 
# The Longest Night Ever Lived

#### An Adventure Comedy Novella

##

By:

### Mitch Goth

The Longest Night Ever Lived

Copyright 2013 Mitch Goth

Smashwords Edition

No portion of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in any medium, or by electronic, mechanical or any other means without the express written consent of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real world events, people, products or places are used in a fictitious manner. Other characters, events, or places are products of imagination and any resemblance to actual people, places or happenings is purely coincidental.

### Dedication:

### This book is dedicated to the Best Buy employee who sold me the computer I wrote this on. I owe you one, bro.

### 1

In our younger and more dim-witted years we all did our fair share of stupid things, some of those things brought us great and everlasting tales that we could pass down through our own generations, for better or worse, and some others simply brought us nights spent in jail. This is a story of (miraculously) the former.

Now I wish I could tell you I was a part of this story myself, but I'm afraid I am merely a narrator to this particular piece of prose, and for the reader's enjoyment as well as a preservation of my personal dignity I will refrain from calling it prose from here on out. It's a story.

The summer solstice, the longest day of the entire year has befallen the mid-sized town of Woodburn, Wisconsin (don't Google it, it's not there). Now, unless you're a pagan, the summer solstice isn't a particularly big event in the year. But, certified non-pagan and average-standing Woodburn young adult citizen Cady Steward threw a party every year anyway, perhaps feeling that the shortest night of the whole year should be burned away in the company of others, or maybe it's just because her parents always go out of town to celebrate the solstice.

It wasn't by any means uncommon for the only people to attend this solstice party to be her close group of friends, and this year wasn't any exception. She never planned for anything different, because those were the only people she invited every year anyway. There was her boyfriend of several years, Nate Bray; the Aldrin twins, Mike and Cera; and the well-to-do Taylor Lankin.

As was often his forte, Mike drew the eyes and ears of the small gathering in Cady's backyard to him. He'd been accompanied this year by a rather impressive cache of illegal fireworks and despite the sun just barely beginning its setting stage he was already setting off the smaller mortars and firecrackers.

Cera and Taylor looked on from a picnic table as Mike let another mortar away and two bright streams of light appeared in the sky and trailed down into the seemingly endless rows of corn that surrounded Cady's rural home.

"What the hell are you doing?' Cady strode out of the house, agitated by the sudden ruckus.

"Shooting off fireworks," Mike replied with a smile, lighting another bundle of firecrackers.

"Why? It's not the fourth of July for another few weeks."

"Why do you think? To make this an occasion!"

As much as Cady hated to admit it, her jock-like friend, with his eighties Keanu Reeves haircut, broad shoulders and a letterman jacket stuffed with premium, Illinois bought firepower was right. This was somewhat of a special occasion. For this summer solstice, would very likely be their last. It was a mere fifteen days earlier that they'd all taken the walk across the stage at their high school graduation. Just a few months from then they'd all be off to different corners of the nation, going on to lead lives independent from each other.

"You do realize I have neighbors?" Cady asserted despite her inner belief, brushing a strand of black hair out of her face in a huff.

Mike searched around the area, "Where?" he wondered slyly. "I don't think the corn stalks mind all that much."

"They're a few miles down the road, but I'm sure they can see if not hear those damn fireworks."

"Lighten up a little bit, Cady, you're starting to end up like your boyfriend. Speaking of that guy, where did he go off to?"

"He's in the house helping me, unlike you."

"Hey," Mike defended, "they're not helping either," he gestured to his sister and Taylor on the nearby table.

Cera, despite the gender difference, was an uncanny match to her brother, her hair was shorter than his and slightly more kept, but there was no doubting their close relation. Her eyes matched her hair and her broadened facial structure showed off a look of dominance, like the face of a wolf that was leader of the pack, or at least wanted to be.

Taylor, from a distance, appeared to be the typical blonde teenager. She was careful to stay up close to the latest clothing and fashion trends and was by no means willing to be easily outshined by her peers in any aspect of her exterior. In addition to this she was the model student, she maintained straight A's, or so she said, and had been the class president for most of their school tenure.

"Well," Cady replied, giving the two of them a look, "they're also not shooting off illegal explosives in my backyard."

"They also have no intention of helping you," he added.

She turned to them for assurance.

"Yeah, I'm pretty good just sitting over here," Taylor agreed. "You should come out and enjoy all this with us, after all, it's your party."

"Yeah, it is my party," Cady mimicked.

"And she'll cry if she wants to," Mike added.

At that, Cady trudged back into the house, black locks falling back in front of her face.

"What's up with her?" he wondered.

"It's you," Cera pointed out, "it's always you."

"Be nice," he tossed another firecracker.

"I find it amazing, Mike. You can throw a firecracker like a champ, but when it comes to a football you develop Parkinson's."

"What did I just say about being nice?"

"Wait, he can't throw a football?" Taylor wondered. "I thought he was a star on the school team."

"He is," Cera explained, "he can run faster than anyone else, but he's got a throwing arm like Jell-O."

"I'm standing right here," Mike said.

"Maybe this conversation will inspire you to improve on your God awful throwing skills," his sister chuckled, as did Taylor.

"I hate you guys," he went back to his firecrackers.

Back in the house, Cady sauntered into the kitchen and sat down with a small sigh next to Nate on one of the stools at her tall island countertop. Discontent showed clearly through her ivy-colored eyes.

"What's all that noise?" Nate asked.

"Mike is lighting off fireworks," she answered, running her fingers stressfully through her hair with one hand and biting the nails on the other.

"You need to worry less, you'll turn into me."

"That's exactly what he said."

"Well maybe he's right, I'm not exactly a fan of worrying so much about little things."

"Like whatever it is you did to your hair today?" Cady noticed his seemingly artistically put together sandy colored bed-head look.

"Or my clothes," he pointed out his greatly matching ensemble of an undone dark dress shirt over an only slightly lighter t-shirt with jeans that somehow matched their blue hue up with the overall stylish darkness of the attire.

"Honestly, how long does all this crap take you?" she inquired, half fearing the answer.

"Longer than it takes Taylor to do whatever it is she does."

"I don't know if you're joking."

"I don't really think I am."

"In that case," she reached over and shook her hand through his hair. He pulled away but it was far too late to save the modern art hair he'd created, "let's go outside," she grinned at him before getting up and heading back out toward the door. After several futile attempts to fix it, Nate gave up with a heavy shrug and followed Cady's lead.

"Well isn't this a sight for blind eyes," Mike exclaimed upon seeing Nate come out into the swiftly vanishing day light.

"That expression doesn't make any sense," Cady said crossly as she strolled passed him to go join the others at the picnic table.

"It does if you think about it," Mike retorted.

"Sweet Jesus," Nate spoke almost breathlessly, staring at the pile of fireworks sitting on the ground in the middle of the yard.

"Yeah, my uncle owns a pretty nice bomb stand down in Illinois, he hooked us up," Mike explained.

"Is all of this for tonight?"

"Well, it's a mixture of tonight, the fourth of July, a wedding in August, Pearl Harbor day, and maybe the winter solstice if the stash holds up."

"My neighbors are definitely going to call the cops," Cady called to them.

"Let 'em call. The cops will come and hang out with us," Mike replied.

"You know," Nate said, "I'm not saying that's probably not going to happen, but that's definitely not going to happen."

"Oh, ye of little faith."

"I think you're confusing little faith with no faith again."

Just then, a distant call coming from the direction of the street cut the conversation short.

"I told you this would happen," Cady groaned, pointing a finger towards the front of the house.

Nate and Mike walked over to get a view around the house and, sure enough, two of Cady's older neighbors were working their way across the lawn.

"At least it's not the cops," Mike shrugged.

"I'll take care of this," Cera hopped up from the table and approached the elderly couple.

"Cera, come on," Cady objected, but Cera was already gone.

The whole group had seen enough situations like this one to know how they inevitably ended.

"Can I help you?" Cera wondered at the old couple who, in turn, glared back at her through thick spectacles.

"Well we live just a little ways down the road," the man began, the words seeming to simply fall through his long jowls, "and we would very much appreciate not seeing and hearing those loud fireworks at this time of night."

"Night?" Cera scoffed at them, pointing to the orange sky behind her, "what do you think that orange thing in the sky is? That's not the bright glow of God himself as he comes down from the heavens to snatch the life out of you like he rightfully should have done ten years ago, that's the sun, and when it's in the sky it's still technically daytime."

"I don't much enjoy being talked to like that, miss," the man replied begrudgingly. "I certainly didn't spend thirty years as a priest to be treated this way."

"You were a priest?"

"Yes, ma'am, I was."

"I can't blame you for being religious, I've only heard stories about Jesus, you're probably old enough to have met him."

"My goodness!" the elderly woman chimed in, appalled.

"Oh, does Mary Magdalene have something to say?" Cera went on confronting the octogenarian couple. "I will break you, woman. I will crack you into two pieces and watch the dust pour out!"

"Good lord!" the man spoke in disgust as the two of them began walking the opposite direction.

"That's right, walk on back home. You're only five hundred thousand tiny arthritic steps away!"

Almost as fast as the neighbors had come, they were gone. Wearing a smile of victory, Cera returned to her friends.

"Jesus, Cera, that man's a priest," Taylor said, shocked.

"Yeah, they're definitely calling the cops as soon as they get home," Nate figured.

"Nice going, Cera, my family's never going to get a Christmas card from them again," Cady added. "They're such nice people too. They always sent a batch of homemade cookies with the cards. And their dog always wore a Santa hat for the picture. I hope you're happy, because that's all over."

"Do you see why I keep her around?" Mike wondered, mirroring his sister's grin. "She can solve any interpersonal problem."

"How was that solving the problem? She berated two well meaning old people," Nate responded in a harsh puzzlement.

"It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it," Cera explained smugly.

"Literally nobody needs to do that job," Cady shook her head.

"There is one job that does need doing," Mike interjected, "firework launcher, c'mon Nate."

"What do you need me for?"

"Well, I don't have any bottles for the bottle rockets, so I just need you to hold onto them until they launch."

"I need an aspirin," Nate rubbed his forehead.

"Seconded," Cady agreed.

With that, they both got up and headed back to the house to search for the headache pills.

"You guys are gonna miss out on some quality firepower," Mike called to them, fidgeting with a pile of bottle rockets.

"Why do you need to be so mean spirited all the time?" Taylor wondered at Cera.

"Why do you need to ask so many questions?" Cera replied.

"I asked one question, how is one 'so many'?"

"Now you've asked two questions."

"Well why don't you answer my first one?"

"That's three."

"Can you stop counting my questions, please?"

"Four."

"Damn it!"

"Well, if it'll make you feel good, I'll answer your first one. I feel the need to be mean because I think it's the surest way to get ahead in life," Cera explained.

"Do you really believe that or are you just trying to seem tough?"

"Five."

"I hate you," Taylor sighed spitefully.

"I know."

"Well, in my opinion, you could catch more bears with honey," Taylor suggested.

"Why would you want to catch bears?"

"That's one question for you," Taylor said slyly. "How many does that make?"

"One for me, six for you."

"Wasn't I at five?"

"That's seven for you."

"Shit!"

Just then, a loud bang cut through their conversation. They both jolted forward and shot angry looks at Mike, but he seemed oddly surprised.

"Maybe a little warning next time, Mike," Cera snipped at him.

"That wasn't me," he exclaimed, "that came from the front yard."

"Did the old people come back?" Taylor asked.

Before anybody could answer, a slew of ear shattering bangs rang out in quick succession.

In a flash, Nate came sprinting out of the house with Cady right at his heels. They were yelling something, but no one could hear them over the racket.

Almost instinctively, Mike picked up a Roman candle from the pile and lit the long stick. He took a few steps around the far end of the house and aimed the firework towards the front yard. One ball of fire exploded from the rod and exploded in the front yard. But before he could get another accurate shot in, he ducked for cover and a few ears of corn on nearby stalks began exploding. They'd been struck by something, bullets.

Seeing the corn stalks burst apart Cera ran around the near side of the house in hopes of surpassing whoever was coming around the other side. She was only a few steps into her fleeing when Cady's eye caught her. In an instant she was in hot pursuit, hoping to stop her friend from sprinting into the line of fire.

"Get to the corn!" Mike yelled as another fireball came from the candle. After that no more light came from the firework and he resorted to throwing the empty cardboard tube at a dark figure that was just making its way into the backyard.

Nate watched in confusion as Taylor sprinted in long strides and faded into the stalks. He looked around for Cady or Cera, they were nowhere in sight. Before he could continue his stationary search, a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him away and into the cornfields. After a moment of processing he realized Mike had come back to save him from his deaf and confused stupor. But, upon another swift search through the corn, he couldn't see anyone else. Taylor was in the field somewhere, but he had no idea where Cera or Cady had gone.

After what felt like nearly a half mile of sprinting through the stalks, the two of them stopped to catch their breath. Nate was the first to look up. He could barely see over the corn, and a mixture of the wind blowing through the tall plants and the ringing still in his ear, he couldn't hear anything resembling a voice. He couldn't even hear gunshots anymore.

Just as Mike rose up as well, a figure came rushing through the field and crashed hard into him. It was a heavily winded and shuttering Taylor.

"What the fuck just happened?" she wondered as her and Mike got up from the ground. "Did the old people come back?"

"Those weren't the old people, they had guns, I saw 'em," Mike replied.

"Who the hell were they then?" she asked frantically.

"I have no clue, no earthly idea."

"Guys," Nate interrupted, "did either of you see Cady or Cera go into the corn?"

"No," Mike shook his head.

"I saw them go towards the front of the house," Taylor said.

"So they're dead?" Nate replied.

"That's a bit of a big conclusion to jump to," Mike said.

"Is it, Mike? You heard all that shooting. What are we supposed to think?"

"Positive thoughts, at least."

"This is not exactly a time for that!"

"Hold on," Mike stopped the argument, feeling at his pocket, "my phone's ringing," he pulled it out a looked at it. "It's Cera," he said with a smile. Without wasting a moment he answered it and put it on speakerphone.

" _Mike?"_ Cera's voice came through.

"Cera!" Mike replied. "Jesus Christ, where are you guys? Nate thought you were dead."

" _Well, thanks Nate."_

"Where are you?" Taylor reiterated, getting the conversation swiftly back on track.

" _We got caught, we're in the back of some van."_

"Do you guys know where you're going?" Taylor wondered.

" _Yes the damn kidnappers gave us the exact coordinates of where we're headed. No I don't know where we're going!"_

"That's my girl," Mike said with pride.

"Is Cady there?" Nate asked.

" _Nate?"_ Cady's voice came over the phone.

"Cady! You're okay!"

" _Yeah, we're both fine for the time being."_

"Who the hell did all this?"

"Was it the old people?" Taylor inquired. Nate shot her a glare.

" _I don't know who, they're speaking a different language."_

"Do you know where from?" Nate tried to get as much information as he could.

" _Hold on, I think we stopped."_

"Already?" Mike said, puzzled, "you must still be in town."

" _Sounds like we're in a building or a garage or something."_

"Can you see anything? Are there any windows?" Nate questioned frantically.

Just then, the phone clicked and the signal went dead without another noise.

"Okay," Mike nodded slowly, "they're still alive, and they're in town."

"For now," Taylor added nervously.

"So what the hell do we do? Call the cops?" Nate figured.

"No way," Mike disagreed.

"What the hell do you mean 'no way'? That's your sister out there."

"Haven't you ever seen that cop show about the first forty-eight hours, man? Cops need two days to get an investigation rolling, I don't think we have time for that."

"Damn it, Mike, this isn't television!"

"That's how it is everywhere, trust me. If we're going to find them, we need to do some of this shit ourselves. They're somewhere close, but they might not be there for long."

"So what are you suggesting?" Taylor wondered. "We hunt through town by ourselves looking for a group of psychopaths with automatic weapons who are holding our friends hostage?"

"That's about the gist of it, yeah."

"I just want to go on the record as saying not calling the cops is a terrible idea," Nate said.

"Look, we'll call the cops soon, we just need some time to at least give them something more to work on than what we've got. If we can get like a license plate number or a description of one of the guys or something, that'll increase our chances, don't you think?" Mike replied.

"Guys," Taylor interjected, "I think our first plan should be a way out of this corn field."

The three of them craned their heads over the stalks and scanned around. Only corn as far as the eye could see.

"Well," Mike sighed, relaxing back to his normal height, "shit."

### 2

Close to ten minutes of aimless roaming through the extensive field had brought the distraught and still heavily confused Nate to his breaking point. It was at this time that he decided to ignore Mike's previous advice. He pulled out his phone and began fidgeting with it.

"What are you doing?" Mike wondered, noticing this.

"Calling the cops," Nate replied.

"Didn't I already explain this to you?"

"Yes, and the more I think about it, the more I think that not calling them right now is an awful idea."

"Chill out, Nate, we'll get out of this corn soon and we'll figure something out."

"I'm figuring something out now. I'm calling them," Nate said as he began dialing his phone, but after a moment he paused. "I don't have any service."

"Yeah," Mike nodded, looking at his, "a few square miles of corn can't be good for cell signals."

"But we just had service," Taylor exclaimed.

"But we've also walked a good ways into the middle this agricultural hell," Mike replied.

"Alright, we need to find a way out of the corn, then I'm calling the cops," Nate began trudging faster through the rows.

"Don't go too fast, Nate," Mike called to him as he struggled to keep up, "you could get lost or trip and fall and get run over by a combine."

"I think we'd know if there was a combine coming," Taylor observed.

"Yeah," Nate agreed, "and besides, what could I possibly trip and-" his sentence was cut short as his leg caught something and he tumbled to the ground.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying," Mike asked smugly.

"Shut up," Nate replied, getting up and staring down at what he'd tripped over. The sight had him perplexed. "It's a headstone."

Sure enough, the others looked down and aiming right back at them was a short, dirt colored headstone that's writing had been worn away by decades of weather.

"Look," Taylor aimed a finger a few feet further down the row, "there's another one."

Another, much taller but similarly worn down gravestone jutted up from the ground at a heavy angle, confusing the trio further.

"What the hell?" Nate wandered down the row, followed closely by Mike and Taylor. As they continued on more headstones became visible and the corn stalks began to fade away. In only a few seconds they were standing at the edge of a small, derelict cemetery.

"Awesome," Mike said in awe of the sight before them.

"What is this place?" Taylor questioned.

"I'm not an expert," Mike shrugged, "but it looks like a graveyard of some kind."

She shot him a contemptuous gaze.

"Wait," Nate raised a hand in a quieting gesture, "do you hear that?"

As they all stood silently, a peculiar noise wafted through the warm summer night breeze. Music. Some singing and the strums of a guitar flew faintly into their ears. The song seemed to come from the other end of the cemetery. The sky had gone mostly dark and the source of the sound could not yet be seen.

All thinking alike, the trio crept through the dark and eerie landscape, being careful not to stumble on any of the smaller headstones. The music gradually got louder and they soon spotted a figure in the shadows. As cautiously as the three of them could, they got even closer to this mysterious musician. But once more features on this person were made out the cautious feeling was replaced with pure bemusement.

"Bobby Berrer?" Nate spoke up as soon as he recognized the figure.

"Bobby fuckin' Berrer," Mike laughed at the oddity of the moment.

Bobby fuckin' Berrer, as Mike had pegged him, was a fellow graduating Senior in their class. Bobby was the kind of guy you would see listening to Hendrix on full volume because it 'took him back to the good 'ol days' he never actually experienced first hand to begin with, the kind of guy who would sew his own clothes, the kind of guy you'd expect to be out in an abandoned cemetery at night, serenading the dirty slabs of granite.

Bobby hopped off the stone he was perched on, leaned his guitar on another nearby headstone and strode over to them. He brushed his shoulder length red locks out of his face and greeted them with a warm and inviting smile.

"What's happenin' guys? Fancy seein' you out here."

"I was about to say the same thing to you," Mike replied.

"What are you doing out here Bobby?" Nate asked.

"I like to think dead people still like to hear music every now and then, you know?" Bobby explained.

"No, actually I don't know."

"It's kinda hard to explain. So what are you guys doing out here at this time of night? Come to rob some corpses?"

"No," Taylor said, disgusted, "is that a serious problem around here?"

"Not really, but you guys kinda strike me as the grave robbing type."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Okay," Nate cut in, "we don't have time for this."

"What's the rush man?" Bobby asked. "Stay and chill out for a while."

"Look, Bobby, I want to hang out in an old cemetery at night just as much as the next guy, but we have a serious problem on our hands right now."

"What problem could be so important in a place like Woodburn? The last crime that happened around here was when that convenient store clerk got held up at broom-point last year."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Mike nodded.

"Mike," Nate brought him back to reality, "we need to go! Where's the way out of here?" he addressed Bobby once more.

"What's the problem, guys?" Bobby spoke with slightly more concern.

"Alright," Nate sighed, "some guys with guns showed up at a party we were having and both Cady and Cera got taken by them."

"Let me get this straight," Bobby paused for a moment, "your girlfriend," he pointed at Nate, but quickly shifted to pointing at Mike, "and your sister got kidnapped by a group of people you don't know."

"That's about the gist of it," Nate nodded.

"What'd they look like?"

"I don't know, I didn't stop to observe them."

"Well maybe you should've."

"Can you just show us the way out of here so we can find a place with cell reception and call the cops?"

"I think we should look for them on our own first," Mike repeated his opinion.

"I think that's an incredibly stupid idea, Mike. The cops know how to handle this, they have blood hounds, and squad cars, and guns and we don't have any of those things."

"You don't have a gun?"

"No," Nate scoffed, "do you?"

"Never really saw the need until about a half hour ago. Taylor?"

"I've never even seen a gun before," she answered.

"Well, there you go," Nate said, his point proven.

"I have a gun," Bobby entered the conversation.

"Seriously?" all three of them said in unison. Bobby Berrer was the last man they expected to own a weapon of any kind.

"Where?" Nate inquired.

"My car, I can show you if you want."

"Couldn't hurt," Mike said. "Plus you could take Taylor's seeing a gun virginity."

"I've always wanted to do that," Bobby smiled, grabbing up his guitar and gesturing for them to follow.

They walked back into the corn and down a thin trail Bobby had created through his trips to the graveyard. In no time they were on the side of a dark country road where Bobby had parked his car. He popped the trunk and set his guitar inside before reaching to the very back and grabbing a large, dirty metal case. It creaked heavily as he flipped it open and retrieved the contents.

"Um, Bobby?" Nate spoke in bewilderment.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is that?"

There, in Bobby's hand, was a type of gun none of them had ever seen before. It looked like a short shotgun, but with a much wider, thicker barrel. It looked like a musket, a short, fat musket.

"It's a blunderbuss," Bobby replied gleefully.

"Why is there a blunderbuss in your trunk?" Taylor asked.

"It's a family heirloom."

"Why is there a family heirloom in your trunk?"

"Where do you keep your family heirlooms?"

"How is that going to be of any use to us? It's three hundred years old," Nate groaned.

"First of all, it's two hundred and twenty years old," Bobby retorted, "secondly, it has an updated percussion cap system from the eighteen thirties or something."

"How modern," Nate said with heavy sarcasm. "Do you even have any caps for it?"

"No, but the gun store up on Sharp Street doesn't close until eleven, we can go there for some."

"Or we could call the police."

"Nate, enough about the police," Mike said. "Let's just go to the gun store quick, and look around town for any signs for a while."

"What makes you think that's a better idea?"

"That's my sister out there, don't you think I want what's best for her as well as Cady in this situation? I'm tellin' you, Nate, if we call the cops their bureaucratic garbage will waste time we don't have. We may not have the guns, or dogs or cars they do, but we can get things done faster."

"Don't cops drive new Impalas?" Bobby wondered.

"Yeah, why?" Mike replied.

Bobby simply pointed over to his vehicle. A dark red, fairly new, Chevy Impala, "All we're missing are the dogs."

"You think cops these days carry around muskets?" Nate nodded to the weapon in his hand.

"It's a blunderbuss, there's a difference. And maybe they use newer guns, but it's a start."

"If we're going to go to the gun store, I suggest we do it soon," Taylor said, looking at her watch.

"Alright," let's go," Mike walked towards the car as Bobby pulled his keys from his pocket.

"Fine," Nate sighed, still heavily skeptical in Mike's idea of what's best.

### 3

On Nate's request, Bobby dropped the three of them off at the park in the center of town before making his trip to the gun store. Nate desperately needed to think, and the large fountain in the middle of the park was where he always went to do it.

"What the fuck are we gonna do?" Nate paced around anxiously as Mike and Taylor sat on the edge of the fountain and watched him go.

"Why don't you sit down and we can figure this out," Taylor suggested.

"No time to sit, we need to act, we need to do something."

"Nate, seriously, slow down a little bit," Mike mirrored Taylor's thought with more assertion.

"How can you say that? Your sister is out there."

"I know that, that's why I'm choosing the more constructive route here. We need to stay calm and figure all this out with level heads."

"We're all freaking out," Taylor added in, "but we're just keeping it together."

"Well, since you're so kept together, what do you suppose we do?" Nate questioned condescendingly, "Should we travel all around town searching through every old building or garage looking for Cady and Cera? Should we just roll really slowly down the streets and yell their names out the window in hopes of getting a response?"

"That's what I was planning on doing," Mike admitted.

"That's reassuring coming from the person who came up with the idea to not call the police."

"What do you suggest we do?" Taylor wondered.

"I don't know," Nate shrugged in frustration.

"See, because you're so high strung and stressed out you're failing to plan ahead."

"Well, thank you Mrs. President, you really do have all the answers, don't you. Why don't you voice your opinion on the 'what should we do next' issue?"

"I think we ought to wait for Bobby to get back so we can get his reading on the matter."

"Wait for Bobby? You want us to wait for Bobby? I don't think we really have a lot of time to just sit around and wait for Bobby!"

"Who's waiting?" Bobby appeared through the darkness, holding the gun and a bag of supplies from the gun shop.

"Did you get everything we need?" Mike asked.

"Mostly," Bobby sat down next to them and began pulling things out of the bag, "the gun shop didn't sell any individual shot for a gun like this, so I had to go to the hardware store and get a bunch of ball bearings," he began pouring powder down the barrel.

"Do you know how much powder it needs?" Taylor asked.

"I was hoping it would be like a Solo cup, that there'd be lines on the inside to tell me where to stop."

"Is there?"

"Not even a little one. I guess I just need to guestimate."

Taylor slid herself a few feet further away from Bobby.

"So, Bobby," Nate spoke up, "what do you suggest we do next?"

"About what?"

"About finding Cady and Cera."

"I was thinking we could just drive around town for a while and yell their names out the window like people do when they're looking for a dog."

"Jesus Christ," Nate rubbed his forehead.

"I'm joking with you, bro. Do you have any idea where they might be, even a little thought?"

"Well we got a call from Cera, and she said they were pulling into a building or something based on the sounds, but she couldn't tell where."

"Did you hear a garage door?"

"What?"

"On the phone, did you hear a garage door opening or closing? Those things can be pretty loud."

"I don't remember," Nate shook his head. "Guys?"

"I didn't hear anything," Taylor added.

Mike shook his head.

"Well, from that we can probably assume that it isn't some kind of storage space. Maybe a barn or an old industrial building with a lot of echoing spaces for a car to fit into, all it really takes for a car to sound like it's in a garage is for it to go into a covered parking stall or something."

"That's good thinking," Taylor complimented him with a smile. "Isn't it great thinking, Nate?"

"I suppose," Nate rolled his eyes. "But where do we find a place like that?"

"Just past downtown there's a whole bunch of old factories and buildings like that, we could try there," Mike suggested.

"What do we do once we're there?" Nate wondered.

"Yell out the windows," Mike replied.

"Seconded," Bobby concurred as he packed down the ball bearings with the ramrod.

"You can't be serious," Nate said.

"What do you suppose we do?" Bobby cocked the hammer back and put a cap into place. "Go in to every building, single shot muzzle loader blazing?"

"That's another thing, how do we know that two hundred year old gun even works?"

"Have a little faith," Bobby set the gun across his lap, "it may be old but it's a well built machine."

"Have you ever seen it work?" Taylor asked, she too was becoming skeptical at the gun's ability to fire now that she'd thought about it.

"No, actually," Bobby responded with a small shrug.

"So we maybe just have a gun-shaped club on our hands?" Nate began pacing again.

"Guys, it works, I'm sure."

"How can you be so sure if you've never fired it?"

"Faith, man," Bobby slapped his hands down on his lap. The hammer came down and popped the cap. In a split moment, smoke and sparks billowed out of the muzzle, an ear shattering crack shook the air around them and a small handful of ball bearings kicked a torrent of water their way as the projectiles sailed faster than sound into the fountain.

"Well, there you have it," Mike said loudly to cope with everyone's ringing ears.

"Alright," Nate sighed, "I'll give you that. What now?"

"Can I make a suggestion?" Bobby asked.

"Go ahead," Nate gave him the floor.

"I say we should probably get the hell out of here fast seeing as this gun just woke up everybody in a mile radius of here."

"I agree," Taylor agreed, still shaking from the surprise of the blast.

"Okay," Nate said, "let's take a trip just past downtown."

### 4

"Well, this sucks," Cera said with a sigh as she observed the dank and empty room she and Cady had been deposited into.

"That's the understatement of the year," Cady agreed, her voice high and uneven.

"'The understatement of the year' is the understatement of the year."

The room they'd been left in was floor to ceiling concrete, with the exception of a few thin and barred windows near the ceiling. Water ran silently through cracks in the walls and coated the floor in a paper-thin layer of moisture, which produced an inescapable and rather pungent odor. A single naked bulb hung low from the ceiling and produced very little light. The only pieces of furniture in the room were two rusty folding chairs that had been set up next to each other in the middle of the floor. Cera wasted no time sitting down in one. It creaked heavily under her.

"You're being kind of nonchalant about this," Cady observed her lounging friend and she paced around and kicked up minute amounts of water.

"What good will panicking do?" Cera wondered in response.

"I'm not saying panic, I'm saying show some concern."

"I am showing concern, I'm contemplating our escape."

"Our escape? How the hell do you expect to do that?"

"There's two windows," Cera pointed behind her to the two dusted up slits in the wall.

"They're thin, not to mention barred," Cady pointed out, pacing faster.

"You're going to let a little piece of circular iron stop you?"

"I don't think I have a choice, the iron is stronger than me."

"But you're smarter than it, as far as I know anyway."

"This isn't the appropriate time to be a sasshole, Cera."

"Sasshole?"

"A sassy asshole, you're being one."

"I don't think this is the appropriate time to be calling people sassholes, Cady."

"Well what do you want me to do? I have no clue where we are, or how we're going to get out of here. All I know for sure is that you're being a total sasshole."

"If I may make up for my sasshole attitude, I may be able to ease your stress over our location."

"Really? How?" Cady stopped pacing and looked skeptically at her friend.

"Think about it," Cera got up from her seat and wandered over to one of the windows, "we didn't drive for very long at all. My guess is that we're still in town," she stood on her toes and peered through the window. "And, although I can't see shit out of this window, I can guess based on the building we're in that we're somewhere in the industrial district. You know, down downtown."

"Great, we know where we are...kind of," Cady shrugged anxiously, "now how do we get out of here."

"I don't think you need to worry about that," a voice came from the direction of the door.

They both spun around to see three men standing in front of the now opened door. The man in front was considerably taller and older looking than the other two. He had a thick but short black beard that matched his greasy looking head and sinkhole eyes. The two behind him were identical looking, obviously twins. Their hair was the exact same short curly style; they were the same height and even dressed in the exact same dark, almost formal looking clothes. The only difference between them was one of them wore a thin pair of glasses. All three of them had equally dark skin, and Cera quickly noticed this.

"Middle Eastern terrorists?" she scoffed, taking a small step towards them. "Way to break the stereotype guys."

The bearded man cocked his head Cady's way.

"Who is she?" he said in a deep accent as he pointed a short, thick finger at Cera.

"I don't know," Cady gave a nervous smile and backed towards a corner.

"Okay, I'm going to cut the shit," the bearded man took a step into the room and one of the twins shut the door. "First off, these two," he pointed a finger at the twins, "they were born and raised in Canada, I'm the only Middle Eastern born man here, you racists. Hell, even I spent a good amount of my childhood in Montreal."

"Don't lump me in with her," Cady nodded towards Cera and backed further away.

"Grow some balls, traitor," Cera said, glaring at Cady.

"Sasshole," Cady replied.

"Secondly," the bearded man spoke much louder in order to overpower the girls' conversation, "I am looking for one person, and one person only. Either of you give that person up, I will set you free."

"You know," Cera responded spitefully, "my memory is a little cloudy when it comes to people named, 'that person'. Are you sure they didn't go by any other name?"

"I'm sure they do," the bearded man replied, thoroughly agitated, "but what ever it is, I don't know it."

"So how the hell are we supposed to know who you're talking about?" Cera questioned, matching his agitation.

"We're looking for a person with a very particular skill-set, someone who would no doubt stand out in a crowd. We have been searching for three years for this person, and that search has brought us to you and your group of friends."

"Alright," Cera sighed, "it's not like I don't understand what the fuck you're talking about. But I don't understand what the fuck you're talking about."

At that, the bearded man pulled a small pistol from his pocket and pressed it against Cera's head. Cera was unmoved.

"The assassin!" the bearded man demanded, cocking the hammer. "We are looking for the assassin that has been our government!"

Almost immediately, Cera bent over in uproariously laughter.

"An assassin?" she exclaimed through her fit.

"It's not funny! Our government is in turmoil because of this person!"

Cera simply went on with her hilarity. Cady even snickered quietly from the dark side of the room she'd hidden herself away in.

"And what government might that be?" Cera wondered.

"The great Republic of Syria," the bearded man replied, stone faced.

"Really," Cera looked beyond him at the two men standing by the door, "not Canada, huh?"

"I have no time for your games! Tell me what you know!"

"Well," Cera began, getting as close as she possibly could to the tall, bulky man before her, "I know that your breath smells like the diaper of an eighty-eight year old man with an addiction to Indian food, other than that, I don't know very much about what's going on here."

Even the twins by the door began chuckling at this.

The bearded man spun around to face them, "Shut up!" he demanded. When they did not heed his direction, he stormed over to them, spraying water across the room with each stomp. "What was so fucking funny about that?"

The spectacled twin spoke up, still laughing, "I don't know, it just was."

The bearded man bolted from the room, screaming obscenities in many languages as he did. The door shook the tough foundation of the room on its forceful closure.

"Sorry about Hosni, he can get a little worked up sometimes," the man with the glasses spoke again.

"He means well," the other twin added.

"Does his gun mean well too?" Cady asked, emerging from the shadows.

"That's just him getting worked up."

"So who are you people?" Cera inquired.

"We are the Homsi's," the spectacled twin approached her. "That fine man you just spoke to was Hosni, my twin brother is Adnan," he gestured to his sibling, who gave a small bow, "and I'm Josh."

"Hosni, Adnan and...Josh," Cera summed up with a slow nod of understanding.

Josh extended a hand to her with a smile.

"I'm not sure I understand what's happening here," Cady remarked.

"Hosni explained it well," Adnan replied. "We're looking for an assassin."

"Well you're looking in the wrong place."

"I hate to argue, but three years of constant searching has led to you five people."

"I guess that means you guys fucked up a long way down the line," Cera smirked.

"Doubtful," Josh shook his head. "We made sure we were right, we're looking for one of you. We're sure of it."

"What did we ever do to you?" Cady questioned.

"One of you killed dozens of Syrian government officials, and we will not stop until that person is brought to justice for the destruction of our great nation."

"You're Canadians!"

"We're proud of our heritage."

Just then, Hosni burst back into the room.

"What the fuck are you two still doing in here? Get out here!" he boomed before disappearing once again.

Josh turned back to the two of them and shrugged, "Cady, Cera, it's been nice talking to you."

"How do you know our names?" Cera asked before they had a chance to leave.

"Like I said, we made sure we were right about the conclusion of our search. We were thorough in our research. We know all your names. Cady, Cera, Taylor, Mike and Nate if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not," Cady shook her head in shock.

"I figured," Josh smiled again before he and his brother departed and locked the door behind them.

-

Down the hall from the room, Hosni addressed his brothers. His yells had turned to whispers to ensure neither of the girls could listen in.

"Now I don't have to tell you how dire this situation is for our country. If the assassin gets away, democracy wins. If democracy wins, we die," he explained.

"Dying would really complicate things for me," Josh added.

"The point is," Hosni continued, "the assassin could be any one of them. You two need to go back out there and find the other three. Kill them or bring them back here, whichever most suits your desire."

"Why don't we just call them with the phones we took from the other two?" Adnan wondered.

"We broke them, remember," Josh recalled.

"Why did we do that?"

"If I remember right, we didn't."

"That's right, Hosni did," Adnan recalled.

"Why did he do that?"

"Who knows, Hosni does a lot of questionable things."

"If only he had someone who thought just like him, but could keep him from doing stupid things like that."

"Like a twin?"

"Exactly like a twin."

"Hey!" Hosni yelped at them, "quit your conspiring bullshit, you know I hate it when you do that. Get yourselves on the road."

Their conspiring came to an abrupt end. They both gave Hosni an identical smile and started off towards the exit in a gait that mirrored that of the other.

### 5

Bobby's car rolled slowly through the industrial ward of town and Taylor and Mike both held themselves out their respective windows. Taylor leaned out of the front passenger side while Mike manned the back driver's side window. All the while, Nate sat back with his thoughts.

"Cady!" Taylor called out into the night.

"Cera!" Mike yelled in the other direction.

"Cady!"

"Cera!"

"Anything?" Bobby wondered at Taylor.

"No," she sighed, leaning back into the car, "I know it's hopeless."

"What was your first clue?" Nate remarked from the back.

"At least we're trying, Nate."

"What you're trying is unbelievably dumb."

"You come up with something better, smart ass."

"What do you think I've been doing this whole time?"

"Ignore him," Bobby brought Taylor back up to the front seat conversation, "he's under a lot of stress."

"No shit," Nate proclaimed.

"Ease up, back there," Bobby replied, "focus on your thinking."

Nate leaned into his seat and turned his sight out into the maze of shadows created by the tall, decaying buildings around them. His thoughts overtook him once more and his brain began storming at full force.

"This is never going to work," Taylor said despairingly.

"Yeah, probably not," Bobby shrugged. "But the night's still young and Cady and Cera are probably still alive."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"I don't know. If you don't believe things will come out well, then how can you bring yourself to do them?"

"How can you be so optimistic in a situation like this?"

"That's just another thing I don't know. I guess I always was. And in a situation like this, doesn't at least one person need to be? Otherwise you'd just be a group of downers diminishing each others hope until there's none left and you just sort of give up."

"Well, thank you."

"For what?"

"For being that person for us."

"It's my pleasure," Bobby smiled at her.

She returned his smile.

"Okay," Nate leaned up and disrupted their conversation, "I came up with an idea."

"You did?" Taylor sounded legitimately surprised.

"Yes I did. Now, just hang in here, because this is kind of a crazy idea I just came up with. Let's call the police."

"Again with the cops?" Mike leaned back into the car on the mention of the law enforcement.

"Yes, Mike, again with the cops."

"Alright, if it'll shut you up," Mike pulled out his phone, but paused. "The industrial district is a huge dead zone for me apparently."

"Fine, I'll do it," Nate pulled his phone out. "I've got a signal, but it's really weak. Do either of you have a better one?" he inquired at Bobby and Taylor.

"I left my phone at home before I went to the party, I didn't think I needed it," Taylor replied apologetically.

"You left your phone at home, in this day in age?"

"Sorry if I didn't foresee a massive shootout to happen in the front yard of Cady Steward's house."

Nate groaned, "What about you, Bobby?"

"I don't have a cell phone, man," Bobby explained.

"You have got to be kidding me. What kind of person doesn't have a cell phone?"

"I don't feel the need to be hooked up to the Internet all the time, I'd rather just be hooked up to life, you know?"

"No, Bobby, I couldn't even pretend to know."

"Hey," Mike exclaimed, "I've got bars!"

"Well call the cops then," Nate insisted.

"Alright, cool your jets. Let me just say that this is a bad idea," Mike found his emergency dial and pressed the call button.

"Put it on speaker," Nate instructed. Mike did so.

" _Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"_

Nate's mouth opened but before a single syllable could come out, a bright light surrounded the car and filled the interior. In an instant the light became blinding. Nate realized it was coming from the side of the car. Headlights.

A large truck slammed into the rear fender of Bobby's Impala. The car spun around in a swift jerk. Mike's phone went sailing out of the open rear window. Meanwhile, Nate's slipped out of his hand and sailed upward towards the ceiling, it came down from its impact in pieces. The car came to an abrupt and screeching halt aiming the same direction they were prior.

All four of them were dazed and confused by the crash. Nate came to his senses the fastest. He looked out his window to see the truck wrapping around to make another go at ramming them. He slapped at Bobby's shoulder wildly.

"Go, go, go!" he commanded.

"Stop hitting me, bro," Bobby replied, still hazy.

"Just fucking drive!"

Coming out of his haze, Bobby could make out the truck as well; it had now aimed itself right at them. The two vehicles slammed their accelerators simultaneously. Bobby's significantly lighter car picked up speed swiftly, even with the damaged fender. Ramming had ceased, but a car chase had begun.

"What the fuck is happening?" Mike asked loudly as his unbuckled self was thrown throughout the back seat.

"Who are those people?" Taylor buried herself in her seat, but still tried to look back at their pursuers.

"Maybe they just want our insurance information," Bobby suggested.

"Shut up and drive, Bobby," Nate commanded.

Bobby turned sharply through many uncontrolled intersections and in no time they were in a heavily unknown part of town. Street signs became blurs and they all just hoped the next turn they took wouldn't be a dead end. But no matter how fast he drove or how many turns he made, the truck was never less than a few car lengths behind them.

"Drive faster!" Taylor insisted.

"This is as fast as it goes!" Bobby assured.

"Make it go faster!"

"Did you not just hear me?"

Just then, the back windshield shattered and a portion of the center consol exploded as a bullet passed through it. All four of them ducked for cover, Bobby included. The car drifted into the curb and he overcorrected the drift, causing the car to slam into and go over the opposite curb. Another over correction sent the Impala hurdling through a line of mailboxes and sliding loudly through the street.

By the time Bobby regained control of the car they were heading the opposite way they started. Right along side the truck. They passed it in a flash, but that moment was more than enough for another bullet come plowing through the driver's window and clip Bobby's ear. He cringed in pain, but was careful not to let himself lose control again.

"Are you okay?" Nate wondered as he shifted his head wildly back and fourth between looking at Bobby and watching the truck spin around and continue its chase.

"I'm fine. Where's the blunderbuss?" Bobby searched around the car frantically.

"Here! It's here!" Taylor reached down by her feet and retrieved the gun.

"Don't hold it inside the trigger guard!" Bobby instructed, observing her tight hold on the trigger.

"What?" she replied, confused, not having heard that rule before.

Before Bobby could elaborate, Taylor's grip tightened as he maneuvered a corner and the weapon fired a pile of ball bearings through the roof of the car and filled the interior with a thick cloud of smoke.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I can't see shit!" Mike exclaimed through coughs.

Unable to get a good view of the road, Bobby slammed on the brakes just in time to stop inches from the curb of a "T" intersection. In one swift movement, he shut off the car, pulled the key and unlocked all the doors.

"Run!" he said as he bolted from the vehicle.

The others followed his example after a moment of hesitation. They had made it a mere ten feet before the truck stopped next to the abandoned car and the two passengers exited, guns drawn.

The group had no choice but take a trip through a dark and twisting alleyway. Just behind them, the reports of pistols echoed. Much to their collective dismay, they came across what looked like a solid brick wall.

"What the hell do we do now?" Nate wondered, looking around the lightless area.

"There!" Mike pointed swiftly to a slit between two buildings that couldn't have been more than three feet wide. Where it went, they didn't know, but it was a necessary risk.

Before any of them could make a run for the small opening, a voice came from behind them.

"I think I got my share of cardio following you bastards," a heavily winded Adnan approached them, gun aimed. An equally breathless Josh joined his brother.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Taylor inquired frightfully.

"Do we want to explain this whole thing to them?" Josh asked Adnan.

"Well, if we bring them in, we'd have to do it anyway," Adnan answered.

"But Hosni didn't say we had to do that."

"Right, he said we could use our own discretion on this one."

"Well what does our discretion say?"

"I think it says that there's not enough seats in the truck for them."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"We're a kick ass team."

"I was just thinking that too!"

At that, Adnan and Josh shared a brotherly embrace.

Mike leaned over to Nate, "What the hell is happening right now?"

"I don't know," Nate said, dumbfounded, "I can't possibly know."

"Alright," Adnan spoke up as the duo aimed their guns back at the four of them, "we've decided to kill you, congratulations."

"How is that possibly congratulatory?" Taylor replied with even more terror than before.

"Well, if we kill you here, you won't have to deal with that loud, short haired girl."

"Hey," Mike replied, "that's my sister."

"Whatever, the point is she's annoying as shit."

"Can we stop conversing with the enemy please?" Josh wondered.

At that moment both Bobby and Mike spotted several medium sized stones on the ground. Mike acted first, snatching up one of the rocks with the speed and agility of a pro footballer. But then, he threw it. In an instant the rock flew far left and out into the dark oblivion of the alleyway.

"Okay," Josh broke his recent rule, "I'm going to ignore for a moment that you just threw a rock at us. We are literally ten feet from you, that was a God awful throw."

"Fuck you. It's dark out here," Mike defended himself.

"What does the amount of light have anything to do with anything?"

Just then, Bobby reached for one of the rocks. He grabbed one up as fast as he could and hurled it at Adnan. The shot was fast and sure. A rather jagged edge struck him directly on his right eyebrow. Both brothers took a few steps back, stunned by the single hit.

Bobby was quick on his feet and bolted for the small alley, quickly gesturing for his friends to follow him. In only a few moments, the whole group had disappeared down the dark abyss.

"Where did they go?" Adnan questioned furiously as he looked back up.

"I don't know," Josh shrugged.

"Why did you wince? The rock hit me."

"I know, but when I saw it hit you it looked like it hurt and that kind of hurt me in a way."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I can't really explain it."

"The same thing happened to me that time you fell down those stairs when we were kids," Adnan recollected. "I limped for a week after that."

With that, another brotherly embrace was given.

The alleyway the group had faded into spit them out just a half block from their car, which was now sufficiently empty of smoke. Sprinting over, they hopped into the car and just as smoothly as he'd shut it off, Bobby started his car up and sped as far away as he could as fast as he could.

"Oh my God," Taylor exclaimed, still breathless from the running, "did we just almost die?"

"I think that's a fair assumption," Nate replied.

"Who the hell were those guys?" Mike wondered.

"I don't know, but they really want us dead for some reason," Bobby rubbed the hole in the consol.

"We would be dead if it wasn't for one hell of a rock throw," Nate couldn't help but give Bobby a single pat on the back.

"Yeah, where'd you learn to throw like that?" Mike inquired.

"I don't know, I guess I just always knew," Bobby shrugged.

"Maybe after this is all over you could give me a pointer or two?"

"I think that can be arranged."

"Have you ever considered playing football?"

"Guys," Nate interjected, "I think there's more pressing matters at hand right now."

"Right," Bobby nodded, "we have places to be."

"Where exactly do we have to be?" Taylor asked.

"I don't know," Nate answered, "just keep driving."

### 6

The bleeding on Adnan's face had long ceased by the time he and Josh returned to their hideaway in the factory district empty handed. Neither of them was sure how Hosni would react. They found him pacing frustratingly outside of the door to the holding room.

"Did you get them?" Hosni wondered at them in a quick, short-tempered tone.

"Not exactly," Adnan replied apprehensively.

"It's a yes or no question."

"In that case, no."

"But we did find them," Josh pointed out.

"So, you didn't kill them, or capture them?" Hosni deduced.

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Josh said with a shrug.

"So what the hell are you two doing here?"

"We figured we'd let you know what happened."

"If what happened didn't involve you two killing or capturing those kids, I don't give a shit what happened."

"Aren't you concerned about what happened to my head?" Adnan pointed to the gash above his eye.

"Now that you mention it," Hosni paused, "no. Now go back out there and don't come back until they're dead or in your company."

"Fine," they said in a unison huff and departed once more.

Once the twins had gone, Hosni returned into the holding room. Both Cera and Cady were seated in the chairs directly under the light bulb.

"We are going to find your friends," he explained calmly.

"Probably," Cera responded in equal tranquility, "they're not really that clever."

"You don't seem to have much faith in them."

"That's because I don't."

"I do," Cady interrupted.

"Why?" Cera looked at her, confused.

"They're quirky, but capable."

"Yeah, capable of getting average grades and lighting off fireworks without killing everyone. Not quite capable of fighting terrorists."

"Is fighting terrorists really that hard?"

"Is it?" Cera addressed Hosni.

"Have either of you seen Black Hawk Down?" he answered with a question of his own.

"I'm going to take that as a yes. Yes?"

"It's incredibly hard."

"I still think they can do it," Cady asserted.

"Perhaps you overestimate them," Hosni scoffed.

"Maybe you underestimate them."

"If one of them is indeed the assassin I'm looking for, then perhaps I do. Although for some reason, I have a feeling it's one of you," his voice was suddenly stained with a faint qualm.

"I'm curious what makes you so suspicious of us," Cera said cockily.

"I suppose it could be that a normal, untrained, certified non-lethal weapon would be slightly more frightened than you've been this entire time," Hosni glared at her.

"She's always like that, trust me," Cady exclaimed worriedly.

"You've been trained to stay naturally calm under pressure?" he continued questioning Cera.

"I like to think I trained myself," Cera snipped.

"Or the UN trained you."

"Or she's just naturally a psychopath," Cady suggested.

"Quiet down," he instructed with a strictly aimed finger.

"Don't tell her what to do," Cera said commandingly.

"I don't think you're in a position to give orders," he maneuvered himself into Cera's face.

"I don't think you are either," she met his gaze, perhaps with even more intensity.

"Why might that be? Because you're an assassin?"

"Could be."

Without another word, Hosni pulled a small knife out if sheath on his belt and jabbed the tip into Cera's leg just above the knee and twisted back and fourth. Her face and stare stayed solid.

"What are you?" he hissed, pulling the knife out and depositing it back in its sheath.

She simply raised an eyebrow and cocked a smile at him. With a loud groan, almost a yell of aggravation, Hosni stormed out of the room once more.

As soon as the sound of the door slamming resonated through Cera's head, she shot up from her chair. She kicked the rusty seat across the room and began stomping around wildly, reaching down and gripping her knee as she did. A clear look of anguish showed on her face.

"Fuckin' A!" she exclaimed. "It looks so painless in the movies!"

"Did it hurt?" Cady asked quietly.

"Oh, no," Cera retorted sarcastically, "getting stabbed was just peachy, Cady. You should give it a try some day, it's very therapeutic."

"How did you hold your composure so well?"

"When you have a point to prove, it gets easy."

"What was your point?"

"I don't know, but there was one in there somewhere."

"When you think of one, let me know. And can you try and keep from getting stabbed any more tonight?"

"I'm sorry if my stabbing caused you a minor inconvenience."

"Apology accepted."

"Shut up," Cera pulled her chair back under the bulb and collapsed down onto it, trying her best to relax her wounded leg.

"Sasshole."

### 7

Bobby stopped the car in a brightly lit parking lot after speeding through the empty back streets of town for almost fifteen minutes. As soon as the car shut off and the consol went dark, he breathed a sigh of relief and began feeling cautiously at his injured ear.

"Bobby?" Nate called from the back seat.

"Yeah?" Bobby replied tiredly.

"What the hell is this?" Nate pointed at the building attached to the parking lot they'd stopped in, a twenty-four hour fast food restaurant.

"I'm hungry, and I know you are too. Just chill out."

"Don't tell me to chill out! This is not the time to fucking chill out! Two of our friends are out there somewhere in the hands of the psychos who just shot your ear off, don't expect me to chill out!"

"They didn't shoot it off, just sort of grazed it."

"Will you stop being so callous about this, this is no time to be some laid back hippie, Bobby!"

"You ought to slow down a bit, Nate. No offense, man, but you live life too fast, too stressfully. You need to slow things down and take it all one at a time."

"I think stress is warranted tonight."

"What about every other day? Is stress warranted then?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, granted I don't know all that well, I always assumed you were a rather high strung fella. Am I right," Bobby turned to Taylor and Mike for validation.

"You're sure as hell not wrong," Mike nodded.

"Right is the right word," Taylor agreed.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Nate asked impatiently.

"Let me ask you something," Bobby went on, "when was the last time you slowed down your life and just took a day to enjoy everything you've got. A day to enjoy the company of Cady, or just enjoy a sunny, cloudless day by yourself, or a rainy day for that matter. You should really consider taking time to enjoy the rain once and a while."

"I still don't think I'm getting your point."

"If it started raining one day, and for one reason or another you knew that this particular storm would be the last one you'd ever see, would you hide inside or go out and frolic in it? The point I'm making is that you try so hard to control every part of your life, you often forget to live it. And in a situation like this, logic might say thinking about your options is the best strategy, but obsessing over it can disrupt your progress. The surest way to lose track of something is to pursue it too quickly. Life takes finesse, you can't rush it. Go with the flow," Bobby opened his door and the car lit up. "Now come on, we all need food, and so does the car."

"I agree," Mike said, "starving like Ethiopian children is no way to be productive."

At that, Bobby got out of the car and began heading into the restaurant. The trio watched him go for a moment, but Mike's attention was soon turned back to Nate.

"You just got psychoanalyzed, bro," he snickered. "That guy hit your nail right on the head."

"Yeah," Taylor chuckled, "it was scary spot on."

"Come on," Nate sighed, opening his door, "let's go get food."

By the time the three of them got into the restaurant, Bobby had already ordered and was sitting at a booth, sipping at his drink. Taylor and Nate walked up to the counter to order, but Mike had to make one extra stop.

"Okay," he sat down across from Bobby, "where'd you learn to throw like that?"

"What?"

"At the alley, Bobby. That rock, man. Where'd you learn to throw like that."

"You know, I was gonna ask you the same question. That toss of yours was one of the worst things I've ever seen, and I once saw a bridge collapse. Not to be too harsh."

"Thanks for that," Mike sighed.

"I guess I've always sort of known," Bobby explained. "I never really think about it, it's just a reflex. If you over think it you'll get the yips."

"The yips?"

"You know, when you over think something to the point where you can't do it anymore. It's like your friend Nate and his life. He over thinks it too much, so he can't really do life. Just be glad your yip is throwing. Nate's got the whole life yips."

Mike couldn't help but laugh at this.

"Is there a cure for it?" he asked.

"Practice until it's first nature, I guess. Or maybe a time will come along when it just sort of becomes an instant reflex. But don't count on that, practice your craft, man."

"Thanks," Mike got up, "I'm going to get a heart attack on a bun now."

"Those are always good," Bobby said partially to himself as Mike departed.

Only a few seconds after Mike left, Taylor filled his place, food in hand.

"How's your ear?" she wondered.

"Hurts like hell," Bobby replied, "but I'll be fine. It's far away from the heart. I suppose I'd be angrier about it if I had an earring or something."

"Yeah, I don't think you'll be able to wear one of those for a while," she joked.

"Maybe I'll just have to buy one of those piercings people put in their eyebrows," he laughed.

"You can never go wrong with a belly button ring either."

"If the fashonista that is Taylor Lankin says I'd look good in it, it must be true."

"I'm not that big into fashion you know."

"Oh, come on, if you're not going to some kind of beauty or design school, I'm going to be shocked."

"Well then prepare to be shocked."

"What are you going for?"

"Journalism."

"Bullshit," he said as lightheartedly as possible, "there's no way you're going to study journalism."

"You better believe it you hippie bastard. I'm gonna work for CNN one day, just you wait."

"Well maybe your first Pulitzer winning story can be a detailed account about this fuck up of a night."

"It very well could be. So what's your plan?" she changed the direction of the conversation. "What are you doing now that you're done with school?"

"I don't really know," he said indecisively. "I figure, I like I music, and I'm fairly fond of tea," he held up his now empty cup, "maybe I'll open up a music store or a tea shop or something."

"A music store? How retro."

"Who knows, maybe it'll be a success and you can make a special CNN report about it."

They both shared a small laugh at that remark.

Nate and Mike sat at the booth directly across from Bobby and Taylor, although Nate was currently sitting alone as Mike was following Bobby's instruction and shooting crumpled up napkins towards a nearby trashcan. He was missing every shot.

"How exactly do you plan to get better at football that way?" Nate inquired.

"Practice makes perfect," Mike retorted.

"How is shooting napkin balls like basketballs towards a trashcan and missing a form of football practice?"

"It just is, alright."

"And I don't think now is the time to be doing this. You sister is out there being held hostage by some crazed Middle Easterners."

"Cera can hold her own, and how do you know their Middle Eastern? That's kinda racist."

"You saw what those two guys looked like. They looked Middle Eastern to me."

"They definitely have some of that ancestry in them. But they could be from Europe or Russia or somewhere like that. Or the United States for all you know. It's dangerous to assume things like that, that's how wars get started. Besides, who cares where they're from? You're worrying to much, just remember what Bobby told you."

"Bobby," Nate glared surreptitiously across to their longhaired driver.

"Yeah," Mike laughed, "I love that guy."

"Love?"

"Yeah, you know, in a non-weird kind of way."

Nate nodded, but his mind was already far off into space at that point.

"I wish I would've told Cady I loved her more."

"Holy downer, dude," Mike finally sat down across from him gloomy friend.

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"Look at me, bro," Mike leaned far in, "we're gonna find Cady and Cera, and everything's gonna be fine. And together, we're gonna kick the shit out of those guys who did this."

"What makes you think we can do that? That I can do any of that?"

"Because who are you?"

"Nate Bray," Nate replied, puzzled.

"Who are you?" Mike repeated, with slightly more fervor.

"Nate Bray."

"When I accidentally hit that cop car with a pass during the homecoming game last year, who talked him out of giving me a ticket?"

"I did."

"Exactly. And who helped me out when I got my head stuck in that mailbox freshman year?"

"I did."

"And who's gonna find his girlfriend and kill some psychos of a currently unknown nationality?"

"I will."

"Who will?"

"I will!"

"Who?"

"Me!"

"And who are you?"

"Nate Bray!"

"Who?"

"Nate Bray!"

At this point, both of them came back to reality. Somewhere in their conversation, they both had stood up from their seats and their voices had elevated to the point of screaming. Heavily embarrassed, they both looked around. The restaurant was devoid of customers at this hour, but all the workers were staring over at them, as were Bobby and Taylor.

"Maybe we should go," Mike suggested, red-faced.

### 8

The drive to the gas station was a short one. Feeling rather drained and with the aches of the recent car accident beginning to set in, Nate and Mike went into the connected convenient store to get energy shots. Meanwhile, Bobby and Taylor stayed out to pump the gas.

"Hey look," Mike said, observing a small shelf near the door of the store, "they make bacon flavored energy shots."

"No," Nate shook his head immediately after seeing the sight. "Plain is all we need."

"You lack adventure, Nate."

"All I lack is the desire to vomit."

"Loser," Mike sighed, coming away from the shot stand.

"Sasshole," Nate retorted, putting a handful of regular energy shots on the counter.

"What the hell is a sasshole?"

"No clue," Nate shrugged, "I heard Cady say it once."

"That sounds like something she'd say. Maybe you can ask her when we find her."

"If we do."

" _When_ we do, Nate. When. You're too much of a glass half empty guy."

"And let me guess, you're glass is always half full?"

"No, actually, my glass is always completely fully. One half is water, one half is air. It doesn't matter what's in it, the point is it's always full."

"Scintillating."

"You know, Nathan, a consuming hope of mine is that you come through tonight a changed man."

"Really? My consuming hope is that I come through tonight an alive man."

Nate paid for the shots and walked towards the door. He stalled just before going out.

"What?" Mike asked.

"What the hell is he doing?" Nate stared out into the parking lot in bewilderment.

About the time Nate and Mike entered the store to buy the energy drinks, Bobby began putting gas into his wounded vehicle. His eyes wandered upward to the gaping hole in the roof.

"I'm sorry about that," Taylor joined him beside the car.

"This poor car, man," Bobby shook his head and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes and slid one stick out of the pack and stuck it between his lips. The pack disappeared and was replaced with a shiny Zippo. He flicked the lighter open but struggled to light it.

"What are you doing?" Taylor wondered, taking a step back.

"Beginning to doubt the big lighter corporations, why?" Bobby replied.

Taylor didn't respond, but took another step back.

"The air just doesn't light on fire well enough," he grunted.

"That sounds like a good thing."

"Not in this situation."

Just then, the pump jolted and gas stopped flowing. But just as the nozzle came out of the car, Bobby's eyebrow went up. He held the nozzle up to his nose. No surprise, the stench of gasoline was overwhelming. The nozzle was shifted down in front of the cigarette in his mouth and fumes billowed from it. After a moment, he held the lighter up once more and flicked it. Still nothing. He tried again, but even with the help of gasoline fumes, the Zippo wouldn't carry a flame. His persistence went on anyway.

"No," Nate approached quickly. "Hell no."

"It'll work, I just need more spark," Bobby insisted.

"I don't want it to work."

"Well I do."

Mike walked over as well. He snatched the lighter from Bobby's hand.

"What is wrong with you?" he wondered.

"Hey, my car is shot to hell, excuse me for needing a smoke."

"You can't smoke out here."

"I don't see any signs."

"It's implied!"

"Implied?" Bobby scoffed, the unlit cigarette bobbing in his mouth.

It looked like he was ready to continue on some sort of tirade on the idiocy of implied restriction when an all too familiar sound cut through the darkness. A bullet blew the cigarette right out of Bobby's mouth and continued past the group to shatter the glass panel on the convenient store door. The bright headlights of Josh and Adnan's truck shown a few blocks down, and the engine roared to life.

"Oh shit," Nate exclaimed.

"Oh shit!" Mike mimicked, facing the other direction. From his view, he was able to see the store clerk come bursting through the shattered door, large pistol in hand. Mike pulled the whole group downward just in time for the clerk's bullets to fly over them and head the truck's direction. The truck returned fire, breaking more windows.

Just then, the lights on Bobby's car lit up. His engine came to life as well. And before Nate, Mike or Taylor knew what happened, it was squealing out of the parking lot.

"That bastard!" Nate said.

"He'll come back for us," Taylor assured.

"Bullshit!"

"Let's discuss this later!" Mike pulled both of them away from the now empty gas pump and over to the side of the building and effectively into cover.

The clerk and the truck continued exchanging fire. The clerk took a flurry of shots as the truck barreled closer and went down. Although, he didn't go down without piercing the windshield of the truck, creating long spider web cracks, blinding both occupants.

The massive vehicle rolled right over the curb and collided with a nearby pump, uprooting it from its cement base. Fuel spewed from the ground and quickly coated the asphalt around them.

It was about this time that Mike recalled he still held Bobby's lighter. He flicked it once. Nothing. He tried again. Still no flame.

Adnan and Josh had gotten out of the truck now and searched the area, guns drawn.

"What the hell do we do now?" Taylor asked distraughtly.

"I'm working on it," Mike continued trying to light the lighter.

"Fuck this," Nate saw his friend's lack of progress and jumped thoughtlessly into action. He sprang out from the side of the building and sprinted for the unmanned gun the clerk had left behind.

Just as Nate sprinted around the corner, Bobby's cumbersome Zippo burst to life. Mike, also thoughtlessly, hurled the tiny piece of metal towards the flowing petrol.

Taylor, seeing both these actions, acted as fast and, of course, thoughtlessly as she could (are you seeing a trend here?). She too hurled herself around the corner and tried to catch up to Nate.

Both Adnan and Josh caught on to what was occurring. Adnan spotted Nate and Taylor, he raised his gun and began setting his sights on them. Josh, however, caught first glimpse of the lighter flying through the air and, quickly realizing he was ankle deep in fuel, sprinted far and away.

Nate lunged for the weapon and his nimble hands were quick to grasp it. He threw himself in the direction of Adnan and fired blind shots. They were far off from the target, but they were enough to throw Adnan off his aim and get him to duck for cover. It was during this moment of attempted hiding that Adnan finally laid eyes on the shiny lighter falling in his direction.

Taylor grabbed Nate by the back of his shirt and with all her power threw him as far back in the other direction as she could, letting his momentum carry her along for the ride. They landed just short of the corner of the building. But Mike was there to snatch them up and begin pulling them just as the lighter reached the ground and the fumes that'd piled up met its flame.

The whole station went up in an instant. Adnan was engulfed in a massive flash of fire and thick, tar-colored smoke. All the other pumps were lit and took their turns exploding in a flurry of unbearable heat and twisted metal shrapnel. Unable to hold the propulsion of the explosion, the large ceiling above the pumps came tumbling down into the smoke and sent the fire and tall black billows firing in all directions before it encircled the felled ceiling. By now the flames towered nearly twenty feet high and smoke chugged ever upwards and spread out into the night sky.

The three fortunate survivors of the blast stood up and sprinted out into the street, finding their old hiding place caked in broiling air and dense smoke. As soon as their eyes stopped burning, they all looked in awe at what they'd just created.

Taylor put a hand over her face in disbelief.

"Sweet Jesus," Nate said breathlessly, still holding the clerk's pistol at his side.

"Yes!" Mike exclaimed, stomping triumphantly around and throwing his fists in the air. "That was a perfect throw! Did you guys see that! Fucking perfect! How's that for fireworks? Yes!" he began dancing jubilantly around the street, and started speaking to his fallen adversary. "Oh, you're strong? You've got guns? We've got fucking gas stations! You're from the Mid-East? WELL WELCOME TO THE MIDWEST! BITCH!"

"I must say, the lyrics to this particular victory chant are rather vulgar, but the choreography is charming," a familiar voice came from behind them.

All three spun swiftly to see Bobby standing next to his car with a smirk.

"Where the hell did you go?" Nate questioned.

"I needed to save my car, she's seen enough hell today. But it looks like you guys had it covered," he looked up at the towering smoke cloud behind them.

"Oh yeah, man!" Mike said, continuing his hopping around. "You shoulda seen it, Bobs, the perfect throw. I tossed that lighter so smooth. Fuck the yips!"

"Wait, my lighter?"

"Yes sir. I suggest you get one that's not so hard to light."

"I'll remember that next time terrorists chase us around town."

"Did we get any of them?" Taylor asked, still shaken.

"The fella without the glasses is toast," Nate replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, seeing he was directly under the massive cement slab of a ceiling when it came down, not to mention right in the middle of a massive explosion, I'd say I'm pretty sure."

"Wow," Bobby chuckled, "I need to hang out with you guys more often. Do you guys do stuff like this a lot?"

"No," Nate sighed, walking around to the passenger door of the car, "now let's go."

"Fair enough. I reloaded the blunderbuss by the way."

"I don't think we'll need it. We've got a real gun now," Nate flashed the clerk's pistol.

"Snazzy."

Before the conversation could continue, the group got into the car and Bobby was fast with his getaway. Just as the lights of the Impala faded from the scene, the sound of fire truck sirens sounded in the distance.

### 9

Hosni paced anxiously across the dank holding cell, the now slightly thicker layer of water on the floor sloshed beneath him. Occasionally, his thoughts brought him to the point of a slight grunt or groan, but other than that all remained silent.

The silence was brought to an abrupt end when Josh burst into the cell. Bruised, burned, disparaged and winded, he nearly collapsed onto the floor.

"What the fuck! What happened?" Hosni barked. "Why do you smell so much like petrol? Where's Adnan?"

"They killed him," Josh said through long, pained breaths. "They killed him. They blew up a whole petrol station around him."

"Bummer," Cera snickered behind them.

They both turned around and gave a nearly identical death stare.

"You shut the hell up about our brother," Josh demanded.

"Still think one of us is the assassin?" she continued.

"Let's talk outside," Hosni spoke to his brother but continued glaring at Cera.

Josh only nodded and the two of them stepped out into the hall. The door slammed behind them.

"Oh my God," Cady said in disbelief. "They're actually doing something."

"Maybe one of them is an assassin after all," Cera laughed.

"My bet is on Mike."

"No way," Cera disagreed, "it's gotta be Taylor."

"Taylor? I think Nate would be it before Taylor."

"Think about it, Taylor is a young, energetic, harmless looking, blonde all-American with an interest in politics and world news."

"Mike is a self-serving pyromaniac with a taste for the insane."

"But what does he know about Syria and Canada? I'd be surprised if he knew where Syria was," Cera grinned.

"I don't think he knows where Canada is," Cady agreed. "But that still doesn't rule out Nate."

"The word 'assassin' rules out Nate. He's a neurotic, high strung borderline obsessive compulsive who could over think the process of boiling water."

"Wouldn't an assassin need to be thorough?"

"A brain surgeon doesn't need to be as thorough as he is."

"Well what about you? You're all sorts of crazy."

"How is headstrong crazy?"

"It isn't. But you're not headstrong, you're nuts. And most normal human beings can't quite handle a stabbing like you did."

"What about you, little Miss sasshole?" Cera inquired. "You seem pent up enough to go out at night and kill people."

"Pent up? I'm not pent up."

"Come on, you hid in the corner the majority of the night and you're telling me you don't have any pent up stress from that?"

"Maybe tonight, but I'm not usually like that."

"Well that's just not true. Cady Steward is quiet on almost every occasion. I was actually shocked you came out earlier today and told Mike to stop shooting off fireworks, even if it did take you half an hour to gather the courage."

"Exactly, so what makes you think I can kill anyone?"

"You save all your stress and courage for killing people. You've got none left over for life."

"Do you have any idea how dumb that sounds?"

"Not really, no."

"Either way," Cady went on, "just thinking that one of us is this assassin these people are looking for is only validating their delusions."

"But our friends blew up a gas station."

"That's probably not the first time Mike has been a part of something like that."

"Very possible," Cera shrugged.

"Do you think they'll actually come for us?" Cady wondered.

"They're coming for us right now."

"I mean, do you think they'll make it?"

"Well, as of now, they've got strength in numbers over our friends in the hall. But they've still got a ways to go. But, I sure as hell hope they do. Otherwise, not to add to your pent up stress, but we're fucked."

"I wish there was something we could do."

"Some things you just can't control, Cady. That's life. Sometimes it's a traffic jam, other times its international terrorists looking for assassins in a group of teenagers. Life is uncontrollable like that."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Cady wondered.

"Sit back, enjoy the ride?" Cera suggested.

"What ride?"

"The life ride, my friend, the life ride."

"Sounds productive."

"I don't see you coming up with anything."

"Sasshole."

"You need to stop saying that."

"I might not get another chance to."

"Well, with that logic, I may never get another chance to call you a bitch. Bitch," Cera joked.

"Sasshole."

-

Out in the hall, Hosni and Josh trudged nervously around. Josh held his head in his hands while Hosni ran his fingers through his thick, greasy hair.

"I can't believe he's dead," Josh sighed.

"He won't die for nothing," Hosni assured.

"These people are far more advanced than I thought."

"They're eighteen, Josh, not CIA agents. Lure them in with some weed or beer and shoot them."

"I don't think I can take them on alone."

"Well I can't just leave these two we have alone. One of them could be who we're looking for, especially that Cera one."

"That's the one you stabbed?"

"Didn't even flinch."

"How bad did you get her?"

In response to his brother, Hosni drew his knife once more and jammed it into Josh's knee. His brother yelped immediately and sprung away from his brother and the blade.

"Why did you stab me? Why would you add to my anguish?"

"You wanted to know, don't blame me."

"Well, if she can take that, she's gotta be the assassin, Hosni. Just kill her!"

"I would, but I've got a better idea."

"Does it involve me getting stabbed again?"

"No..." Hosni paused, "maybe. It depends how you do it, I guess."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Find those bastards again, and lure them here."

"How? Weed and beer?"

"No. Just shoot at them and drive away, but keep them on your tail. Bring them here and we'll both take care of all of them. Can you do that?"

"I think so," Josh nodded unconfidently. "How many trucks do we have left?"

"Just the one, so don't blow this one up."

"I will find them. For Adnan?"

"Sure," Hosni shrugged.

Josh nodded again with slightly more vigor and disappeared down the stairs, ready to avenge his brother.

Once Josh had left, Hosni went cautiously back into the holding cell. The two girls quieted at his presence.

"I know you think your friends have the upper hand now. But, I assure you both, each and every one of you will be dead by dawn."

Certain that his message had gotten across by the looks on their faces, he turned and left just as quickly as he'd come back in.

"Do you think he's bluffing?" Cady asked anxiously.

"Fuck 'em," Cera scoffed and leaned back in her chair.

Despite Cera's confidence, Cady let out a worrisome sigh. She wasn't anywhere near sure what was going to happen.

### 10

"Hell yes!" Mike exclaimed, still ecstatic from the recent altercation.

"I can't believe that happened!" Taylor added with equal excitement.

"It's quite a shame I missed it," Bobby shrugged.

"You lost out on easily the greatest sight of all time!" Mike replied.

"I had to save the car," Bobby patted the dash lovingly. "Did you get both of them?"

"I have no clue," Mike gave a shrug of his own. "Taylor?"

"I don't have any idea," she answered. "Nate?"

Nate was staring out of his window, paying no attention. He didn't respond.

"Nate?" Mike repeated with more volume. This brought him back to reality.

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"Do you think we got both of those guys with that explosion?"

"I don't know. I would assume so. But it's dangerous to assume. I think we can safely say we got one of them though."

"Like you said, the dude without the specs is a goner for sure," Bobby recalled.

"I don't know about the other one though. I didn't see him."

"I don't think any of us did," Taylor pointed out. "Maybe he did get away. What do we do if he did?"

"Fight him, and whoever else comes our way," Nate said simply, holding up the pistol again.

"How many more do you think there are?" she inquired.

"How am I supposed to know?"

"I don't know, you seem like the person who could estimate something like that. You're smart."

"So are you, you figure it out."

"I don't do math, Nate. Math is the reason I wasn't valedictorian."

"Well, if you must have my estimate, I'd say a few."

"A few? What kind of estimate is that?"

"The only one I've got."

"You've gotta do a little better than that."

"If you didn't flunk out of math you could've just done it yourself."

"I never said I failed."

"You failed at being valedictorian."

"Guys!" Bobby interrupted. "Can we stop this mindless hatred? You're bringing down what should be a triumphant moment."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "we won something. Be happy."

"We still have a long way to go," Nate said pessimistically.

"An Asian philosopher once said, 'a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step'," Bobby replied. "This is our single step."

"I highly doubt that philosopher was referring to blowing up a gas station, Bobby."

"You never know, Nate."

"I think I can assume I'm right on that end."

"I thought you said it was dangerous to assume."

"Oh, man," Mike chuckled, "Nate gets taught by Bobby again. He's on a roll."

"Shut up, Mike," Nate sighed.

"Where are we going?" Taylor changed the subject.

It was in that moment that they all realized that none of them knew the answer. They looked around the car at each other's blank faces for a moment.

"I don't know, I was following Bobby," Mike said.

"We're in the same car, of course you're following him," Nate retorted impatiently.

"I was following the car," Bobby added.

"What was the car following?" Taylor questioned.

"The road, I hope," Nate joked. "But seriously, where are we going?"

"Cady's?" Mike suggested.

"Why would we go back there?" Taylor responded in confusion.

"Where else would we go?"

"Good point."

"To Cady's then?" Nate summed up.

Mike and Taylor nodded.

"Yeah," Bobby hedged, "I don't know where that is."

"Just turn up here," Nate aimed a finger at an upcoming intersection.

"Maybe we can change cars out there? Take one that's less destroyed."

"Come on, Bobby," Mike spoke up, "your car's a trooper. It can probably take a few more T-bones and a baker's dozen more bullets."

"And it's not that bad as it is," Taylor added.

Bobby pointed to the hole in the ceiling.

"It's not that bad," she repeated more anxiously.

"And I just washed my car," Mike stated his case. "I don't want anything bad to happen to it."

"My engine can't be trusted some times," Nate explained.

"My car's low on gas," Taylor said, "and we all know how well that went last time."

"Maybe if we stop at another gas station with your car, we can take out the other guy," Bobby observed.

"No sale, Bobby," Nate replied. "We're staying with your car."

"Damn it to hell."

"Look on the bright side, Bob," Mike patted him on the shoulder, "just be glad you have a car. If this were a horse, it'd be dead already."

-

"Okay," Nate paced around Cady's dark and quiet living room, "what's our plan?"

"Shit, I thought you had one," Mike groaned.

"I do have a plan, it's asking you guys what the plan is."

"Aren't you the one who should know all this stuff already?"

"I'm sorry if I wasn't adequately prepared to fight terrorists tonight."

"Well," Bobby said nonchalantly, "good money says you'll be prepared the next time it comes around."

"When will it ever come around again?" Nate's volume raised slightly in his frustration.

"I don't know. Christmas?"

"Shut the hell up, Bobby."

"Be nice to Bobby," Taylor objected. "He's just trying to help."

"How is that helping?"

"I'm breaking down the stress, man," Bobby explained.

"Well, it's not working because I'm more stressed than before."

"We're all stressed, man. Your friends and or siblings are out there right now, and my car has been beaten to the point of quite possibly being totaled."

"Your car is fine."

"There's a hole the size of basketball in the roof."

"How many times do I have to apologize for that?" Taylor wondered.

"Nineteen," Bobby answered slyly.

"Hole or not, the engine works fine," Nate pointed out.

"It's covered in bullet holes."

"Nothing a paint job or two or three won't cover up," Mike said.

"What about the back fender?" Bobby went on.

"What about it?" Mike asked.

"That truck crashed into it. Did you already forget?"

"That truck was vaporized at the gas station, which means it's a little worse off than your car."

"He makes a solid point," Nate nodded.

"Because I moved the car, man," Bobby exclaimed. "You're welcome by the way."

"Thank you for moving the car," Taylor gave her belated graces.

"The fender isn't that bad," Mike said. "You can buff that stuff out."

Just then, a loud engine came into earshot. The engine roared swiftly closer, but its hoarse run was cut off by the head-splitting sound of crushing metal and squealing tires.

The group moved cautiously yet quickly to the large bay window in the front of the house. There they saw the source of the ruckus. Bobby's Impala, which he'd parked in the street, was stuck by a large truck with enough force to shove the sedan into the front yard and detach the back bumper, which was lying in the middle of the street.

"Oh you've gotta be fuckin' kidding me!" Bobby exclaimed.

"You can buff that out," Mike figured.

"The bumper is off!"

"Duct tape. I know a guy who has a basement full of that stuff, I'll hook you up."

"God damn it!"

"Guys!" Nate called to them, pulling them down at the same time.

Josh had rolled down the window of the truck and began firing shots through the massive front window. Thousands of snowflake sized glass shards rained down on the crouching group.

Nate pulled the gun from the gas station out and aimed it out the now empty windowpane. He fired a handful of blind shots before getting himself enough balance to look up and into the yard. But by the time he'd gotten the truck in view it was rolling backwards and spinning around, ready to speed off in the other direction. Although it looked as if one of his blindly fired bullets had punctured one of the truck's tires.

"What do we do?" Taylor yelled over the squealing tires and gunfire.

"Follow him!" Nate commanded.

"With what?" Bobby asked, praying the answer wasn't what he expected it to be.

"Your car!"

"Fuck that, the axel is probably broken."

"Bullshit, the engine still works and the axels are fine. Let's go before we lose him!" Nate leapt through the open window and was followed at the heels by Mike. Taylor stalled for a moment.

"Sorry," she said to him before going through the window as well.

"God damn it!" Bobby blurted in fury as he too flung himself through the windowpane and towards his car.

### 11

They chased Josh's truck at a distance all the way across town. The punctured tire on the truck made it easier to keep up, but all of them noticed Bobby's car showing heavy resistance to movement.

In no time they'd reached the industrial district of town once more and the truck disappeared from the main streets and down a rough and cracked side road. Bobby kept up, but he grimaced with every bump.

"Why did we have to take my car again?" he asked angrily.

"This is not the time for that," Nate explained anxiously as he watched the taillights of the truck unwaveringly. "Just keep up with it."

"I don't know how much longer this car is going to last, Nate!"

"Wait, look!" Taylor pointed at the truck as it disappeared into a tiny garage space of a large and decrepit factory building. The taillights went out and the garage closed.

"Stop here!" Nate instructed.

Bobby shut off his car and darkened his lights. For a moment everyone was quiet.

"So," Mike broke the short silence, "there it is."

"Let's go get them," Nate said, opening his door.

"How?" Taylor questioned.

"Somehow," Nate replied, getting out of the car, pistol in hand.

The others got out slowly, unsure of their friend's mentality. Bobby was hesitant to close his door and proceed, which left the car's remaining interior light on.

"Shut your damn door, Bobby," Nate instructed.

"How are we going to do this? I think we should plan a little," Bobby replied.

"Look, Bobby, as long as we have the element of stealth on our hands we'll be fine. But we can't be stealthy with that damn car light on."

Mike, seeing a straightforward solution to the problem at hand, reached sneakily over and slammed Bobby's door closed. This act was immediately followed by a loud, high-pitched, echoing shriek from Bobby. The three others glared at him.

"Hey," Bobby defended, holding one of his fingers in pain, "he shut my hand in the door."

"Well so much for stealth," Taylor sighed.

"Let's just go before Bobby gets hurt again," Nate said, strolling towards the ominous abandoned structure.

In under a minute the group was up close and personal with the garage door. Nate pulled hard up on it. It didn't budge.

"It's locked," he exclaimed in a loud whisper.

"I saw it move a little," Taylor said, only half sure that she'd seen it.

"Put some elbow grease in it," Mike suggested cockily.

"Both of you try," Taylor ordered.

Ignoring the fact that Taylor was giving orders now, the two of them tried pulling the door. Sure enough, it lifted nearly a foot off the ground with the cost of all their present muster.

"Bobby," Mike turned to him, "be our ringer?"

With a groan Bobby approached the door. He wrapped both hands around the rusted, sharp handle and yanked it up. Nothing. He pulled for a longer period. It moved a few inches further. Nate and Mike put their hands under the door and even Taylor took half the handle. Together, they all lifted with all their strength and the door lifted another few feet.

Satisfied with the small opening they'd created, the group ducked under the door and entered the pitch-black room. They could see the silhouette of the truck taking up nearly all the area. For a moment all of them looked around the room, hoping to get a grip around the darkness.

"Look," Nate pointed to a far corner of the room. A small slit of light came into view near the floor. A door.

The group moved towards it, being careful not to touch anything in the garage as they did. As they got close enough to make out the knob, Nate readied the gun in his hand.

"Are you guys ready for this?" Mike asked in palpable anticipation.

"For what?" Taylor asked in response.

"I don't know, but are you ready?"

"I kinda hope so," Bobby answered.

"Shh," Nate silence them before reaching for the knob.

He wrapped his fingers around the knob and took a breath. In one lighting motion he pushed the door open. The group stumbled into a well lit but completely empty room. Floor to ceiling cement and several bright fluorescent lights. There were two darkened halls across the room but other than that, there were no other exits besides the garage.

"What now?" Mike inquired as they reached the center of the room.

Before anyone could answer his question, a bang shook their concentrations. The sound bounced off the thick stone walls and disoriented them further. Nate was taken aback by a different, much more engulfing sensation, an unexpected, stinging pain. A small projectile struck him directly in the chest and he tumbled to the floor, the gun falling from his hand.

"Oh my God! Nate!" Taylor screamed.

"Is he dead?" Mike asked frantically.

"That really hurt!" Nate exclaimed, coming out of a short, pain-induced trance.

"No, he's fine," Bobby shook his head.

"I don't think that's the right word, dick," Nate retorted spitefully.

"What the hell was that?" Taylor wondered.

"That would be a rubber bullet," a voice explained from behind them.

The standing trio spun around to face the voice, while Nate shot up from the ground, sending pain coursing through his body. There, meeting their gazes was Hosni, aiming a still smoking pistol at them, Josh was just a few feet behind him, partially hidden in the darkness of the hallway.

"Who the hell are you?" Nate said demandingly. "Where's Cady and Cera?"

"If you want any answers from me, I suggest you push that gun at your feet over to me," Hosni pointed to the pistol Nate had left on the ground.

"Now why would we do that?" Mike questioned.

"Because, if you don't I'll shoot you," Hosni replied with a small shrug. "And, I assure you, although the first bullet was rubber, all the rest are real."

"And what happens if we do give it to you?" Nate asked.

"I'll still kill you, but you'll get to see your friends first."

"I think that's a fair trade at this point," Bobby nodded.

Without a word Nate apprehensively pushed the gun across the floor with his foot. Hosni was quick to snatch it up and hand it back to Josh.

"Now then," Hosni said, "I'm sure you want to see your friends."

"Well, yeah, that's the reason we came," Nate replied harshly.

"Follow us then," Hosni gestured for them to come through the dark corridor.

They began following his order, albeit with extreme caution.

"What if it's a trap?" Taylor questioned as quietly as she could.

"Who cares?" Nate retorted. "We're gonna die anyway."

"It was fun while it lasted though," Bobby added as they disappeared down the unlit hall.

### 12

Water splashed under everyone's feet as the door to the holding cell swung open and the group was met with the faces of Cady and Cera. All faces lit up in an instant. They all ran to each other. Nate hugged Cady, Mike hugged Cera, Taylor hugged Cady and Cera, and Bobby tried his best to hug everyone all at once.

"You actually came to save us!" Cady exclaimed.

"You're damn right we did!" Nate replied. "Although we sort of lost the 'save' part of that plan."

"I don't care," she stopped his explanation with a kiss.

"It's about damn time you assholes got here," Cera said with a smile.

"You would not believe what we had to do tonight to get here," Mike explained his tardiness. "I blew up a gas station."

"I heard about that!"

"I got my car wrecked along the way too, if anybody cares," Bobby remarked.

"Seriously, dude, enough about the car. You care too much about the car," Mike replied.

"Wait," Cera paused, "Bobby fuckin' Berrer?"

"Bobby fuckin' Berrer," Mike nodded with a grin.

"Where did he get in on all this?" Cady wondered.

"Not too long after the first attack," Nate filled her in.

"I had a car and a guitar, they had neither of those things," Bobby added.

"Well congratulations," Hosni entered the room, "you, Mr. Bobby, successfully got yourself killed tonight."

"Still had some fun doing it," Bobby smiled. "Even if my car didn't make it either."

"Why do you want to kill us anyway?" Taylor asked.

"Oh, man," Cera laughed, "you're gonna love this."

"Why, what is it?" Taylor searched the faces in the room for some kind of indication. She found none.

"We have reason to believe one of you is an assassin that has been killing the high ranking members of my home government and ruining the regime," Hosni explained bitterly.

"And what government is that?" Mike inquired.

"Syria."

"They're Middle Easterners, Mike," Nate looked over at his friend, recalling their argument in the restaurant.

"Not to burst your racist bubble, friend," Hosni replied, "but I am the only one here native to Syria. I moved from there at infancy, my brothers, or brother," he aimed a finger back at the one remaining sibling, "was born and raised in the same place I was raised."

"And where was that?" Mike said.

"Canada," Josh replied.

"You cannot be serious," Bobby grinned.

"They are," Cady replied.

"I got my car wrecked and my ear shot partially off by Canadians?"

"One Canadian, one Syrian-Canadian," Cady corrected.

"Guys, guys," Cera interjected, "we're missing the point. They think we're assassins."

At that, they all snickered.

"Enough!" Hosni ended their joy. "This is a serious matter!"

"How could you possibly think one of us is an assassin?" Mike asked through a few remaining chuckles. "Where would a teenager even learn how to do be one of those?"

"The assassin we're looking for was trained by the United Nations," Hosni elaborated further.

The group burst into full-fledged laughter at this.

"Why is that so funny?" Josh asked in confusion.

"You think the United Nation has assassins?" Nate spoke up. "The United Nations, the most useless diplomatic tool on the planet? You think they train assassins? More so, you think they trained one of _us_ to be one of them?"

"That's about the gist of it, yeah," Josh nodded.

"I can't believed I got stabbed over something so stupid!" Cera exclaimed.

"You got stabbed?" Mike looked at her, puzzled.

"Oh, yeah, the rat bastard stabbed me," she pointed to the saucer-sized bloodstain on her pants. "Hurt like a bitch."

"Are you alright?" Taylor wondered in frightened concern.

"Fine," Cera scoffed, "the asshole can't stab to save his life."

"Shut up!" Hosni blurted. All their conversation ceased. "We're only looking for one of you, so I suggest they confess or everyone is going to have a terrible night."

"No offense," Mike checked his watch, "but night is just about over."

"Mike, don't exacerbate," Nate instructed anxiously.

"Don't bother," Cady remarked, "Cera's been doing it all night."

"That's my girl," Mike gave his sister a high five.

"Wait, do I still count in all this?" Bobby wondered. "I'm not really part of their group, I just got caught up in it."

"Yes," Hosni snipped.

"Come on, man, that's not fair. I don't assassinate."

"Shut up!" Hosni repeated. "Josh," he motioned for his sibling, "go get our interrogator."

"There's another person here?" Taylor inquired.

"Not exactly," the eldest brother said with a grin.

In another moment Josh returned. He carried in both his hands, their interrogator: a long, rusty and overused chainsaw.

"Well," Mike scratched his head, "shit."

"I have to say," Cera began her retort, "getting stabbed was awful, but bearable. A chainsaw can't be that much worse."

"Are you kidding?" Nate exclaimed in obvious fear. "Look at that thing!"

"I agree," Cady hid behind Nate, "someone start talking."

"See how well it works," Josh snickered, "I didn't even have to turn it on."

"Good money says you can't turn it on, guy," Cera challenged.

"That's a bet, bitch," Josh said with a smirk. He pulled the cord back. A few small, dead sounds came from the saw.

Cera and Mike both began chuckling.

"Shut up, alright," Josh defended, "I can get this!" he pulled the cord faster and further back. A small puff of smoke came from the engine, but it came nowhere near starting.

"Sometimes it works better if you put it on the ground and sort of kneel beside it," Mike suggested comically.

"You moron!" Taylor exclaimed.

"Don't help them!" Nate said.

"Come on, guys, it's funny!"

"No it isn't you sociopath!" Cady came around Nate to face her friend. "We're going to die if he starts that thing!"

"In Mike's defense," Bobby interjected, "I think we're gonna die either way."

"It doesn't matter, he's not gonna start it," Cera added, pointing to Josh, who'd taken Mike's advice and was kneeling on the wet ground to try and start the saw. He revved it several times to the same anticlimactic outcome.

"Is there gas in it?" Hosni asked in a low toned frustration.

"Yeah," Josh answered, "I put gas in just today."

"You know," Bobby said, "some of them need a gas and oil mixture."

"Do we have oil?" Josh asked his brother.

"It doesn't need oil!" Hosni insisted. "It's worked fine with just gas!"

"Well it doesn't now."

"Just keep trying!"

"What is with all the impractical, weird weapons tonight?" Mike scoffed.

"What the hell does that mean?" Hosni sneered.

Bobby glared at Mike, who quickly got the message.

"I don't know," Mike shrugged, not sure of what else to say.

Hosni turned away from him with high suspicion. But still he knew getting their 'interrogator' started was a more pressing matter.

Mike looked down at his watch again in nervousness. As he did, his gaze went temporarily past his timepiece and focused on the unsettled water on the floor. In the ripples he saw something rather familiar. Cement chips, decently sized ones at that. He raised an eyebrow.

Just then, a bone chilling noise shook the heads of everyone in the room. Despite Cera's predictions, the saw started.

"Show me the money!" Josh laughed at Cera as he stood up, deadly lawn care tool in hand.

"Kiss my ass, Jerry," she flipped him off.

"It's Josh," he replied, giving the saw more power and enhancing the terrifying sound it produced.

"Alright," Hosni addressed his brother, "I've had more than enough of their shit tonight, kill them. For Adnan."

"Who's Adnan?" Cera inquired, doing so simply to get a rise.

"That's it you son of a bitch!" Josh snapped, turning the saw towards the group.

It was in that moment that Mike saw his chance. He reached down and snatched a cement chip in an instant and hurled it thoughtlessly at his intended target, praying he'd hit it.

The rock flew and, sure enough, came to a landing right where the chain of the saw enters back into the machine. Just as quickly and he'd thrown it, the stone was sucked in by the chain. Sparks immediately began spraying in all directions. The saw began producing a far louder, far more piercing ruckus.

"Run!" Nate commanded the only idea he could think of at the others. His yell was faint over the noise of the chainsaw, but they heard.

Nate, Cady tight in his grip, was the first to act. He sprinted for the stunned Josh and his paralyzed machine. With one movement of mindless adrenaline Nate shoved his body against Josh's, sending his adversary tumbling out the door and across the hallway.

With a now open and clear exit, Nate and Cady disappeared from the room and sprinted down the hall. This left a still confused Hosni in the room with four more than ready teenagers.

Cera was the next to spring into action. She reached for Hosni's knife and in one flawless movement pulled it from its sheath and sent it down deep into his leg. He yelped and tumbled to the ground.

"How's it feel, bitch?" she commented spitefully before bolting from the room.

Mike was soon to follow. He made sure to take a hard step down on Hosni's leg on his way out. This caused another yelp and writhe in pain.

Finally, Taylor hopped over the felled militant. Right before leaving to join her friends, she turned around and delivered a blow of her own. A kick straight to the top of Hosni's head. But, in the excitement she forgot she was wearing sandals. A sharp pain shot up her leg as she delivered the blow, and she hobbled quickly away thinking his head had done more damage to her than she'd done to him. But she didn't regret it.

### 13

Nate and Cady had ran through the dark, maze-like expanse of the factory for what felt like ages before they turned into a short, dead end hallway and paused to rest.

"Where's everyone else?" Cady wondered through heavy breaths.

"I think they got out," Nate replied, equally breathless, "I heard them running behind us. They must've gotten lost somewhere along the way."

"I think we're lost right now."

Nate looked around, "I think that's a safe assumption."

Just as he turned back, she leaned in an delivered a passionate and unexpected lip-lock to him. When she leaned back again, he was struck with a look similar to that of a deer in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler.

"For a second there I thought you weren't coming," she remarked. "You shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

"I got here just as fast as Bobby's car could get us here," he smiled.

"Why didn't you guys call the cops?"

"You know," he shrugged, "some things just fall on the back burner."

"It was Mike wasn't it?"

"It was all Mike. I honestly don't know what he has against the police in this town."

"Maybe they took his fireworks away once," she said jokingly.

"I do have to point out, his pyromania sort of saved our asses at the gas station."

"What the hell happened over there?"

"Oh, Cady, you should've seen it. Biggest explosion I've ever seen. And Mike danced afterwards."

"Any good?"

"Awful. I think he had shell shock or something."

They both shared a long but cautiously quiet laugh at this. After the sat for a moment, they noticed it was silent in all directions around them. In addition, they'd both caught their breath.

"We should try and find a way out of here," Cady suggested.

"Where though?" Nate wondered.

"I have no idea," she shook her head.

"We need to find the others too."

"Let's hope they already got out."

"But what if they didn't?"

"Then I don't know," Cady said with a sorrowful shrug, "but if they did get caught, we're not doing them any good just sitting here."

"You're right," Nate agreed, "let's go."

He took her by the hand and in synced speed they spun around the corner, hoping to get out of this darkened corridor as quickly as their feet could take them. But, an all too familiar obstacle was blocking their way as soon as they turned the corner.

Josh, pistol drawn and aimed, was staring directly at them. He gave them a smart but anger-filled smirk.

"You broke my chainsaw," he said in a dark monotone. "I really liked that chainsaw."

-

In the confusion Cera, Mike, Bobby and a still limping Taylor went up several flights of stairs in an attempt to flee their captors and found themselves equally as lost as Nate and Cady. They had no idea what floor they were on nor where any staircases were.

"I need to stop," Taylor exclaimed to the rest of the group. "My foot really hurts."

"What'd you do?" Bobby asked.

"Kicked that bearded one in the head," she replied.

"That's injury well spent," Cera patted her blonde companion on the back.

"So we're just gonna stop here?" Mike inquired.

"I don't think going any further will do any help, Mike," Cera explained.

"Sitting here won't help either."

"Well what do you want us to do, just keep going up until we hit the roof?"

"We need to find Cady and Nate," Taylor interrupted.

"We need to get the hell out of here," Cera shot back.

"We can't leave them here," Mike agreed with Taylor.

"I don't know how we're supposed to do either of those things when we're lost like this," Cera pointed out.

"We're not lost guys," Bobby observed.

"Don't give us any hippie nonsense, Bobby," Mike stopped his friend's thought, "now is not the time."

"No, guys," Bobby went on, "look," he pointed down a nearby hall. At the other end of his finger was a window.

"What the hell will that help?" Cera wondered. "We're like three stories up."

"We jump it."

"Hell no," Taylor objected, "I'm hurt enough."

"We'd all die or get seriously injured," Mike added.

"What else is there to do?" Bobby addressed their pessimism.

"Not jump out windows."

"You play football, Mike. You can handle it."

"Getting hit by a lineman isn't anything like jumping out of a window."

"Whatever, I'm doing it."

"Bobby," Taylor said worriedly, "I highly suggest you don't do that."

"I don't see any of you guys coming up with anything better and we have friends out there that need us," he took a step towards the window.

"Yeah," Mike nodded, "they need us alive. Don't jump Bobby."

"I'm doing it."

Before anyone could grab for him, Bobby got a swift running start towards the window. The other three were in hot pursuit, but it was too little too late. He covered his face with his forearms and leapt through the old, cracked window. The glass gave way with ease and Bobby went sailing less than gracefully downward.

By the time the other three reached the now gaping window Bobby had already hit the ground. He didn't move.

"Is he dead?" Taylor asked, mortified.

"I immediately regret that decision!" Bobby called to them painfully.

"No," Cera said in a disappointed tone.

"Can you move?" Mike wondered.

"Doubtful," Bobby said. "But at least I'm out of the building, which is more than you guys can say."

"He's got a point," Mike grinned.

"Nobody else is jumping," Cera asserted.

"What if we get caught?" Taylor looked back down the hall cautiously.

"Then we die, Bobby survives," Cera said simply.

"Bobby fuckin' Berrer!" Mike called down to him.

"Yo!" Bobby called back.

"If we don't make it out of this place alive, you need to tell everyone what happened tonight."

"Okay," Bobby paused, "but what happened exactly?"

"Hell if I know. Just tell them."

"I'll see what I can do."

"We're leaving now," Cera backed away from the window.

"We'll help you when we get down there," Taylor added.

"If we get down there," Cera corrected.

"When," Taylor repeated.

"Whatever, let's go," Cera began back down the hall, Mike followed.

"We'll be down there soon, Bobby," Taylor called to him once again before catching up to them.

"That's cool," Bobby replied. "I'll be here."

Back into the windowless halls, the remaining trio continued walking. None of them expected to get out of the building any time soon.

"Why aren't there any exit signs in this place," Mike sighed.

"That'd be too easy, Mike," Cera replied. "Far too easy."

"They should've put one over the window," Mike joked.

Taylor was going to speak up against his joke at Bobby's expense, but before she could, something gained all of their attention. A figure appeared through a close by corridor. It took a moment for them to gather enough facial features through the darkness to identify the person, but as soon as they did they all froze.

"Which one of you kicked me in the head?" Hosni sneered, aiming his gun intently at them.

Cera and Mike instantaneously pointed at Taylor.

"Come on, guys!" she exclaimed in discontent.

"You die first," he pointed the pistol at hurt, "that hurt a lot."

"Even more than the stabbing?" Cera inquired.

"I've gotten used to stabbings."

"Damn it."

"Now come on," Hosni gestured with the gun, "let's go see your friends."

### 14

The group was once again reunited in the illuminated room just off the garage. Both Hosni and Josh aimed their guns across the sea of demoralized faces. Josh separated his time between looking down his gun and down at the destroyed chainsaw by the door. He really liked that chainsaw.

"Okay," Hosni began spitefully, "you're all going to die now. It's a shame in a way, I really wanted to know which one of you was the assassin and..." he mumbled through a few more grunts, but was taken off of his point as he looked over at Josh, who was looking in melancholy at the chainsaw. "Damn it, Josh," he walked over to the saw. "Watch them for a minute, I'm putting this in the truck," he picked up the chainsaw and exited into the garage.

For a moment Josh looked glumly at the bland door to the garage, staring off into space. His brother had bought that saw. Before he could continue on his journey of remembrance, an odd feeling brought him back to the real world. He felt a hand press up against the back of his head and another grip his chin.

In a flash his neck was broken and he tumbled limply to the floor. There, standing where he was just a moment ago, was Cady looking indifferently down at his corpse.

"Oh my God!" Nate exclaimed in shock. "He's dead!"

"What the hell?" Mike said, bewildered.

"No fuckin' way," Cera shook her head.

"Cady?" Taylor mustered through a mixture of crippling confusion and fear.

"Sorry guys," she shrugged as she turned back to them.

"Why didn't you do that seven damn hours ago?" Cera asked agitatedly.

"I needed to wait for the perfect moment. That moment didn't really come, so I had to settle for the last moment."

"So the United Nations seriously has assassins?" Taylor inquired.

"Yes they do," Cady nodded.

"How long have you been doing this?" Nate wondered, running his hands over his head in overwhelming emotion. He wasn't near sure what to think.

"Three years now," she guessed.

"I fucking knew it!" a voice boomed from the garage door.

Hosni stood at the doorway, gun ready and steady. He took a few steps in and Cady slid back aside her friends.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked frantically. "Do something."

"Sorry, I've got nothing for this," she replied. "I knew this would happen one day, sorry you guys had to be a part of it."

"What the shit," Cera threw her hands in the air, still in disbelief.

"Funny," Hosni scoffed, aiming the gun at Cady, "I never thought it'd be you."

"Sorry to disappoint," she smiled at him.

Hosni cocked the hammer back and tightened his grip on the trigger. But just as he was about to fire, he paused.

"Wait a minute," he scanned across them, "where's the other one?"

Just then, a new sound came from the garage doorway. A low click followed by a fast hissing noise. The tension in the room was shredded by a massive noise and a blast of smoke and ball bearings. A fine mist of red sprayed across the group and Hosni (in damn near two pieces) joined his brother on the ground.

"What just happened?" Taylor wondered in horror.

A still wounded Bobby hobbled into the room, smoking blunderbuss in hand.

"Bobby fuckin' Berrer," Nate said.

"Sup," Bobby nodded at them.

"Words cannot describe how disgusted I am right now," Cera said, sickened.

"Words cannot describe how alive you are right now," Mike smiled.

"You're welcome," Bobby nodded humbly. "So, that made for an interesting night. Can you believe they thought one of us was an assassin?"

"Yeah..." Nate hedged.

Bobby gave a puzzled look for a moment. But it wasn't long before that look was replaced by a one of heavy internal turmoil.

"Guys," he looked at the ground, "who killed the other guy?"

"Yeah..." Nate repeated.

"Guys?"

"It was me," Cady stepped forward.

"You're an assassin?" Bobby raised his eyebrows at this.

She gave him a small nod.

"Unexpected," he chuckled.

"Unbelievable," Nate added, looking at his girlfriend, still not sure what to make of the situation.

"Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else," Cady suggested.

"I agree," Taylor raised a hand, "I really don't want to be here anymore."

"Yeah," Nate nodded, "let's get out of here."

### 15

Bobby's car squealed and rattled its way back across the town and to Cady's house. Nobody said much on the ride back. No one could think of anything to say. No remarks, no questions, no words.

Cera, Mike, Taylor and Nate went quickly inside to wash the blood off of them. Bobby stayed outside and stared at the disaster that'd become of his Impala. Cady walked apologetically to his side.

"Sorry about your car, Bobby," she said with a frown.

"The UN better buy me a new one."

"No promises."

At that, Bobby began to laugh.

"What?" she wondered.

"This night, man," he replied. "It started out like any other, I was out in a graveyard singing to the dead folks, and now look. My car is destroyed, I'm missing part of my ear and I may have seriously injured my leg jumping out of an abandoned factory."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"I don't know. I guess, if I saw something like this in a movie, I'd laugh, so why shouldn't I do it now? That'd be kinda hypocritical. Besides, I made some friends out of it."

"Yeah," Cady smiled, "I guess you did. And you also happen to know a badass assassin now."

"Cady, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told the Chevy Vega rusting in the downtown park. Nobody will need your skills for anything ever, but can you drive me home?"

"Sorry, but after tonight, I might have to stay in my house for the rest of my life," she chuckled.

"I certainly don't blame you," Mike came into the conversation as the remainder of the group came out of the house.

"I can drive you home," Taylor offered.

"That'd be great," Bobby replied with a warm smile.

"You guys shouldn't leave yet," Nate suggested, "we should probably all be here to tell the cops what happened."

"What'd I say about cops, Nate," Mike said.

"Come on, it's all over now, what are we going to do, just never call them?"

"Nate," Bobby said, "I just cut a guy in half with an antique shotgun. No cops."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Nate groaned.

"They wouldn't believe us if we told them," Cera added.

"It could compromise my cover," Cady pointed out.

"As much as I hate to agree, any law trouble could get me booted from my college," Taylor spoke up.

"Somebody I do need to see though, is a doctor," Bobby said. "I don't think I can stand out here much longer."

"Come on, I'll get you home," Taylor limped over to him and they helped each other meander their injured selves across the street and to her car.

"Bobby's gonna get some ass," Mike grinned as he watched her car disappear down the road.

"Shut up, Mike," Cera chuckled.

"I'm just saying," Mike said. "But it probably won't be right away," he looked at his watch, "it's a little late for that."

"Or a little early," Cera pointed to the horizon, which was red with the oncoming dawn.

"Well how about that."

"This has easily been the longest night of my entire life," Nate remarked as he stared at the brightening horizon.

"You understand the irony in that, right?" Mike laughed.

"I do. I don't care."

"I do have to say, Cady," Mike turned to her, "you throw one hell of a solstice party."

She smiled.

"So, Cady, how many people have you killed?" Cera inquired.

"Cera, come on," Nate objected.

"It's fine," Cady assured. "It's been a while that I've done this, Cera. I don't really know."

"That's not what you like to hear," Nate sighed.

"You guys are gonna look at me a little differently now, aren't you?" she wondered nervously.

"Be more insecure, Cady," Cera replied. "You've been our friend for years. Sure, being a UN assassin has got to be the biggest secret someone's ever hidden from their friends, and the idea of you killing people is gonna take some getting used to. But what are we going to do? Avoid you forever just because your job involves murder?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot you're a psycho," Cady laughed.

"Hey," Mike shrugged, "it's better than being a prostitute."

"And I think we'd still be friends with you if you were a hooker," Cera added.

Cady turned to Nate. He looked up at her, but said nothing.

"What about you?"

He continued his silence and instead turned away and walked towards the house.

"We should let you guys be," Mike said. "But don't worry, he'll get used to the idea, just like we do, and just like I'm sure Taylor and Bobby will."

"Thanks, Mike," Cady patted him on the shoulder. "You're sure they will?"

"I'll make them if they're not," Cera nodded at her friend with a devilish smile. She then turned to her brother, "Come on, Mike, let's get home. Now that the sun's coming up I don't like the look of the clouds."

With that, they departed to their car and gave their friends a wave and a honk before rolling away. That just left Cady and Nate, who'd sat down on the stoop of Cady's house. She walked over and sat beside him, not sure what to tell him.

"How could you not tell me about that?" he wondered.

"They made me sign something," Cady explained. "If I told anybody outright I'd be put in prison. I think they'll make an exception for tonight though. You're not mad are you?"

"No," he sighed gloomily. "I guess I'm more surprised you could do something like this and not have any of us catch on. I mean, I've been around you almost every day for four years."

"They're very secretive in getting me places, fast too. I usually did it at nights, I'd leave right when everyone went to bed and be back before morning. Some days I'd just say I was going camping or something with you guys and I could be gone for like a week," she laughed, but she saw he found no amusement. "You've got to know I'm sorry. I would've told you if I could."

"It just needs a little time to process, Cady, that's all," Nate assured. "But promise me something like this won't happen again."

"I promise it won't."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. If you still doubt it, I'll retire. If that's what it takes for you to be comfortable, I won't hesitate."

He looked up at her, "you don't have to do that. I trust you," he gave her a small but meaningful smile.

"They might make me retire after this anyway," she chuckled again, and this time Nate gave a small laugh as well.

"So how'd they even find you?"

"I guess they knew I took all those self defense and karate classes when I was younger."

"Younger? You mean the classes you took when you were like six?"

"Those are the ones," she nodded. "Along with those as past experience, I fit their criteria. I wasn't overly popular, I didn't stick out in a crowd and I had an open schedule. They brought me with like twenty other people under the pretense of taking an advanced fighting class and I excelled at it, so they enlisted me. They said I could do it in a way that wouldn't effect my life immensely, which it didn't, minus some lack of sleep. And they paid pretty well too."

"That's insane," Nate laughed.

"It's true though."

"That's the insane part."

As they both laughed, Cady looked up and caught another look at something she noticed earlier. The shattered bay window in front of her house.

"How do I explain that?" she wondered.

Nate picked up a loose brick from her walkway and tossed it into her living room through the gaping hole. He turned back and smiled at her while she just looked at him, confused.

"The old folks," he chuckled, "in all their anger, tossed a brick through your window."

"Blame Cera?"

"Blame Cera."

"Sounds like a plan," she snickered.

Just then, a small roll of thunder came through and rain started pattering down on them. Cady got up, but Nate stayed sitting.

"Come on, let's go inside," Cady said.

Nate didn't move.

"You know," he said, "Bobby told me something tonight. He said I should take time to enjoy the rain."

"Why'd he say that."

"He said I worry too much, and I think he was right. I need to slow down a bit, you know, enjoy life a little. Even the rain."

She sat back down next to him.

"Why the revelation?"

"He asked if I knew the rain storm was going to be my last would I hide from it or go out in the middle of it. That got me thinking, what if that time in the kitchen yesterday was the last conversation we ever had? I wouldn't be okay with that. And, even though the fact that it's something that Bobby said makes me kinda hate it, I've gotta love it. Because I know now that I've got another chance to make a better last conversation than that one, I'm gonna make every one last. I love you, Cady Steward, and I sure as hell don't want to lose you. But the thought of it all ending like that is worse than the thought of losing you. For the longest time I've worried about our future too much to really appreciate what we have in the present. And God damn it, I just want to learn how to stop worrying."

"And love the Cady?" she smiled.

"Don't Strangelove me, I'm being serious," he reciprocated the grin. "If tonight has taught me anything, it's that I should spent more time enjoying the time I have with you. Because, through some act of God or Canadians, that time could end."

"I love you too," she leaned against him and was quaint with enjoying the rain with him. "I think Bobby was onto something here, this pretty nice."

"It is isn't it," he nodded. "Damn you Bobby Berrer."

They laughed and wrapped their arms around each other as the rain came down harder. And together they watched the sun rise from the depths of the horizon and end the shortest night of the year and the longest night in each of their lives.

### Epilogue

Cady Steward was given an honorable discharge from the assassins program and was able to retire with full benefits. Let that sink in, she retired at age eighteen, and I'm talking like forever. Not one of those retirements that ends after a deadbeat child moves in and the parents needs to go back to work, it's full-fledged forever. Isn't that some shit.

Nate Bray eventually married Cady and they had their wedding at Mawsynram, India, the rainiest place on earth. The day of their wedding was the driest day of the year in that region (suck it Bobby). He later wrote a memoir about the solstice experience. It was never published as all the major publishing houses dismissed it as, 'complete bullshit'. Nevertheless, the two of them lived out their days happily retired.

Bobby Berrer went on to sell his family heirloom blunderbuss and used the money to open a joint music and tea shop, Bobby's Vintage Records and Herbal Tea Chalet. It went on to be a Fortune 500 company. He now drives a Ferrari. A bulletproof, heavily armored and reinforced Ferrari.

Mike Aldrin continued practicing his throwing abilities and was drafted by the NFL the following year. He played for ten season before retiring and purchasing a used car lot in Arizona to fulfill his secret life-long dream of selling quality pre-owned sedans to retirees.

Taylor Lankin did end up completing her degree in journalism. And some time after that she went on to work for CNN. Her first assignment was to research the rise of a brand new business chain juggernaut, Bobby's Vintage Records and Herbal Tea Chalet.

Cera Aldrin was discovered by the UN shortly after Cady's departure and was enlisted as her replacement. Over the course of her life, Cera toppled sixteen highly oppressive regimes and received the Congressional Medal of Honor as well as the Nobel Peace Prize, going down in history as, 'the craziest human being to be a recipient of the award'.

The gas station attendant made a miraculous full recovery from his gun shot/explosion wounds and went on to win the lottery...twice.
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### About the Author

Mitch Goth resides in his hometown of Janesville, Wisconsin. He currently plans to attend Antioch College in the fall of 2013. When not writing, he spends his time investigating the paranormal and indulging in a good book or movie.

### Acknowledgements

First off I would like to thank the whole of my Senior year AP Chemistry class, for it was day dreaming my way through a particular portion of that class that brought me the idea for this book in the first place. Secondly I would like to thank...shit, I don't know. To be perfectly honest, this was one of the few stories I've ever written that has been mainly a solo effort. My beta reader quit on me, I have high doubts my family knows anything about this book, same goes for my friends. This was an odd story to write, not to say it wasn't fun, but it was certainly different from all the others. So, to wrap all this up, I'd like to thank whoever feels they contributed in some way to the creation of this book, because seeing as I don't really know who did, I guess it's all about how you feel.
