on the doorframe, Danny felt his feet briefly leave the deck as the aircraft nosed over the ridge. The sudden weightlessness was exhilarating.

Regaining his footing, Danny noticed a faint flash of light on the ground to the right of the aircraft. Turning his goggles to focus on the source, he saw it again... this time, brighter and flashing with more frequency.

Danny was pressing the intercom button to alert the crew when the first rounds hit the side of the helicopter, ripping jagged holes through the thin sheet metal skin of the aircraft.

Arching up invisibly from the ground, three more bullets tore through the rear fuel tank, spraying Pug with jet fuel, and coming to a stop, lodged into their only life raft.

Poking his finger into one of the holes in the raft, Pug thought, "Damn! We may need this on the way back."

Pug pulled himself up from the deck and looked out his door, searching the ground frantically for the source of the gunfire.

“Skipper! We’re taking fire… two o’clock low!!” yelled Danny as he pulled the machine gun around.

Pointing the barrel into the wind, he aimed towards the ground where the gunfire originated and flipped the safety off on his M-60 machine gun.

Hearing the crew chief's call, Andy acted instinctively, pulling the control stick hard to the left and setting the aircraft on a course away from the fire. The helicopter shook violently with the abrupt change in direction.

“Light em’ up Danny! You’re cleared to return fire!!” commanded Andy.

Danny pulled the trigger as another enemy round found its mark, passing just inches from his head and ripping a hole through the electrical cables.

A steady stream of empty 7.62mm shell casings was now falling from Danny’s gun. The sharp “tat, tat, tat” of both door gunner’s weapons echoed throughout the aircraft.

Danny continued to return fire. The red glow of his phosphorous tipped tracer rounds homing in on the enemy position below like incandescent threads in the night sky. Within a minute, the flashes from the ground ceased and Danny released the trigger.

Descending dangerously close to the treetops, Andy struggled to control the helicopter as the strong winds in the valley buffeted the rotor blades.

Noticing that the gunfire had stopped, Mike checked the flight instruments for signs of engine damage.

“Skipper! We’re losing oil pressure in the number one engine,” Mike said.

Nodding, Andy depressed the intercom switch and called out, “Damage report – all stations!”

It was the time of winter solstice, and the musky odour of expensive incense filled the invocation chamber.
Bodamb stroked his tattered grey beard as he glanced up from his thaumaturgical tome and around the sub-basement cellar. Wilbur, his famulus of almost three weeks, had prepared everything for the summoning.

A huge pentagram filled the floor, surrounded by black candles which flickered irregularly. The pimply-faced and eager looking apprentice shuffled back and threw an expectant look towards his master.
Bodamb took a sip from the goblet of water, cleared his throat, and started the invocation.
“Al hambrika theloch fakdissheet…”
The hoarsely whispered words rebounded from the walls of the chamber and seemed to twist on their axis into another dimension.
As the wizard continued, a black sphere of twisted and tortured space-time formed in the exact centre of the pentagram and expanded in an irregular fashion. The final result was roughly humanoid, barring of course the additional, heavily clawed appendages.

“Success,” muttered Bodamb, and Wilbur hopped up and down excitedly.
The sorcerer closed his tome and addressed the summoned resident of the sixth circle of Hades.
“Oh, demon Rowth, do my biddings!”
The demon snarled in response, spittle flying from its snout.
Bodamb turned back to consult his notes.
“I command thee!”, he thundered.
The demon let its tongue roll out of its mouth until it almost touched the floor. It sneered and made a rude gesture.

Something was wrong. Bodamb turned back to his manuscript and leafed through the pages.

Time of summoning – check.
Wolfsbane, matte-black candles, incense – check.
Properly prepared pentagram… uh,oh.
Wilbur had drawn the pentagram.

Bodamb’s eyes darted toward the yellow grease-pencil lines on the floor, surrounded by archaic runes.
Damnation!
“Wilbur, you dithering dolt! Look at that sloppy workmanship! How often must I tell you that the points of the pentagram must be completely closed?”
He smacked his apprentice in the back of the head and added a kick into the posterior for good measure.
Wilbur sprawled onto the cellar’s stone floor.

“Imbecile! If the pentagram is open, I cannot contain the creature…”
The demon’s head snapped around at the sound of these words. Bodamb slapped a hand over his mouth. But it was too late. The damage had already been done.
With quick jerks, the fiend’s eyes touched on the points of the containment pentagram until they alighted on the corner which showed the slightest of gaps between the connecting lines.

Slowly it moved into that corner, and its body became thinner and thinner as it proceeded to squeeze itself through the tiny opening.

Bodamb broke into a nervous sweat.
“Quick, Wilbur, push it back!”
Wilbur cowered in terror.
“Lively now, you foolish famulus. Chop, chop!”
With a kick he propelled Wilbur towards the creature.
The apprentice lifted his hands, more likely in self defence than in hope of repelling the hideous being.

What could only be described as an amused look played over the features of the fiend. It grabbed the flabbergasted famulus with itslong talons, squeezed him and kneaded him into a tiny ball, which it then popped into its mouth.
Bodamb, who had been standing behind the apprentice, swallowed slowly.

The demon moved its face toward him, flames dancing in its eyes and its jaw muscles chewing furiously.

With strength borne from desperation, he lifted the heavy tome over his head and smashed it onto the demon’s skull. He had only considered its metaphysical weight up until now and gave a satisfactory grunt when it pinned the hellish fiend’s head to the floor. Not missing the excellent opportunity provided by this situation, he proceeded to kick the demon’s teeth through the back of its skull.
He had never before understood why the sorcerer’s council made steel-tipped boots mandatory apparel for dabblers in demonology. He could see the wisdom behind their suggestion now.

Bodamb sighed and reflected once again upon the truth in the ancient sorcerer’s saying: if you lived, you learned.

With an expression of grim satisfaction he retrieved and reopened his spellbook. With a sharpened quill he appended the sentence, “always make extra sure the points of the pentagram are correctly closed.” After a moment’s thought he underlined the sentence thrice, followed it with two exclamation points, and added a skull and crossbones.

On a separate sheet he made a note to put up another notice at the local tavern regarding a job opening for an aspiring apprentice.

A figure, dressed in skintight black topped with a cape, was sneaking through the hallways. Mentally placing herself in the blueprints she had studied, she made turns and went down darkened hallways, unerringly toward her goal. Finally she stopped by the door that had what she was looking for. She slowly opened the door.

The disk should be in the desk in the corner of the room. She slowly made her way there and opened it up The lights flicked on and she looked up in surprise. She saw a blonde woman flanked by large men with guns.

"Linda, " the blonde woman said conversationally, "how are you? Trying to steal my disk?"

"Stacy," the woman in black responded. "I wouldn't need to steal it from you if you hadn't stolen it in the first place."

"True," said Stacy. "But then we wouldn't get to have these entertaining conversations. For example, I've been meaning to ask you, what's with that stupid cape?"

Linda shrugged, "I think it makes me look more heroic. It's like why you have big, burly, gun-toting men as your minions: it makes you look more like a villain."

"No, no, dear, they're functional," said Stacy. "Just watch."

The men all took aim and began firing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda ran as fast as she could. The footsteps pounding behind her, not to mention the occasional gunshot, added considerable speed. Running through room after room, she kept looking for any possible exit, a window, a door leading to the outside, something.

She ran into yet another room and finally spotted an opportunity, a sliding glass door. She ran to it and grabbed at the handle. Locked! She frantically looked around and spotted a chair. Picking it up, she smashed it though the door. Glass exploded everywhere. She smashed it again, making more than enough room to easily go through before throwing the chair out of the way. She ran, not out, but back to the entrance of the room. She went behind the door and put her back against the wall. Linda desperately tried to slow and quiet her breathing. The guards pounded through the door and she held her breath. They saw the glass shards and immediately pounded through the hole Linda had so generously made for them.

She smirked. Lackeys were notoriously easy to misdirect.

She began to retrace her steps—-after all, she still needed the disk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stacy was out on the balcony, admiring the view, when she heard footsteps behind her. "Well? Did you shoot her?"

"No," Linda replied. "They couldn't catch me."

Stacy spun around and gave a short, harsh laugh. "You seem to be un-killable." She pulled the disk out of her pocket. "This what you're looking for?"

"You know it is."

"In that case...catch." The disk came hurtling at Linda's head, followed quickly by Stacy's foot. She grabbed the disk with her right hand and knocked the leg away with her left hand. Stacy ended up on the floor and Linda turned to leave. But she'd miscalculated how hard Stacy had hit the floor; Stacy had more than enough energy to kick out with her leg and trip her up. She didn't quite fall, but it knocked her off balance, giving Stacy a chance to get up and launch another attack.

The two women desperately grappled for the disk, punches, kicks and blows being thrown. Stacy managed to knee Linda in the stomach; while Linda was gasping for air, Stacy managed to reacquire the disk and tried to leave. Despite the pain in her lungs and stomach, Linda forced herself to follow.

Fighting through the pain, Linda grabbed Stacy in a chokehold with one hand and forced the disk from her hand. When it clattered to the floor, Linda threw herself down and clutched it.

Stacy kneeled over Linda, grabbing at her throat. Retaining her grip on the disk, Linda managed to hit Stacy hard enough to dislodge her grip and immediately flipped Stacy over her head.

The two women drew away from each other, breathing heavily. Suddenly they both heard footsteps. Stacy grinned as her bodyguards came running onto the balcony. She slowly made her way to her feet and joined them.

Linda, meanwhile, frantically looked around for an escape route that didn't involve running toward men with guns. She eventually ran to the edge of the balcony and looked over.

"Watch out for the first step," Stacy said with a smile in her voice.

Linda looked over the down at the ravine, obviously over 500 feet deep. She took a large gulp of air and released a shaky breath. She turned back toward Stacy and the guards. Quietly she said, "Yeah, it's kinda of a doozy." She sat on the rail and hung her head.

"See, that's the difference between you and me," Stacy smirked. "You come in here, acting like a lone hero, wearing your stupid cape 'look like a hero', not having backup like mine because you think it looks villainous. And now, because I'm more interested in effectiveness than appearance, I-along with my guards-have you trapped." She laughed. "There's nowhere left for you to go."

Linda looked small as she said, "They say, 'when you hit rock bottom, there is no place to go but up.' " But what about when you are on the edge of a cliff?" She looked up, but now had a mischievous glint in her eye and grin on her face.

Stacy realized Linda's plan a split second before it happened and shouted, "No!" but it was too late. Linda had already spun around and thrown herself off the edge of the rail. Stacy ran forward and looked down. She saw a black, roughly triangular object flying easily toward the other edge of the ravine.

"Son-of-a..." She shook her head. "That 'stupid' cape must conceal a hang glider." She looked at her guards. "What are you waiting for? Fire up the copter, we're going after her."

According to the owner of the decrepit inn, Lord Allric travelled northeast to Estshire. It didn’t take Sirrah long to find an adequate hill to observe the winding road. It was covered with a dense thicket of leafless trees, and the perfect place to observe the country to the southwest. After six hours he finally saw a group of travellers in the distance. Patiently he waited.

By night fall the group was close enough to make out individuals. There were three people, all on horseback. That would make one Lord Allric, an apprentice, and some hired help, probably a bodyguard. Sirrah climbed out of his tree and hid among the low brushes. He lay down on the frozen ground and wriggled through the underbrush until he managed to get a clear view of the little group. Slowly he got out the black tube and laid it into the snow. Then he took out the black leather pouch and opened it. It contained five darts.
He carefully removed one of them from its protective lining and inserted it into the tube. He raised the tube to his mouth, aimed carefully, and blew as hard as he could.
In the distance, the bodyguard grabbed at his throat with both hands. Convulsions shook his body and he dropped from the horse into the snow.
Frozen motionless in his position, Sirrah observed the reaction of the remaining two. While the apprentice bent down to examine the still twitching body, Lord Allric searched the snow-covered hills around them. Seconds passed into minutes, and Sirrah slowly crawled backwards into the undergrowth. After a short discussion, the apprentice dragged the body off the road, and the little group moved onward. They had noticeably quickened their pace. Sirrah picked up his pack and followed them slowly, gliding like a disembodied shadow over the snow.

After only twenty minutes, he had lost sight of the little group, but he was able to track them through the snow-covered wilderness. It was close to midnight when he found himself in the vicinity of their camp. He opened his pack and got out some dried beef and water. After this scarce meal he hid the pack in the undergrowth. Slowly he approached the camp. It consisted of two tents. Three horses were tied to a stake that was driven into the frozen ground. He silently removed his dagger and quietly started to cut away at the leather thongs that were tied around the stake. The horses stirred uneasily. Moving slowly around the perimeter of the campsite, he approached the tents. Whilst still considering how to approach, he noticed a slight movement in the darkness. The apprentice was kneeling down by the stake and examining the cut leather thongs. Sirrah gently dropped to one knee, slid the longbow from his shoulder and a clothyard arrow from the quiver. When the apprentice stood up and turned around, the first thing he noticed was a shadowy figure slinging a longbow over its shoulder. The second thing he noticed was an arrow sticking out of his chest. Slowly and silently he toppled backward. Startled, one of the horses shied away and started moving off into the darkness, soon followed by the other two.
Lord Allric awoke the next morning feeling nervous and fidgety. It didn’t take him long to size up the situation. The horses were gone. So were the supplies. He nudged the body of his apprentice with the tip of his boot, sneering. He scanned the horizon, and twitched as he made out a black-cloaked figure in the distance. It’s face was cloaked in shadow and a bow was held loosely in it’s left hand. Indifferently he waited.

Sirrah walked up to Allric until the two were only an arm’s length apart. Staring into the other’s eyes, recognition sparked and Allric smiled.
“It has been a long time, Sirrah Slevgren. I had hopped thou was dead.”
“No, Allric. Before I die, I will take your life. My father, the duke, died last winter. It was by thy doing that had belowered him to the state of a beggar. I was in Westshire when thou didst that, but friends still loyal to my father warned me about thee and thy evil ways. Thou hast taken the title of duke in place of my beloved father and turned the duchy against me and my family. But thou willst not live through this day.”
Lord Allric sneered.
“Thou knowest me for what I truly am?”
He spit onto the ground.
“Thou cannot defeat me. Thy normal weapons will not harm me. And now I will dispose of thee once and for all!”
Slowly Sirrah retreated. Lord Allric had begun to change. Hair was breaking out all over his face and arms. His eyes got smaller and the normally round pupil turned into a black slit. The hands twitched and enlargened, with claws like tempered steel sliding from the fingertips. Allric’s posture changed in series of rapid cramps. He now stood slightly bent, watching Sirrah with a feral look in his eyes.
Sirrah didn’t hesitate. At the first sign of change he had slipped the black bundle out of his quiver. As he tore away the cloth, the winter sun reflected on a silvery arrow, making it shine as if it were a piece of the sun itself. Sirrah threw away the black cloth and notched the arrow. In a fluid motion that bespoke years of practice, he pulled the string back to his cheek.

At the sight of the silver arrow, another change took place in Allric. The hungry look in his eyes was replaced by one of fear and panic. He turned around and started to run. Sirrah mumbled the ancient words. He aimed and released the arrow.

There was a dull, thumping sound as the silver buried itself between the shoulder blades of the werewolf. It let out a howl, long and dreadful, arched backward and then collapsed face-forward into the snow.

The enemy ship was fast. Faster than his, which he realized belatedly. And it was a good pilot. He felt out-classed, out-teched, and out-flown.
Don’t give up now, he thought.
He had to stop running. A glance at the instrument panel told him that he had less than 4000 pounds of fuel left. Sweat was streaming down his face, but he didn’t dare take a hand of the stick to wipe it off.
The rear view showed him that the enemy was closing in, but didn’t open fire.
The guy’s playing with me, he thought. Shooting him down now wouldn’t be fun - no the guy wanted to play with his food before eating it.
Something in the back of his mind stirred. It was a little spark anger. It struggled and rapidly turned into a blazing fire of rage that devoured the last remnants of fear in his mind. It took over his actions and calmed the trembling in his hands.
As if in a trance he pulled back on the stick, sending his ship into the blue sky, afterburners screaming. He rolled 180 degrees and pulled out of the climb, flying inverted over the enemy’s ship. In one motion he rolled upright and armed a short range missile. He was tossed around in his seat as the enemy followed the manoeuvre and gave him a blast from his guns. The airframe bucked and protested, along with a disturbingly large range of warning buzzers.
Please hold together, he thought, please.
The enemy followed at full throttle.
The guy is nuts, he thought, and he’s going to kill me.
But once again reflexes took over his hands, moving the stick to make a sharp bank, coming out of the dive. The enemy overshot, and he glued himself to its tail.
Now let’s see who is going home in pieces, he thought.
The enemy tried to Split S, but he wouldn’t let himself be shaken off. As both of them pulled out of the dive, he poised his thumb over the button.
You’re dead meat, he thought.
But he didn’t push down. Instead of releasing the missile he toggled back to his guns.
I’m gonna give you a chance, he thought, and you better use it.
The enemy went into a steep bank, and he followed it, but turned in a larger radius. As both pulled out of the bank he aimed for the spot slightly ahead of the enemy ship. Squeezing the button, he immediately went to one hundred percent throttle, going into a steep climb, rolling at the same time. Levelling off at 6000 feet, he started looking for the enemy. He spotted him at roughly 3000 feet. The enemy had dropped its external fuel tanks and was damaged to only a small extent.
He banked 45 degrees and went into a dive. The enemy saw his movement and tried to break away. Too late. A small burst across the midsection damaged vital connections. He switched back to short range missiles and clawed for altitude once again. The enemy was frantic now, loosing control over its ship.
Kiss you mother good-bye, he thought.
He released the missile with the touch of a button and watched it streak toward the enemy’s ship, homing in on its hot exhaust. The enemy tried to drop a flare, but it was too late.
The ship exploded in a glory of fire and light, reflecting in an eerie glow in the sweat on his face.
As the ship slowly disintegrated before his eyes, he was ripped out of his trance by the blinking of a red indicator light on the indicator panel. Realizing he had only 500 pounds of fuel left he headed for the base, flying at cruise power. At his back he left the embers of the enemy ship, dying a flaming death, tumbling toward the ground with a ghostly grace.
His sweaty palms handled the by now common practice of an emergency landing without a slip. As he opened the canopy, his eyes dropped down to the status screen, reading the words as he always did and savouring every one of them.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED – GAME OVER.

Slowly he put down the joystick.

The train pulled out of the station slowly, gathing speed as the coalman shoveled coal into the furnace.
Monty sat in his chair, hidden behind a newspaper, his face a pasty white. He peeked over the paper at the man who had gotten on at the stop. The man looked over towards Monty, who quickly ducked back behind his paper and tried to position himself so he was behind one of the many bodies standing in the train. His breathing quickened as his mind ran through the options. I could give up, he thought. Just turn myself in and be done with it. He wiped a sweaty palm against an equally sweaty forehead. Monty peeked over the paper. There was really only one option. He stood up and turned around, walking towards the back of the car as quickly as he could. The man glided after him through the semi-crowded train car.
Monty reached the back of the car and slipped out the door. He locked it behind him and stood between the two cars. The train had speeded up quite a bit and the ground was a blur beneath him. The dead brown grass of summer on either side of the railroad tracks looked like a soft pillow of escape, but Monty knew the soft pillow was in reality incredibly hard soil that would--at the very least--hurt a whole bunch if he hit it going fifty miles an hour.

Monty Goo licked his lips nervously and started climbing up the ladder leading to the top of the train. As he neared the top, the glass in the locked train door shattered and an arm--HIS arm--reached through and unlocked the door. Monty looked at the arm in horror and quickly scrambled to the roof of the car. He started crawling towards the front of the train as fast as his knees and arms could safely inch him along. He looked back--nothing. Monty pulled himself along, willing himself not to look at the landscape rushing by. Somewhere off to the side a cow mooed, but the noise quickly diminished as the train rushed by, no pause for anything.
Monty looked back again. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the man's head over the edge of the train, his cold eyes never leaving Monty. Monty turned back towards his task at hand. He realized then that he would never escape the man if he continued at his current snail pace. Goo slowly rose himself to his feet, arms wavering as he desperately tried to keep his balance. He moved forward slowly, as if the wide car were a tightrope.
He spared a glance backward, in time to see the man walking calmly towards him, ten feet back at the farthest. Monty gulped and forced himself to walk faster.

It was an odd site, the two men walking on the roof of the car, one terrified out of his skull, the other calm and collected. Goo reached the edge of the car, a scant five feet ahead of the man following behind him. He shut his eyes and jumped like he had never jumped before--that being accurately and quite far. He opened his eyes when he was on the next train car.
The scene repeated itself for four more cars, with Monty barely staying ahead of the mysterious stranger, until finally he reached the very front of the train. Acrid black smoke poured out of the stack. It engulfed Monty, covering his neatly pressed suit, turning his face black, but he didn't care. What could possibly have driven this man to follow him so far? Monty slumped to the ground and looked up as the man finally reached him.

"I guess this is it." Monty said, his pained voice reflecting both the weariness of his soul and his sore knees.
The man looked down at Monty with contempt. "Why did you run?"
Monty looked up at him, "You don't know how it is, living with her day in and day out."
"I grew up with her."
Monty shifted slightly, wincing as he did so. "It's not the same." His face fell.
"She only likes you. She loves me." He said miserably.
The man's expression didn't change. "You have to come back."
Monty spat on the train's roof. The spittle sizzled on the hot metal surface. "I'd rather let a squirrel gnaw on my eardrums then listen to her for one more minute."
The man sighed. "Then I'm afraid I have no choice."
He produced a six-shooter from his belt. The sunlight glinted off the silver metal as he lowered the barrel to aim at Monty.
Monty quickly raised his hands in a show of pitiful cowardice. "I'll go."

Monty sat at the table, while Lenore Goo bustled around the kitchen doing something or another. A blackened brick of a pancake sat on the plate in front of Monty. He poked at it with his fork.
"Jenny came over while you were gone, she said that--" Lenore continued, but Monty tuned her out as best he could. He was actually quite good at it by now. He dropped his fork and sighed, looking out the window. Thoughts about the pleasant alternative he had been offered on the train top rolled through Monty's mind. If only....
Oh well, he thought. He looked out the window and saw The Man--his nefarious capture and return to this matrionical monarchy warrented the title in Monty's mind--walking down the front walk towards the house.
The Man stopped when he saw Monty in the window. He grinned in a way that was both friendly and menacing.
Monty looked around him, the pancake brick, the constant whiny voice of Lenore, the squeaking of hinges as The Man entered--no doubt coming to quell any thoughts of escape Monty might have.
Monty looked at these things and sighed deeply. He softly laid his head on the pancake and wept.

The helicopter overhead circled slowly. Its spot light moving over the rough terrain, looking for movement. The tree tops swayed under the steady assault of its spinning rotors. The noise of its blades roused the sleeping creatures and sent them scurrying for safety.

John coordinated the movements of the helicopter with the ground forces, his map sectioned off in grids. Volunteers and officers alike searched for signs of the missing girl. John was in the thick of it, right on sight and had even given himself a grid section to search. He communicated with his forces using two way radios. So far, no one had sighted anything unusual.

------------------------------------

Abby crashed through the brush. Disoriented and afraid she stumbled over the rough unfamiliar ground. Sliding on loose soil in some places and sinking ankle deep in brackish puddles in others. She heard nothing over her labored breathing and thrashing motions through the
undergrowth. Her body bruised and scratched, she trickled blood from more spots than she could count. Flies buzzed her and she swatted them with frenzied agitation.

Her mind panic driven, she was in the flight mode of self preservation. Slowly she realized she was on an incline; her upper body tilted forward for balance, her feet fighting for purchase in the loose earth. Her right ankle twisted, her foot sliding out from under her as she tumbled down the incline. Her hands reaching for anything solid to hold onto and finding nothing. She came to a jarring stop as her lower back hit the base of a tree. The pain excruciating and adding to what she
had already suffered in the past two days. Her chest heaving, she curled into a ball and whimpered until the worst of the pain passed. Twisting her legs in front of her and pushing upwards with her hands, she sat. Her back against the tree, she tried to calm herself. To
breath slower, think.

She strained to hear above her pounding heart and mistook the helicopter noise for her own wildly beating pulse. Light raced over her and she shivered in fear as she tried to make herself smaller. Her breath lodged in her throat, she huddled in the darkness and frantically searched for movement around her. Fearing that he had again found her and that the light came from him searching for her. The light swung back and she realized it came from above. The beating blades of the helicopter clearly discernable. "Help! A rescue party! So
close! Could it be true? Had they found her? Could they get to her before he did?"

In horror she realized that with the spotlight on her, not only could her rescuers find her but so could the man who had kidnapped her. She hadn't heard anyone in the woods around her since her escape. Abby wasn't sure he even knew she was gone yet. Or maybe it had all been a
trick by him to heighten his own morbid fantasies. Chase the girl through the woods and act out your twisted dreams of being Michael Myers.

With the spotlight, she could make out the surrounding area and found a large rock, picking it up she winced in pain as the rock tumbled from her grasp. She reached with her other hand and raised the rock, pain rocketed up her arm but she didn't drop it. Maybe she wouldn't be able to wield it with great force but at least she could feel some comfort in having a weapon.

Pressing her back against the tree, she tried to push herself up. Her legs like rubber, they refused to cooperate. She found her strength all but gone. She lowered herself to the ground and inched her way forward
up the incline. The helicopters spotlight crisscrossing the area, searching. She knew what they were searching for and she hoped they wouldn't find him. Not now at least, not while she was alone and vulnerable.

As she continued to crawl, her body protested each movement. Her legs scraped the ground and blood flowed from the cuts that had there own unique pattern etched in her skin. Her hands slippery from sweat mixed with her own blood and the rock still clutched in one hand, she pushed herself to climb upward. She could hear nothing over the helicopters whipping blades and begged for silence so that she might listen and learn if her attacker was gaining on her.

A scream of outrage as something barrelled through the darkness and ran into the light from the helicopters search beacon. He staggered back as the light caught him full in its brilliance. Only briefly did he hesitate in his pursuit of her, his body lunging forward as he grabbed for exposed roots to help his accent. His face set in stone, his mouth a hard line of hate, his eyes boring into hers.

Abby knew she was done. She had no where to go and even if she did, she had no strength left to get there. She shuddered as her eyes met his and his rage reached across the short distance and froze her heart in fear. He crashed on top of her and grabbing a fist full of hair he wretched her head back and with his free hand, slapped her. Blood splattered from her torn lip and she cried out in fear and pain. Her hands raising involuntary to protect her face. The rock smashing into
the side of his head. His body trembled, his eyes going from outrage to shock as his feet slid in the loose earth. His hand lost its grip in her hair and he tumbled backwards, arms pin wheeling he righted himself and came at her with renewed anger. Abby stared transfixed as he
stumbled his way back to her.

She didn't hear the shot that took him down but she saw the look in his eyes and the crimson hole that spread on his chest before he fell from her view.

I can hear her screaming. She is suffering his perversions, and I cannot reach her. My little girl is in the hands of a monster. Her eyes were wide with terror as she disappeared from sight and his leering, hateful face is burning my mind. How can this be happening?

We were on the pier watching the sun set and eating ice cream cones together just as I had promised her we would. She stayed by the rail while I went for more napkins and when I turned around twenty seconds later she was gone. That instant rush, like liquid nitrogen to the heart, and then the frantic scrabble for visual contact began. He had her over his shoulder, like any dad would carry his daughter. Why was she quiet? What had he said or done to make her so?

Feet like cement blocks, a hurricane of confusion in my mind. How can such a big man move so quickly through a crowd like this with a stranger in his arms? Losing contact over and over and every time I saw her silent, terrified face they were farther and farther ahead of me. Too stupid and horrified to cry for help I claw madly in their trail, slipping farther behind and losing my bearings time and again.

The first sound I heard her make was in pain when he threw in that filthy van and climbed in over her, slamming the sliding door shut. I was still twenty yards away when the engine started and he drove away with my baby. And then I heard her scream.

It has to be totally random. There is no reason for him to take her. It is not fair. We have never been to the pier before. He has my daughter. Someone I love more than my own life, and I cannot save her. I cannot save my baby.

We were horsing around two nights ago at the pizza place celebrating her eighth birthday with friends and food. She asked me is we could go to the pier this weekend and have ice cream. I said yes.

I have told her at least a thousand times, “No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I’ll always love you. I’ll always be your daddy and you’ll always be my baby.” And now the van is disappearing around the corner and I can hear her screaming and I cannot do anything about it.

There is not anyone that looks like they could help me. My own car is too far away to go back for. There is no way for me to run as fast as the van. I have no one I can turn to, I’m on my own here, there’s no help on the way. It makes no sense but I just start to run after the van as fast as I can. Turning the corner to the right I can see the van slewed up against the curb and the side door is open. The van isn’t wrecked but he abandoned it in a hurry. The van is empty. I start to cry. Then I hear her scream.

There’s too much noise, too many walls for me to tell where the screaming comes from. It sounds faint but not far off. There aren’t any buildings that look like you could run through them with a screaming child over your shoulder. Where can they be? Where do I look first? I do not know where to begin. I’m paralyzed, immobile, locked up tight, I cannot move.

There is a manhole cover in the alley off to the side of the hole in the pavement. When I get to the hole I can tell that the screams are coming from there, from under the ground. Dear God, this monster has stolen my baby and taken her under ground. He took her from me in the full broad light of a clear pleasant day and ran from me in a crowd and got away and he has taken her under ground.

Sitting down with my legs in the hole I turn around so I can drop in. There is no ladder and I do not see how far I am going to drop but I drop anyway and it is not far. Even with the light coming in the hole there is not much to see and I have no idea which way to go. Then I hear her scream.

There is a brief flutter of movement behind me, just off to the right. A sharp pain behind my right ear and a howling of dark confusion fills my mind as I fall and fall and fall for days and before I hit the damp slimy floor of the tunnel I hear her scream. And then I die.