HIGHWAY TO ARMAGEDDON

By: Harold Bloemer

HIGHWAY TO ARMAGEDDON©2014 by Harold Bloemer. All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, without written permission from Highway To Armageddon Entertainment, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition

First Printing 2014

SUMMARY: In the year 2150, a trio of young bounty hunters attempt to stop an enigmatic cult leader from unleashing nuclear Armageddon. An action-packed, sci-fi thriller.

In the not-too-distant future, climate change has wreaked havoc upon the world, decimating the global economy and bringing the United States and China perilously close to nuclear war. In order to make ends meet, 18-year olds Lance and Boom Boom work as bounty hunters. As it turns out, they're pretty damn good at catching crooks. With their sassy and voluptuous side-kick, Krystal, there’s no criminal these teen bounty hunters can’t track down. Their streak of outwitting bad guys comes to a screeching halt, however, when one of their targets, mobster kingpin Caesar Dominguez, turns the tables and puts a bounty on their heads… a cool $10 million.

If Lance, Krystal, and Boom Boom want to reach their 20s, they'll need to cash in on a lucrative bounty that gives them the resources to disappear. They're granted that opportunity when President Angela Klaxton offers an unprecedented $25 million reward for the apprehension of Russian cult leader Mikhail Rasputin, a brilliant yet sadistic terrorist hellbent on bringing about the apocalypse. If they acquire that bounty, Lance and his female companions will be able to vanish into the shadows, living the rest of their lives in unimaginable comfort and security.

The task of hunting down Rasputin is easier said than done, of course. The trio must first traverse the crime-riddled wasteland of America, avoiding the throngs of bounty hunters and criminals who would love nothing more than to bring their severed heads to Caesar. And when they finally do reach Rasputin’s rumored hideout, they stumble upon a conspiracy that could reduce the Earth to radioactive ash. Lance, Krystal, and Boom Boom started this voyage with the intention of making some serious dough. They end up, however, being the only people standing in between continued peace and a catastrophic nuclear war.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

WARNING: THIS NOVEL CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Chapter One: Lance

            Cincinnati, 2150

            “Lance, what the hell are you doing?”

            I glance at Krystal. She has her hands on her pudgy hips and impatiently taps her right foot. I can’t help but notice all the bullet holes running up and down her Kevlar vest.  

            “What do you mean what am I doing?”  

            Krystal narrows her beady brown eyes. “Don’t do that, acting like I’m stupid. You were staring off into space.”

            Yeah, I tend to do that a lot. When you’re in Hell, it helps to day-dream.

            “We got a mission to do. You do want to pay for this month’s rent, right?”

            “No, I want my cousins to get evicted from the Sanctuary so they can be raped and killed by bandits.”

            Krystal punches my shoulder. “Don’t get smart with me.”

            “Sorry,” I mutter. I learned long ago it was better to apologize to Krystal than start up an argument. I’ve seen her kill a man with her bare, manicured hands. She isn’t someone to mess with.

            Krystal whips out her sunglasses and presses a button on the side. A few people in the bread line give us funny looks. I can’t blame them. It’s cloudy and drizzling. They’re probably wondering why we’re wearing sunglasses. They’re also probably wondering why we’re armed with guns, tasers, knives, tear gas canisters, handcuffs, and grenades. We have so many weapons hanging from our belts and strapped to our backs that we sag under the weight.

            Krystal spends several minutes scanning the faces of all the people in line. It’s a time-consuming task. This is one of the busiest bread lines in Cincinnati. 30,000 people come here everyday.

            Krystal sighs. “I don’t see him. Are you sure he’s here?”

            “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who dangled his mother from a bridge and threatened to drop her unless she gave him up.”

            Krystal sticks out her bottom lip. “Don’t act all high and mighty. If it wasn’t for me doing all the dirty work, we’d never catch any of these thugs.”

            Krystal turns back to the line, which snakes around the block and goes on for miles. “The crazy old broad must’ve lied to us. She said he came here every evening at 5:00. I knew I should’ve dropped her.”

            I nudge Krystal in her side. “You see that old woman over on the left?”

            “Yeah, why?”

            I nudge her again. “Don’t stare. I think that’s him.”

            Krystal nods. When you’ve worked together as long as Krystal and I have, you pretty much have a psychic bond. We bicker a lot, but when it comes time to catch a crook, we don’t have to say a word.

            Krystal and I slowly make our way toward the ‘old woman’, who has just left the line with half a loaf of moldy-looking bread. The ‘woman’ has her back turned to us, but she must sense we’re coming because she suddenly takes off at a full sprint.

            “Ah hell, I do not feel like running today,” Krystal groans as we take off after our target.

            The ‘old woman’ tears off her robe and wig, revealing a grungy man underneath. The man turns around for the briefest of moments. I’m ready. As soon as I catch a glimpse of his face, my sunglasses project a transparent image in front of my eyeballs. A picture of Theodore Maxwell materializes, and a computerized voice inside my head says, “Perfect Match. Theodore Maxwell, age 47, five-foot eleven-inches and 155 pounds. Wanted for the attempted assassination of Cincinnati Mayor Johnny Jackson. Bounty is currently $100,000. Proceed with caution.”

            “It’s definitely him,” I shout over my shoulder.

            “Well shoot his ass!” Krystal shouts.

            “No!” I shout back. “If we kill him, we only get half the bounty!”

            Theodore spins around and fires off several shots. Krystal and I duck for cover as bullets whiz past our heads. People on the street scatter like cockroaches exposed to daylight.

            I pull out my gun. “Maybe shooting him isn’t such a bad idea.”

            We take off after Max, who has just entered a crowded marketplace. Krystal and I try not to knock people over, but at times we can’t help it. I feel horrible about knocking over an elderly woman, and I’m sure Krystal feels bad about knocking a little kid into a puddle. At least, I hope she does.

            We’re starting to gain on Maxwell, and he knows it. Out of desperation he knocks over food carts. Apples and oranges roll toward us, causing us to stumble. I glance back to find Krystal chomping on one of the apples.

            A man shouts, “Hey, that’s $5.00!”

            “$5.00?” Krystal cries, still chomping away. “That’s highway robbery!”

            We finally exit the marketplace and enter a dark alley. I hear Maxwell’s feet pounding the pavement, but I can’t see him. Krystal grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me backwards.

            “What are you doing?” I snap. “We’re going to lose him!”

            Gasping for air, Krystal says, “That alley is a dead end, fool. We’re running into a trap.”

            I click a button on my sunglasses, and a map of the area pops up in front of me. I press the button a few more times, narrowing the search parameters until the map shows me the alley. Krystal’s right, the alley is a dead end.

            “Damn,” I mutter. “What should we do?”

            I notice several dirty children huddled in front of an abandoned building. Krystal must see them, too, because she puts her hand into her pocket and pulls out several gold coins. Still looking at me, she flips the coins over to the orphans, who squeal with joy. I can’t help but crack a grin. Krystal likes to act like a badass, but deep down inside she has a huge heart.

            “There went the rest of my money,” she says with a sigh. “Now we have no choice but to go after the asshole.”

            Krystal and I activate the night-vision function on our goggles. It’s still daylight out, but the alley is so dark it would make a blind person feel right at home.

            We cautiously enter the alley with our guns drawn. I scan the left side and Krystal scans the right. The alley is narrow, but we still manage to walk side-by-side.

            I eventually come across a wooden door that’s propped open just a crack. I tap Krystal on her shoulder and point. She nods and mouths, “Do it.”

            I unhook a flash bomb from my belt, kick open the door, and throw it inside. A split-second later, a blinding flash of light illuminates the entire alley. Krystal follows up by tossing in a smoke bomb. We both jump back and wait for our prey. I’m shocked when four young children stumble out, coughing and gagging. The kids are soon followed by Maxwell.

            Krystal shoves the kids out of the way, grabs Maxwell by his long, dirty hair, and bangs him against the wall.

            “You’re under arrest, sucker! You have the right to get your ass kicked if you so much as make a peep!”

            Krystal seriously watches too much 21st century television. Apparently back in the day you were supposed to recite something called “The Miranda” to criminals when you arrested them. Nowadays criminals were lucky they weren’t shot in the head on sight.

            Max tries to brush Krystal’s hands away. Krystal knees him in the stomach.

            “Don’t touch me, fool! I don’t want your cooties!”

            Krystal bangs Max against the wall again… and again… and again. She finally stops when I touch her arm. “Let’s try to apprehend him alive, okay?”

            Krystal snarls. “You always gotta take the fun out of this, don’t you?”

            Max stammers, “Please… I… I’ve done nothing wrong! Let me go!”

            Krystal bangs Max’s head against the wall a fifth time. “Shut up! We know you tried to kill Mayor Jackson! Now I can’t really blame you. The guy’s an idiot. But we can’t be having unhappy voters whacking their elected officials all the time, can we?”

            I just realize the four kids who stumbled out with Max are standing uncomfortably close to us. They have their arms crossed, and their eyes are narrowed into hateful slits.

            “Um, Krystal?”

            Krystal bangs Max up against the wall a sixth time. “Now we know you didn’t act alone. You’re too damn stupid to pull off an assassination attempt. I can tell just by looking at you. Who are you working for? Are you in cahoots with that slimeball Caesar Dominguez?”

            “No, I… I didn’t do anything!”

            Krystal slams him a seventh time. “Don’t lie to me!”

            I glance around and notice the four kids have inched even closer. And they’re not alone. Another six scraggy looking kids enter the alley. They’re holding bats and metal pipes. I recognize two of the kids immediately. They’re the ones we gave money to.

            “Um, Krystal?”

            Krystal slams Max an eighth time. “You are with Caesar, aren’t you? He’s behind all these political assassinations, isn’t he?”

            “No!” Max sputters. “I… I work alone!”

            Krystal slams Max a ninth time. “A-ha! You just admitted you were behind the assassination attempt!”

            I ignore the kids for a second and quietly admire Krystal’s brilliant interrogation tactics. She can get anyone to admit to anything.

            “No, I didn’t mean… I….”

            Krystal slams him against the wall a tenth time. “What did I say about lying?”

            I glance around again and feel my face turn white. The kids in the alley have doubled in numbers. And they’re inching closer with each passing second.

             I hear quiet mumbling and look up. Dozens of other scraggy looking kids line the rooftops towering over the alley. But these kids aren’t armed with bats and pipes. They’re holding stun guns, swords, and rifles.

            I grab Krystal’s shoulder and shout, “Hey!”

            Krystal shrugs out of my grasp and slams Max up against the wall an eleventh time. “Quit bothering me, Lance. I got this scumbag right where I want him.”

            “I think it’s the other way around.”

            Krystal turns around and narrows her beady little eyes. “What do you mean?”

            I gesture to the dozens of heavily-armed orphans surrounding us on all sides.

            “I think Max has us right where he wants us.”

            Krystal’s dark face turns almost as white as mine.

            “What the…?”

              The kids down in the alley continue closing in on us. The ones up on the rooftops keep their weapons aimed at our heads.

            We turn to find Max grinning like a sadistic madman. His teeth are yellow and crooked and have food chunks stuck in them.

            “We’ve been waiting for you two. You’ve been a thorn in Mr. Dominguez’s side for quite some time now.”

            Struggling to remain calm, I say, “So this was a trap?”

            Max continues smiling. “But of course. I knew you would come after me. Did you really think my apprehension would be so easy?”

            “Is this because we captured Caesar’s son and nephew?” Krystal asks. “Because it’s not personal, it’s just business.”

            “I don’t think that excuse works with mobsters,” I whisper.

             Rubbing the back of his bruised head, Max says, “You have two options. Commit suicide now, or suffer a slow, torturous death.”

            Krystal suddenly bursts out laughing. I always knew she was mentally unstable.

            Max scowls and brushes Krystal’s meaty hands off his tattered shirt. “Why are you snickering? You should be trembling in fear.”

            Still chuckling, Krystal says, “You think Lance and I are scared of a couple scrawny orphans? I’ll blow all their heads off with…”

            Krystal stops in mid-sentence. Her face once again turns white. I look down at her right hand, which is patting her leg. Her utility belt is gone. I reach for my gun and feel nothing.

            “Looking for this?” asks one of the orphans. He holds up my utility belt. My weapons dangle in the air.

            “You little son of a…”

            Krystal lunges for the orphan, which turns out to be a horrible mistake. The orphans pounce on us like a pack of lions on a couple of injured zebras. Sharp pain shoots across my face and stars flutter across my eyes. I fall to the ground as dozens of bats and metal pipes pound me mercilessly. More stabbing pain explodes throughout the rest of my body. I barely hear Krystal’s screams over the shouts of the orphans. Then everything goes black.  

Chapter Two: Boom-Boom

            I smell the pervert before I hear him.

            “Hello pretty lady, how much?”

            I lift my goggles and glance out my car window. A dirty old man with long, greasy hair leans against my door, staring directly at my breasts. My boobs are covered in bullet-proof armor, but that doesn’t stop him from breathing heavy. He smells like a mixture of whiskey, vomit, and crap. Still, he smells a lot better than the last three guys who hit on me.

            “Sorry dude, but I’m not a hooker. Now get off my car before I sever your wrist.”

            I whip out my knife and hold it over the pervert’s hand, like the dangling dagger of Damocles. The pervert backs away, allowing me to roll up my window. I proceed to lower my goggles back over my eyes. My vision is now tinted green. I press a button on the side of the goggles. A quasi-transparent screen pops up, followed by a bird’s-eye view of Lance and Krystal patrolling the busiest breadline in Cincinnati.

            The robotic mosquito we bought a few weeks ago is definitely worth the money we spent on it. It allows me to search our target from the safety of my car while Lance and Krystal do all the dirty work. Since I’m not in harm’s way I can remain calm and collected, allowing me to give a more analytical, reasoned assessment of any given situation. Of course, most of the time my hot-headed partners ignore my advice and I have to swoop in at the last minute to save their hides. Sometimes it sucks being the brains of an operation.

            I tilt my head. The mosquito follows my movement and flies directly over the breadline, scanning faces for Maxwell’s bio-signature. Even the people wearing bandages and headscarves aren’t safe from my mosquito’s all-seeing eye. The mosquito uses a combination of infra-red and x-ray vision to peek underneath anything obscuring an individual’s face.

            The mosquito suddenly homes in on someone. At first glance it appears to be an elderly woman dressed in rags. But I soon realize it’s a disguise. Under all the clothing is the man we’ve spent so much time looking for.

            I press another button on my goggles, transferring all my intel to Lance. There’s no sense sending it to Krystal. She’d blurt it out for the whole world to hear. Krystal comes in handy during brawls and gunfights, but she’s not all that great during stealth missions.  

            I tilt my head to the left, causing the mosquito to spin around. I watch Lance whisper something to Krystal. Maxwell grabs his loaf of bread and walks past them. I find that odd. Someone of his criminal expertise must realize he’s being watched. Why would he…?

            My thoughts trail off as Maxwell takes off at a sprint. Blood rushes through my veins as I watch Lance and Krystal chase our target through a crowded outdoor bazaar. It’s like watching an action movie, except my friends are the stars, and there are no retakes.

            Someone bangs on my window. I lift my goggles and glance to my right. The perverted old man is back, and he’s brought his crack-addicted entourage. There are two disheveled men standing behind him. Two others approach the passenger side of the car.

            The dirty old pervert continues to bang on my window, getting greasy streaks all over the glass. He shouts something, but I can barely understand him. I start the car and am about to fly off when I notice two young, frightened prostitutes standing near the alley of a bullet-riddled pharmacy. Their massive pimp is out on the street, talking to a ‘john’. The girls look to be around the same age as me and my friends, 18 or so.

            I sigh and massage my head. I can’t leave now. Those poor girls have probably been abused for months, if not years. Just the thought of someone touching them makes my blood boil.

            I stop the car and roll down my window. This takes the pervert by surprise. He steps back for a moment before thrusting his head inside the car. The sickening stench of puke and alcohol forces me to choke down the acidic bile rising up my throat.

            “Playing hard to get, huh?” the pervert cackles, spraying spit all over my face.

             I wipe away the droplets of spittle and curtly reply, “I’m going to give you one last chance to get out of my sight. If you don’t, I won’t be held responsible for---”

            The pervert leans so far inside my car he practically falls on my lap.

            “What are you doing?!” I cry, moving my seat back.

            The pervert runs his grimy hands all over my gleaming dashboard.

            “Wow, is this the new 2151 Flying Stratosphere XV?”

            “It was a brand new Stratosphere XV until you got your cooties all over it.”

            I punch the pervert in his nose, cracking it. The pervert slides out of my car and collapses to the pavement, clutching his face. Blood trickles between his fingers.

            “You bloody bitch!” the pervert howls in a nasally voice. “You broke my nose!”

            I open my door and swing out of the car. My armored boots crush the yellow and brown leaves covering the ground.

            One of the other perverts rushes over and grabs a handful of my hair.

            “I love feisty redheads,” he says with a grin, revealing three rotted teeth. “So how much for an hour?”

            I kick the pervert in the groin. Hard. He squeals and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch.

            “Why don’t you use your drug and hooker money to buy some soap and take a bath?” I deliver a roundhouse kick straight to the pervert’s left temple. He collapses into an unmoving heap. The pervert with the broken nose staggers to his feet and pulls out a gun.

            “Die you stupid cow.”

            Before I can move, the pervert pulls the trigger. The bullet ricochets off my chest. I’m unharmed, but the impact of the blast knocks me flat on my back. I lift my head a split-second before impact so I don’t crack my skull.

            I quickly jump to my feet. The pervert is back on the ground, clutching his right shoulder. The shoulder is gushing blood. He must have been hit by the deflected bullet.

            The other three perverts whip out weapons. One of the perverts has a knife, the other has a tire iron, and the third douchebag has a chain.

            “We’re gonna beat you black and blue, then have our way with ya,” growls the moron with the knife.

            I glance around. Most of the pedestrians have scattered. That’s smart. It’s too risky to stand around and watch an altercation on the streets. A street fight can quickly escalate into a massacre, especially in a hellhole like Cincinnati. It also makes it easier for me to cut loose and kick ass if I don’t have to worry about accidentally harming civilians. The pimp and his hookers have retreated into the alley by the pharmacy. I see them peering out from the darkness. If it’s a show they want, it’s a show they’re gonna get.           

            I crouch into a karate stance and wave my hands.

            “Just bring it, bitches.”

            The pervert with the knife drunkenly lunges toward me. He tries to parry me with the knife, but he’s so hopped up on booze and drugs that he misses by a mile. I leap into the air and deliver a dropkick square in his chest. The pervert drops his knife and flies into the side of my Stratosphere XV, cracking the window.

            “You prick, I just spent sixty grand on that car.”

            I kick the pervert in the head, sending him sprawling on his side.

            I turn back to the other two perverts. They’ve both stepped back a bit. Their arrogant swaggers have dissipated to cowardly retreats.

            “What are you idiots doing?” cries the first pervert who hit on me, the one with the broken nose. “She’s only one girl! Kill her!”

            The two perverts attempt to frighten me by menacingly waving their weapons in the air. I could easily take them both down with a few kicks and punches, but I don’t want to break a nail. Instead I whip out my taser and blast the guy with the tire iron in the chest. He spazzes out on the ground as electricity pumps through his body.

            The pervert with the chain lunges toward me faster than I thought he would. I barely have time to turn my head when the end of the chain whacks my face. I yelp and drop my taser. The pervert hits me again, this time on the side of my head. Stars flutter across my eyes as I collapse to my knees.

            This turns out to be a near fatal mistake. The pervert wraps his chain around my neck and pulls back. The cold metal digs into my throat, cutting off my oxygen. Every time I try to inhale, the chain digs in even deeper. I imagine this is how a rat feels when it’s being constricted by a python.

            I try to stand up, but the pain is too great. I drop to my knees and lean forward as the maniac behind me cackles. My vision becomes blurred. It feels like there’s a ring of fire around my neck. A few more seconds and I’ll be a goner.

            I begin to panic. I’m not used to feeling so helpless. Out of desperation I fumble with my utility belt. I only have one chance. I’m bound to end up just as hurt as my opponent, but it’s the only play I have.

            My fingers fumble along the smoke bomb attached to my belt. I’m beginning to lose consciousness. I only have two seconds at best. My index finger miraculously slides inside the pin. I yank back as hard as I can.

            My vision starts to darken when the chain finally, mercifully loosens. I take a deep breath of delicious, luxurious oxygen.

            The bliss only lasts a few seconds, unfortunately. A cloud of noxious smoke enters my open mouth, gagging me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I cover my mouth and stagger out into the middle of the street. A speeding car nearly clips me. I collapse to the ground and lean against my car, on the side facing the street. Some of the smoke reaches me, but by now I’ve gulped down enough air that I can afford to hold my breath for the ten or so seconds it takes for the gas to disperse. Once it does, I lean against the hood of my car to survey the damage.

            Two of the perverts are knocked out cold. The one with the broken nose, the one with the chain, and the one I tased are still gagging from the smoke. I run over and deliver roundhouse kicks to all three of their skulls. None of the perverts will be getting up for quite some time.

            I fall to my knees and massage my burning throat. Thankfully the adrenaline coursing through my veins numbs most of the pain. I almost forget why I attacked the perverts in the first place when the two teen prostitutes run over to check on me.

            The girl with dark hair cradles my head. “Omigosh, are you okay?”

            The girl with the blonde hair says, “Wow, you have a lot of weapons.”

            The black-haired girl says, “Sally, she’s hurt. Who cares about the weapons?”

            The blonde girl blushes. “Sorry Dorothy, I just think they look cool.”

            I stand up and stretch my bruised back.

            “I’m fine, ladies. Really.”

            The girls nod and step back. They stare at me with a sort of reverence, like I’m a celebrity or something. Now that they’re up close, I realize the blonde girl is even younger than I thought. Both girls have lithe, slender bodies. They’re wearing spaghetti-strap shirts that showcase their thin stomachs. Their torn and tattered jean shorts are way too short, and their high-heeled boots are not meant to traverse the bullet-riddled, blood-splattered streets of Cincinnati.

            “You’re… you’re Boom-Boom, aren’t you?” the black-haired girl says in a barely audible whisper. I believe she’s Dorothy.

            I crack a slight smile. “Yes. Sounds like you’ve heard of me.”

            The blonde girl, Sally, quivers with excitement. “Of course. You and your hot friend Lance are legends in these parts. I mean, teenage bounty hunters? That’s so cool!”

            Dorothy grabs Sally’s wrist and whispers, “Calm down, you’re embarrassing us.”

            I burst out laughing. It’s my first laugh in weeks. It feels good.

            Sally’s bright, blue eyes suddenly turn sorrowful. “I’m sorry about what happened to Lance’s uncle.”

            My smile fades. If I had any tears left to shed, I’d surely shed them now. But I don’t, so I just slump my shoulders.

            “Yeah, Dagger was a good man. He taught us everything we know.”

            I shake my head, sending my hair flipping back and forth. The cool breeze exaggerates the motion. For a brief moment my eyes are covered in a sea of red. The breeze finally dies down and the red sea falls to low tide.

            “Enough about me. I’m worried about the two of you.”

            I gently place my gloved hands on the girls’ shoulders. At first they jump back. When they realize I’m not about to hit them, they calm down. This is probably the kindest gesture they’ve ever known.

            I study the girls’ faces. All the mascara and lipstick in the world can’t hide their youth, or the bruises around their eyes. My blood begins to boil once more.

            The girls’ pimp swaggers over like he’s the hottest thing walking the face of the Earth. He’s obviously a coward, since he hid during the entire street fight, but the way he’s strutting his stuff you’d think he took down 100 thugs bare-handed.

            “Well lookey what we got here,” he says with his head held high and his chest all puffed out. He’s dressed in a ridiculous velvet suit, a fedora with a giant red feather, and shiny black shoes. A gleaming gold necklace with the words Big Daddy hangs from his neck. Sparkling rubies and emeralds adorn each of his sausage-like digits. His outrageous bling contrasts sharply against the poverty-stricken neighborhood he operates out of. He resembles a deranged cartoon character.

            The pimp reaches out and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

            “I could use a redhead,” he says, flashing a golden smile. Literally, when he smiles all I see is gold. His teeth probably cost as much as my car.

            I slap the pimp’s hand so hard he stumbles backwards. Anger flashes across his brown eyes. He forces a smile and intrudes back into my personal space.

            “Ohhh, I like the feisty ones. They’re hard to break, but I enjoy the challenge.”

            I’m about to grab my gun when Sally steps forward and meekly says, “Don’t you know who this is, Big Daddy? It’s…”

            Big Daddy smacks Sally… hard. She collapses to the ground, clutching her cheek. Dorothy kneels down to check on her.

            “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, you stupid whore!” Big Daddy roars.

            I’m stunned, which is hard to do. The hatred emanating from Big Daddy’s pores nearly overpowers me, as if I’m inhaling toxic fumes. Big Daddy turns back to me, his malevolent grin replacing the hideous scowl I saw just seconds before.

            “Now where were we?”

            “We were at the part where I bust your balls.”

            Big Daddy cocks an eyebrow. “Huh?”

            He doesn’t have time to say anything else. I swing my armored right leg directly into his crotch. Big Daddy screams in excruciating agony and leans forward. My right fist shatters his nose, splashing blood all over my brand new glove. Big Daddy falls backwards like a chopped down oak tree. Dorothy and Sally stare at me in wide-eyed wonder.

            At first the girls smile, as though they can’t believe I actually took down their hated tormenter. That brief moment of happiness soon gives way to fear. Dorothy gasps and hugs Sally to her chest, as if she’s trying to shield her from danger. I look up and soon see why. Three bling-wearing thugs appear out of a back alley and rapidly approach us, their guns aimed directly at me. I take it they’re friends of Big Daddy.

            I turn back to Dorothy and Sally. They’re shivering uncontrollably. I open up the cube-shaped buckle on my belt and grab all my remaining gold coins. I thrust the coins into Dorothy’s trembling hand.

            “Go to the train station and purchase two one-way tickets to Sanctuary 7.”

            Sally gasps. “Sanctuary 7? But we can’t afford to…”

            “Lance and I live there,” I interject. “Tell the guards you’re our guests. The password is Stalingrad. I’ll meet you there.”

            “But…,” Dorothy starts to say, but she’s cut off by the sound of bullets nicking pavement.

            I shove the girls out into the street. “Go! I’ll be fine!”

            Dorothy and Sally look at me one last time before stumbling toward the train station. I turn back to face my attackers.

            All three thugs begin firing at me. They’re so drunk and drugged up that they miss me by a mile.

            With that being said, they are using lethal force. So I respond in kind.

            I whip out my pistol and fire at the thug in the middle. He squeals like a bitch and topples backwards.

            I turn to the thug on the left and fire off another shot. He clutches his shoulder and falls to his knees.

            I barely have time to face the last thug when a bullet slams into my chest, right above my heart. My armor deflects the bullet fragments, but the force of the blast knocks me on my back. Unlike last time, I don’t lift my head. I crack my skull on the pavement.

            An ocean of pain washes over me. My vision becomes blurred and tears stream down my cheeks. I fight the urge to black out. If I do, I’m dead.

            I just begin to regain my bearings when two massive arms wrap around my waist. I’m hoisted into the air, above someone’s head. I’m so out of it I don’t realize who my attacker is until he speaks.

            “I can tell you’re gonna be a lot harder to break than I thought,” Big Daddy snarls.

            I fumble with my utility belt. All I need is one good weapon: a taser, a gas grenade, anything. Unfortunately I’m too dazed to think clearly. My fingers don’t work properly, as if the neurons in my brain aren’t firing correctly.

            Big Daddy lowers his arms back, preparing to throw me.

            “I may not be able to break your spirit, but I can certainly break your back.”

            I wildly flail my arms and legs, but it’s to no avail. Big Daddy propels his arms forward and I fly through the air, straight toward the pharmacy’s plate-glass window.

            I only have a split-second to act. I spin around in mid-air so that my armored back faces the window. I also clasp my hands behind my neck. An instant later I crash through the window. Thousands of jagged shards of glass rain down on top of me as I slam onto the pharmacy’s hard linoleum floor. I bounce once and roll all the way to the back. I finally come to a stop after careening into a triangular tower of glass jars filled with liquid elixirs. The jars fall on top of me, shattering when they hit the floor.

            Cascading waves of white-hot agony wash over me. I gingerly touch my neck and face. A few slivers of glass protrude out of my skin. Warm liquid oozes down my face. I’m not sure if it’s blood or the elixirs. It’s probably a combination of both.

            I look up through tear-filled eyes. Big Daddy stares at me through the shattered window. He points a gun directly at my head.

            A thundering gunshot rings out through the lobby. At first I think Big Daddy fired the shot. But then I see Big Daddy grab his shoulder and stagger out of view. I spin around and watch two middle-aged pharmacists hop over their front counter. Both pharmacists are wearing Kevlar vests over their white lab coats. They’re also clutching machine guns.

            “I’m tired of you scumbags shooting up our business and scaring away all of our customers,” the silver-haired pharmacist grunts as he dashes after Big Daddy. He leaps through the shattered window like an Olympic gymnast.

            “You stupid thugs will be crapping bullets for a week,” the dark-haired pharmacist shouts, taking off after his partner.

            I shake my throbbing head. You know you’re in a bad part of town when the pharmacists are more heavily-armed than the military.

            I slowly climb to my feet and pick out the shards of glass stuck in my face and neck. If it wasn’t for my body armor, I’d resemble a bloodied porcupine. I swipe a bottle of painkillers from a shelf and pop a handful of pills in my mouth. It won’t do much to numb the pain shooting through my veins, but it should make my head a little less foggy.

            I clumsily lumber outside. A cool breeze whips my hair in front of my face. It’s about to rain. I can taste the moisture in the air.

            Gunshots ring out in the distance. Flashes of gunfire illuminate a back alley on the far end of the street.

            I gaze at the carnage all around me. The pharmacy has been demolished. Other businesses are riddled with bullet holes and broken windows. One of Big Daddy’s thugs lies motionless in a puddle of blood. I realize it’s the first dude I shot.

            The perverts I took out before Big Daddy showed up are still sprawled out on the ground. One of the perverts, however, is missing.

            The revving of a turbo car engine causes me to snap my head around. I’m astonished to find my brand new, $60,000 Stratosphere XV levitating off the ground, with its wings fully extended. In the driver’s seat is the pervert who started all this mess, the one who first hit on me.

            “Get out of my goddamn car!” I scream.

            I whip out my handgun and fire off several shots, taking out my back windshield. But I’m just wasting my ammunition. The pervert slams on the pedal and hurtles through the darkening sky at close to 100 miles an hour. I fire off several more shots, just because I’m pissed, but none of them hit the pervert.

            Another excruciating wave of pain washes over me, forcing me to my knees. It’s so bad I can’t breathe. I probably have fractured bones and bruised organs. It’s the story of my life. I pop off my cube-shaped belt buckle and open it. The buckle doubles as a container for my pain pills. These pills are even stronger than the ones I grabbed in the pharmacy. I grab a couple and pop them in my mouth. Within seconds my pain recedes.

            I hate the fact that I’m addicted to the damn things. I swore I would never become a drug addict like everyone else I know, but that’s proven to be an impossible task. When you’re getting punched, shot, and stabbed on a daily basis, you need something a bit stronger than Tylenol to get through your day.

            I suddenly remember why I’m in Cincinnati in the first place. I retrieve my goggles from my belt and slip them over my eyes. I gasp when I see what has become of my friends. Lance and Krystal are being beaten to a bloodied pulp by a pack of heavily-armed orphans. The orphans mercifully stop the beating a few seconds later. Maxwell directs the orphans to load my unconscious friends onto the back of an aerial pickup trick.

            I glance around the street, seeing if there are any cars I can steal. There aren’t. That means I’m going to have to go after my friends on foot. I need to hurry. I’ve heard the horror stories of what Caesar and his goons do to their captives.

            I check the coordinates flashing across my goggles. Lance and Krystal are a good two miles away.

            I gulp down another pain pill and dash through a blood-splattered alley.

Chapter Three:  Lance

            I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but I wake up to darkness. At first I think I’m still unconscious, but then I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my arms… and my legs… and my chest… and my back… and my head… even my freaking hair. A warm liquid oozes down my forehead and enters my mouth. It tastes salty. Blood. I spit it out.

            I try to move, but I can’t. My hands are bound behind my back. I’m sitting on a hard chair, and I’m wrapped in chains. I jerk backwards, causing my chair to move less than an inch. The chains jingle. If anyone else is in here with me, they now know I’m awake.

            I squint through the darkness. I make out a skylight in the ceiling. It’s dark, which means it’s nighttime. Damn, I’ve been out a long time.  It must be cloudy because I don’t see any stars.

            Someone beside me moans. I turn to my right and see the silhouette of a person… a large person. The silhouette mutters, “When I get out of here, I’m going on an orphan killing spree.”

            I smile. Good ole Krystal. Even after being beat half to death and tied up with chains, she still wants to kick some ass.

            “Psst, Krystal.”

            Krystal stops rattling her chains. “Lance? Is that you?”

            “Shhh. Be quiet.”

            Still talking too loud for comfort, Krystal says, “Oh, right, you think we should be quiet in case the bad guys are watching us. Good thinking. So what’s the plan?”

            “Are your chains loose?”

            Krystal’s silhouette bounces up and down, and her chains clatter against her chair. About a minute later she stops and says, “Nope.”

            I sigh. “Then I guess we wait.”

            My eyes quickly become accustomed to the dark. I can now see clearly enough to make out Krystal’s head. Bruises cover her face. Her right eye is almost swollen shut. Even more shocking, though, is the fact that her wig is missing. She looks so different with her short, natural hair.

            Krystal stares at me and says, “You look terrible.”

            “Thanks. You look like crap, too.”

            “Please tell me they didn’t mess up my hair.”

            I decide Krystal’s endured enough, so I lie and say, “It’s a little crooked, but other than that…”

            Krystal breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God. This is my favorite wig.”

            Bright light floods my vision. I squint my eyes shut, but all I see is white.

            “What the hell!” Krystal shouts. “Turn off the damn light, fools!”

            I’m still blinded, but I hear cackling… lots and lots of cackling. My instincts were right; we aren’t alone.

            A familiar voice shouts over the laughter. “I told you two to kill yourselves. It’s a shame you didn’t take my advice. I really don’t enjoy torturing minors.”

            Theodore Maxwell.

            My vision starts to return. I still have to squint, but I can see people crowding around us. Lots and lots of people.

            Still rattling her chains, Krystal hollers, “When I get out of here, I’m ripping out your intestines and hanging you with them!”

            “Shut up, Krystal,” I snap. “Don’t give the lunatic any ideas.”

            I can now make out the people surrounding us. Most of them are rough looking men and women wearing leather jackets. Long, greasy hair dangles over their faces and tattoos cover every inch of their exposed skin.

             Standing next to the gangbangers are dozens of orphans. I sort of feel bad for them, even though they did try to kill us. I know they’re just trying to survive. For a lot of orphaned kids it’s either join a gang, work as a prostitute, or die.

            I glance around at my surroundings. We appear to be in a massive abandoned factory. Cracked and shattered windows line all the walls. Fluorescent lights hang from the ceiling. Old, rusted machinery is all over the place, as are abandoned assembly lines.

            Doing my best to sound brave, I say, “Let us go, Maxwell, and we promise you’ll get a fair trial. If you don’t… then I can’t guarantee your safety.”

            Maxwell and his fellow gangbangers bust out in deafening laughter. I take it they’re easily amused. The orphans simply stare at me in eerie silence. They’re really starting to freak me out.

            “Got any other bright ideas?” Krystal asks.

            “Relax,” I say. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

            Except it’s not.

            Maxwell and his gangbanging friends suddenly shut up. They all move to the side, revealing a tall, rotund man wearing a velvet suit. The man has long, black hair, a goatee, and is wearing rings bejeweled with gleaming diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. A golden necklace hangs from his neck. The necklace spells out his name… Caesar.

            Maxwell and the gangbangers fall to their knees and bow their heads, like they’re being visited by some sort of messiah. The orphans fall to their knees, too, but not quite as quickly as Max and his pals. I take it they’re only doing what they think they should do, not what they feel they should do.

            Maxwell lifts his head ever-so-slightly and bellows, “Hail Caesar!”

            All the gangbangers and orphans respond in kind, shouting, “Hail Caesar!”

            Caesar nods and raises his right hand, prompting his followers to rise to their collective feet. He then hobbles over with a cane. I look into his dark eyes. They are full of hate. I hope he sees the same in mine.

            In a baritone voice, Caesar says, “You two look much younger than your reputation would suggest.”

            “And you look uglier in person than you do on your wanted posters,” Krystal retorts. “You’d think with all that money you embezzled you’d be able to afford a good plastic surgeon, you ugly ass baboon.”          

            Maxwell and the gangbangers growl and mutter under their breaths. I notice several of the orphans struggling to hide their smirks, including some of the ones who beat the crap out of me.

            Maxwell storms over and punches me in the side of my head. The pain from the blow envelopes my entire skull. I hear Krystal scream and cuss up a storm. I assume Maxwell hit her, too.

            “You will treat King Caesar with respect, you sniveling…”

            “Maxwell!” Caesar shouts.

            I crack open my eyes and watch as Maxwell slowly walks back to his fellow gangbangers. He continues glaring at me.

            Caesar puts both of his meaty hands on his cane and leans forward. He stares at me and Krystal for several long moments, as if he’s contemplating what sort of torture he should put us through.

            He finally says, “Why are you doing this?”

            The question takes me by surprise. I’m not sure what he’s talking about.

            Caesar repeats his question. “Why do you do this? Why do you hunt people trying to make an honest living?”

            An honest living? Is this guy on crack? Actually, he probably is. Crack is rumored to be Caesar’s hottest-selling product.

            “You are but children,” he continues. “Bounty hunting is not a suitable occupation for people so young.”

            “What do you suggest we do then?” I ask. “Work for you?”

            Caesar flashes me a grim smile. “I would have gladly hired you. You are brash, cunning, and brave. But it is too late for that. You have forfeited your right to work for me. You have forfeited your right to live.”

            Caesar starts pacing again. “You must know how dangerous I am. Why would you come after me? Why not go after easier prey?”

            “You know why,” I growl, unable to contain my volcanic rage. “You killed my uncle.”

            Caesar grins. “Ah yes, your world famous bounty hunting uncle, Dagger. He apprehended many of my men. How long has it been since I put a bullet in Dagger’s forehead? Two months? Three?”

            “Six, you son of a bitch.”

            Caesar chuckles. “Has it really been that long? My my, time flies when you’re having fun, fucking prostitutes and snorting cocaine. So that’s what this is all about then? It’s not about the money? This is about revenge?”

            “The money is the reason I tagged along,” Krystal says.

            Caesar shakes his head, almost as if he pities us. “Revenge is a poor motivator. It causes people to do stupid things.”  

            Caesar waves his hand, and a teen boy dashes over with a small video camera. I know what’s next. Caesar is going to film our execution and stream it live over the internet. I never watched any of his infamous executions, but I heard enough about them to know we’re totally fucked.

            “I take it you know what’s next?” he asks.

            “Do your worst,” Krystal snarls. “You’ll never break us.”

            “Oh, I plan to. But first I want you to see why you’re being executed.”

            I had heard about this. Apparently Caesar likes to show his victims why they’re about to spend several hours being tortured to death. At least this will buy us some time.

            The lights dim and a holographic screen materializes on the back wall of the factory. A picture of two Hispanic teens pops up on the screen. I recognize them immediately. They’re Caesar’s nephew and son. Krystal and I apprehended them about a month ago. We made enough money off that job to pay the rent, buy new weapons, and get a new car.

            Pacing in front of us, Caesar says, “My son and nephew were good kids. Loyal kids. They were next in line to run my empire. And what did you do? You invaded one of my nightclubs, beat my son and nephew within an inch of their lives, and took them to the authorities. Now they are facing the death penalty for kidnapping, murder, embezzlement, racketeering, fraud, and other unfounded accusations. Knowing our corrupt government, they’ve probably been tortured mercilessly.”

            This is most likely true. Several of Caesar’s top gangbangers have been arrested and assassinated in recent days. The feds have probably gotten all sorts of juicy intel out of his son and nephew.

            The holographic screen vanishes, and the bright lights once again blast my fragile eyes.

            “Your execution is going to be particularly gruesome, but it is a necessary evil,” Caesar says. “My enemies must realize there are serious repercussions for interfering with my business. Unemployment in this country hovers around 50%. Unlike our corrupt government, I provide high paying jobs. The government is jealous of my success, which is why they have outsourced my apprehension to people like you… young, naïve, incompetent children.”

              Caesar wobbles toward the rear of the factory. I take it he doesn’t want to get blood splattered all over his $1,000 suit.

            Maxwell and several of his gangbanging pals approach us. They are armed with bats, tire irons, stun guns, knives, and pliers. I struggle to remain calm, but my heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. 

            The teen with the camera closes in on us. He smiles like a sadistic lunatic.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, why do you need the pliers?” Krystal shouts, thrashing around in her chair like a maniac.

            “What else am I going to use to yank out your teeth?” cackles a biker chick with a serpent tattoo on her neck.

            Maxwell holds up a canister of gasoline. “After we break every bone in your body, we’re gonna set you on fire. I hope you have a high tolerance for pain!”

            “Lance?”

            I glance over at Krystal. I’m stunned by what I see in her eyes… fear.

            “Stay calm,” I say. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

            Except it’s not. I look up at the skylight. Where the hell is she?

            A sharp pain explodes throughout my skull. Maxwell waves a bat in front of my face.

            “You like baseball, kid? Batter’s up!”

            Another sharp pain shoots through my head. I cry out in agony.

            “Stop it, you fuckers!” Krystal cries, continuing to thrash around in a desperate yet futile attempt to break free from her bonds.

            Maxwell points his bat at Krystal as all the gangbangers in the factory shout and cheer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get to you soon enough. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

             The biker chick with the serpent tattoo loosens my chains and yanks out my right arm. She grabs my wrist and places the pliers around my index finger. I try to break out of her grasp, but she’s too strong.

            “Can we go back to the bat?” I shout frantically.

            The biker chick applies pressure on the pliers. I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I feel the bones in my finger beginning to crack.

            I squint through my tear-filled eyes up at the skylight.

            Come on, Boom Boom! Where are you?

            Maxwell pushes my head back and places a blade near my eye. He leans in so close I get a whiff of his breath. It smells like crap mixed with sewage.

            “You have nice, blue eyes. They’ll look good with my collection. I keep the eyes of all my victims.”

            The blade inches closer… and closer… and closer. And the pliers squeeze tighter… and tighter… and tighter… And I smell gasoline. Someone’s pouring it under my chair.

            “No!” Krystal screams. “Stop it! STOP!!!”

            I stopped believing in God the day my parents died. But I find myself doing something I haven’t done in years.

            I pray.

            I’m stunned I would do something like that.

            I’m even more stunned when my prayers are answered.  

            Just as my index finger is about to be snapped in half, the skylight shatters. Maxwell and the biker chick both jump back and cover their heads as shards of glass rain down all over us. Several of the shards slice my exposed skin.           

            But I don’t care.

            The cavalry has arrived.         

            All the orphans run for the exits. That makes sense. They just want food to eat and a place to sleep. They don’t want to die for their King Caesar. Maxwell and the gangbangers, however, are a different story. They all stand their ground and point their guns and rifles at the shattered skylight.

            “You okay, Lance?” Krystal asks.

            I spit out a mouthful of blood. “No, but sadly I’ve been worse.”

            “How did the feds find out where we are?!” Caesar shouts. “We just moved our base here two days ago!”

            Poor, stupid Caesar. He thinks the feds are about to raid his factory. It’s actually much worse than that.

            He’s about to be attacked by my psychotic ex-girlfriend.

            The gangbangers spend several frantic seconds spinning around, pointing their guns up at the skylight and peeking out the factory windows.

            Maxwell finally shouts, “I don’t see anyone out there, boss. Maybe it’s nothing.”

            “You idiot, nothing can’t shatter a freaking skylight!” Caesar hollers.

            I look up at the skylight just in time to see a small, spherical object fall inside the factory. A split-second later the object detonates in a brilliant burst of green light. All the lights in the factory instantly fizzle out. We are once again plunged in darkness.

            “That was an EMP bomb!” Maxwell screams. The fear in his voice is unmistakable.

            Orange flashes light up the pitch-black factory as Caesar’s thugs unload their guns. I watch in horror as bullets pour through the open skylight.

             Someone drops through the skylight from a grappling hook, miraculously avoiding the bombardment of ammunition. I assume it’s Boom Boom. I lose track of her as she hits the ground. Then I hear screaming. Lots and lots of screaming.  

            Every few seconds there’s enough gunfire to allow me to see what’s going on. Electric-blue streams of electricity begin spiraling all over the room. Bodies pile up on the floor. The biker chick with the serpent tattoo is standing less than ten feet away from me when a stream of electricity sends her flying across the factory.           

            That’s when I realize a spark of electricity has ignited the puddle of gasoline under my chair.

            I’m about to be burned alive.

            I begin to panic… again. I flail around like crazy, struggling to loosen my chains. Some of the flames flicker up my pant legs.

            “Lance!” Krystal screams. Her chains are rattling so loudly that they almost drown out all the screams and gunfire.

            The flames have now reached my thighs. There’s so much chaos and noise that I can’t think straight. People are screaming, tentacles of electricity are spiraling all over the place, and the incessant flashes of gunfire are about to cause me to have an epileptic seizure.

            I cry out. The flames have burned through my pants and are starting to cook my skin.

            “Boom Boom! Help!”

            I see a flash of movement in the dark, then I topple backwards. My head slams against the steel floor.

            A gorgeous, red-headed girl hovers over me. She’s wearing night-vision goggles, and she’s holding bolt-cutters in one hand and a machine gun in the other. A bandolier full of ammunition is slung across her bullet-proof vest.    

            Boom Boom.

            Without saying a word my, my ex kneels down and snaps through the chains wrapped around my feet. I try to keep quiet, but I can’t. The flames are scorching my legs.

            Seconds later my feet are free. Boom Boom grabs my inflamed pants and rips them off. I glance up just as she tosses the flaming pants on top of an injured mobster lying in a pool of blood. The mobster screams as the pants engulf him in fire.

            Boom Boom moves at lightning speed, snapping through all my chains. Seconds later I jump to my feet. Just in time, too. The entire chair is now bathed in fire. I tear off my smoldering shirt and toss it off to the side. Great, now I’m down to my boxers.

            I glance around and notice the mobsters are still being electrocuted. But Boom Boom is standing next to me.

            “Did you bring someone with you?” I ask.

            “Nope,” Boom Boom replies. “Just a UFO.”

            I look up and see a tiny flying saucer whizzing around the factory, releasing dozens of electrical blasts. A bullet suddenly slams into it, causing the aerial firearm to plummet to the floor.

            “Well that was a waste of $15,000,” Boom Boom gripes.

            Now that the UFO’s destroyed, the gangbangers focus their firepower on us. Boom Boom drags me behind an assembly line just as a trillion bullets streak over our heads. We both peek under the assembly line and gasp. Krystal is still bouncing around in her chair in the middle of no-man’s land.

            I start to stand up, even as bullets careen overhead. Boom Boom yanks me back down and shouts, “What the hell are you doing?”

            “I’m helping Krystal, duh!”

            I try to stand up again, but Boom Boom elbows me in the stomach.

            “You’re going to get yourself killed. Let me handle this.”

            Boom Boom unlatches a grenade from her utility belt and hurls it toward the rear of the factory. A blinding explosion shatters most of the factory windows. The blast rattles my ear drums, causing an incessant ringing sound. The screams multiply.

            “I hope that missed Caesar,” Boom Boom says, her back against one of the massive iron legs of the assembly line. “We need to take him down alive.”

            I nod in the darkness. This is the reason Krystal and I allowed ourselves to be captured in the first place. Maxwell thought we were after him. What an idiot. His $100,000 bounty would maybe cover our expenses for a couple months. We need a more lucrative reward… like the one million dollar bounty sitting on Caesar’s head.

            “We’ll help Krystal in a minute.” Boom Boom uploads another magazine of ammo into her machine gun. “First we need to clear the weeds.”

            Boom Boom fires into the rear of the factory. Bullet casings cascade out of the gun and clatter to the ground. Some of them bounce into my leg.

            I snatch a handgun from Boom Boom’s utility belt and fire off several shots of my own. Since I’m not wearing night-vision goggles I have no idea if I’m hitting anyone, but it makes me feel useful.

            “Where did you get the machine gun?” I shout over the roar of gunfire.

            “From the guard I killed on the roof!” Boom Boom replies.

            “Oh,” is my response.

            Caesar’s goons suddenly stop firing. Boom Boom peeks over the top of the assembly line and curses. “Crap, they’re getting away!

            Boom Boom dashes over to Krystal and snaps her chains with the bolt-cutter.

            “Took you all long enough!” Krystal cries as soon as she’s free. “I saw my life flash before my eyes. I never realized how horrible it was!”

            “Let’s roll,” Boom Boom growls.

             We sprint toward the back exit, hopping over crumpled bodies lying in puddles of blood.  Most of the gangbangers are dead. A few are not.

I shouldn’t feel queasy hearing the shot-up mobsters moan in agony. They’ve raped, tortured, and killed countless people. A lot of them were around my age. Some were younger. Still, I hate seeing people in pain. I block out the screams and keep running.

We reach the back of the factory and skid to a stop. The back door is wide open, but I’m hesitant to dash outside. We could be heading into an ambush.

“Can you see what’s going on?” I ask, gasping for air.

“No,” Boom Boom grumbles. “I’m not getting a signal from our mosquito. I think it got destroyed in the crossfire.”

We cautiously step outside. I swing my gun toward the right and Boom Boom swings hers toward the left. Krystal stays in the back since she’s not armed.

            “Oh crap, I think that’s them!” Boom Boom points toward a dozen insanely expensive Lightning XL convertibles zooming off toward the horizon.

            “Look, an extra car!” Krystal shouts, running toward a Lightning XL parked about 100 feet from us.

            “Krystal, get back here!” Boom Boom shouts.

            Krystal ignores her and opens the front door. “Wait, what’s that beeping sound?”

            “It’s a car bomb!” Boom Boom cries. “Get away from it!”

            “Aww hell!” Krystal runs toward us like a woman possessed. Boom Boom and I dash away from the car as fast as our fatigued legs will carry us. A deafening explosion suddenly sends us flying through the air, colliding into the walls of another abandoned building.

            It takes me a few seconds to regain my bearings. The ringing in my ears drowns out all other sounds. I lift my head and stare in horror at the raging fireball that used to be a $200,000 car. Krystal is a dozen yards away from me, face-down on the ground.

            “Krystal…,” I grumble, crawling to my hands and knees.

            “Krystal?” Boom Boom cries, kneeling over her prone body. “KRYSTAL!”

            I swallow a lump in my throat. “Is she…”

            Krystal coughs and pushes herself up.

            “Krystal!” Boom Boom and I exclaim at the same time.

            Krystal sits up and shakes her head. “I’m getting too old for this shit. I need a new job. Y’all think I’d be a good waitress?”

            “You’d be fucking horrible,” I say with a delirious laugh. I’m just so glad she’s alive.

            We all sit down on the ground and look up at the sky. By now Caesar and his goons are long gone. Even if we found another car to steal, we’d never catch up to them.

            “Well guys, our dream of taking a couple years off from bounty hunting just went down the toilet,” Boom Boom says. “I guess it’s back to picking up small-time crooks.”

            “We have bigger problems than that,” I say.

            “What do you mean?” Boom Boom asks.

            “Caesar isn’t going to forget what we tried to do. He’s going to come after us.”

            Krystal and Boom Boom nod solemnly. They know I’m right.

            We just signed our own death sentences.

Chapter Four: Boom Boom

            I gaze at the countryside as Lance speeds along at 60 miles an hour. The cool breeze blows my hair back, and the air is still full of moisture from yesterday’s storm. The fresh country air does wonders in calming my nerves.

            I yawn and stretch my arms. We’ve been driving for what feels like forever. After our botched apprehension of Caesar last night, we stole a car from some shady junkyard. It’s not a flying car, of course, so we have to drive it the old fashioned way. It makes me feel sorry for my ancestors. Flying is so much faster.

            We drove for a couple hours last night before stopping at a rundown motel for some much-needed rest. None of us got much sleep, though. The motel was crawling with bed bugs, Krystal swore she saw a mouse, the beds were covered in stains (I don’t even want to know what kind), and we were constantly jerked awake by an unending cacophony of gunfire and police sirens. We left at the crack of dawn and have been driving ever since; all the way up Ohio, through southeast Michigan, across the bridge to Canada, and all the way up toward Sanctuary 7, outside the ruins of Toronto.

            The overcast sky is growing darker and darker with each passing second, alluding to the coming dusk. Lance turns on his headlights to illuminate the darkened street.

            “You can tell we’re close now. We’re starting to run into traffic,” Lance says.

            I look around and, sure enough, there are several cars off in the distance. A few speed past us on the opposite side of the road. There are even more cars up in the sky.

            We drive for a little while longer. Pretty soon the massive walls of Sanctuary 7 pop up over the horizon.

            By now we’re driving past the hundreds of thousands of tents and stick huts that make up the Sanctuary 7 slums. Even though it’s dark, tens of thousands of people stand off to the side of the road, peddling trinkets, produce, and home-made clothing. Several outdoor bazaars are cram-packed with people. Children sit off to the side, begging for money. I have to look away. Otherwise I’ll break down and cry if I’m forced to look into their emaciated faces.

            Some of the people walk across the street, completely oblivious to oncoming traffic. Lance constantly slams on the brakes, causing us to lurch forward in our seats. Krystal curses up a storm, but Lance keeps his cool. He knows these people have it rough, and he has no desire to add to their suffocating misery.

            I shake my head in wonder at all the people that are out and about. The Sanctuary houses about a million people, but the population of the slums is estimated to be well over ten times that. Sometimes I wonder why people choose to live here. Crime is nearly 100-times more prevalent outside the Sanctuary walls than it is on the inside, and the poverty rate is a staggering 99%.  But I do suppose it is slightly safer in the slums of a Sanctuary city than it is in a non-Sanctuary city (like Cincinnati).

            Speaking of the Sanctuary, it’s now towering over us. I look up at the walled city in wonder. It never ceases to amaze me. The Sanctuary walls were made to be impregnable, and for the most part they are. They’re well over 1,000-feet high and 100 feet thick. They’re made out of some weird, nearly indestructible compound that’s supposed to be stronger than pure diamond. Thousands of cannons and machine guns jut out of the walls, read to vaporize any army stupid enough to attempt an invasion. Hundreds of guards line the top of the wall. And of course there are thousands of hidden cameras keeping an eye on the surrounding slums.

            There are only four heavily-defended entrances to Sanctuary 7, and they’re all tunnels that lead underground. No one is permitted to fly over the city walls. If any vehicle flies too close, it’s immediately blasted out of the sky, no questions asked.

            We’re now only a few miles from the entrance to the underground tunnel, and traffic is already backed up. Lance tries to speed up to close the gap between us and the car we’re behind, but he’s too slow. A flying car drops right in front of us, nearly clipping our front bumper. Lance curses and lays into the horn. The driver in front of us flashes the universal ‘fuck you’ sign.

            When we’re about a mile from the Sanctuary, traffic essentially stalls. We now have to wait as each and every car in front of us is searched by the guards at the checkpoint. And of course there are always a few people who forget the password, which holds us up even longer. Those unfortunate people are usually taken away for further questioning.

            I totally understand why the guards are so cautious; the last thing any of us want is a Canadian or Chinese terrorist smuggling explosives behind the Sanctuary walls. Still, it’s a major pain in the ass having to go through this every time we leave or enter the city.

            After about an hour we finally reach the checkpoint at the front entrance. There are four booths lined up in front of the tunnel. All four booths are covered in bullet-proof glass, and each booth has an armed guard inside. Two of the booths straddle the entrance part of the tunnel, and the other two straddle the exit.

            After the jerk who cut us off is waved through, we take his place in between the two guards. A silver, Frisbee shaped robot hovers over us, beeping and blinking its little red light. After it realizes we are not smuggling in chemical, biological, or nuclear weapons, the robot flies back on top of one of the checkpoint booths, waiting for the next car.

            The guard on our left leans out of her booth and smiles. It’s Becky, a good friend of ours who lives in our apartment complex. She’s in her early 20s, but she likes to hang out with us because she thinks we’re ‘cool’. (Her words, not mine.)

            “Hey guys,” Becky says, brushing her auburn bangs out of her eyes.

            “Hey Becky. I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Lance says, doing his best ‘player’ impersonation. I see him smiling in his car door mirror. He just can’t help but hit on pretty girls. Flirting is in his DNA.

            “What’s crack-a-lackin’, Becky?” Krystal says. She and Becky do a fist bump and some crazy handshake I’ll never be able to replicate, even if I spent hours practicing it.

            “I’m having a party next Friday. You guys should totally come. My friends love you!” Becky says excitedly.

            “Sounds like a blast,” Lance says. “We’ll try to make it as long as the ole ball and chain over here lets us.”

            Lance jabs his thumb at me, which I immediately smack away.

            “Yeah Boom Boom, don’t book us on a mission that night,” Krystal complains. “You always make us miss fun things.”

            “Well excuse me for making sure we have enough money to pay our bills,” I snap.

            Lance, Krystal and I begin bickering. Becky laughs and says, “You guys crack me up.”

            The guy behind us honks his horn. The guard in the other booth looks up from his holographic computer screen and says, “Wrap it up, Becky. You’re holding up traffic.”

            Becky frowns. “Okay guys, you know the rules. What’s the password?”

            Even though we’ve known Becky for years, we still have to go through the same security clearances as everyone else. I’m sure cameras are watching her. If she doesn’t follow proper Sanctuary security protocol, she’ll be in huge trouble.

            “Crap, I always forget this one,” Lance grumbles, stroking his chin. “It starts with an S, I know that much. And it’s some lame battle from World War 2. Uh… Stalker…? Silo-grad…?”

            “It’s Stalingrad!” I snap impatiently. “It’s been the same password for two weeks now!”

            “Whatever,” Lance says nonchalantly. His carefree attitude really irks me sometimes.

            “Don’t worry, Lance, you won’t have to remember Stalingrad any longer,” Becky says, glancing at her holographic computer screen. “Starting tomorrow the password is Passchendaele.”

            “What?” Lance and Krystal shout simultaneously.

            “It’s a major battle from World War 1,” I say matter-of-factly.

            “Your nerdy ass would know that,” Krystal says. Lance snorts as he tries to stifle his laughter. I narrow my eyes and scowl.

            Becky goes on to ask where we’re coming from. Lance and Krystal give a quick rehash of our mission. They don’t go into too much detail, though, because the jackass behind us keeps honking his horn.

            While my partners are talking, Becky pulls up our files on her holographic computer. I’ve done this enough to know what she’s doing. She’s cross-referencing the reason we gave for leaving the Sanctuary. If our reasons for leaving and entering don’t match up, we’re pulled into a room for further interrogation. I’ve never had to endure it myself, but from what I’ve heard it’s not particularly pleasant. Like I said, the Sanctuaries take safety very seriously. It’s why people pay thousands of dollars a month just to live on the streets inside the walls.

            The guy behind us lays into his horn again. It’s his loudest and longest honk yet.

            “Quit your yakking and move!” the guy shouts, his fiery red face poking out of his window. “I have a freaking wedding to go to!”

            The guard in the other booth flaps his wrist. “Seriously guys, wrap it up. You’re inducing road rage.”

            Becky gives us an apologetic look. “Okay guys, you can go.”

            Lance puts the car in gear and starts to drive off. I suddenly remember I never checked to see if Dorothy and Sally arrived.

            “Wait!” I shout.

            Lance slams on the brakes. The car behind us nearly hits our back bumper and goes on another cussing rampage.

            Becky steps out of her booth and walks over to us.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Did you happen to see two girls come through here?” I ask breathlessly. “They would have been on foot.”

            I point to the long line of people about 100 yards away from us, waiting to enter the pedestrian tunnel.

            Becky frowns and shakes her head. “Sorry Boom Boom, but I’ve been working this entrance all day. I can look them up in the database if you’d like.”

            “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” I say gratefully.

            Lance cocks an eyebrow. Krystal slaps her head and hollers, “Damn it, Boom Boom, tell me you didn’t invite some more strays to our penthouse. You know we can’t afford guests!”

            “They’re not strays!”

            “But they’re hookers?” Lance asks.

            “Well yes, but…”

            “Omigod, Boom Boom, you know we can’t help every prostitute you come across,” Krystal gripes.

            I feel my cheeks flush, but I bite my tongue. Krystal continues grumbling about how my heart is bigger than my brain. Lance, however, doesn’t say a word. He knows how I feel about seeing young girls used and abused. He’s nowhere near as judgmental as Krystal, and for that I am deeply grateful.

            Becky puts on a pair of goggles so she doesn’t have to run back to the computer in her booth. I can see the green light emanating from behind her shades as she scans the Sanctuary’s database. “So what are your friends’ names, Boom Boom?”

            My heart sinks as I realize my response may not be very helpful.

            “Actually, I’m not entirely sure. I mean, I know their first names… Dorothy and Sally… but I didn’t catch their last names. And Dorothy and Sally could be their street names, not their real ones, so…”

            Becky strokes her chin as the green light from her goggles grows brighter. “Well, I’m looking at all the people in the holding room, which is where they would have been detained until you arrived to claim them, but I don’t see any young girls that fit your description.”

            “Can I check?” I ask as a sense of helplessness washes over me.

            Becky removes her goggles and uneasily says, “Er, yeah, I guess.” She hesitantly hands them to Lance, who passes them to me. I notice the other guard scowl at us from his booth. Becky is probably violating protocol by giving us access to the Sanctuary’s database. I hope she doesn’t get in trouble.

            I slip the goggles on and my vision is instantly flooded with green light. I use the computer chip we all have installed in our brain to telepathically navigate the Sanctuary’s network. I soon reach a video feed of the holding room. It’s built to hold up to a thousand people at one time, but there’s only about 40 people in it at the moment, including four armed guards. I scan all the faces, but Dorothy and Sally are nowhere to be seen. The sense of helplessness deepens.

            I take the goggles off and hand them back to Becky.

            “Sorry for holding everyone up,” I say gloomily.

            “It’s okay, Boom Boom,” Becky says. “Sorry I don’t have better news. But I’m sure your friends are alright.”

            We both know that’s a lie. Something bad happened to Dorothy and Sally, and I’ll probably never see them again.

            Lance pats my thigh, something he always does when I’m in a despairing mood. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel a little bit better. Maybe it’s just the human contact from someone who truly cares about me.

            Lance speeds off into the tunnel. The honks and shouts grow fainter and fainter until they disappear completely. The silence is music to my battered eardrums. But that doesn’t come close to compensating for the unease I always feel when I’m in tight, enclosed spaces. The tunnel is actually pretty wide, but it reminds me of a giant, underground tomb. I glance up and wince at the sight of all the nerve gas cannons popping out of the walls. And even though you can’t tell just by looking at it, it’s common knowledge that the ceiling and walls are lined with explosives. If an army were ever dumb enough to attempt an invasion, they would be gassed, then buried alive under tons of rubble. The logical part of my brain knows I’m being ridiculous for imagining noxious gas and debris raining down on top of us. But the paranoid part can’t help it. I clench my eyes shut and take deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm my nerves.

            After what feels like hours, someone touches my thigh again.

            “We’re almost there, Firecracker,” Lance says softly.

            I crack open my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief as the exit to the tunnel rushes into view. Lance is driving so fast that we’ve nearly caught up with the car in front of us.

            Seconds later we burst free from the tunnel and careen out onto the Sanctuary streets. I inhale a deep breath of the fresh air. My nerves instantly settle down.

            I’ve lived in Sanctuary 7 for the past few years, but I never get tired of its sights and sounds. The streets are filled with thousands of men, women, and children enjoying the pleasant evening. The skies are filled with flying cars, weaving in and out of traffic. Brightly-lit skyscrapers tower over us, basking the city in a sort of perpetual twilight. Even in the middle of the night the city streets are brightly lit and filled with activity.

            Floating holographic billboards broadcast advertisements for restaurants, casinos, department stores, bars, whorehouses, and opium dens. Some of the billboards are political advertisements and American propaganda against the Chinese.

            One of the billboards shows President Angela Klaxton and Vice President Cindy LeBeau waving American flags. On the bottom is the tagline ‘Klaxton-LeBeau 2152: Keeping America and the World Safe for 22 Years’. I shake my head in mild amusement. I don’t know why President Klaxton and Vice President LeBeau bother wasting money on all these ads. The election isn’t for another two years, and Klaxton basically runs a dictatorship anyway. The elections are just a formality, an attempt to make people believe America is still a democracy. A surprisingly large number of the American population believes it, too.

            Another billboard shows a picture of the Chinese Empress, Dynasty Xing, sitting on a black throne atop a pile of skulls. It would be a menacing photo if it weren’t for the fact that the Empress is only 17 years old, with a cute and innocent looking face. The caption of the billboard reads: Empress Xing: Public Enemy Number One.

            A third billboard shows the notorious General Kang, and that does send shivers down my spine.  General Kang is choking an American soldier with her right bionic arm while her robotic right eye glows fiery red. Her caption reads: Public Enemy Number Two. She’s one of the world’s most powerful cyborgs and is responsible for millions of deaths. The Empress is the figurehead of the Chinese Empire, but everyone knows General Kang is in charge. No matter how hard the Chinese Empire tries, they will never convince me that the teenage Empress is a genocidal lunatic.

            My attention turns from Kang’s frightening picture to a group of saxophone-toting teenagers playing jazz in a nearby park. Passerbys stop and listen, occasionally tossing a few gold coins into the band’s suitcase. Nearby, a group of elderly men are seated around picnic tables, playing chess. The air is saturated with the enticing aroma of grilled hot dogs, shish kabobs, lamb gyros, and other delicious treats being served by nearby street vendors. My mouth becomes flooded with saliva.

            “Oh man, I am getting hungry!” Krystal says.

            “We can go out and eat later,” Lance says, weaving past a group of kids that run out into the middle of the street, kicking a soccer ball. “I want to get home and check on the kids.”

            My lips curl into a smile. No matter how much Lance annoys me at times, I will always love him for his commitment to his niece and nephew.

            We drive past the open-air football stadium, where a game is currently underway. The deafening jeers from the crowd allude to a score from the opposing team. I glance at the billboard outside the stadium and see they are playing the Sanctuary 22 Tasmanian Devils. If I recall correctly, the Devils are having a good season. I assume this will be another Sanctuary 7 loss.

            Soon we enter the center of the city. Skyscrapers are everywhere now. The Sanctuary only inhabits a limited area, and tons of people want to live here, so they basically cram us all into 1,500-foot tall towers. I’m just glad we were able to purchase a spacious penthouse condo. My claustrophobia would be in full affect if I was squeezed into some windowless, one-room apartment in the basement.

            We pass a number of casinos, bars, whorehouses, and opium dens as well. I’m disgusted the government would allow prostitution in the sanctuaries, but at least the girls are treated much better here than they are outside the walls. The casinos disturb me for another reason entirely. The country still has a staggeringly high poverty rate, even though the Depression started 40 years ago. One would think people would save what little money they have instead of throwing it on a roulette table. But the American Dream nowadays seems to be all about getting rich quick. Everyone wants to live like our wealthy ancestors in the 20th and early 21st centuries. Even though the odds of winning even a minute amount of money via gambling are astronomically small, that doesn’t stop people from betting everything for that fleeting dream.

            Finally, after what seems like forever, we reach our apartment complex. It’s one of the tallest in the city, a vertigo-inducing 1,700 feet tall. Normally we just land on the roof and enter our apartment that way, but today we have to park in the underground garage. Lance drives into the basement and parks in a rare open spot near the back.

            Krystal clambers out of the car and says, “Whew, it smells like doody in here.”

            “Somebody probably did doody in here,” Lance says, holding his nose. “You know all the homeless drunks like to hang out in underground garages when the weather gets bad.”

            Lance’s case is proven correct when I nearly step on a homeless man sleeping near the elevator, covered with a tattered sheet. My heart aches at the sight of him. I would give him some money if I hadn’t given it all to Sally and Dorothy. He obviously has some money, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to afford the $5,000 monthly fee just to live behind the Sanctuary walls. But that’s probably all he can afford, hence the reason he’s sleeping in the garage.

            Lance sees my eyes tearing up and gently tugs at my arm. He just doesn’t want me dragging another ‘stray’ into our apartment.

            “C’mon Firecracker, let’s go see the kids,” he says, leading me to the elevator.

            On the long ride up to the top floor, I quietly wonder what could have happened to Dorothy and Sally. If they took the train like I said, they should have arrived well ahead of us. Could someone have kidnapped them at the station? Could Big Daddy have hunted them down? I realize it’s best for me to stop imagining their fates because I’m only upsetting myself.

            The elevator dings, snapping me out of my thoughts. The elevator door opens, and we walk out into the hallway. Our condo is at the end of the hall. Lance rushes ahead of us. He almost has a hop in his steps. He, like me, loves nothing more than coming home after a death-defying mission.

            Lance knocks on the door since he doesn’t have his key. (He’s still wearing the complimentary robe from the motel, since we never bothered to stop and buy him new clothes.) The door suddenly flies open, and the two cutest kids I’ve ever known rush into Lance’s arms.

            “Lance!!” Blade and Harpoon cry, wrapping their skinny arms around Lance’s waist.

            “Hey guys, what’s up?” Lance asks, smothering them in hugs.

            Blade and Harpoon break free from Lance and run over to me. I throw my arms around the kids and squeeze them tight. I nestle my nose into Harpoon’s flowing blonde hair. I love the way it smells: like lavender-scented strawberries.

            “I’ve missed you guys so much,” I say, not ever wanting to let them go.

            “What am I, chopped liver?” Krystal asks indignantly, her hands on her hips.

            “Krystal!” Blade and Harpoon squeal, running over to my bad-ass friend. Krystal ruins her image as a blood-thirsty lunatic by wrapping the kids in her husky arms.

            “Did you all behave while we were gone?” Krystal shouts, swinging them around like ragdolls. I chuckle at the sight of Blade and Harpoon’s scrawny legs swaying back and forth.

            “Yes Krystal, now let us down! You’re choking us!” Harpoon shrieks.

            A few doors down, an elderly woman with curlers in her hair barges into the hallway and shouts, “Will you damn kids shut up?! I’m trying to watch my stories!”

            “Er, sorry Mrs. Madison,” I say, ushering the kids inside our apartment. Lance and Krystal follow me and we shut the door.

            I walk into the living room and exhale. I immediately feel safe and comfortable. I love everything about our penthouse apartment: the skylight that looks up at the stars, the big comfy couch Lance and I always fall asleep on while watching TV, the holographic TV screen up on the wall, our cozy kitchen with an always-filled basket of apples and bananas (I grab one of each and chow down), our three spacious bedrooms (Lance and I share the same room, which is great when we’re getting along, but horrible when we fight), and even our bathroom, which always smells like a flower-filled meadow thanks to the air fresheners I buy at the store. This is home, the only home I’ve ever known. This is why my friends and I risk our lives catching crooks, so we can afford to live in a safe, cozy, luxurious penthouse apartment inside the walls of a heavily fortified city fortress.

            I follow Krystal into the room she shares with her elderly grandmother, Beverly. Beverly is in bed, wrapped in a comforter. She lifts her frail face and asks, in a creaky voice, “Krystal darling, is that you?”

            “Yes Grandma, we made it back in one piece,” Krystal says, kneeling by her grandmother’s side. “How you feeling?”

            Beverly responds with a series of coughs that seem to wrack her entire body. I leave Krystal and her grandmother alone and shut the door. We were going to use our $1 million reward to buy her some stronger medicine, but that plan went out the window. I can only hope she hangs on until we cash in on another lucrative bounty, whenever that may be.

            Blade and Harpoon are still hopping around like they’re on a sugar high, telling Lance all about what they did while we were gone. Lance, acting like their caring father, listens eagerly, asking questions when he can get a breath in. He takes off his robe, and I gasp when I see how badly scarred and bruised his half-naked body looks under our fluorescent lights. The kids notice, too, because they stop talking about their day and ask Lance if he’s okay.

            “Don’t worry about me, guys,” Lance grunts, gripping his right arm. “I’ll be okay. I just need some rest.”

            “Harpoon, please go grab Lance’s robe out of his bedroom,” I say. Harpoon jumps up and rushes into the room. I open the medicine cabinet and withdraw a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze.

            Lance’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh no, you’re not rubbing that crap on me.”

            “Lance, don’t be stupid,” I snap irritably, grabbing his badly scarred right arm. “Your wounds are going to get infected.”

            Lance bites his lip, but he can’t help but groan and grunt when I pour the alcohol along his various wounds. I dab the wounds with a cloth, then I wrap gauze around his bicep. I do this to his legs, his stomach, his back, and a few other places. Pretty soon he looks like a mummy that ran out of wrap. Harpoon hands Lance his robe, which he gingerly puts on. I grab an icepack out of the fridge and hand it to him, which he immediately places over his bruised right eye. It may take a few weeks, but I have full faith Lance will fully recover. He always does.

            “What about you?” Lance asks, pointing at the bruises on my cheeks.

            “I’ll be fine,” I say, waving him off. “Your injuries are much more severe.”

            Lance is about to say something, but Blade excitedly says, “Why are you guys so beat up? Who did you go after this time?”

            “Yeah Lance, tell us!” Harpoon exclaims.

            Lance proceeds to rattle off an animated tale of how we nearly took down one of America’s most wanted criminals. Harpoon and Blade stare at Lance in wide-eyed wonder, gasping and cheering at all the appropriate points. They really are the world’s cutest kids. Blade is turning into such a handsome young man. He reminds me so much of Dagger and Lance, with his shaggy blond hair, intense blue eyes, strong jawline, and his slender but athletic looking physique. I can see why all the neighborhood girls want to hang out with him.

            Harpoon is just as cute. She is turning into a stunning young woman. Her long, blonde hair dangles over her face as she follows Lance’s story with the same intensity one would have watching an action-packed movie.

            Lance finishes his tale without telling the kids we got screwed out of a lucrative bounty. We try not to bother them with our monetary concerns. It’s not something they should have to worry about.

            Harpoon and Blade stare at Lance and me with huge, approving grins. They think we’re superheroes or something, and it flatters me to no end.

            After Lance finishes his death-defying story, he and I move to the living room to watch the news. Krystal comes in a few seconds later. We always check out the news because it gives us ideas and clues as to who we should go after next. We’re always on the lookout for a lucrative bounty.

            According to the reporter on CNN, there was a car bomb in the slums of Sanctuary 3 today, killing 60 and wounding over 200. The police believe it was the work of Canadian terrorists. And apparently over in China, Mikhail Rasputin’s terror group, the Purple Dragons, blew up an elementary school, killing nearly 300. They also attacked a police academy, killing dozens, and are thought to have blown up a plane over Russia, killing another 150 people.

            After that is a video of the Chinese Empress sitting atop her pile of skulls, speaking to the American people in Chinese. (An English translation scrolls across the bottom.) Speaking in a monotone, unemotional voice, the 17-year old Empress of the world’s largest superpower accuses the United States of the Americas of harboring Mikhail and thereby supporting his terrorist tactics. She demands President Klaxton abide by the Klaxton-Xing peace treaty signed while her parents were still alive and assist the Chinese in capturing Mikhail, a man with the blood of thousands of Chinese on his hands. (The Chinese seem to believe Mikhail is hiding out here, even though there’s absolutely no evidence supporting that crazy theory.) If the Americans do not comply, the Empress continues, she may be compelled to send special ops forces in after him. That, of course, would be a precursor to world war. Video breaks away to footage of several Chinese aircraft carriers about 150 miles off the coast of Alaska.

            The video cuts back to the reporters, who appear visibly stunned.

            As the news correspondents plunge into hysteria, I simply roll my eyes, as does Lance. We both know the U.S. and China will never go to war. Both empires have thousands of nuclear and antimatter warheads pointed at each other. Just like the Cold War in the mid-20th century, there will be a lot of posturing and accusations, but no war. At least, I hope that’s the case.  

            “Well ain’t that some shit,” Krystal says, standing up and stretching. “I bet Klaxton is hiding Rasputin.”

            Lance blows raspberries. “That’s ridiculous. I think we can all agree that Klaxton is a cold, arrogant, psychotic tyrant, but even she isn’t stupid enough to risk another world war just to help some Russian terrorist.”

            “You know what they say,” Krystal says, chomping on an apple from the fruit basket. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

            I’m about to say something, but then I realize Krystal may have a point. She really is a lot smarter than she lets on.

            “I’m gonna get a shower and put on a new wig,” Krystal says, rummaging around in her wig closet. She pulls out a bright blue one with green streaks. “What do you guys think of this one?”

            “It’s perfect if you’re thinking about going to clown school,” Lance replies. The kids giggle.

            Krystal hurls her half-eaten apple at Lance, who catches it in mid-air and eats around her bite-marks. Krystal mutters some unflattering remarks and storms into the bathroom. Seconds later I hear the water running in the shower.

            “Don’t use all the hot water!” I shout. Krystal is notorious for taking long showers.

            “God, I hate school!” Blade shouts, slamming his head on the table.

            “Don’t say that, school’s cool,” Lance says, walking over to the dining room table. I follow after them. (The news is depressing anyway.)

            “You sound like some lame public service announcement,” I say, playfully punching Lance in the arm. Deep down inside, though, I don’t think he’s ever sounded sexier. I have a soft spot for men who value a good education.

            “If school’s so cool, why do they make us do these hard-ass assignments?” Blade whines.

            “Hey, don’t cuss,” I snap. “I don’t know where you guys get that from.”

            Lance, Harpoon, and Blade all stare at me with goofy grins.

            “Really, Boom Boom?” Harpoon asks. “You have no idea?”

            I roll up a piece of paper and toss it at her head. It bounces off and falls to the floor while she giggles like a pig. I love her laugh so much.

            I sit down across from Blade and ask, “What are you guys working on?”

            Blade puts his head in his hands and grumbles, “I have to write a stupid report on what started the Horrible Depression. I hate history!”

            “Bite your tongue,” I say. “History can be fascinating if you have an open mind.”

            “But I don’t have an open mind!” Blade whines.

            Lance chuckles. “What are you working on, Pumpkin?”

            Harpoon looks up from her paper and says, “I’m writing a paper on why the U.S. started using bounty hunters to fight crime. I could use your help, too, when you get done with Dumbo over there.”

            Harpoon points to Blade, who sticks out his tongue.

            I pat Harpoon on her hand . “We’ll help you in a moment, dear. Now Blade, Lance and I will be more than happy to help you, but we’re not writing your paper.”

            “But you did last time and you got me an A!” Blade says.

            “I only rewrote it because I was horrified at your terrible grammar and gross historical inaccuracies,” I say bluntly. “And I got a call from your teacher the following day asking if you really wrote it because it was so excellent.”

            “What can I say, you’re a natural at writing essays,” Blade says in an attempt to be cute. I have to admit it works.

            “You are such a ham,” I say. “But I’m not writing your paper again. You write it and Lance and I will give you a quick history lesson on the Horrible Depression.”

            Lance puts his feet up on the table and sticks his hands behind his head. “You can give him a history lesson, Firecracker. I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.”

            I give Lance a dirty look, but I’m actually quite happy he’ll allow me to give the history lesson uninterrupted. Lance is a smart guy, but history is definitely not his forte.

            Blade pops up his holographic screen and prepares to type. His face appears distorted through the back of the quasi-transparent blue screen.

            “It’s probably best to start at the beginning,” I say. Blade types a few words and looks over the top of his screen, waiting for me to elaborate. Harpoon is busy typing away on her computer, but I see her occasionally glancing at me, eager to hear what I have to say. She reminds me so much of myself when I was her age, a young girl thirsty for knowledge.

            “Scientists started raising the alarm about climate change way back in the late 20th century, but no one really took it seriously until the catastrophic weather events of the second half of the 21st century. World governments poured trillions of dollars into geo-engineering projects to cool our rapidly warming world, but by then it was too late. The damage had already been done.

            “By the end of the 21st century the world population was well over 10 billion, but we didn’t have enough food, water, or space for that many people. This resulted in devastating famines, droughts, and eventually dozens of regional wars. Rainforests were decimated, deserts grew at an alarming rate, sea levels rose dramatically, the oceans became acidic, and people died off in droves. Famine, disease, war, and ultimately death… it was like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were walking the Earth, collecting scalps.”

            “Whoa, you’re right, history is awesome!” Blade exclaims, tapping away on his holographic screen. “I didn’t know history had death and destruction!”

            Harpoon grumbles that her brother is an idiot. I smirk and continue.  

            “At the beginning of the 22rd century, things got exponentially worse as the global temperature skyrocketed. Giant chunks of the Greenland and West Antarctic ice caps collapsed and plunged into the ocean, raising sea levels even further. Billions of people around the world had to evacuate from coastal areas that were rapidly being swallowed by the seas. Entire islands in the South Pacific simply vanished off the face of the Earth. The United States was forced to build a massive sea wall around coastal areas. The sea wall built around New York City was meant to withstand a direct hit from a Category 5 Hurricane. That, unfortunately wouldn’t be enough. The world’s first ever Category 6 Hurricane ravaged the entire length of the country’s east coast before slamming into Long Island. The sea wall was utterly annihilated by the monstrous storm, and most of New York was flooded. Tens of thousands of people died, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Wall Street was demolished, and with it trillions of dollars’ worth of wealth evaporated. The entire planet was plunged into a depression overnight. On a side note, that same hurricane flooded the Potomac, forcing Washington, D.C. to be relocated to the interior of Alaska.”

            I stop to give Blade a chance to finish typing. “Wow, who knew homework could be so exciting?”

            “It’s not exciting, Blade,” Harpoon laments thoughtfully. “Boom Boom is telling us about a horrible period in world history. It’s why things are so screwed up today.”

            Blade sighs and rolls his eyes. He hates it when his sister criticizes him.

            “So what happened next?” he asks eagerly.

            “Well, the hurricane was the catalyst that led to the Climate Change War. Millions of people began leaving the growing deserts of South and Central America and tried to migrate to the northern part of the U.S. So did Americans who lived in the western and southern part of the country. The government was overwhelmed. Canada and Alaska were the only parts of the North American continent that benefited from the changing climate. The warming temperatures thawed the frozen tundra and the climate there actually became quite pleasant. Mere months after the New York Hurricane, the U.S. military invaded Canada and overthrew the government. Canada became America’s newest and biggest state, and millions of people set up settlements there and in Alaska.  

            “Soon the U.S. started building Sanctuary cities for rich people who could afford to live there. We now have 50 Sanctuary cities scattered throughout Canada and Alaska. This was in response to exploding crime rates all over the country. The depression forced the country to radically slash their budgets, laying off thousands of police officers. This allowed crime to flourish, a problem that exists to this day.

            “War erupted in the east, too. The Chinese Empire was reeling from the growing Gobi Desert and receding coast lines. Their population was (and still is) much larger than ours, so they decided to invade their massive neighbor to the north, Russia. That’s why the news is always filled with reports of Russian terrorists waging a guerrilla war against their Chinese overlords.

            “The entire continent of Africa basically transformed into a giant desert, forcing hundreds of millions of Africans to migrate up through Europe. The Middle East became a barren wasteland as well. Europe quickly devolved into a bastion of hatred and discrimination, as the traditionally white population developed resentment over the influx of African and Arabic immigrants. Germany became gripped in the same racist, fascist fever that propelled it to world war in the 20th century. Great Britain and other surrounding countries followed suit. Immigrants were rounded up and routinely beaten, jailed, and massacred. The entire continent of Europe is now basically a Neo Nazi-esque wasteland cut off from the rest of the world. No one knows how many ethnic immigrants have succumbed to this new Holocaust, but it is rumored to be in the tens of millions.”

            “Omigosh, that’s terrible!” Harpoon cries.

            “Yeah, this isn’t exciting anymore,” Blade says, looking a little sick in the face.

            “History is saturated with such atrocities,” I say sadly. “100 years ago such crimes would have been condemned by the international community. There was a coalition of nations called NATO that helped overthrow genocidal regimes. Alas, that was a long time ago. Now genocide is met with a shrug.      

            “Pretty soon the U.S. and China had invaded all the available arable land on Earth, with the exception of Europe, which, like I said, became cut off from the rest of the world. During those tumultuous years billions of people perished, most of it from famine and drought. America controlled the entire Western Hemisphere while China ruled the Eastern Hemisphere. For years it looked like both empires were headed for war, but then Angela Klaxton was elected the 65th president of the United States during the 2128 presidential election. She knew war with China would end all life as we know it, so she signed a peace treaty with Empress Xing’s parents a few months after taking office. The world has been relatively peaceful ever since, save for Russian and Canadian terrorist activity. Of course, things between the U.S. and China have grown heated over the past several months, mostly due to Mikhail Rasputin’s terrorist attacks, but a new war is highly unlikely. Both empires realize a world war would lead to the complete destruction of Planet Earth.”

            “My teacher says President Klaxton has been in power longer than any president in history,” Blade says. “Is that true?”

            “Yes, it is,” I say gloomily. “She altered the 22nd amendment halfway through her second term, allowing unlimited term limits. She’s won in a landslide ever since. I fear the days of America being a representative democracy are over. Klaxton is more of dictator nowadays than a president.”

            I look over to see Blade typing feverishly. “Uh, why don’t you leave out the part about Klaxton being a dictator,” I say nervously. “I don’t want to give the government a reason to investigate us.”

            Blade grumbles as he deletes some of what he wrote.

            “So what’s going on with the climate?” Harpoon asks. “Isn’t the planet getting better? That’s what my teacher says.”

            “Yes and no,” I reply honestly. “While a lot of the destruction to our planet is irreversible… mass extinctions, razed rainforests, vaporized glaciers and ice caps… a lot is being done to stabilize Earth’s fever. Millions of artificial trees have been planted in deserts throughout the world, most notably in the Amazon, the Sahara, and the Gobi. These trees suck carbon dioxide and methane gas out of the atmosphere, and that gas is then injected underground in limestone formations. We also have thousands of sunlight-reflecting mirrors strategically placed in orbit, deflecting just enough sunlight to help lower temperatures by a few degrees. In recent years there’s been a mass infusion of algae in the oceans. This algae sucks even more carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. Giant sulfur generating machines in the Arctic and Antarctic also help put a dent in rising temperatures. And of course we’re all aware of the artificial rainstorms the U.S. and China are continuously churning out. All of these geo-engineering projects have stabilized temperatures somewhat, but we are a long way from getting them back down to early 20th century levels.”

            “Well at least things won’t get worse,” Harpoon replies gloomily. “It still sucks all those awesome animals died, like tigers, polar bears and pandas. We learned about them in science class, and they look neat.”

            Blade continues tapping away on his holographic keyboard. “Gee, thanks Boom Boom! I’m gonna sound smart when I read this in class tomorrow.”

            “I’ll be sure to tell Ms. Taylor that Boom Boom told you what to write,” Harpoon says smugly.

            Blade pushes her, and of course Harpoon shoves him back.

            “Knock it off, you two,” I say curtly. “And Harpoon, don’t rat out your brother. No one likes a tattle-tale.”

            “Oh alright,” Harpoon grumbles. I almost feel bad for ruining her fun.

            I try to make up for it by asking, “So what is your paper about again?”

            “Oh, I was just writing about how bounty hunters are now being used to fight crime, where back in the day it was left to cops.”

            “I can actually help you with this, squirt,” Lance says. “Back in the day we had giant police forces that were able to keep crime under control. After the depression hit, local governments went bankrupt. Now they can only afford a handful of cops, and since they can’t pay them well, most of them are corrupt. The federal government decided the best way to handle the exploding crime rate was to outsource crime-fighting to bounty hunters. The government decides who has broken what laws and, if they can’t capture the crooks with the local police, they put a bounty on their heads. The bigger the crook, the bigger the bounty.”

            “Wait a minute,” Blade says as he finishes up his report. “If the government can’t afford to pay for cops, how can they afford to pay you guys?”

            “Good question,” I say. “Think of it this way. The U.S. would probably need close to a million cops to handle all the crime plaguing the nation. They would have to pay untold billions for all those salaries, health benefits, and pensions. Instead, they can charge $100,000 to capture say, a major drug lord, and leave all the work of capturing that drug lord to thousands of freelance bounty hunters.”

            “Oh, I get it,” Harpoon says. “The government basically gets thousands of people working for them for free.”

            “Yep,” I say. “Sure the government has to pay a large fee when one of us finally nabs a crook, but it’s a fraction of the cost they would have spent on a massive police force. It’s basically a clever way for Klaxton to get the country to police itself.”

            I spend the next several minutes looking over Blade’s paper while Lance heads into his room. (I don’t bother helping Harpoon, she gets straight A’s.) I just finish fixing all of Blade’s typos when Lance walks by with a joint in his mouth.

            “Lance, I told you to stop smoking that crap!”

            “Get off my back. I use this for medical purposes. I was set on fire, you know.”

            “You can at least not do it in front of the kids!”

            “Fine, I’ll go up to the roof.” Lance presses a button on the wall and stairs descend from the skylight. He jogs up the stairs, opens the window, and steps out.

            “I better never catch any of you doing drugs,” I say to the kids.

            “We won’t,” Harpoon and Blade grumble.

            I’m so furious I storm into my room and slam the door. I’m angry at Lance for smoking, but I’m also mad at myself for being a hypocrite. He uses marijuana to ease his pain, while I use pain pills. If Lance ever found out I was addicted to them, I’d never hear the end of it.

            I type in the password to the lock on my drawer and open it. Inside are several pill bottles. I pick the strongest ones and gulp down three of them.

            I feel myself fighting back tears. I always get like this after a big mission, especially if we’ve all been beaten up. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. It can’t be healthy to constantly get strangled, beaten, and shot. If only we could find an easier way to make money. Or even just make enough from one apprehension to take a year off. Caesar was supposed to be that break, and of course that didn’t work out.

            I wait for the pain pills to take effect. They finally do, numbing the pain that seems to wrack my body every second of every day. But even though the physical pain has receded, the emotional trauma still lingers. Every day I feel like I’m losing more and more of my mind. I’m not sure if it’s the pills, our insane lifestyle, the stress of caring for Blade and Harpoon, or a combination of everything. I do my best to hold myself together, but it’s been so hard without Dagger. He was like a father figure to me. Whenever we had problems, he knew how to fix them. Now I don’t have anyone to go to… no one to ask for advice, to hold me when I’m on the brink of despair, to tell me everything will be okay. Lance tries to fill that void the best he can, but unfortunately the void is too large… too deep. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the tears from pouring down my cheeks.

            I’m not sure how long I sit there with my head in my hands, sobbing quietly, but I finally look up when there’s a knock on the door.

            I wipe my eyes and sniff repeatedly to clear my congested sinuses. “Come in!”

            The door slowly opens and Lance’s head appears.

            “What?” I snap. “Can’t I have a little privacy?”

            Normally Lance would respond sarcastically. Instead he says, “You need to see this.”

            He then walks away.

            Lance isn’t good at hiding his emotions. When he’s in a goofy mood, he acts goofy. When he’s mad, he’s mad; when he’s sad, he’s sad; and when he’s serious, he’s serious. And this time, he’s serious.

            I jump up and glance around the room. My heart skips a beat when I notice the pill bottle sitting on the dresser. I wonder if Lance saw it. I shove the bottle in my drawer and lock it.

            I rush into the living room and almost run into Krystal, who is standing in front of the holographic TV in her bathrobe. She has her goofy new wig on. Blade and Harpoon are on the couch, looking bored. Lance, however, has a grim look on his face. The live newsfeed is paused. He must have stopped it for me.

            “I rewound it to the beginning,” he says. “It just came on a few minutes ago.”

            Lance waves his hand and the newsfeed unfreezes. The young, blonde reporter is sitting in front of the camera, with her finger near her ear. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she looks directly at the camera and says, “Sorry folks, I was just being fed some breaking news. We have received word that wanted fugitive Caesar Dominguez has released a video.”

            The screen goes black for a few seconds, then Caesar appears. The footage is grainy, but it’s obvious it’s him. He’s sitting in a chair, and Maxwell is by his side.

            “Greetings,” Caesar begins. “Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know who I am. I would hate to waste everyone’s precious time, so let me get straight to the point. Unlike our worthless government, I understand people are hurting. I know times are tough. I’ve done my best over the years to employ people, but the government has made that exceedingly difficult by cracking down on my very popular business ventures. They view me as a criminal, even though I think most of you would agree that the government is far more cruel and sadistic than I could ever hope to be. We all have had friends and family members arrested by Klaxton’s secret police. A lot of those poor souls are never seen from again. The few that are released are never quite the same. Merciless torture can do that to the strongest of individuals.”

            Caesar pauses for a moment before continuing his fiery diatribe. “Despite Dictator Klaxton’s sadistic crackdown on me and my fellow business associates, she is not who this video is about. No, this video is about the three individuals who tried to assassinate me earlier today. I’m referring to the infamous ‘Teenage Bounty Hunters’.”

            The screen cuts away to a picture of me, Lance, and Krystal. Our faces are plastered on ‘Wanted’ posters.

            “Dear God…,” Lance mutters in a barely audible whisper.

            “These are the people I am after… Lance, Boom Boom, and Krystal,” Caesar says as the camera zooms in on our faces. “I want them captured and delivered to me. Dead or alive, it does not matter. Although if they are brought in alive, I could be convinced to add a significant bonus to the reward. I would love to perform the same sort of ‘interrogation techniques’ our government uses against us.”

            That, of course, is a thinly veiled reference to ruthless torture.

            The video flickers and Caesar and Maxwell appear once more. This time Caesar’s face is a hideous mask of unadulterated rage.

            In a quivering voice that builds to a mighty crescendo, Caesar bellows, “I want these pieces of scum brought to me, and I am willing to pay a handsome reward for their capture. As I said in the beginning, I realize times are tough. That is why I am more than willing to pay ten million dollars for their heads!”

            Harpoon and Blade both gasp. Lance smacks his head and says, “Holy shit!!”

            Krystal gags on her pretzels and cries, “Ah hell naw, I gotta get my fat, black ass out of the country!”

            My head starts spinning. I back up against the couch and sit on the arm rest.

            “Ten million dollars for the heads of Lance, Boom Boom, and Krystal,” Caesar repeats. “If you have a desire to live the rest of your days as a king, I will provide the means. All I ask is that you help me exact vengeance.”

            The screen flickers, then it goes dark. Seconds later the reporter comes back on, looking as pale and shaken as the rest of us.

            Harpoon starts crying and throws her arms around Lance’s leg. “I don’t want you guys to die!” she wails. “You’re all we have!”

            Lance hugs Harpoon back and calmly replies, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll be okay. I promise.” His shaking voice suggests he doesn’t believe his own words.

            I glance at Blade. He’s still on the couch, but he looks as frightened as he did when he was younger, when the Boogeyman lived in his closet.

            I sit down next to him. He sniffles and gives me a hug.

            “Seriously guys, don’t worry,” I say soothingly.” We can handle ourselves. No one’s going to come after us. We’re the good guys, remember?”

            But the truth is, I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life. The concept of good and evil is divided by nothing more than a blurry, gray line nowadays. We’re in the middle of the worst depression in history. People are broke, starving, and desperate. $10,000,000 is an unfathomable amount of money. It’s why we went after Caesar for one tenth of that amount.

            Dagger used to always say, “His goose is cooked,” when we closed in on a target. Now I think that phrase applies to us. Our goose has avoided the oven for years, but now… thanks to the botched apprehension of one of the most powerful crime bosses in America… our goose is about to be thrown straight into the fiery pits of Hell.

Chapter Five: Lance

            “This is the place?” I ask as we approach the desolate warehouse.

            “That’s what Al said,” Boom Boom says. There’s a slight quiver in her voice.

            I grab Boom Boom’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. If things get out of control, Krystal will bail us out.”

            Boom Boom stifles a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s not making me feel any better.”

            Yeah, me neither. Krystal is currently parked on some rooftop a mile away. She’s supposed to be watching us with the new goggles and robotic mosquito we just bought. But knowing her she’s probably watching some trashy reality show.

            I look up at the star-filled sky through my own green-tinted shades, but I don’t see any mosquitos buzzing around. I assume it’s up there somewhere. I’m just glad it’s not raining. The government’s really gone overboard with all their artificial rainstorms. I personally think they’ve screwed up the gulf-stream with all their geo-engineering, and they don’t know how to control it anymore. But of course the government would never admit that.

            Boom Boom squeezes my hand back. She still seems tense. In an attempt to calm her down, I seductively lick my lips and say, “You look good in leather, Firecracker.”

            Boom Boom smacks my arm. “Don’t be a pervert, we’re on a mission.”

            I notice her lips twitch ever-so-slightly. Score one for me.

            I’m not joking when I say Boom Boom looks good, either. I mean, she always looks great, but right now she looks even sexier than usual. She’s dressed in a low-cut shirt that shows off some serious cleavage. She also has on a leather jacket, tight leather pants, and high-heel boots.

            But Boom Boom’s leather outfit isn’t the hottest thing about her disguise. It’s her dyed blonde hair. Since we’re well-known in the criminal underworld, sometimes we have to go to extreme lengths to hide our identities. Boom Boom’s red hair is a distinctive feature, so she occasionally dyes it. I love her fiery red hair, but the blonde dye is really hot.

            As we get closer to the factory, Boom Boom slows down.

            “What’s wrong now?”

            Boom Boom looks around frantically. “I have a bad feeling about this. It’s quiet… a little too quiet.”

            Boom Boom’s right. The factory looks abandoned. There are no lights in the parking lot, nor are there any cars. In fact, there’s no sign whatsoever that thousands of people are here for an underground steel cage brawl.

            “Now wait a minute,” I say. “You just assured me this is the right place. Why are you suddenly having doubts?”

            Boom Boom sighs. “I don’t know. Can we really trust Al?”

            “I wouldn’t if he was sober. But he was totally wasted. Drunk people don’t lie. They just blurt stuff out.”

            “I just don’t like walking into these things unarmed.”

            I know exactly how Boom Boom feels. I always feel naked without my gun. But we have to go in unarmed. The guards are going to frisk us. At least, according to drunk Al they will.

            We continue our long march toward the deserted factory. I flash back to what led us to this mission in the first place.

            It all started two days ago, one day after we got back from Cincinnati. We spent most of our savings replacing all the weapons, armor, and ammo we lost going after Caesar. We also bought a crappy used car that barely flies. (It stalled twice in mid-air on the way over.)

            Basically we’re broke. With rent coming up, we’re in desperate need of a big payday, fast. So my pals and I do what we always do when we’re strapped for cash: we go looking for high-bounty bad guys.

            We spent a couple hours searching through our database of wanted criminals and eventually decided to go after Remy Pelletier, the U.S.’s most wanted financier of Canadian terrorist groups.

            The main reason we decided to go after Pelletier is because of the whopping bounty on his head: $750,000. According to our intel (and what we heard about him on the news), Remy is a pretty sleazy guy. But he’s also super smart and ruthless. His biography says that his dad was a rich and powerful pharmaceutical tycoon who died under ‘mysterious circumstances’ a few years back.  Shortly after his dad’s death, Remy embezzled the pharmaceutical company out of hundreds of millions of dollars, forcing it into bankruptcy. He then went on the run and used his money to fund terror groups around the globe, predominantly Canadian and Russian ones. He’s rumored to be one of Mikhail Rasputin’s major American backers.

            Apparently Remy isn’t good at handling his finances, though, because he soon ran out of money. He’s rumored to be a high-rolling playboy who spends millions a year on booze, women, drugs, and high-stakes poker games (which he seems to always lose). Nowadays he raises money for his playboy lifestyle and terrorist funding by being a sort of ‘universal’ bookie who puts together underground steel cage brawls. The government outlawed the brawls years ago because people kept getting killed. The fights still go on, though, and Remy is the ringleader. People come to the fights and place bets, and Remy skims a percentage of all the winnings.

            Practically every bounty hunter in the country has tried to track down Remy at one point or another, but no one’s ever come close to nabbing him. He’s too clever and he has too many connections. We, however, have a secret weapon that helped put us on his trail.

            During my uncle’s 20-plus year career as a bounty hunter, he created a giant database of all the fugitive criminals in America. He even made a list of international fugitives in case he ever came across them during his travels. The database not only includes the names and faces of the criminals, but it also has all their known aliases and past residences, plus a list of all their friends, family, enemies, and casual acquaintances.

             After Uncle Dagger died, Boom Boom continued to update the list whenever we stumbled upon new information, or heard it on the news. Boom Boom also spends countless hours each week doing her own research. She looks stuff up online, hacks into government databases, and infiltrates criminal networks. Boom Boom is essentially a computer genius, and I quite frankly don’t know where I would be without her. She’s the reason we were able to track down Caesar, and she’s the reason we got a lead on Remy.

            Boom Boom only had to spend a few minutes on Remy’s file before she discovered one of our neighbors, Al Shank, was recently arrested on suspicion of attending one of Remy’s fights. He apparently tried to deposit a crap-load of undocumented money into his checking account. That caught the attention of bank investigators, who called the cops. Fortunately for Al, he was never convicted for lack of evidence. With that being said, everyone knows Al used to gamble at the fights when they were legal, so he was placed on a watch list of Remy sympathizers.

            Al is basically an older, lonely guy who likes to spend his evenings passed out on a bar floor. Boom Boom and I knew we could get him to talk as long as we liquored him up, so we offered to take him out to dinner. We then wined and dined him until his speech became slurred and he staggered when he walked. After that we took him back to his place and wined him some more. After that we asked him when Remy was hosting his next fight. Al freely gave us that information. The next steel cage brawl was today, in Detroit, at the abandoned warehouse less than 100 feet away from us.

            I take a deep breath and walk right up to the front door. Boom Boom holds my hand, but she lags half a step behind.

            When I reach the door, I knock ten times. (According to Al, that’s the secret knock.) I hear nothing but the dull clang of my knuckles against rusted iron. After that, silence.

            Boom Boom and I wait for about a minute, but no one answers the door.

            Boom Boom sighs irritably. “Al gave us the wrong address. What a waste of time.”

            “Oh well,” I say, stepping back from the door. “I guess we can go after Maxine Irving, the chick who killed those two cops in Cleveland. We at least have a decent idea of where she might be hiding.”

            “But her bounty is only $50,000,” Boom Boom points out. “We’ll blow through that money in no time.”

            I’m about to say something when I’m interrupted by a creaking sound. I spin around to find a small rectangular peephole near the center of the door. I didn’t notice it before, so someone must have just opened it. I lean closer to get a better look and immediately jump back when a pair of sunglasses appears.

            The man wearing the shades gruffly barks, “What’s the password? And hurry up with it if ya don’t wanna get shot.”

            A gun clicks from behind the door. My mind draws a blank. Al told us the password, but I can’t for the life of me remember it.

            Thankfully Boom Boom is a bit more clear-headed than I am. She calmly says, “The password is ‘Klaxton is a dirty whore’. Now let us in, jackass. I wanna see Sasquatch beat the crap out of Abyss.”

            I smirk at Boom Boom’s amazing acting. She even bothered to learn the names of the steel cage fighters, something I didn’t think to do.

            I’m not the only one impressed, either. The guy behind the iron door chuckles and says, “You’re a woman after my own heart. Just a second, sweetheart.”

            The slab to the peephole slams shut. I hear the clinking and clanging of locks being unlatched, then the creaky iron door slowly opens. Two large, muscular men in black suits step out with large pistols. They both have shades on, and scars crisscross their rugged faces. They’ve definitely earned their pay as security guards.

            The guards proceed to pat us down. One of the douchebags rubs his hands up and down my legs while the other swings his gun back and forth between me and Boom Boom. After he’s done with me, he moves on to her.

            Boom Boom slaps the guard’s hand. “I think you’re doing molesting me.”

            The guard turns to me and says, “You got a real firecracker on your hands, sonny.”

            If he only knew.

            The guard reaches for Boom Boom’s goggles. She grabs his wrist and snarls, “Lay off the merchandise, buddy.”

            The guard yanks his arm out of Boom Boom’s grasp. “It’s just protocol, ma’am. We wanna make sure these aren’t those fancy goggles that record stuff.”

            “We like to keep our glasses on,” Boom Boom says, opening the large burlap sack she’s carrying. “We have a lengthy rap sheet. We don’t want to be… recognized… if you know what I mean.”

            “A lot of people here have rap sheets,” the guard says, cocking his head as Boom Boom dips her hand into the sack. “So, uh, what’s in the bag?”

            Boom Boom pulls out her hand and opens it palm-up, revealing five gold coins.

            Boom Boom tilts her head, allowing her shades to slide down her nose. Her bright, green eyes peer over the top of the shades, sparkling in the moonlight.

            “How about a little bribe to expedite the process?”

            The guards exchange smiles and aim their guns at Boom Boom’s head.

            “How about you give us all the gold coins?” says the guard standing next to me.

            “Yeah, then we can talk,” says the other.

            I’m just about to take down both guards when Boom Boom calmly replies, “I don’t think you want to do that. Unless, of course, you want to explain to Remy why I wasn’t able to deliver his payment?” Boom Boom shakes the bag, causing the coins to jingle.

            The guards gulp and step back.

             “Er, no, we wouldn’t want that at all. F… follow me.”

            The guards hurry inside the dark factory. Boom Boom shrugs and follows them, her burlap bag swinging at her side. I bring up the rear.

            We walk down the dark, deserted hallway in silence. All the windows are boarded up, preventing any moonlight from entering. If it wasn’t for my goggles I wouldn’t be able to see at all.

            We stop at a steel door in the back. One of the guards presses his finger against a scanner, and the door slides open. Bright light floods the hall.

            The guard gestures toward the door. “Enjoy your evening, kids.”

            The guards scurry off.

            I turn to Boom Boom and ask, “You ready?”

            “I guess,” she replies. “Let’s get this over with.”

            We both walk through the doorway, which immediately shuts behind us.

            When I first walk into the room, I’m nearly overpowered by all the sights, sounds, and smells. The center of the factory has been remade into a brightly-lit auditorium with stadium-style seating. In the center of the auditorium is a 20-foot tall steel cage, and two bare-chested guys in shorts are furiously trading punches as the crowd cheers like crazy.

            There are over 2,000 people in attendance. A couple hundred are crammed on the floor surrounding the steel cage. The rest are sitting in the auditorium chairs.

            You’d think the people who’d attend an illegal steel cage fight would be criminals, but I actually recognize a few famous and respected members of society. A lot of them are wearing disguises (wigs, hats, fake mustaches, shades), but our goggles can see through all that. One of the people I notice is the son of a sitting senator. Another lady is an assistant to the Detroit mayor. My goggles also point out a couple actors, athletes, journalists, and television reporters. Apparently this is where the rich and famous go to have a little illegal fun.

            I have to hold my breath as we get closer to the steel cage. The combined scent of sweat, body odor, perfume, and cigarette smoke is suffocating. Poor Boom Boom gags a few times as we make our way down to the floor, especially when we cut through a cloud of smoke.

            I grow angry when I notice all the older guys gawking at Boom Boom and muttering disgusting comments. One pervert shouts, “Hey baby, how much for an hour?” Another douchebag actually slaps her ass and says, “Yeah, baby got back for sure.”

            Boom Boom ignores the catcalls and walks on. I, however, can’t ignore it. I slug the guy who slapped her caboose right across his face. He tumbles out of his chair, spilling beer all over his shirt.

            Boom Boom grabs my arm and drags me into the crowd.

            “Keep your cool, Lance.”

            I swallow my pride and let Boom Boom drag me away. She’s right, of course. If I make a scene, we can kiss our bounty goodbye.

            We’re now so close to the steel cage that we can hear the fighters talking smack as they trade punches.

            “The short, feral looking dude in the white shorts is Wolverine,” Boom Boom says. “The guy in the green shorts is Stingray.”

            I watch as Wolverine breaks Stingrays nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils as he collapses to the mat. The crowd roars as if their favorite team just scored a game-winning goal. I notice a few people put their heads in their hands and tear up their tickets. I guess they picked Stingray to win.

            Someone slides their hand under my shirt and rubs my stomach. I spin around, ready to fight. I’m shocked to find a gorgeous, scantily-clad girl standing beside me, her hand still pressed against my abs. Her long, black hair creates an open curtain around her bronze face, and her slender body glistens with sweat. She’s wearing a skimpy bikini, and it takes all my self-control to look into her eyes and not… elsewhere.

            “Hello handsome. Would you like a dance?”

            I gulp and struggle to keep my voice from cracking. I see her name stitched across the top of her bra. Ivory.

            “Uh… hey, Ivory. That sounds… um…”

            Ivory grabs my shades and slides them over the top of my head.

            “You have such pretty blue eyes. Why don’t you come with me into the back and I’ll give you the first dance for free?”

            “F… free?”

            Boom Boom storms over and shoves Ivory, nearly knocking her to the floor.

            “Back off, lady. He’s mine.”

            Boom Boom snatches my hand and drags me away yet again.

            I crack a grin. “Aww, you’re jealous. How cute.”

            “I’m not jealous. We have a mission to complete, and you keep fooling around.”

            I wring free from Boom Boom’s grasp. “So what are we doing? You’re stomping around like you’re looking for something.”

            “I’m looking for a bookie,” Boom Boom says, adjusting her goggles as she scans the faces of people walking by.

            “Hm. I still don’t understand where all these people came from. I mean, where are their cars? This factory is in the middle of nowhere. They couldn’t all have walked.”

            Someone else brushes up behind me. I know it’s another stripper when Boom Boom starts to growl.

            “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” the blonde-haired beauty purrs. “The parking lot is behind the factory, deep in the woods. Did you guys really walk all the way over here?”

            “Er, no,” I say, struggling to find my voice. The way beautiful women can make me stumble over my words is embarrassing. “We, uh, had someone drop us off.”           

            The girl chuckles and leans in so close that our lips nearly touch. She opens her mouth, and the scent of strawberry gum wafts over me. “You’re cute. Why don’t we go in the back for a little fun?”

            Boom Boom shoves the girl so hard she actually does fall to the floor. She then drags me off yet again, grumbling about how I’m an idiot.

            While Boom Boom searches for someone to place a bet with, I continue looking for celebrities and politicians. I could totally blackmail half these people. If the government found out they were here, they’d go to jail for many, many years.

            I continue scanning faces until I come across one that causes my heart to skip a beat. And my heart nearly stops when the person looks directly at me. I grab Boom Boom’s arm and yank her behind a concession stand.

            “What is it?” she asks.

            I place my finger against my nose. “Shhh. I think I saw Pitbull.”

            Boom Boom’s face turns pale. “R…really?”

            I nod and slowly stand up. Boom Boom does as well. Off in the corner, a massive, muscular man is watching the steel cage brawl. A hulking trench coat conceals his body and a hat obscures most of his face. Long, greasy black hair tumbles over his shoulders. He’s no longer looking in our direction; he must not have recognized us.

            “Yep, that’s him all right,” Boom Boom says. “He dyed his blond hair, and you can’t see his robotic arm under his trench coat, but our goggles can see past all that.”

            Pitbull is one of the most successful bounty hunters in the country. Over the years he’s nabbed even more people than Uncle Dagger. Dagger and Pitbull were actually rivals, fighting over the same crooks. That’s why I was afraid he’d recognized me, since our paths cross quite often. I’m surprised he was able to sneak in undetected. One look under his coat would have revealed who he was. Cyborgs aren’t all that common, and Pitbull is probably the most famous one in America. He must have bribed the guards like we did.

            “C’mon, let’s go find Remy before Pitbull does,” Boom Boom whispers, weaving her way through the massive crowd. I have to jog to keep up.

            We finally find a bookie near one of the exits. He’s in the middle of taking bets from two guys who my goggles claim are high-profile attorneys from Sanctuary 23. They hand the bookie several large bills, and the bookie hands them a receipt. All wagers are made with cash or gold coins so the government can’t track suspicious money transfers. It’s why we emptied our savings and brought along a sack full of gold coins.

            The bookie is a middle-aged bald man with a bushy mustache and even bushier eyebrows. His fancy silk shirt is unbuttoned at the top so he can show off his hairy chest. If he thinks that will help him woo the ladies, he’s sadly mistaken (that is, if you go by the look of revulsion on Boom Boom’s face).

            When the two guys walk off with their receipts, Boom Boom saunters up to the bookie and says, “Hey there, handsome. My friend and I want to place a bet.”

            The bookie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his sockets. “Well hello, pretty lady,” he says in a raspy voice. He glances at me, apparently jealous I have such a hot lady friend. His gaze returns to Boom Boom’s chest. “So, how much are you wanting to wager, beautiful?”

            Boom Boom opens her burlap sack. “Two thousand gold coins.”

            The bookie’s jaw nearly drops to the floor. He reaches for the bag, but Boom Boom yanks it away. “Not so fast, buddy.  If I’m going to hand over this much money, I want to do it with The Chief.”

            The bookie narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            The slight tremble on his bottom lip says otherwise.

            Boom Boom grabs the bookie by his shirt. “I think you do. I’m sure you don’t want me making a scene out here in front of all these people. Not everyone knows Remy is here.”

            The bookie gasps when Boom Boom mentions Remy’s name. He wipes the sweat from his brow and stutters, “F… follow me.”

            The bookie takes off at a rapid trot. Boom Boom and I hurry after him. The bookie climbs some stairs to the top of the auditorium, right outside a club box. The bookie presses his finger against a scanner, and the door slides open. The three of us walk into a smoke-filled room jam-packed with fancy couches, recliners, pool tables, and a smorgasbord overflowing with booze and food. There are over two dozen people sitting in the room, most of them strippers entertaining older guys who appear to have lots and lots of money. One of the guys in the room is the senator whose son I saw moments before. He has two young girls on his lap, and he’s yakking about how much power and influence he has in Washington.

            The senator looks over at Boom Boom and smiles. “Hey gorgeous, come sit on daddy’s lap. In my world, three ain’t a crowd.”

            The senator busts a gut laughing at his own words.  I clench my fists, seconds away from popping the sleazeball in his mouth, but Boom Boom grabs my hand for like the millionth time and pulls me away.

            The bookie leads us to the back of the club box and places his hand against another scanner. We go through that door and walk down a long, deserted hallway. The bookie stops at another door, places his hand on the scanner, and ushers us inside.

            This room is similar to the box club we just left, but it’s a bit bigger, and there are fewer people. I make out four armed guards, a few strippers, and the Devil himself, Remy Pelletier. Remy is sitting in a chair, watching several holographic monitors sprawled out in front of him. The monitors show live images of the steel cage brawl and the crowd.

            I can’t help but gasp when I first see Remy. It’s like meeting a celebrity for the first time (if that celebrity was one of the world’s most wanted fugitives). Remy is a tall, slender, 30-something guy with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He’s wearing a pin-striped suit, and multiple ruby-studded gold rings adorn his fingers. Two stunning strippers cling to him, but he acts like they’re not even there. He’s too focused on the monitors, watching all the bookies to make sure they don’t screw him out of money.

            The bookie who led us to the secluded room nervously says, “Mr. Pelletier, I brought, ah, two young people who were eager to meet you.”

            Without looking up from his screen, Remy says, “I told you I did not want to be disturbed, Mario. I don’t like employees who don’t follow orders. I would hate to have to… liquidate… your position.”

            Mario’s hands begin to tremble. I can only assume liquidate is being used figuratively and literally.

            “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Pelletier, but…”

            Boom Boom shoves Mario to the side and marches over to Remy. The guards watch her cautiously.

            Boom Boom shoves the strippers off Remy’s lap and spins him around in his chair. At first Remy appears enraged, but that gives way to shock when he gets a good look at Boom Boom.

            “We didn’t come all this way to be given the cold shoulder,” Boom Boom says, plopping down on Remy’s lap. “My friend and I want to place a bet, and we wanted you to manage the transaction.”

            Boom Boom drops the burlap sack of coins onto Remy’s crotch. Remy groans as he picks the bag up. His grimace turns into a grin when he peers inside the bag.

            “Merci, Cherie,” Remy says in his thick, French accent. “You are oh so beautiful. What is your name?”

            “Marie,” Boom Boom lies.

            Remy smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. “Ah, Marie. What a beautiful name. In fact, it’s my late mother’s name. She was a very pretty woman, but you… you, my dear, blow her out of the water.”

            “You are too kind,” Boom Boom says, resting her arm on Remy’s shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind, but my friend and I would like to watch the fight up here. I prefer company that has some class.”

            Remy smirks and runs his fingers through Boom Boom’s hair. “I concur, Cherie. The people out in the auditorium help me pay the bills, but I wouldn’t invite them into my house.”

            The strippers make their way over to me and start rubbing their hands all over my chest and back.

            “You are cute,” one of the girls says.

            “Er, thanks. So are you,” I reply stupidly.

            The girls giggle. Remy stares at me coldly and asks, “And who is your friend?”

            “Don’t worry about him,” Boom Boom says, flapping her wrist. “He won’t steal your women, he’s gay.”

            The strippers step back and frown.

            “Man, all the cutest guys are gay,” one of the strippers pouts before storming to the other side of the room.

            I give Boom Boom a dirty look, but Remy grins as he realizes I won’t be trying to take his ladies. At least, he thinks I won’t.

            Remy snaps his fingers. “Thank you, Mario. You are dismissed.”

            Mario bows his head and exits the room. Remy and Boom Boom continue talking about how awesome Remy is. The strippers make their way over to the guards and flirt with them. I sit in the back and snack on some grapes and apple slices while Boom Boom works her magic. She’ll lure Remy into a false sense of complacency and then, when he least expects it, WHAM!

            I pretend to watch the fight, waiting for the right moment to strike. Wolverine finally takes Stingray down with a knockout punch. The referee outside the cage counts to ten and declares Wolverine the winner. Wolverine raises his hands to the cheering crowd while Stingray is carried out on a stretcher. A few people rush into the cage to wipe down the pools of blood, then it’s time for the main event. The lights in the auditorium dim and a spotlight shines on the heavyweight champion, Abyss, as he stomps down the entrance ramp to menacing music. The crowd cheers even louder than they did for Wolverine, which I did not think was possible.

            I have to admit, Abyss is truly intimidating. He looks to be about seven feet tall and well over 300 pounds. But most of that is muscle. The guy’s thighs are almost thicker than my torso. He must eat steroids for breakfast. His skin is really dark, which is how he got his name, I guess. He almost makes Krystal appear white by comparison. A gleaming gold championship belt is wrapped around his waist. The thing looks like it’s worth a fortune.

            After Abyss plays to the crowd a bit, his opponent comes down the ramp to even more menacing music. According to the announcer, the challenger is Sasquatch. Sasquatch is a bit smaller than Abyss, but not by much. He has long, blond hair and a grizzly beard. His chest and stomach are covered in a thick coat of hair as well, making him look like Bigfoot’s long lost cousin.

            After Sasquatch gets into the ring, the referee signals for the bell and the two monster behemoths go at it, slugging each other in the face and grunting like bears in heat.        

            By now everyone is focused on the fight, including Remy’s guards, the strippers, and even Remy himself. Boom Boom glances back at me and touches her ear. That’s the signal. I grab a knife from the table and lunge toward the nearest guard. I’m a split-second from thrusting the blade into the guy’s throat when the front door flies off its hinges and hits both of us. The guard and I tumble to the ground, with the demolished door clattering off to the side.

            The strippers scream and duck under a table as Pitbull barges into the room, his trench coat flapping behind him like a cape. He grabs a guard with his robotic right arm, which is still hidden under his coat. A sick snapping sound signals that he just broke the poor guy’s neck. The guard slumps to the ground in a crumpled heap, and Pitbull snatches his gun off the ground.

            The guard I tried to attack jumps up and fires off several shots, as do the other guards. Pitbull rolls across the floor and returns fire, hitting one of the guards in his gut. The strippers scream even louder.

            Remy jumps out of his chair, toppling Boom Boom to the ground, and dashes out the back door.

            I run over to Boom Boom and help her up.

            “Are you okay?” I shout over the roar of gunfire.

            “Yes!” Boom Boom shouts, jumping to her feet. “Don’t let Remy get away!”

            I glance at Pitbull, who has just shot the last guard. Boom Boom seizes my arm and yanks me toward the rear door. We sprint out of the room, down a winding hallway, and out the back of the factory just in time to see Remy duck into the woods.

            “Come on!” Boom Boom hollers, pulling ahead of me. I stare in astonishment at her legs, which are moving so fast they blur together. I force myself to speed up so Boom Boom doesn’t reach Remy alone. The guy has been known to kill when he feels cornered.

            Boom Boom reaches the woods first. I shout for her to wait up, but she ignores me and disappears into the brush. I follow her along a well-worn path that twists and turns deep into the forest. With the treetops blocking out the moonlight, it’s nearly impossible to see, even with my goggles on. I trip and stumble on fallen branches and upturned tree roots. I even collide into a tree, busting my nose. But I keep moving.

            I finally reach a clearing in the middle of the forest. Hundreds of cars and motorbikes are parked on the grass.

            Off in the distance, Boom Boom weaves through a row of cars.

            “Stop running, Remy!” she shouts. “The gig is up!”

            I keep sprinting until I reach Boom Boom. I’m confused when I see her hurling rocks. But then I look up at the car floating into the sky. Remy glares down at us from the driver’s seat.

            “I should have known you were government agents!” he hisses.

            Boom Boom throws another rock, cracking Remy’s left rearview mirror. Remy whips out a gun and fires, missing Boom Boom by mere inches. I drag her behind a car. Several more shots shatter the car’s window and nick the ground in front of us. The cascade of bullets finally come to a halt as Remy flies off.

            Boom Boom slams her hands on the ground. “Damn it, we almost had him!”

            “We’re not done yet.” I tap the side of my goggles. “Krystal, come get us!”

            I wait for a few seconds, then shout, “Krystal! Can you hear me? Wake up!”

            Boom Boom sighs. “She fell asleep again, didn’t she?”

            I kick a rock. “We so need a new partner.”

            “Come on, let’s try and hotwire one of these cars.”

             Boom Boom reaches inside the car with the shattered window and unlocks the door. I hop into the passenger’s side while Boom Boom rips out the wires underneath the steering wheel and puts her thievery skills to good use.

            Rapidly approaching footsteps send me into a panic. “Boom Boom, someone’s coming,” I whisper. We both duck to the floor. A large shadow rushes past my window. Seconds later, a car door slams shut and an engine revs up.

            Boom Boom hops out of the car and runs toward the sound of the engine. I stumble after her. We soon reach Pitbull, who has just extended the wings of his brand new Fire Chariot XX.

            “Pitbull, wait!” Boom Boom tears open the back driver’s side door and hops in. I jump into the front passenger seat.

            Pitbull stares at us in shock. He slides his shades over the top of his head, revealing glowing robotic eyes.

            “What in the bloody hell are you doing in my goddamn car?”

             I gulp when he bends back part of his steering wheel with his robotic hand.

            I stammer, “Uh… well… you see….”

            “We’re coming with you,” Boom Boom says casually, like it’s no big deal we just hitched an unsolicited ride.

            “Oh really? And why would I allow that when I can simply toss you out?” Pitbull growls.

            “Because you need us,” Boom Boom says calmly. “I placed a GPS chip in Remy’s pocket while I was sitting on his lap. If you want to find him, then you’re going to need our directions. Now shut your damn mouth and start flying!”

            Pitbull growls and presses the ignition button. The car blasts into the air, pushing me back in my seat. The forest below becomes a continuous dark-green blur.

            “Turn right, he’s heading toward Detroit,” Boom Boom says.

            Pitbull makes a sharp right turn, causing me to bump against his robotic arm. It’s so cold it almost burns my skin. Pitbull growls and shoves me off of him. My head bangs against the window. He’s even stronger than he looks (and he looks pretty fucking strong).

            I glance at the red GPS signal flashing across the top of my goggles. Remy has a decent head start, but we’re already catching up.

            “I knew I saw you kids earlier.” I guess this is Pitbull’s attempt at making small-talk. “Your disguises are terrible, by the way.”

            “Yeah, so is yours,” Boom Boom retorts. “He just turned left.”

            Pitbull makes another sharp turn. I crack my head against the window.      

            “By the way, I’m not splitting this bounty three ways,” Pitbull growls. “I get at least half. Count yourself lucky I’m being that generous.”

            “Thank you oh so much for your generosity, kind sir,” I say sarcastically.

            Pitbull growls even louder than before, prompting me to shut up.

            We fly through the skies of Detroit in relative silence, save for Boom Boom occasionally saying, “Go left,” or, “Go right.” After about a minute of the awkward quietness, Pitbull says, “So, uh, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to hear about your uncle. He was a good man… a worthy adversary. I almost considered coming to the funeral, but… well, you know, I’m not really good in social gatherings.”

            My voice cracks as I say, “Thanks.” I decide not to say anything else. I don’t want to show any emotion around someone as coldblooded as Pitbull. I’m actually stunned he complimented Dagger. It almost means more coming from Pitbull, someone who at one point hated my uncle, than it does from someone who always loved him

            Boom Boom points toward the windshield. “There’s his car, off in the distance.”

            Pitbull hands me a gun. “Blast the car out of the sky, but don’t kill Remy.”

            “Duh,” I grumble.

             I roll down my window and aim the gun at the back of Remy’s car, which is now only 200 yards away. I fire my first shot, and Remy’s back windshield shatters. Remy does a nosedive to get away from us. Pitbull dives after him. I yank my hand inside the car and grip the dashboard as we plunge into a death spiral. Remy pulls up 100 feet above the ground and shoots back into the sky. Pitbull follows suit, snapping my neck back.

            We’re now so close I can make out Remy in the front seat. He turns around and fires off several shots. One of the bullets shatters Pitbull’s front windshield, showering me in glass. I yelp and duck to the floor as a few more bullets fly through the car.

            “Are you okay, Boom Boom?!” I shout.

            “Yes!” Boom Boom shouts back. I can’t see her, but I’m assuming she’s on the floor as well.

            “I’m fine, too, thanks for asking,” Pitbull growls. “Now get your ass back up here and shoot!”

            I peek my head over the dashboard. Remy is now weaving through rows of ginormous, 500-foot tall windmills. Pitbull swerves back and forth, narrowly avoiding the monstrous whipping blades. I think our mosquito gets eviscerated by one of the windmills because our connection to it fizzles out. There goes another twenty grand down the drain.

            I lean out the window and fire off several more shoots. Most of them miss, but a couple hit Remy’s wings. Remy continues to fly erratically, narrowly avoiding windmill propellers. His luck finally runs out when one of the blades slices his right wing in half. Remy spirals toward the ground, and Pitbull takes us into another vomit-inducing nosedive.

            “Pull up, Pitbull! You’re going to crash!” Boom Boom screams.

            “Shut up, girlie! I know how to fly!”

            Remy miraculously pulls up just before he would have slammed into the ground. We pull up with him. Remy glides toward a deserted street and crash-lands next to a skyscraper. Pitbull lands behind him and we all jump out.

            Remy stumbles out of his car and fires his gun, forcing us to duck for cover. Remy starts to run off when another car lands directly in front of him. Remy slams into the car and falls flat on his back.

            I run over just as Krystal climbs out of the car.

            “Where the hell have you been?” I shout as I tackle Remy. His gun flies out of his hand and slides toward Krystal, who promptly picks it up.

            “I was watching a show,” Krystal says, adjusting her lopsided wig. “I didn’t see your message until a few minutes ago.”

            “Will someone help me?” I grunt, struggling to restrain Remy as he thrashes around.

            Pitbull grabs Remy by his throat and lifts him into the air. Remy kicks his legs and gags.

            “I said help me hold him down, not choke him to death.”

            Pitbull growls, but he does allow Remy’s feet to touch the ground.

            Two other cars land next to us. Five thugs hop out and whip out pistols.

            “Let Mr. Pelletier go!” one of the thugs shouts, jabbing his gun at Pitbull’s head.

            Pitbull releases Remy, who falls to the ground and crawls toward the thugs.

            “Put your hands up, now!” another thug shouts.

            Boom Boom, Krystal, and I raise our hands. Pitbull keeps his hands at his sides.

            The thug thrusts his gun into Pitbull’s face. “I said put your hands up, you cyborg freak!”

            Pitbull mutters obscenities and reluctantly raises his hands.

            Remy clambers to his feet and adjusts his tie. “What are you idiots waiting for? Shoot them!”

            The thugs cock their guns. Before they can fire, an arrow whizzes through the air and hits one of the thugs in the throat. The thug falls to his knees and gags as blood pours from his wound. He doesn’t suffer long because another arrow hits him in the forehead.

            The thugs spin around and fire in the direction of the arrow. They only get off a few shots before they’re taken down by a relentless bombardment of arrows and gunfire. All five thugs collapse to the ground in pools of blood.            

            “What the hell just happened?” Krystal shouts.

            Remy stumbles out into the middle of the road, but another arrow hits him in the back of the leg. He screams and falls down.

            A midnight-blue Moon Cruiser XV floats down from the sky. In the driver’s seat is a middle-aged woman with an eye patch and a heavily scarred face. She’s clutching a machine gun and smoking a cigar. A belt containing ammunition cartridges is strapped across her chest. In the passenger’s seat is a tall, muscular dude with long black hair. He’s holding a bow, and a quiver full of arrows is strapped to his back.

            “Machete and Arrow,” I grumble in irritation. “Why am I not surprised?”

            The Moon Cruiser lands next to our car. Machete hops out and aims her machine gun at Remy, who is still crying out over his arrow wound.

            “Remy Pelletier,” she says in a raspy voice. “We’ve been after your ass for a long, long time. Put him in the car, Arrow.”

            Arrow grabs Remy by his hair and drags him to the Moon Cruiser. Remy’s wound leaves a trail of blood as he’s dragged to the car.

            Pitbull marches up to Arrow. “What do you think you’re doing? Remy’s mine!”

            Machete jabs her machine gun against Pitbull’s forehead. “Back off, you robotic freak.”

            Pitbull steps back. He knows Machete doesn’t play around.

            “This isn’t fair, Machete!” I protest. “This is the third time in six months you’ve stolen one of our captures! You never did this when Dagger was alive!”

            “That’s because I was intimidated by Dagger,” Machete replies curtly. “I’m not, however, intimidated by you or your ditzy friends.”

            “Ditzy?” Krystal hollers. “Who you calling Ditzy, you cycloptic bitch?”

            Machete points her gun at Krystal. Krystal gulps and backs off.

            “Uh, ditzy is cool. I like being ditzy.”

            Machete turns back to me and says, “There are no rules in the bounty hunting game. Why should I go through all the trouble of tracking down high-profile targets when I can let you idiots do all the dirty work and swoop in at the last minute to steal all the credit? It’s about working smart, not hard.”

            “Besides, you guys should be thankful we followed you,” Arrow says in his thick, Cherokee accent. He just finished hog-tying Remy and is now shoving him into the back of the Moon Cruiser. “If it wasn’t for us, you’d be choking on blood right now.”

            I do my best to keep my anger in check, but it becomes too overpowering. I shove Machete in her chest. I must catch her off guard because she nearly topples backwards.

            “I’m tired of this crap, Machete! You’re not doing this to us again! Now give us back Remy or…”

            I never finish my ultimatum because Machete kicks me in my throat. I gasp and crumple to the ground. I can barely breathe, and my eyes water from the excruciating pain. Boom Boom collapses beside me, gasping as well.

            I look up and watch as Krystal backs away. “Whoa, no need to kick my ass. I’m fine with you taking Remy.”

            Machete reaches for my hair. Arrow shouts, “Mom, knock it off!”

            Arrow leans down and extends his hand to Boom Boom. Boom Boom grabs it and clambers to her feet.

            “You okay, Red?” Arrow asks.

            “Y… yeah. I am now,” Boom Boom says.

            I start getting angry again. Like Pitbull, Machete and Arrow have been one of our biggest competitors in the bounty hunting business. Our paths cross quite frequently, especially now that Dagger’s gone. Even though I consider them our enemies, Boom Boom always gets tongue-tied around Arrow. I guess she thinks he’s hot or something.

            I stand up and shove Arrow from behind. “Get off of her, slimeball.”

            Arrow spins around and pulls his arm back.

            “Arrow, don’t!” Boom Boom pleads.

            Arrow unclenches his fist. “Seriously, Red, why do you hang out with this loser? You can do so much better.”

            “He’s not a loser.” Boom Boom doesn’t sound too convincing.

            Arrow cups Boom Boom’s chin in his hands. “Why don’t you come with us, Red? Your friends don’t know what they’re doing. They’re always getting you in trouble. If it wasn’t for me and my mom, you guys would be dead right now.”

            “Arrow, I…”

            Boom Boom trails off. It’s almost like she’s thinking about going with them.

            Machete snatches Arrow by the back of his shirt. “Quit fooling around with that girl. We need to take Remy to the police station so we can cash in.”

            Arrow backs away from Boom Boom. “Hit me up if you ever change your mind, Red. I’d love for us to work together.”

            Boom Boom actually starts blushing. I can’t believe she has feelings for the creep.

            Pitbull cocks his gun. “You know what? You guys can have Remy. I’ll just take these three and turn them over to Caesar. That’ll give me enough money to retire from this godforsaken profession.”

            Arrow points one of his arrows at Pitbull’s throat. Machete ups the ante by placing the muzzle of her machine gun against his forehead.

            “I don’t think so, Pitbull. Why don’t you get in your car and get the fuck out of here while your head is still attached to your robot shoulders?”

            Pitbull’s entire body quivers in anger, but he knows Machete will blow his brains out if he doesn’t do what she says. He storms over to his sports car and takes off.

            Machete sneers at me. “This is the second time in two minutes we’ve saved your hides. Where’s the gratitude?”

            Massaging my throat, I grumble, “I’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card.”

            Machete jabs me in the chest. “By the way, you kids need to watch it. I’ve been hearing a lot of people openly discuss going after you three and handing you over to Caesar. I definitely don’t want that to happen. Who else am I going to steal prey from?”

            Part of me is pissed at Machete for stealing our bounty, but another part realizes she could easily incapacitate all three of us and take us to Caesar herself. She’d make more money doing that than if she took down the ten most wanted fugitives in America. She may still be scum, but she’s not as scummy as most people.

            Machete and Arrow hop into their car. As it lifts into the air, Arrow blows Boom Boom a kiss.

            “See you around, Red,” he says before they streak off toward the horizon.

            Boom Boom’s cheeks turn redder than ever.

            “Are you seriously blushing over that lame-ass?”

            “Shut up, Lance! I’m not blushing!”

            Krystal fans herself with a handkerchief. “Don’t be embarrassed, Boom Boom. Arrow is one sexy ass little fucker. He may even be hotter than you, Lance.”

            “Thanks for the support,” I gripe.

            Wailing police sirens off in the distance pluck me out of my grumpy mood. “Crap, I bet those coppers are headed this way.”

            I glance at the dead bodies piled up around us. “It’s best we get out of here. You know how corrupt the Detroit cops are. Well, the few cops that are left. They’ll try to pin this on us so they don’t have to do any detective work.”

            The three of us hop into our crappy car. Krystal revs the engine a few seconds until it finally starts. We then shakily lift into the air and fly off. Krystal swerves down a back alley so we’re not seen by the police.

            As Krystal flies overtop a nearby building, I notice two people standing on the rooftop. It appears to be two girls in dark ninja costumes. They have bandanas around their heads and swords are strapped to their backs.

            “Guys, look!”

            Boom Boom leans out the window and gasps. “Is that Yin and Yang?”

            We never find out for sure because the two mysterious figures vanish out of sight.

            “What do you think they were doing?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

            “They were checking us out,” Boom Boom replies. “Like Pitbull, they’re probably thinking about handing us over to Caesar.”

            I hope that’s not the case. Yin and Yang are twin 21-year old bounty hunters who are almost as successful at capturing crooks as Pitbull. And they’re totally ruthless. They’ll chuck throwing stars into your skull if you so much as look at them funny.

            Our car starts stalling again.

            “Damn it!” Krystal curses as she pounds the dashboard.

            “The engine is over-heated,” Boom Boom says. “Land on that rooftop over there.”

            Krystal swerves to the building and makes a bumpy landing. I pop open the front hood and step back as steam spirals into the air.

            Boom Boom groans when she sees the steam. “Let’s wait a few minutes for it to cool down.”

            I hear loud talking off in the distance, but I don’t pay attention to it. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself over our excessive streak of bad luck.

            Krystal draws my attention to the talking when she grabs my arm and says, “Look guys! They’re showing something about Mikhail on the news.”

            Boom Boom and I turn around to find a giant holographic TV screen on one of the smaller skyscrapers. A small crowd has gathered to watch on the streets below. I lift my goggles so there’s not a green tint.

            On the screen is an image of Mikhail. Because we’re so far away, it’s kind of hard to hear the reporter, but fortunately they have the closed caption function on.

            “…and because the Chinese claim they are 100% positive their satellites have captured images of Mikhail entering a nightclub in New Las Vegas, they are accusing the U.S. of harboring and abetting an international criminal.”

            The reporter shows a grainy video image (I guess from the Chinese government’s spy satellites) of a short, squat, bearded man entering some club. The satellite homes in on the person, showing a clearer image of his face. It’s still kind of fuzzy, but even I can see it’s a dead-on image of Mikhail Rasputin. His greasy, stringy black hair is blowing in the breeze, and his beard descends down to his chest. He’s wearing a dark purple cloak and a flowing cape. But even more damning is the image of a purple dragon plastered across his chest. The Purple Dragons, of course, is Rasputin’s terrorist organization.

            The TV screen reverts back to the reporter. “Empress Xing has put out a statement saying the United States has one week to locate Mikhail and hand him over to Chinese authorities. If the U.S. fails to comply with this order, the Empress promises to send special forces in after him.”

            Boom Boom and I trade alarmed glances. If the Chinese were to send forces into America, that would ignite a war.

            The holographic TV screen switches over to an image of a short, pudgy woman with dirty blonde hair marching up to a podium. It’s President Klaxton. Her pinstriped pantsuit makes her look like some mobster kingpin.

             Klaxton steps up to the podium and, in a cold, clear voice, says, “Good evening, my fellow Americans. As you all know by now, the Chinese have accused us of harboring the world’s most wanted fugitive, Mikhail Rasputin. While I can assure you that certainly is not the case, it does appear, according to China’s satellite images, that Mikhail is in America. He’s rumored to be somewhere near New Las Vegas, Alaska, about 100 miles south of Washington, D.C. While we cannot confirm for sure Mikhail is still in the country, I understand China’s concern. That is why I am authorizing an unprecedented bounty for the head of Mikhail Rasputin. I hope every bounty hunter in the country will take me up on this offer. If anyone is able to locate and capture Mikhail, dead or alive, the United States government will award that individual, or individuals, $25 million.”

            Krystal starts coughing. “What did she just say?!”

            “Oh my god, $25 million?” Boom Boom stammers.

            I shake my head in astonishment. I’m literally speechless.

            I stop paying attention to Klaxton as she regurgitates some propaganda about how the United States does not support terrorism. I start pacing on the roof as my mind races.

            Boom Boom walks over and says, “What do you think?”

            I stop pacing and blurt out, “I think we should do it. We should go after Mikhail.”

            “I don’t know, Lance. You heard Klaxton. Every bounty hunter in America will be after him. And New Las Vegas isn’t exactly the safest place in the world.”

            “Boom Boom, the reason we went after Caesar was so we could make enough money to take a few years off from bounty hunting. If we nab Mikhail, we’ll make enough money that we’ll never have to work again in our entire lives. This bounty is the answer to all our problems.”

            “I’m with Lance,” Krystal says, cocking her gun. “Let’s go get the Russian bastard.”

            Boom Boom sighs. “Let’s at least go home and talk about it first.”

            “Fine,” I say, checking on our still smoking engine. “But no matter what you guys decide to do, I’m going after him. We’ll never get another chance to make this much money.”

            Boom Boom grumbles about how insufferable I am, but I already know she’s made up her mind. She’s coming with me, and so is Krystal. Boom Boom would never let me go on such a dangerous mission by myself. And Krystal, well she’s just bat-shit crazy and would never miss out on a chance shoot a bunch of people.

            As I tinker with the engine, I smile grimly. We’re going to get that $25 million, or die trying.

Chapter Six: Boom Boom

A cool breeze blows a cloud of smoke in my direction. I gag as the noxious poison enters my lungs. I cover my mouth and glare at Lance. He’s sprawled out on a lounge chair, smoking a joint.

            “Lance, put that out!”

            “You know it helps me relax. But if you’re going to complain…”

            Lance smashes the joint against the ground. The breeze picks up some of the burnt cinders and blows them my way. A few of the cinders singe my bare legs.  

            I lean back in my chair and continue reading the intel scrolling across my goggles. Lance and I are on the roof, trying to come up with a plan to locate and apprehend Mikhail Rasputin. Right now I’m looking up Mikhail’s profile on our database.

            Usually when I look a fugitive up, there’s not that much intelligence to go on. Mikhail is the complete opposite. We have so much intel on him that I’m struggling to absorb it all.

            My train of thought is occasionally interrupted by Krystal and the kids. They’re watching some game show, and I can hear their laughs through the open skylight. I’m tempted to close it, but we decided to open all the windows to air the place out. An apartment can get quite stinky when you have six people crammed together. And I don’t know what’s wrong with Krystal’s digestive system, but judging by the stench she leaves in the bathroom whenever she’s finished soiling her porcelain throne, she needs to see a gastroenterologist stat.

            Sometimes I get annoyed that Krystal never participates in our intelligence gathering sessions. She’s more than content to leave the brainy work of our operation to Lance and me. (Although to be honest, Lance doesn’t do much work either.) Then again, Krystal would probably get on my nerves. I’m better off doing the research by myself.

             A sharp pain erupts behind my right eye. I groan and massage my throbbing head. I need more pills, but they’ll just fog up my mind. We need to get going if we’re going to have any shot at nabbing Mikhail. It’s only been one day since Klaxton placed a bounty on Mikhail’s head, but that still leaves us less than a week to capture him before the Chinese start a war. We need to formulate a plan tonight so we can begin our cross-country odyssey first thing in the morning. The journey between Sanctuary 7 and New Las Vegas isn’t one you can make in one day. Even in a flying car it will take several days to cover that monstrous distance.

            Our late start could work in our favor, however. We were watching the news earlier, and they kept talking about how Alaska is being flooded with bounty hunters. Several of those bounty hunters have already been killed in skirmishes with other criminals. The bounty hunters have also been fighting with each other. Alaska sounds a little hectic at the moment. Hopefully things calm down by the time we get there. That is, if Mikhail isn’t already apprehended by then. Otherwise our odyssey will have been for naught.

            There is another bit of good news that has arisen as a result of the national manhunt for Mikhail; people seem to have forgotten we have a bounty over our heads. The only people who tried to take us down were these middle-aged bounty hunters who haven’t had a successful apprehension since the 2130s. They confronted us this morning when we went to the market. Needless to say, we incapacitated them in short order.

            My mind stops wandering when I come across Mikhail’s biography. The report claims Mikhail had a wife and six kids who died when the Chinese carpet-bombed his compound 15 years ago. That would explain why he hates them so much. Ten years later, Mikhail got his revenge when his terror group used rocket launchers to shoot down a plane carrying the Chinese Emperor and Empress. That forced Princess Xing to ascend the throne at the ridiculously young age of 12, and it ignited a civil war between the Chinese and Russians that continues to this day.            

            Historians still aren’t exactly sure what Mikhail hoped to gain by killing the Emperor and Empress, as it was counterproductive to his stated goal of reclaiming Russian sovereignty. The Emperor was in the process of giving the Russians back some of their land to ease tensions between the two peoples, but that all went out the window when Mikhail assassinated him.  

            I personally believe Mikhail was so devastated over the deaths of his family that peace simply wasn’t an option. It’s estimated Mikhail and his followers have killed tens of thousands of Chinese over the last ten years, including prominent military and government officials. The Purple Dragons have won the distinction of being the most polished, organized, and effective terror organization in history.

            I use my brain waves to telepathically switch over to a list of Russian clubs in the New Las Vegas area. I only have to scan the list for a few seconds before I find one that piques my interest. It’s actually a fairly large casino that doubles as a club. The club is called the Purple Palace, and it’s owned by a guy named Igor Bolshevik. The name sounds familiar, so I pull up his file. It says he’s a rumored Mikhail sympathizer who has been accused by the Chinese of harboring Russian refugees.

            In recent years, China has been hammering America to hand over people like Igor so they can ‘question’ them. That, of course, will never happen. The U.S. government likes to leave Russian refugees alone for two reasons: one, they’re helping keep China at bay with all their terrorist acts. And two, Russian crime-lords like Igor are at war with home-grown American crime bosses like Caesar. Basically the government gets to kill two birds with one bloody stone.

            I flip back over to Mikhail. I’ve always found him to be an enigmatic figure. First of all, he looks like a dwarf from some fantasy novel. He can’t be more than five feet tall, and he’s quite chubby. His long, greasy hair and beard don’t help his cause. I’m also intrigued by his obsession with black magic.

            Mikhail can always be seen (on the rare occasion that he is seen) wearing a weird, mechanized purple outfit with a cloak and cape billowing behind him. He also has a purple dragon logo emblazoned across his chest.

            All that, however, is not what I find most fascinating about him. It’s the fact that he truly believes, deep down in his heart, that he is an actual wizard… that he actually knows how to use black magic. He wears these robotic gloves that enable him to shoot electricity from his fingertips, and his cyborg suit has extendable wings that allow him to fly across the heavens like a mutant eagle. I’ve seen video images of him buzzing around in the sky, firing lightning bolts. He’s done a remarkable job portraying himself as a magical, god-like creature sent down to Earth to liberate the Russian people. Some Russians actually think of him as a god.

            Mikhail is a nutjob, there’s no doubt about that. But one can’t deny his effective use of terrorism.  He has single-handedly thrust the Chinese people into a perpetual state of fear. People are too frightened to leave their homes for fear the Purple Dragons will bomb a school or supermarket. No wonder the Chinese government wants him dead.

            I relay all this to Lance, who is staring up at the stars. At first I think he’s ignoring me, but he finally says, “So what’s the plan?”

            I lift my goggles to give my eyes a rest from the glowing screen. “Well, Igor’s gang mostly caters to older Russian refugees, but they’re always on the lookout for ‘fresh blood’. They need young recruits to be their drug runners and assassins. We could probably convince Igor and his crew that we want to join their cause. It’ll be easier to find Mikhail from the inside of a Purple Dragon affiliate.”

            Lance stops looking at the stars and stares at me with wide eyes. “Are you suggesting we weasel our way into the Purple Dragons and act as spies?”

            “Yes, unless you have a better idea.”

            I assumed Lance would be critical of my plan, like he usually is. So I’m stunned when he exclaims, “That’s freaking genius!”

            “Really?” I say.

            Lance jumps out of his chair. “Yes, really! I’ve always wanted to be a spy, infiltrating a major criminal network and taking them down from the inside. I mean, we’ve done similar things before, like when we went after Remy, but this will be way bigger, and way more exciting.”

            “It’s also going to be extraordinarily dangerous,” I point out.

            Lance clicks his tongue dismissively. “Everything we do is dangerous. We nearly got beat up by old bounty hunters on our way to the market this morning.”

            “I doubt we were in any danger of actually getting beat up by those old geezers, but I get your point.”

            “This won’t be easy, though,” Lance says, pacing the roof. “The Purple Dragons don’t let just anyone join their gang. We’ll have to prove we hate the Chinese or something.”

            I slide my goggles back over my eyes and look up the fashions of Purple Dragon gangbangers. I come across images of young people with spiky purple hair and Mohawks. They’re all wearing leather jackets and pants, and quite a few have tattoos of purple dragons on their arms and legs. (Big surprise there.) I rattle off what I see to Lance, who merely nods.

            “That won’t be too bad. I’m cool with dyeing my hair purple and wearing leather. And doesn’t Krystal have some crazy Mohawk wig?”

            “I believe so,” I mutter, not paying much attention to Lance. I’m too busy reading what it takes to join the Purple Dragons, and I don’t like what I see.

            “What’s wrong?” Lance asks, squatting beside me. He can always tell when I’m upset or perturbed.

            “According to this article, the Dragons have a gruesome initiation process.”

            “Such as?”

            “To prove your loyalty, they usually make you take out one of their rival gang members… or a troublesome politician.”

            “Oh, a hit.”

            “Yeah, a hit. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this.”

            “What do you mean? It’s not like we’ve never killed anyone before.”

            “Yeah, but it’s always in self-defense. This will be totally different. We’ll be going out to commit murder, or maybe even multiple murders.”

            Lance pats my shoulder. “You’re overthinking things, like always. They might not even have us do an initiation. You know how perverted some of these older Ruskies are. You show a little skin and they’ll make you a member right off the bat.”

            “I could say the same about you. I hear some of those Ruskies have a thing for young guys.”

            Lance shoves my shoulder. “Ew, that’s gross.”

            “You started it!” I shove him back.

            Lance and I continue our shoving match until a familiar, gritty voice says, “Well ain’t this precious. The two lovebirds are playing a game of patty-cake.” 

            Lance and I spin around and gawk at the sight of a midnight-blue Moon Cruiser floating up over the side of our penthouse apartment and landing on the roof. Machete is in the driver’s seat and Arrow is right beside her, twirling one of his arrows in his hands.

            Lance marches over to our uninvited guests. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            Arrow hops out of the car. “Calm down, hothead. We came to… ugh!”

            Arrow never finishes his sentence because Lance slugs him in the mouth. Arrow bumps up against the ledge, nearly falling off the roof.

            Machete dashes over and tackles Lance to the ground. She then whips out a gleaming blade and dangles it over his throat.

            “Lance!” I scream. I grab Machete’s right arm, the one holding the blade. I pull back with all my might, but Machete’s arm doesn’t budge. She’s extraordinarily strong.

            “Krystal, help us!” I shout. I hear nothing but laughter in response. Krystal and the kids are so absorbed in their loud-ass TV show that they don’t hear our struggle.

            Machete spins around and punches me in the throat with her left fist. I gag and collapse to my knees. My shades fly off and clatter to the ground. Tears stream down my cheeks as I struggle to breathe. Machete came close to shattering my windpipe.

            Machete kicks the side of my head, unleashing a shower of orange stars that flitter in and out of existence. White hot agony envelopes my skull. I’m starting to see why Machete is so successful at nabbing crooks. She’s like a freaking Kung Fu master.

            Machete grabs my neck with her left hand while she dangles her blade over my right eye socket.

            “If you don’t stay down, girlie, I’ll perform a little cosmetic procedure that will have people thinking you’re my long-lost daughter.”

            I focus on Machete’s eye patch. I get the point and stop struggling.

            “Get off of her!” Lance shouts, running up behind Machete. He skids to a halt when Arrow aims an arrow directly at his neck. Lance sighs and raises his hands. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.

            “Alright, you guys win… again,” Lance growls. “What the hell do you want?”                                   

            Machete releases her death grip on my neck and slowly stands up. I back away and rub my throat, which feels like it’s just been released from a vise.

            Arrow still has his arrow aimed at Lance, but he does back away. It would appear Lance and I are out of danger… for the moment.

            “Is this how you treat all your uninvited guests?” Machete asks, sheathing her blade.

            “Just answer the question,” Lance says curtly. “Why are you here?”

            “We want you to help us hunt down Rasputin,” Machete says bluntly.

            Lance and I exchange incredulous glances. I’m stunned.

            “You expect us to track down Mikhail together? Are you on crack?!” Lance cries.

            Arrow jabs Lance in the chest with his pointed projectile.

            “Watch your mouth, pretty boy.”

            Lance scoffs. “Calm down, momma’s boy. I’m sure you’ve heard people say much worse about your psychopathic mother.”

            Arrow drops his bow and slugs Lance in the gut. Lance grunts and bowls over.

            “Next time I’ll use a knife,” Arrow hisses.

            “Arrow, back down!” Machete shouts. “You’re not helping matters!”

            Arrow continues glaring at Lance, but he does grab his bow and step back.

            I kneel beside Lance. He pushes me away and grumbles, “I’m fine, Firecracker.”

            Typical Lance. He doesn’t like to be helped because he thinks it makes him look weak.

            Arrow flashes me a grin. “What’s up, Red? You look great in those shorts.”

            My cheeks flush. I should be angry at Arrow and his insane mother for attacking us, but for some reason I can never stay mad at him. Maybe it’s his gorgeous black hair blowing softly in the breeze, or his muscular bronze arms, or the cute dimples in his cheeks. His form-fitting shirt clings to his chest, showing off his pecs. The shirt is so tight that his six-pack makes a slight indentation. Lance is pretty hot, but Arrow… Arrow is something else.

            My heart flutters as I become absorbed in Arrow’s deep, brown eyes. It’s like being swallowed up in an ocean of chocolate.

            Machete sighs, snapping me out of Arrow’s magnetic trance.

            “I hate to interrupt this love-fest, but we’ve got business to discuss.”

            I glance at Lance. His face is fiery red, and he’s giving Arrow the look of death. I’m surprised at how good that makes me feel. It seems I’m not the only one who gets jealous easily.

            “How about we start over?” I propose. “Why do you want us to join you on your manhunt for Rasputin?”

            Machete lights a cigar. Pacing back and forth, blowing smoke rings into the air, she says, “Arrow and I want you to join us because…”

            Machete stops and rubs her head. She grumbles uneasily under her breath and finally blurts out, “… we need your help.”

            I smirk. It must pain Machete to no end to admit she needs help… more specifically, she needs our help.

            Lance crosses his arms and frowns. “How exactly are we supposed to help you?”

            “We know you guys have access to some database that Dagger created,” Machete says. “We know that’s why you’re so successful in your bounty hunting endeavors, even after Dagger passed away.”

            “That’s why we occasionally follow you,” Arrow says. “You lead us to our prey, then we swoop in and take credit for the capture.”

            “Why don’t you assholes just do that again this time?” Lance asks, half sarcastically and half seriously. “Why go through the hassle of begging us for help when you can just follow us like always?”

            “Because, numbnuts, Rasputin isn’t an ordinary fugitive,” Machete replies. “This is the most wanted man on Earth. He’s going to have lots of dangerous supporters protecting him. Even if Arrow and I were able to locate him by ourselves, we’d need help taking him down. As much as I hate to admit it, you kids are the smartest and toughest bounty hunters I know… besides myself and Arrow, of course.”

            “Oh, of course,” Lance says flippantly.

            “You kids are the only people I can kind of trust. If you’re in, I’ll split the $25 million bounty with you. Arrow and I get $12.5 million, and you guys get the rest.”

            I open my mouth to speak, but Lance cuts me off.

            “Gee, what a great offer. Let me think it over.”

            Lance scratches his chin for a few seconds, then obnoxiously hollers, “Uh, how about no, ass-clowns?”

            The fingers Arrow has on his bow begin to twitch. In an attempt to prevent Lance from getting shot, I say, “Now hold on, this may be a good idea.”

            Lance’s jaw drops. “How could this possibly be a good idea? We can’t trust these low-life losers!”

            Machete goes back to chugging on her cigar. The nicotine is probably the only thing keeping her from gutting Lance like a fish.

            Arrow walks over to me and grabs my hands. His calloused fingers are rock-hard.

            “Come on, Red. You know this is a good idea,” he swoons. “You need us, and we need you. Just think, the two of us, working together to save the world. It’ll be a blast.”

            Lance and Machete groan as Arrow sweet-talks me, but I find his words intoxicating. He pulls me in so close that our lips are mere inches apart. I look up at his dark, handsome face, partially obscured by the silky black hair that hangs over his chocolate eyes. Part of me wants to jerk away, but I can’t. His magnetism pulls me in like a rocky asteroid caught in the inescapable gravitational pull of a black hole.

            “C’mon, Red,” he whispers, softer than before. “Let’s go save the world.”

            I hear myself whisper back, “Okay.”

            “WHAT?!” Lance explodes.

            This releases me from Arrow’s mesmerizing, hypnotic reverie. I unlatch my fingers from Arrow’s hands and step back. It’s almost like he’s some wizard, able to manipulate my mind and emotions with his words and mere presence.

            “Way to go embarrassing yourself, Firecracker. Why don’t you just throw yourself at his feet?”

            “Shut up, Lance!”

            Deep down inside, however, I am embarrassed by my love-sick puppy behavior. I think it’s because Arrow is the only guy I’ve ever known to actually act romantic around me. Sure I get hit on all the time by old, creepy perverts, and Lance and I have dated on and off over the years, but Arrow is the only man to actually work to woo me. He’s smart, charismatic, brave, athletic, gorgeous, and articulate. But that’s not why I’m infatuated with him. It’s because I’ve never seen him go after another girl. I’m the only one he wants, whereas Lance is constantly distracted by other women. I know it’s a selfish reason to like someone, but I like the attention. I like that someone desperately wants me. And I’m fairly certain I desperately want him.

            Lance swings his quivering finger between Arrow and Machete.

            “I refuse… I repeat, I refuse… to work with these jackasses. If you’re so hell-bent on hanging out with your new boy-toy, you can go alone.”

            “Quit acting like a buffoon,” I snap. “Use your head. We need the help. Rasputin is going to be well protected. You saw firsthand how easily Arrow and Machete kicked our asses. Wouldn’t you want people like that on our side and not competing against us?”

            “No,” Lance grumbles. I can tell from his softened tone, however, that I’m winning him over.

            “Don’t be stupid, boy,” Machete growls. “You know how good Arrow and I can be in a fight, so drop the macho act and let’s get a move on.”

            Lance clenches his fists. I grip his shoulder and give him a quick, gentle massage. He instantly relaxes. Arrow’s not the only one who can manipulate people. I know what makes Lance tick, and I know what calms him down. I also know Lance would never allow me to go off on a dangerous mission without him. If we’re all going to be working together, we need to learn to coexist somewhat peacefully.

            Machete points at her car. “We can use my ride. Yours is a piece of crap.”

            Lance tenses up again, so I dig in deeper. He exhales as my fingers work their magic.

            “Okay,” I say. “So when do you want to head out?”

            Machete blows more smoke rings into the night sky. “At the crack of dawn. Don’t worry about accommodating us. Arrow and I can sleep on the roof. It’s a nice night out.”

            “Good,” Lance says. “We weren’t going to let you sleep in our place anyway.”

            “Lance,” I whisper, pinching the back of his neck.

            Machete narrows her eye, but thankfully she doesn’t toss a dagger or anything. “I’ll wake you up at dawn. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a little shut-eye.”

            Machete starts marching toward her car when Arrow clears his throat.

            “Aren’t you forgetting something, Mom?”

            Machete grumbles and plunges her hand into her pockets. She withdraws a tattered wallet and whips out several bills.

            “Here,” she says, thrusting the money into my hand. “Ten $10,000 bills. It’s part of the money we got for Remy.”

            I stare at the money in total shock.

            “I… I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. “T… thank you.”

            Machete blows smoke in my face, forcing me to cough. “Don’t thank me, it was Arrow’s idea.”

            Arrow places his hands over mine, closing them around the crinkled bills.

            “Consider it a token of our gratitude,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “For helping us take down Remy, and for accompanying us on our mission to hunt down that scoundrel Rasputin.”

            “Thank you,” I whisper again, blinking back tears. Arrow has no idea how much this means to me, or how badly we need the money. Or maybe he does. This $100,000 is a godsend. It’ll help us cover our $25,000 rent, and it’ll cover the $5,000 monthly fee we must pay per person just to live behind the Sanctuary walls. When Dagger was around, we always had a ton of money in the bank, but these past few months have been tough… real tough.

            Machete continues grumbling and hops into the back of her Moon Cruiser.

            Arrow bumps into Lance as he walks by. I try to grab Lance’s arm, but I’m too late. He shoves Arrow from behind, causing him to stumble. Arrow spins around and grabs Lance by the front of his shit. Both of them pull back their arms and engage in an intense stare-down. They’re mere seconds from initiating a full-blown brawl.

            I squeeze myself in between both of them. “Knock it off!”

            Lance and Arrow back away so they don’t hit me, but the stare-down continues.

            I press my hand against Arrow’s chest. “If you expect us to help you and your mom, you’re going to have to keep your temper in check.”

            Arrow looks down at me and all his anger fades away.

            “You’re right, Red. I’ll try to behave from now on.”

            He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. My chin bumps into his chest. I suddenly realize just how tall he is. And his body is so hard.

            Arrow brushes his lips against my ear. “That is, until you want me to be bad again.”

            My knees buckle. My heart is like putty in Arrow’s hands.

            Lance gags and pretends to vomit. “For the love of God, stop it. You guys are about to make me lose my lunch!”

             I glare at Lance. “Are you three?”

            Arrow rubs my lower back, causing my knees to buckle once more. “Don’t worry about it, Red. Do yourself a favor, though, and keep your boy in check. If he keeps running his mouth, he might just wake up with an arrow in his chest.”

            Arrow removes his hand from my backside and sprawls out on one of our lounge chairs. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna sleep on this tonight. My mom snores super loud.”

            “Actually, we do mind,” Lance says.

            I grab his arm and pull him to the far side of the roof. He glowers at me and says, “You are unbelievable, you know that.”

            “And why’s that?” I snap, beyond annoyed by his juvenile behavior.

            “You just are. Machete and Arrow are scumbags, and yet you’re practically throwing yourself at them. And how come you don’t get mad when Arrow calls you Red, but you throw a fit when I call you Firecracker?”

            “Maybe because he uses it as a term of endearment, while you only say it to get under my skin!”

            “It’s not my fault you’re so damn sensitive,” Lance barks.

            “I’m sensitive? Are you freaking kidding me? You’re the one who loses his mind when another guy so much as looks at me!”

            “Oh, you don’t do the same when another girl looks at me? You just about tore those strippers’ heads off in Detroit! And besides, Arrow didn’t just look at you. You guys practically fornicated right in front of me!”

            “Oh that’s ridiculous. I’m surprised you even know what ‘fornicate’ means.”

            By now Lance’s face is bright crimson. I’m sure mine is as well. Every time Lance does something sweet to make me wonder why we ever broke up, he does something like this to make me wonder why we got back together three times.

            Lance takes a deep breath to quell his swelling rage, as do I. In a slightly less-hostile voice, Lance says, “Boom Boom, you know we can’t trust them.”

            I sigh and reply, “I know, but they’ll be invaluable in a fight. You can’t deny that. You saw how they saved our asses in Detroit, and last month in Seattle.”

            “They also stole our captures,” Lance reminds me. “Remember when we hunted down Alberto El Delrado at the Mexico City Oasis? We nearly got killed 100-times over during that shootout in the streets, and Arrow and Machete swooped in at the last minute to steal our $500,000 bounty.”

            “Yeah, but if it weren’t for them ‘swooping in’, our carcasses would currently be rotting in the Mexican desert. We were well on our way to losing that battle. Which is my point. When the going gets tough, we can always count on Machete and Arrow to stand their ground and slug it out. They made not be particularly pleasant people, but they have more guts than anyone we know.”

            Lance’s cheeks bulge out as he rolls his tongue around inside his mouth. He always does that when he’s struggling to win a losing argument. He finally throws his hands in the air. “Alright. But if this backfires, I’m never letting you hear the end of it.”

            I scoff and leap through the skylight to tell Krystal about our impromptu plans. Lance follows after me.

            “Hey Krystal!” I shout over the booming TV. “Arrow and Machete are going to join us on our manhunt for Rasputin. Is that cool?”

            Krystal flaps her wrist. “Yeah yeah, I don’t care. Now shush, you’re interrupting my show.”        

            I smirk at Lance. “See, Krystal doesn’t care.”

            “That’s because Krystal has mental problems,” Lance retorts.

            He’s not going to get an argument out of me about that.

            Harpoon walks over to us and asks, “Are you guys really going on another mission?” She doesn’t sound particularly happy.

            I kneel beside her and say, “Unfortunately we have to, sweetheart. But don’t worry. If things work out, we’ll never have to hunt down bad guys ever again.”

            Blade makes his way over. “You guys said the same thing about that Caesar dude.”

            I run my fingers through Blade’s messy hair. “This time I mean it. I promise.”

            Lance pulls the kids in for a hug. It’s like he’s already forgotten about our fight. It’s one of the things I love most about him. He can drop a petty argument in an instant if something more important comes up. And for us, nothing is more important than Blade and Harpoon.

            “When we get back with our bounty, we’ll be able to go on all sorts of vacations,” Lance says with a grin.

            “Really?” the kids should simultaneously.

            “Yep,” he says, his grin widening. “We can go to ball games, amusement parks, cruises, you name it.”

            “Well in that case, you guys should get a move on!” Blade says.

            Lance and I burst out laughing. Even in the face of such danger and peril, the kids always find a way to make us smile.

            Lance finally stops laughing and becomes deadly serious. “I’m not sure how long we’re going to be gone, Blade. Hopefully we’ll be back within a week. But until then you’re going to have to be the man of the house.”

            Blade stops smiling and nods solemnly, as if he’s honored to be granted such immense responsibility. “I know, Lance. I’ll take good care of Harpoon and Krystal’s grandma.”

            “I know you will, bud,” Lance replies. “I’ll ask Mrs. Madison to stop over once a day to check on you guys, though, just in case you need anything.”

            “No, don’t do that!” Harpoon protests. “She’s mean and nasty!”

            “Exactly,” Lance says. “She’ll stab anyone who tries to mess with you guys. But most of the time you’re going to be all alone. And we still have that bounty on our heads, meaning people may try to break in looking for us. And if they do…”

            Lance grabs Krystal’s handgun off the coffee table. (She’s too busy laughing at her trashy TV show to notice.) Blade gasps as Lance hands him the firearm, as do I.

            “Lance, I don’t…”

            Lance raises his hand, cutting me off.

            “I want the kids to be able to defend themselves, Boom Boom. Now Blade, I don’t want you to take this to school, or show it to your friends. Keep it on your nightstand. But if anyone enters this apartment, with the exception of us and Mrs. Madison, you shoot them dead, okay?”

            “O… okay,” Blade says, staring at the gun in awe.

            I can’t say that I’m thrilled Blade has a gun, but I know it’s a necessary evil. I would love for the kids to be shielded from the evils of the world, but that’s wishful thinking. They might as well learn how to defend themselves now.

            I glance at the TV. Krystal has stopped laughing, which must mean her reality show has been interrupted by breaking news. Sure enough, there’s a report about another Purple Dragon terrorist attack in China. This time a shopping mall has been bombed, killing over 100 civilians. The reporter goes on to say the Chinese are ratcheting up pressure for the U.S. to hand over suspected Russian terrorists living in the country, including Mikhail. Several nuclear aircraft carriers have been spotted near Hawaii, a sign that the Chinese are not kidding about their threat to use force to nab their most wanted fugitive.

            That’s when it hits me. I mean really hits me. In just a few short hours, Lance, Krystal, and I are going to undertake the most perilous mission of our young lives. The dangers are many and varied, but the reward… enough money to where we can spend the rest of our days in peace and prosperity… is great.

            Tomorrow morning we go after the most wanted man on Earth. And the fate of the entire planet may depend on us finding him.

Chapter Seven: Lance

            Machete lies about waking us up at 6am. She has our asses out of bed by 5. After we grab our weapons and slip into our body armor (and after Boom Boom and I kiss Blade and Harpoon goodbye), we stop at an ATM to deposit our $100,000. Shortly after that, we head west in Machete’s Moon Cruiser. Machete flies and Arrow rides shotgun. Meanwhile, I’m forced to sit in the back between Krystal and Boom Boom. I’ve had better rides.

            After flying nonstop for nearly 12 hours, we finally settle down in a meadow deep in the Canadian wilderness. The stars are already out by the time we set up camp.

            Apparently Machete is an expert at living off the land because she makes a campfire lickety-split. The five of us gather around the raging fire and have a meager supper of dried fruit and canned beans.

            Everyone is pretty quiet during our meal, save for Krystal. She feels the need to complain about us being outside when there are several motels only a few miles away.  I listen as Boom Boom calmly explains we’re trying to avoid all the bounty hunters headed to Alaska who might be tempted to come after us instead of Rasputin. Krystal finally stops complaining and finishes her beans (and then proceeds to toot up a storm).

            Arrow wraps his jacket around Boom Boom’s shoulders. I do my best to ignore them as they converse quietly and giggle.

            I eventually get bored and light up a joint to ease the throbbing pain in my head. I’m only able to take a few hits before Boom Boom says something.

            “Seriously, Lance? You’re going to do that in front of me?”

            I jab my joint at Arrow. “You’re seriously going to snuggle with the world’s biggest pile of dog crap?”

            “Red’s looking out for you,” Arrow says smugly. “You’re poisoning your body with hundreds of carcinogens.”

            I gesture toward Machete, who’s leaning against a tree, chugging on her cigar. “What about your momma? Why don’t you harass her?”

            “Because he doesn’t want his ass beat,” Machete growls.

            Arrow and I start arguing. Machete irritably snaps, “That’s it, I’m going for a walk. You kids are too damn annoying.”

            Machete disappears down a dark trail.

            “I’m going for a walk, too,” I say, adjusting the night-vision function on my shades.

            “I don’t think we should be going off on our own,” Boom Boom starts to say, but I ignore her and storm off into the forest.

            I keep walking until I reach a gushing stream. It’s so nice and peaceful that I can’t help but stop. The fresh, untainted water gives the forest a nice, clean scent. A cool breeze rustles my hair, sending chills cascading down my spine. Off in the distance, crickets chirp, frogs ribbit, owls hoot, and a wolf howls.

            I lift my goggles and look up at the stars through the gaps in the treetops. The moon is nearly full, casting the valley in a silver glow. An overwhelming sense of peace and serenity washes over me. The urge to finish my joint fades away. I press the burnt end against my Kevlar vest, extinguishing it. I then flick the smoldering joint into the stream. I definitely don’t want to risk igniting a forest fire.

            I take a deep breath and exhale. The healing power of nature is amazing.

            Gazing up at the stars always reminds me of Dagger. He was always fascinated with astronomy. He’d take me and Boom Boom out to the countryside and show us all the constellations and star systems. Sometimes he’d bring along his telescope. I enjoyed those nights out in the middle of nowhere. It was one of the few times I was allowed to just be a kid. I do my best to replicate that feeling with Blade and Harpoon. I don’t want their childhoods to be as screwed up as mine.

            Green spirals materialize and dance across the night sky. It’s an Aurora Borealis, the fabled Northern Lights. I remember hearing on the news a massive solar storm was headed our way. It looks like it just arrived.

            As I stare in wonder at the spinning bands of light, I daydream (or in this case, night-dream) about all the things we’ll get to do with the kids if we nab Rasputin. We’ll get to go to ball games, concerts, and amusement parks. We can get a membership to the zoo (Harpoon would love that more than anything). I’ll be able to afford all the toys and video games they want. We can even go to other Sanctuaries. A lot of them are way nicer than ours, especially Sanctuary 41. Only the richest people on Earth can afford to live there. It costs $10,000 a day just to visit… per person.

            But that’s not even what excites me the most. With $25 million we’ll be able to send the kids to the best colleges, so they can get real jobs and not have to follow in our footsteps. And we’ll able to travel the world. We won’t be heading east, of course. A trip to Europe, Africa, and especially Asia would result in instant death. But we can visit some of the oases in Mexico and Central America. We can visit the last remaining vestiges of the Amazon Rainforest in Southern Brazil. We can even visit the new American colony in West Antarctica. There’s already talk that as the ice continues to melt, millions of people could relocate there. I want to check it out before it gets too crowded.

            I could also buy a new, super-powered telescope and place it on the roof of our penthouse. And I could get a boat! I love sailing in the open ocean.

            I’m just in the process of winding down my fantasy when a bloodcurdling scream snaps me back to reality. I would recognize that shriek of terror anywhere. It’s Krystal.

            I take off at a sprint, tripping over branches and upturned tree roots as I thrash my way through the forest. Birds fly out of their nests, perturbed that I interrupted their nocturnal slumber.

            As I stumble and tumble through the woods, the screaming and shouting gets louder and louder. There’s also a zapping sound. Someone’s being tased.

            I finally skid to a halt behind some bushes around the perimeter of our campsite. I’m tempted to rush in and rescue my friends, but that would be incredibly stupid and reckless. I need to get an idea of who I’m dealing with first.

            I get on my knees and peer through the brush. I’m not at all surprised to find Pitbull standing near the campfire. He has his cyborg hand gripped firmly around Arrow’s neck (can’t say I’m sorry to see this). Pitbull has Arrow high in the air, so that his feet dangle off the ground. Arrow claws at Pitbull’s metallic hand, but it’s to no avail. Ptibull has Arrow right where he wants him… on the verge of death.

            Off to the left are Yin and Yang. The only way I’ve ever been able to tell them apart is through their outfits. Yin’s ninja costume is black and her headband is white. She’s currently hovering over Krystal, who is sprawled out on the ground like roadkill.

            Yang is dressed in a white ninja costume with a black headband, and she’s standing over Boom Boom. She’s also clutching a taser, and the barbed hooks at the end are imbedded in Boom Boom’s neck. Boom Boom tries to get to her feet, but Yang zaps her. Boom Boom twitches uncontrollably as electricity wracks her body. Yang finally lifts her finger off the trigger and Boom Boom stops convulsing.

            Yang leans over Boom Boom and hisses, “Next time I’ll zap you for an hour.”

            My attention reverts back to Pitbull. He pulls Arrow toward his face and snarls, “Where’s Lance?”

            Still clawing at Pitbull’s cyborg hand, Arrow chokes out, “Go… to… Hell…”

            Pitbull growls like… well, a pitbull. “So we’re gonna play that game, huh?”

            Pitbull hurls Arrow face-first into a tree. Arrow groans when he collides into the trunk and collapses into a crumpled heap.

            Pitbull storms over to Machete’s car and grabs our guns and ammunition cartridges. He then proceeds to snap all the guns in half with his robotic hand. He also crushes the ammo cartridges in his palm. After that he snaps all of Arrow’s arrows.

            “What are you doing?” Yin asks, still standing over Krystal.

            “In case you’ve forgotten, we still have two dangerous people out there in the forest. You don’t know Machete and Lance like I do. They will do whatever it takes to rescue their friends. Why give them a fighting chance? Without their weapons, they’re as good as dead.”

            I pat my waist and groan. All I have on me is a blade strapped to my leg. I feel so stupid for not wearing my utility belt.

            Once he’s finished destroying thousands of dollars’ worth of weaponry, Pitbull stomps over to Boom Boom and grabs her hair. With a quick twist of his mechanical wrist, he flips her onto her back. Boom Boom moans and reaches for the taser hooks still lodged into her neck. Yang zaps her again, sending Boom Boom into spasms. My stomach twists at the sight of her being mercilessly tortured. I unsheathe my blade and prepare to make my move. If only Machete were around. I’d feel more comfortable taking them on if I had backup.

            Yang turns off the taser, and Boom Boom collapses onto her back. Pitbull dangles a dagger over her face.

            “Lance, I know you’re out there somewhere!” Pitbull bellows. “We can do this the easy way… or the hard way. Caesar wants all three of you, and I’m not leaving until I have the entire collection. Caesar said he doesn’t care if you guys are captured dead or alive, but I want the extra bonus for bringing you in with a pulse. That doesn’t mean I can’t rough you all up a bit. I’ll be merciful and give you until the count of ten to show yourself. If you don’t…”

            Pitbull places the tip of his dagger against Boom Boom’s right eye socket. “…I’ll gouge out your girlfriend’s pretty green eyes. They’ll make great marbles.”

            A gasp escapes my lips. Boom Boom starts to struggle, but another burst of electricity reminds her of the penalty of resistance.

            “The countdown begins now,” Pitbull growls. “One…”

            I’m just about to lunge out of the brush when someone grabs my arm and shoves me flat on my back. Another clammy hand clamps down over my mouth. Hovering over me is Machete. Her long, greasy hair dangles over her face and tickles my nose. I resist the urge to sneeze.

            “Keep quiet,” Machete whispers. “We’ll rescue your girl in a second, but we’re going to do it smartly. No sense rushing into a massacre.”

            Machete removes her hand from my mouth and crawls back over to the brush. I follow after her. Pitbull is still holding his blade over Boom Boom’s horrified face.

            “I wonder how he found us? I made sure we weren’t being followed.”

            “I bet he chucked a tracking device in your car the other night in Detroit,” I whisper. “He knew you’d eventually lead him to us.”

            “You’re probably right,” Machete says with a sigh. “I should’ve been more careful. I’ll check the car for bugs when we get out of this mess.”

            I like the way Machete thinks. She didn’t say ‘if’ we get out of this mess. She said ‘when’. I’d never admit it to her, but I’m glad she’s with me. I feel like I can take on a whole army when I have a blood-thirsty lunatic like Machete at my side. It’s the same comforting feeling I had around Dagger.

            By now Pitbull is up to five, and he doesn’t sound pleased that I haven’t revealed myself yet.

            “Six… seven… eight…”

            Pitbull stops and turns to Yang. “I can’t believe the coward is gonna let me carve up his girlfriend.”

            Pitbull looks down at Boom Boom, who has started struggling again. He yanks on her hair, snapping her head back.

            “Such a pity. She sure is gorgeous. Oh well, screw the countdown. Let’s get to work.”

            Boom Boom screams, “No, stop!”

            She reaches for Pitbull’s hand, but Yang zaps her.   

            Pitbull places the tip of the dagger back up against Boom Boom’s right eye socket. “Quit struggling, girlie. You’re gonna make things worse.”

            I can’t take it anymore. I lunge forward, but Machete yanks me back down.

            “Machete, he’s going to---”

            Machete clamps her hand back over my mouth. “You’re ruining the plan.”

            I shove Machete’s hand away. Before I can say anything, someone screams, “Leave her alone, you cyborg freak!”

            I spin around just as Arrow charges toward Pitbull, clutching one of his broken arrows. Before he gets within striking distance, Yank intercepts him with a savage kick to his head. Arrow collapses to his knees, clutching his temple.

            “Machete, we need to---” I start to say, but I never finish my sentence. Machete jumps up and extends her right arm. A small blade flies out of her hand and hurtles toward Pitbull, spinning end over end until it finally imbeds itself blade-first into Pitbull’s robotic eyeball. Orange sparks fly out of his cracked eye socket and tendrils of electricity zap his face. Pitbull falls to his knees, grasping his face and howling in agony.

            Machete hops out of the brush, charges over to Yang, and slugs her in the face.

            Yin chucks a throwing star at Machete’s head. Machete ducks at the last second, but one of the star’s jagged points grazes her outstretched arm. Machete grabs her bleeding wound and ducks behind a tree.

            I whip out my blade and hurl it at Yin. Yin jumps out of the way and lands right into a swinging log. The log is wielded by none other than Machete. Machete wallops Yin in the face several times, causing blood to trickle out of her nose and mouth. Yin eventually collapses to the ground.

            Machete drops her log and stumbles over to Arrow, who is still on the ground, groaning from his injuries.

            I begin making my way toward Boom Boom when Yang charges at me with a sword. I crouch down just as the blade slices through the air above my head.

            “Holy shit!” I shout.

            Machete tries to help me, but Pitbull grabs her by the neck. The blade is still stuck in his malfunctioning eyeball.

            I focus my attention back on Yang, who charges at me again with her sword, furiously attempting to slice me in half. I jump back and duck behind a tree. One of Yang’s swipes slices the back of my outstretched hand. Blood pours from the cut, trickling all the way down my arm.

            I jump back from Yang’s blade for what seems like the 1,000th time and stumble over a fallen tree branch. I fall flat on my back and bang my head against a rock. The sky starts to spin. Yang’s snarling face hovers over me, followed by her sword. I’m completely at Yang’s mercy, and I have a bad feeling she doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

            “I know Pitbull wanted to capture the three of you alive, but he’s going to have to deal with at least one casualty.”

            Before Yang can bring the sword crashing down over my head, a rock hits her in the face. Yang cries out and vanishes from view.

            By now my vision has somewhat stabilized. Arrow stumbles past me, blood oozing from his temple. He viciously kicks Yang in the head. She slumps to the ground, unconscious.

            I crawl over to Boom Boom and yank the taser hooks out of her neck. Arrow and I make brief eye contact and nod. It’s our way of saying ‘Good job’ without having to spit it out.

            We turn our attention back to Pitbull, who still has Machete in a stranglehold. Arrow wastes no time dashing up to Pitbull and kicking him in the groin. Pitbull releases his chokehold, sending Machete crashing into a pile of leaves. Pitbull drops to his knees and clutches his privates, moaning in agony. It would appear his penis and balls are still ‘human’.

            I snatch Yang’s sword off the ground and aim it at Pitbull’s chest.

            “Give it up, you malfunctioning bucket of bolts! We’ve got you surrounded!”

            Pitbull grabs the end of my blade with his robotic hand and snaps it in two. His face is engulfed in a fiery mask of rage.

            “You snot-nosed punk,” he hisses as saliva gushes through his clenched teeth. He looks like a rabid dog. “Screw the bounty. I’m gonna flay you alive.”

            I step back and hold up my hands. “Whoa Pitbull, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over!”

            “Talk time is over, kiddo!”

            Pitbull grabs me around the neck. His cyborg hand is so cold it burns my skin. I gasp for air, but none enters my lungs.

            Pitbull lifts me off the ground one-handed. The pain is more excruciating than I could have ever imagined. It feels like I’m being strangled, hung, and set on fire all at once. I wildly kick my feet and claw at Pitbull’s hand, but it does no good. If anything, it provokes Pitbull into tightening his chokehold.

            Pitbull pulls me so close I can make out all the scars and pock-marks dotting his weathered, beat-up face. “The next time I see you, kid, it’ll be in the fiery pits of Hell.”

            The fire around my neck increases in intensity. I’m so sapped of energy that I can’t even muster the strength to kick my feet anymore. My eyes glaze over and I begin my descent into unconsciousness.

            Suddenly there’s a flurry of movement out of my peripheral vision. I also see fire. Pitbull releases his stranglehold and I slip out of his grasp, crashing to the forest floor. I gulp down several mouthfuls of oxygen and massage my burning neck. Pitbull’s metallic fingers left indentations in my flesh.

            I peer up through water-filled eyes and gasp at the sight of Pitbull engulfed in flames. He unleashes a horrifying shriek of pure agony and dashes into the forest, flailing his arms. It looks like he’s headed toward the river.

            Machete stands off to the side, clutching a flaming log. She nods at me and tosses the log back into the campfire.

            “Thanks,” I say hoarsely.

            “Don’t mention it.” Machete extends her scarred right hand. I grab it and allow her to pull me to my feet. My pride only goes so far. I was seconds away from death, and Machete saved me. She saved all of us. My opinion of her is getting better all the time.

            Machete clasps Arrow’s shoulder. “You alright, kiddo?”

            Arrow touches his head wound. “I’ll live. How about you?”

            “Ditto,” Machete says.

            I’ve spent so many years hating Arrow and his mother that it’s almost a shock to see them acting so caring around one another. I shake my throbbing head and trudge over to Boom Boom, who has just started to stir. I cup her face in between my trembling, grimy hands and whisper, “Firecracker, you okay?”

            Boom Boom’s eyelids flutter open. Her intense, green eyes appear pained and confused. She finally focuses on me and cracks the slightest of smiles.

            “I told you I hate that name.”

            I chuckle and help her sit up. “I’m going to call you that until the day I die. You might as well get used to it.”

            Boom Boom groans and looks around. “What happened? Where’s Pitbull and Yin and Yang?”

            I’m about to tell her, but Machete barges over and says, “There’s no time for chit-chat. The ninjas won’t be out for long, and the cyborg freak will be back as soon as he douses his flames.”

            “You guys set him on fire?!” Boom Boom cries.

            “Er, yeah,” I say sheepishly, helping Boom Boom to her feet. We make our way over to Krystal, who’s still sprawled out on the ground.

             Boom Boom kneels down and turns Krystal over.

            “C’mon, Krystal, we’ve gotta go,” Boom Boom says, snapping her fingers.

            Krystal opens her eyes and mutters, “What the hell happened?  I feel like someone beat me with an ugly stick.”

            It takes all my might not to say something sarcastic. The opportunities are limitless.

            I glance over at Machete. She has a blade nestled against Yang’s neck.

            “Machete, what are you doing?!” I cry.

            Machete glares at me. She looks almost feral. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

            Machete raises her blade, seconds from plunging it into Yang’s neck. I’m too stunned to act. Boom Boom, however, is not. She rushes over and grabs Machete’s wrists, just as she’s about to deliver her death strike. Machete’s blade quivers as she struggles to break free from Boom Boom’s grasp. The only reason it’s an even match is because Boom Boom is using two hands and leaning backwards. Even then, Machete is still able to lower the blade several inches.

            “Machete… stop…,” Boom Boom pleads, struggling to dislodge the blade.

            I snap out of my daze and rush over to help. As strong as Machete is, she’s no match for the both of us. I pry the blade out of her hand while Boom Boom keeps a vise-like grip on her wrist.

            Machete spins around and shoves both of us in the chest.

            “What in the hell is the matter with you two?!”

            “What is the matter with you?!” Boom Boom shouts back, getting in Machete’s face. “We’re not the type of people who kill in cold-blood.”

            “Don’t be naïve and stupid, girl. You know if we don’t kill these two broads now, they’ll just come after us again. They attacked us first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

            “Yin and Yang aren’t bad people, they’re just trying to support their families. Like we all are. There are millions of people on this godforsaken planet who deserve to die, but Yin and Yang aren’t one of them. Pitbull, maybe, but not Yin and Yang.”

            Machete pulls at her hair. “You damn kids are driving me crazy. You’re putting our mission, and our lives, in jeopardy.”      

            “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you murder people who can’t defend themselves,” Boom Boom says defiantly.

            Machete cracks her knuckles. “I guess I’ll have to take care of you first, then.”

            Boom Boom steps back and raises her fists, as do I. Thankfully we never come to blows. Arrow pulls his mom aside to talk some sense into her.

            “Maybe Red’s right, Mom,” Arrow says. “Maybe we should let them live.”

            Machete throws up her hands in defeat. “We don’t have time for this crap. We need to get out of here before that fucker Bulldog returns.”

            “You mean Pitbull,” I say.

            Machete glares at me, prompting me to shut up. Machete turns back to Boom Boom and makes one last threat. “I’ll let your ninja friends live this time. But if they’re stupid enough to come after us again, I’m going to slit their throats. Then I’m punching you in the face.”

            Boom Boom gulps. “Uh, sounds good.”

            Machete kicks Yang in the head and storms off to the car.

            Arrow smiles. “Sorry about that, Red. My mom has anger management issues.”

            “Really? We never noticed,” I say sarcastically.

            Arrow ignores me and rubs Boom Boom’s shoulders. “You okay?”

            “Yeah,” Boom Boom says, gazing into Arrow’s eyes. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

            Arrow flashes a stupid, cheesy grin. “Don’t mention it. I’d have your back if all the armies of the Earth came after you.”

            Boom Boom’s cheeks turn red. I roll my eyes and gag.

            “Let’s go, people!” Machete hollers from the car.

            I glance at Yin and Yang and notice they’re starting to moan. Machete’s got the right idea; we need to get out of here, and fast.

            The three of us hurry over to the Moon Cruiser and hop into the back, Boom Boom sits in the middle so she can keep the peace between me and douchebag. Krystal is already up front with Machete.

            “It’s about time,” Krystal says cantankerously.

            “Shut up, Krystal,” I say. “You didn’t do anything but get your ass kicked.”

            Machete mutters something about how annoying we all are and starts the car. Two slender wings extend out of the sides, and the Moon Cruiser roars to life. Machete steps on the pedal and we shoot forward. I slam back in my seat and reach for my seatbelt.

            Boom Boom grabs my arm. “Lance, your hand is bleeding.”

            I look down. Blood is still trickling from the wound I received courtesy of Yang’s sword.

            “I think we’re all pretty beat up,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

            “Yeah, I got my forearm sliced open and you don’t see me bitching,” Machete says, holding up her bloodied arm for all to see.

            Boom Boom and I make a face.

            Krystal covers her mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

            “Do you have any gauze and bandages?” Boom Boom asks.

            “Yeah, they should be up in the glove box,” Arrow says.

            Krystal opens the glove box and tosses a thing of bandages back to Boom Boom. Boom Boom goes to work dressing my wound.

            I smile at her gratefully. “Thanks, Firecracker.”

            “Arrow, do me a favor and give the car a quick sweep for bugs,” Machete says, swerving her Moon Cruiser to the left to avoid a flock of bats.

            Arrow dons his goggles and looks under the car seats. He only spends a few seconds on the floor before he holds up a tiny metallic chip.

            “Found it!” Arrow chucks the mini GPS chip out the window. “Now if Pitbull wants to find us, he’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

            Krystal yawns. “Where are we going, by the way? I’m tired as hell.”

            “I’m trying to get some distance between us and the robot freak,” Machete explains. “I’ll land in a bit.”

            “We’re going to have to stop and get new weapons,” I say, reminding everyone we’re pretty much defenseless at the moment.

            “Are there any gun shops nearby?” Machete asks.

            “Lemme check.” Boom Boom slides on her goggles and sits in silence as green light shines out of the sides. A few minutes later, she says, “The closest gun store is at that Wild West Settlement.”

            “Oh, I’ve always wanted to visit that place,” Machete says. “Everyone dresses up like they did back in the 1800s.”

            Machete almost sounds giddy talking about the Wild West. She’d probably feel right at home back in those lawless days.

            “How far is it?” Arrow asks.

            “Only a couple hundred miles, and it’s on the way to Vegas. We can head there tomorrow.”

            “Alright, we’ve flown far enough for one night,” Machete says. “Prepare for landing.”

            Machete doesn’t give us much time to prepare. A split-second later, she takes us into a nosedive. We zoom down toward another meadow. Machete pulls up just before we would have collided into the ground and glides to a somewhat smooth landing.

            Machete hops out of the car, opens her trunk, and tosses us pillows and blankets.

            “You kids get some sleep. I’ll stand guard for a few hours. We shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else dropping in on us, but you can never be too safe.”

            Machete walks off into the distance, until all I see is the orange tip of her cigar. Soon even that vanishes from sight. Machete is a lone wolf if I ever saw one.

            Pretty soon everyone is snoring up a storm. Krystal is the worst one. She sounds like a pig with a bad case of asthma. I almost barf when I notice Boom Boom curled up in Arrow’s arms. I turn around so I don’t have to see them cuddling.

            I have trouble falling asleep. When I do occasionally drift off, it’s not too deep, so I keep having dreams. They range from Pitbull strangling me with his cyborg arm, to Caesar torturing me, to Yin and Yang chucking throwing stars into my skull, to Rasputin zapping me with lightning, to General Kang gutting me like a fish while Empress Xing watches from her throne of human skulls. The first thing I think when I wake up the next morning is, ‘Damn, we sure do have a lot of enemies.’

Chapter Eight: Boom Boom

            I wake at the crack of dawn. It’s not voluntary, either. Machete feels the need to turn up the radio full blast, jolting me out of a deep slumber.

            I yawn and stretch. Arrow wraps his arms around me.

            “Hello, gorgeous. How do you look so amazing first thing in the morning?”

            I should know better than to fall for Arrows’ cheesy one-liners, but it does feel nice being complimented about my appearance when I haven’t put any effort into it.

            “You look pretty good yourself,” I say.

            “You guys are going to make me puke, and I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet,” Lance says as he climbs out of the car.

            “If that’s all it takes to get him to go away, then I’m going to start sweet talking you more often,” Arrow remarks.

            I playfully punch Arrow in the stomach. “Be nice.”

            After we all wash up in a nearby stream and eat a quick breakfast of dried fruit and trail mix, we squeeze back into the car and head toward the Wild West Settlement. To kill time, I slide on my goggles and do a little research on the settlement’s founder, Geronimo Blackbird. Blackbird is a billionaire who owns several casinos and high-rise condos in Sanctuary 41. He also owns several major sports teams. He’s an ardent Klaxton supporter who’s donated millions of dollars to her campaigns over the years. His bio says he’s in his 60s, but in his most recent pics he doesn’t look a day over 50. He must use one hell of a plastic surgeon.

            The articles I come across all say the same thing. Blackbird has always been fascinated with the Wild West, ever since he learned as a young child that one of his ancestors was an outlaw cowboy who terrorized authorities in the late 1800s. (He is also of Cherokee descent, which makes his infatuation with cowboys somewhat ironic.) 30 years ago, he decided to use his massive fortune to create a city that resembled the Wild West towns he grew up daydreaming about. The Wild West Settlement is now one of the most popular tourist destinations in America.

            It’s not just an amusement park, either. People actually come to live there so they can live like real cowboys. The place is so authentic that historians claim it’s like traveling in a time machine. It’s also dangerous. Dozens of tourists get killed or wounded every year from saloon brawls and wild shootouts. I personally don’t like the idea of us going somewhere so anarchist, but we do need weapons. And the Wild West Settlement has the closest gun shop for hundreds of miles.

            After a few hours of flying, we finally reach the settlement. No flying cars are allowed inside the settlement fence (I guess so as not to ruin the historic atmosphere), so we park in a nearby lot. We then climb out of the car and make our way to the park entrance.

            The line to the entrance is so long, it takes us half an hour to get to the gate. While we wait, I admire all the crazy getups. All the guys are dressed as cowboys, with Wild West style hats, vests, gun holders, belts with huge buckles, and boots with spurs. Some of the women dress as cowboys, too, but most wear dresses that make them look like they have big cabooses. All the kids look especially cute in their Wild West gear.

            We finally reach the front entrance, where an older cowboy is taking money and handing out tickets. The cowboy scowls when he sees us.

            “You got a problem, buster?” Machete asks.

            “My problem, lady, is your indecent attire. We don’t like outsiders in these here parts.”

            “You’re a damn theme park! The whole place is crawling with outsiders!”

            “It’s all part of the act, Mom,” Arrow whispers. “Chill out.”

            “Oh, my bad,” Machete says.

            The cowboy adjusts his jacket and gruffly says, “I highly recommend you visit one of our shops and buy new clothes. That is, if you want to avoid trouble.”

            “Oh, I like trouble,” Machete says.

            “Hmm,” says the cowboy. “Now then, how many in your party?”

            “Five,” Machete replies.

            The cowboy waves five tickets in the air. “$500, please.”

            Machete grumbles something about being robbed, but she does fork over the money. The cowboy hands us the tickets and gestures toward the open gate. “Have fun!”

            The instant I step foot into the Wild West Settlement, I’m overwhelmed by all the vivid sights, sounds, and smells. The settlement is massive, with tons of Wild West-esque stores and shops. Hundreds of people walk along the town square’s dirt road. Everyone is dressed up… everyone but us. I’m reminded of this when we receive dirty stares.

            I’m most intrigued by all the horse-drawn carriages that rattle past us. I love horses, and this is the first time I’ve seen so many. The smell of the settlement, though, leaves a bit to be desired. I immediately detect the unmistakable scent of dung… lots and lots of dung. The piles of brown crap that litter the streets imply people in the Wild West don’t think to clean up after their four-legged friends.

            I stare in wonder at all the stores and shops. There are restaurants with names like ‘Momma’s Country Cooking’ and ‘Auntie Marie’s Fried Chicken Café’. The delicious aroma of fried chicken, cornbread, and biscuits wafts over us, making my mouth water. I can tell from the saliva dribbling down Krystal’s chin that I’m not the only one who finds the smells intoxicating. There are also old-style pharmacies, clothing stores, saloons, and even a place to purchase tombstones. If you look past all the filth, dirt, grime, and horse crap, it’s quite a charming little town.

            I’m forced to reconsider that assumption seconds later when shots ring out. All the tourists scream and duck for cover. The horses neigh and take off, sending a few people tumbling out of the back of their carriages.

            I duck under the porch of a nearby restaurant with Machete and Arrow. I have no idea where Krystal and Lance went.

            “What’s going on?” I ask, peering out from under the porch.

            My question is answered when the door of a bank across the street flies open. Four rugged, grimy-looking cowboys burst out of the bank with large burlap sacks flipped over their shoulders.

            “It’s a wild west bank robbery,” Machete exclaims gleefully. “Awesome!”

            Arrow and I stare at Machete like she’s lost her ever-loving mind.

            The cowboys run drunkenly down the street, hooting and hollering and firing their pistols into the air.

            “Should we do something?” I ask.

            “I don’t know,” Arrow mumbles. “Something about this seems---”

            “Look!” Machete shouts, cutting Arrow off. “The coppers have arrived.”

            I look back out into the street and, sure enough, the sheriff and two of his deputies have arrived on horseback.

            The sheriff aims his rifle at the bad guys. “Put em up, Mad Dog Baxter! You and yer cronies have been terrorizin’ these here parts for far too long. The gig is up!”

            One of the robbers (I assume Mad Dog Baxter) staggers forward and slurs, “No, our gig isn’t up. Yer gig is up, Sheriff!”

            Mad Dog aims his pistol at the sheriff and fires a shot. The sheriff topples off his horse and collapses to the ground.

            Gasps and shrieks of horror ring out through the street. A few kids start crying.

            I pull out a blade. “We gotta do something, guys.”

            Arrow reaches for my arm. “Red, wait!”

            He’s too late. I’m already scrambling out from under the porch and dashing toward Mad Dog.

            Mad Dog’s eyes widen in horror when he sees me barreling toward him. He holds out his hand and shouts, “Girlie, wait, you’ve got the wrong ide-aaaaah!”

            I tackle Mad Dog to the ground, sending his pistol clattering under a saloon. I place my blade against his throat and glare at his cronies, who are rapidly backing away.

            “Drop your guns or I slit his neck!”

            The robbers shrug at each other, like they don’t know what to do.

            Mad Dog stammers, “What are you buffoons waiting for? Drop the dang guns!”

            The robbers drop their weapons and bags of loot. I’m astonished at how easily they cave. I ‘m even more astonished to find Mad Dog trembling in fear.

            Mad Dog closes his eyes and begs, “Please, crazy lady, don’t kill me! I have a wife and kids! And two dogs!”

            Someone clears their throat and taps my shoulder. I spin around and point my knife at… the sheriff?? I slowly stand up.

            “I… I thought you were dead.”

            The sheriff sighs and wipes dust off his pants. “Lady, this was all an act. You’re visiting a damn tourist attraction, for crying out loud. We do live theater.”

            My cheeks flush. I feel like the stupidest person on the face of the Earth.

            Arrow and Machete walk over with huge grins.

            “I tried to stop you, Red,” Arrow says. “I thought the whole robbery thing looked a little staged.”

            “You are such an idiot,” Machete cackles, slapping her knee with glee. Apparently watching someone humiliate themselves gives her great pleasure.

            I hold my hand out to Mad Dog and sheepishly say, “Er, sorry Mr. Bad Dog, sir.”

            Mad Dog scoots away from me. “Get away from me, you red-haired freak!”

            Mad Dog’s cronies help him to his feet. They proceed to grumble about how dumb some tourists are.

            The sheriff sighs. “C’mon, guys, let’s get a drink. First round’s on me.”

            The sheriff grabs the reins on his horse and leads his deputies and the robbers to a saloon down the street. All the tourists emerge from their hiding places. Most of them scowl at me for ruining a good show. One little girl runs up to me and shouts, “I hate you!” before dashing back to her perturbed mother.

            Arrow and Machete don’t hide their amusement at my public humiliation. Lance and Krystal climb out from behind the tombstone place and run over, laughing.

            “Good job, Firecracker,” Lance chortles. “We’ve only been here half an hour and you’ve already pissed off the entire town.”

            “Excuse me for trying to be a good Samaritan,” I say irritably.

            We continue our journey into town. We pass more saloons, restaurants, and even a mock county jail with inmates peering out at us from behind iron bars. We pass through a little carnival with acrobats doing tricks, and midgets and bearded women chasing each other. Machete seems to enjoy the midgets even more than the shootout. Arrow buys a thing of cotton candy for him and me to share.

            The cotton candy melts in my mouth the instant I take a bite. My taste buds become awash in a tantalizing ocean of flavor. My knees literally buckle, it’s that good.

            Machete and Krystal buy home-made ice cream cones while Lance gets a pretzel. We then leave the carnival and go even deeper into the ‘lost in time’ city. Off in the distance, a locomotive barrels along a track, shooting thick smoke into the sky. Some of the smoke drifts over to us, making me cough.

            I notice the further in town we go, the more dirty looks we get. It dawns on me that most of the people in the center of the settlement are the regulars, the ones who live here year-round. They must be the ones who don’t like outsiders.

            “Anybody else notice the evil glares we’re getting?” Lance asks.

            “They’re probably just jealous of my hot bod,” Krystal says, slurping down the rest of her ice cream.

            “Somehow I don’t think that’s the case,” Arrow says.

            We walk by a shop where an older cowboy leans against the door. He has a gray handlebar mustache, and a pipe protrudes from his mouth, sending smoke spiraling into the air.

            The handlebar-mustache dude jabs his pipe at us and says, “The reason everyone’s gawkin’ at ya is cuz ya look mighty foolish in yer ridiculous outfits. Come inta my store and I’ll make ya look right.”

            “That’s okay,” I start to say. “We really don’t time to---”

            “Oh, I always wanted to be a cowgirl,” Machete says, sweeping past me into the store.

            “I bet I’d make one sexy ass cowgirl,” Krystal says, following her. Lance shrugs at me and goes inside as well. The cowboy dude with the mustache greedily rubs his hands and snickers. I can’t blame him for being happy. He just found three suckers he can squeeze money out of.

            Arrow leans in so close, his breath tickles my neck. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make the sexiest cowgirl in the world.”

            “And you’d make one fine cowboy,” I say with a smirk.

            Arrow grabs my hand and leads me into the store. The inside of the shop is dark and dank. Dozens of floral dresses hang from racks, as well as jeans, shirts, jackets, boots, and cowboy hats. The mustache dude (who I soon learn is called Cletus) follows us around, offering us all of his most expensive products. He seems surprised when Machete, Krystal, and I turn down his floral dresses and instead pick clothing meant for men. He doesn’t argue with us, though, probably because he realizes money is money no matter what you spend it on.

            Pretty soon we’re all dressed like cowboys and cowgirls. We place our cowboy gear over our Kevlar vests and armor. Krystal admires her ‘sexy self’ in the mirror, while Machete practices whipping out her pistol, as if she were engaging in a duel.

            Lance saunters up to me and tips his hat. In a horrible cowboy accent, he says, “Hello pretty lady. You’re lookin’ might fine today.”

            I giggle and imitate a southern belle. “Why thank you, kind sir. May I ask what you’re doing in these here parts?”

            “Just tryin’ ta stop a madman, ma’am,” Lance says with a grin.

            Arrow walks over and says, “You guys are lame.”

            “Not as lame as you,” Lance retorts.

            I know things will escalate into a full-fledged brawl if I don’t step in now, so I say, “Alright hotheads, let’s pay for our clothes and go get our weapons. That’s why we came here in the first place, after all.”

            We head over to the register where Cletus rings us up. We then head outside.

            “So where’s that giant gun store?” I ask.

            “I think it’s over here,” Lance says, heading down a dusty alley. We all follow him and, sure enough, right around the corner is a humongous, two-story building with the words ‘Geronimo’s Armory’ emblazoned across the front.

            “Holy Mother of God,” Machete utters, her cigar dropping out of her gaping mouth. She looks like she’s having a religious experience.

            “You okay, Mom?” Arrow asks.

            “Yeah… never been better,” she mutters. She pushes us aside and barges through the store’s swinging front door.

            Arrow turns to me and says, “My mother’s infatuation with guns is disturbing.”

            “She’s disturbing period,” Lance mutters as he and Krystal walk inside. Arrow and I bring up the rear.

            To say the inside of Geronimo’s Armory is a gun lover’s paradise would be an understatement of truly epic proportions. There are more guns and weapons than I’ve ever seen in my entire life (and as a bounty hunter, I’ve seen lots of impressive armories). The place is massive, with every kind of weapon you can imagine. The glass cases and racks are filled with handguns, machine guns, Uzis, submachine guns, rifles, knives, daggers, tear gas canisters, tasers, crossbows, grenades, and even electric guns and UFOs (like the one I used on Caesar’s goons in their factory hideout). I even think about buying the UFO since it’s such an effective weapon, but then I notice the price: $30,000! That’s double what I paid for mine. I’m starting to see how Blackbird made his billions: by ripping people off.

            Pretty soon we go our separate ways. I pick out a few small weapons like handguns, knives, and mace. I also load up on ammunition cartridges. There’s no use in me buying a big gun since we’ll eventually be going undercover. I highly doubt we’ll be able to infiltrate Mikhail’s inner circle if we’re carrying around bazookas and missile launchers.

            I buy my weapons and attach them to my utility belt. I instantly feel safer.

            We all eventually meet up in the front of the store. I’m pleased to find everyone heavily armed. Machete is wearing a shoulder strap containing ammo cartridges, which I have to admit looks pretty badass. She, Krystal, and Lance all have several handguns dangling from their utility belts, as well as tasers, daggers, and canisters of tear gas. Arrow has a shiny, brand new bow slung over his shoulder, along with a quiver full of pointy arrows.

            “Wow, nice bow,” I say, running my fingers along the gleaming metallic handle.

            “Check out the arrows,” he says, whipping one out of his quiver.

            I shrug. “Looks like a regular old arrow to me.”

            “But it’s not,” Arrow says excitedly. “The head is filled with a lethal dose of rattlesnake poison that shoots out of the tip when it punctures flesh. If you get hit with one of these bad boys, you’re done.”

            Lance scoffs. “Please. I can take down ten Russian gangsters with my pistol in the time it takes you to fire one arrow.”

            Arrow places the arrow on his bow and aims it at Lance’s head. “Oh yeah? Care to test that theory?”

            Lance points his pistol at Arrow’s forehead. “I’d love to.”

            “Guys, cut it out!” I shout.

            Machete smacks Arrow and Lance upside the backs of their heads. “You all heard the young lady. If you don’t quit acting so damn stupid, I’ll bust a cap in both of your asses.”

            Lance and Arrow grumble unflattering remarks about Machete under their breaths, but they do lower their weapons. We all exit the store and get back on the dusty dirt road.

            “This was a nice detour, but we should probably get back in the sky,” I say.

            “But we haven’t gone to a saloon yet,” Machete whines.

            “That sounds fun,” Krystal says. “I’m down.”

            “Guys!”

            My words fall on deaf ears. Lance, Krystal, and Machete are already headed to a nearby saloon. It looks to be the biggest one in town.

            “Can you believe this?” I say to Arrow, the only person not to ditch me.

            “Chill out, Red,” Arrow says, much to my annoyance. “They just want to have a little fun before we get back to work. Besides, I’ve never been inside a bar before. I’d like to see what they’re like.”

            “Oh alright,” I grumble. Arrow grabs my hand and we make our way to the saloon.

            Arrow and I enter the saloon’s swinging doors at the same time. I find myself in a world even more bizarre than the one I just left. The saloon is saturated with thick, black smoke. It seems everyone is toting a tobacco pipe. It’s so bad I can barely breathe; if it weren’t for my goggles, I’d probably have a hard time seeing, too.

            The place is packed with dozens of grimy-looking cowboys. Most of them are sitting at wooden tables on small stools, playing cards and swilling whiskey. Every few seconds there’s a weird ringing sound. I soon realize it’s from the cowboys spitting their chew in tin pans.

            A cowboy with a bushy mustache is at the far end of the saloon playing some classical Wild West music on a piano. About a dozen scantily-clad girls with lace leggings and low-cut brassieres approach the inebriated cowboys, offering them a ‘fine time’. More than a few take them up on the offer and go into the back. My blood boils at the thought of the nasty cowboys touching the girls. It reminds me of my encounter with Sally and Dorothy. I’m severely tempted to intervene, but it’s best I lay low and keep my eyes on the prize… the head of Mikhail Rasputin.

            I follow Machete and the gang up to the bar. Several cowboys are at the counter, quietly drinking away their sorrows, but there are a few stools available. Machete, Arrow, and Krystal sit down. Lance and I remain standing. Lance has his shades on, but I can tell he’s keeping an eye out for trouble. I’m keeping an eye on things, too. This place is crawling with unsavory characters. The sooner we get out of here, the better.

            The bartender is an older gentleman with slicked-back gray hair. He’s wearing a white shirt, black vest, and a cute little bowtie. He’s the only person in the whole place who doesn’t look like he’d blow your head off if you looked at him the wrong way.

            The bartender finishes washing a glass and hobbles over to us. The poor guy must have a bum leg.

            “Well hello there,” he says in a Southern drawl. “What a fine looking group of people. I’m used ta all these old, ugly fogies stinkin’ up my joint.”

            We all chuckle, even Machete. The bartender is quite charismatic.

            “I’ll take a whiskey,” Machete proclaims.

            “My kinda lady,” the bartender says with a grin. He places a shot glass on the counter and pours it to the rim with dark brown whiskey. Machete grabs the glass and downs it in one gulp. She slams the glass back on the counter and says, “Keep it comin’. In fact, just leave the bottle.”

            The bartender’s grin widens as he hands her the bottle. He turns to us and asks, “And what would you young folk like to drink?”

            “I’ll take a whiskey,” Krystal says happily.

            Lance stops his discreet surveillance and says, “So will I.”

            “Krystal! Lance!” I shout.

            Lance shrugs. “Chill out, Firecracker. One shot won’t kill us.”

            The bartender pours Krystal and Lance a shot without even checking their IDs. Then again, they probably didn’t have IDs back in the 1800s, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

            Krystal tries to be cool like Machete and chug the entire shot. That backfires spectacularly as she immediately spits it all over the poor bartender. The bartender scowls and wipes his vest with his rag.

            Machete scoffs. “Amateur.”

            Krystal wipes her mouth. “That’s nasty. Why the hell do people like to drink so much?”

            Machete takes another swill from her bottle. “When you get old and beaten down like me and the bartender here, drinking is the only thing that makes life worth living.”

            The bartender grabs Lance’s untouched shot glass and raises it into the air. “I’ll drink to that.”

            Machete clinks her bottle against the bartender’s glass and they both suck their liquor down like it’s water.

            “Your mother’s not the world’s greatest role model,” I say to Arrow.

            “If it wasn’t for her flaws, she wouldn’t have anything at all,” Arrow says.

            Wise words to live by.

            The bartender points at Arrow and me. “You kids want anything?”

            Arrow holds up his hands. “No thanks. Alcohol is poison to your body.”

            “Alright pretty boy, no need to get all preachy.” The bartender turns to me. “What about you, sweetheart?”

            “Um, I’ll take a water, please.”

            The bartender bursts out laughing. “Water?! If you want water, go down to the damn creek.”

            I seriously hate the Wild West.

            Two men suddenly start shouting. I twirl around to find two cowboys at a nearby table engaged in a heated argument. The other four guys at the table throw down their cards and shake their heads.

            One of the shouting cowboys, a tall, lanky dude, jabs the other, fatter cowboy in the chest. “Damn it, Jerry, why you always tryin’ ta cheat?”

            Jerry the fat cowboy raises his hands and stutters, “I… I’m not cheatin’, Fred. Honest! I told you I stopped my cheatin’ ways.”

            “Oh yeah? Explain this!”

            Fred yanks on Jerry’s sleeve. Several cards pop out and flutter to the floor. They’re all aces. The cowboys at the table grumble about how they got hoodwinked.

            “You lying bastard!” Fred slugs Jerry in the mouth.

            Machete laughs and slaps Arrow on the back. “Isn’t this great, sonny? Gosh, I could live here!”

            I bet.

            Fred and Jerry exchange punches as they stumble through the swinging door. Quite a few of the bar patrons follow them outside. Everyone else goes back to their games.

            One of Fred and Jerry’s pals slams his fists on the table, rattling their bottles of whiskey. “Dagnabit, those two idiots are always ruining our games.”

            Machete saunters over to the table and plops down on one of the stools. “Don’t worry, gentlemen, my son and I will take over your friends’ hands.”

            “Wait, what?” Arrow blurts out.

            I shove him toward the table. “Go support your one-eyed momma.”

            Arrow grimaces and uneasily sits down next to Machete. The cowboys chuckle.

            The one who slammed his fists on the table says, “A woman drinking whiskey and playing poker? Ha! That’s a good one!”

            All the cowboys have a good belly laugh. The laughter quickly dies off when Machete grabs the guy’s left arm and twists it behind his back.

            “Wait, what are you---ahhhh! My arm! You’re gonna break it!”

            “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Machete growls, bending the poor cowboy’s arm at such an obtuse angle that it looks like it’s about to snap in half. “I can play poker and drink whiskey with the best of em.”

            “Ahhh! Okay, you can play! You can play!”

            Machete releases the guy’s arm. The cowboy clutches his shoulder and blinks back tears.

            Machete gathers all the cards and shuffles the deck. “Alright ladies, enough with the chit-chat. Let’s play some poker.”

            The cowboys grunt their approval and gulp down their whiskey as Machete passes out the cards.

            Lance leans against the counter and continues his surveillance of the saloon. Even with his shades on, I can tell he’s sneaking glances at some of the prostitutes as they walk by. One comes up to him, but before she can offer her ‘services’ I say, “Sorry lady, but we’re married.”

            The prostitute frowns and storms off.

            Lance grins. “If you want to get married, Firecracker, all you have to do is ask.”

            I ignore Lance and glance over at Krystal, who’s still sitting at the counter with her shades on. She suddenly hollers, “Nuh-uh, Shanequia, no you didn’t! Ah hell naw, Martin, put your shirt back on! Y’all crazy!”

            I shake my head in mild amusement. I seriously don’t know how Krystal would pass the time if she didn’t have her trashy reality TV shows.

            The bartender cocks an eyebrow and takes away Krystal’s shot glass. He probably thinks she’s had a little too much to drink.

            I look at the clock on the upper right-hand side of my goggles. It’s getting late.

            I nudge Lance in the shoulder. “We need to get going. We’ve already been here longer than I…”

            I trail off when I notice two scantily-clad young girls over by the piano man. The girls are talking to three older cowboys. One of the girls is blonde. The other is brunette.

            It’s Dorothy and Sally.          

            Lance peers over the top of his shades. His eyes are red from a lack of sleep.

            “What’s wrong, Firecracker?”

            I point toward the piano.

            “You see those girls over there?”

            “Yeah, what about em?”

            “Those are the girls I told to meet us at the Sanctuary.”

            Lance frowns. “What do you want to do about it?”

            I bite my lip. I’m not exactly sure. I mean, I want to help them, but we can’t exactly bring them with us to Alaska. Plus, there’s no room in the car. We could stop back on the way home, but…

            I trail off again as a muscular black dude in cowboy gear waltzes over to the cowboys ogling Dorothy and Sally. His hat is tilted down, obscuring most of his face, but I have a gut-wrenching feeling I know who it is.

            Big Daddy.

            Somehow he found Sally and Dorothy, and he decided to bring them to the Wild West. Call it coincidence or call it fate, but now I have to intervene.

            The cowboys hand Big Daddy some money, which he quickly counts and shoves into his pockets. He then points to a stairwell in the back that leads to the second floor. The second floor is basically just a rectangular, open-air balcony. Several doors line the walls. It reminds me of a sleazy motel. That must be where all the prostitutes are taking their cowboy clients.

            I grit my teeth as Dorothy and Sally lead the cowboys upstairs. They enter room 6 and close the door.

            “I’m sorry, Lance, but I need to help them. You don’t have to come with me, but…”

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lance says, patting his utility belt. His index finger unlocks the safety on his pistol. “Let’s go kick some cowboy ass.”

            “We need a distraction first, though,” I point out. “We can’t just barge up there and kick down the door. Everyone will see us.”

            “I got it covered.”

            Lance makes his way over to Machete’s table. She just finished winning the first hand and is currently questioning everyone’s manhood. Arrow has his head in his hands, visibly embarrassed by his drunk mother.

            Lance points at Machete and exclaims, “Hey fellas, I think the broad is cheating! I saw her pick a card out from under her leg!”

            Machete’s face grows fiery red. “You lyin’, son of a---”

            The cowboy who Machete attacked whips out a gun and points it at her. “I shoulda known a freaky, one-eyed woman like you would resort to cheatin’!”

            Machete growls and punches the cowboy in the face.

            Lance cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, “Bar fight!”

            That’s the rallying cry that unleashes full-scale chaos. Within a matter of seconds, all the cowboys in the saloon jump up and start trading blows. One guy slugs Arrow, who proceeds to tackle the guy to the floor and beat the holy crap out of him.

            Machete grabs a whiskey bottle and smashes it over another cowboy’s head. “Haha, this is so much fun!” she cackles gleefully.

            Lance runs back over to the counter with a mischievous grin.

            “You are insane,” I say.

            Lance shrugs. “I helped make Machete’s life-long dream of being in a Wild West brawl a reality.”

            Krystal continues sitting on her stool with her goggles on, laughing at her show. She’s oblivious to what’s going on around her.

            The bartender, on the other hand, is having a fit. He wildly flails his arms and shouts for everyone to stop destroying his bar. Lance and I duck to avoid an incoming bottle of whiskey. It collides with several bottles on a rack behind the counter, shattering them. The poor bartender pulls at his hair like he’s about to go crazy.

            Someone rushes up behind Krystal and smashes a bottle over her head. Krystal tears off her goggles and spins around in her chair. The bottle didn’t even faze her.

            Krystal touches her damp hair. “Aw hell naw, you did not just mess up my weave!”

            Krystal grabs the cowboy by the neck and starts strangling him.

            Lance grabs my hand. “C’mon, she’ll be fine. Let’s go save your friends.”

            We navigate through the chaos unfolding around us. Several times we have to stop and incapacitate rowdy cowboys who foolishly believe us to be easy targets due to our youth. They’re sadly mistaken, of course. Lance punches two cowboys in the face, and I take down another two with rapid-fire kicks to the head.

            Lance and I finally reach the top of the stairs and dash over to Room 6.

            “Should we kick down the door?” I gasp, struggling to catch my breath.

            “Naw, too much work. Let’s just knock.”

            Lance raps his knuckles against the door. A moment later, the door opens just a crack.

            A dirty cowboy peeps out and grunts, “What the hell do you want?”

            Lance responds by kicking the door in. The cowboy falls flat on his butt.

            Lance and I rush in with our guns drawn. The other two perverts are sitting on the bed. One yelps and falls off. The other raises his hands and shouts, “Don’t shoot!”

            Dorothy and Sally cower in the corner by the window. I’m relieved to see they’re still clothed. We arrived just in time.

            Sally’s face brightens when she notices who we are. “B… Boom Boom?”

            “Hey kiddo,” I say, unable to contain my grin.

            Sally runs over and throws her arms around me. I pat her back and kiss her head.

            Dorothy hurries over, too, and joins in on the hug.

            Sally peeks over my shoulder and gawks at Lance.

            “H… hi, Lance,” she says with the same shyness a young girl might have around her favorite teenybopper.

            “Hi,” Lance says, not really paying attention to her. He’s focused on the perverts in the room.

            The first guy we knocked down clambers to his feet and drunkenly slurs, “What the hell do ya think her doing? If ya want a room, go buy yer own!”

            The pervert grabs Dorothy’s arm and pulls her away from me. “C’mon, girlie. Let’s go into the bathroom and have some fun.”

            “No, get off of me, you creep!”

            Dorothy yanks her arm out of the pervert’s grasp and slaps him across the face. The cowboy clutches his cheek and shrieks, “You filthy whore!”

            The cowboy grabs Dorothy and hurls her to the floor. That’s the catalyst that unleashes my boiling rage. I pistol-whip the perv in the face and kick him in the head. He falls onto a table, flattening it.

            Lance charges over to the creep still on the bed and punches him in the face. The creep slides to the floor, cupping his bloodied nose. Lance grabs a lamp and smashes it over the pervert’s head, plunging him into unconsciousness.

            Lance and I turn to face the last pervert, trembling over by the window.

            “P… please, don’t h…hurt me!” he pleads.

            “We won’t hurt you that much,” I say, lunging toward him.

            The pervert yelps and jumps through the window, shattering the glass. He screams as he plummets out of sight.

            “Omigosh!” I cry, rushing over to the shattered window. I glance down to find the pervert sprawled out in a cart full of manure.

            Lance laughs. “He couldn’t have picked a better spot to land.”

            Dorothy and Sally grin like they’ve just been liberated from captivity. And in a way I guess they were.

            Sally hugs me a second time. “Thanks for saving us again, Boom Boom.”

            “Don’t mention it, hon,” I say, patting her on the back. It’s a wonderful feeling having someone excited to see you, especially after you’ve rescued them from unspeakable horror. This time I’m going to make sure Dorothy and Sally escape the shackles of sexual slavery for good.

            Dorothy walks up to Lance and grabs his hand. “Thank you for helping us,” she says softly.

            Lance stammers, “D… don’t mention it.”

            Lance peers over the top of his goggles to make direct eye contact. They both smile and continue staring into each other’s eyes. I quietly wonder if there’s something there… some spark between them. I’m surprised at how jealous that makes me feel. That, of course, makes me feel ashamed. Dorothy has been through hell, and I’m pissed because she’s expressing gratitude to my ex for saving her from an awful night. My horror about my own feelings squashes my irrational jealousy… for now, at least.

            I shake my head, clearing it of stupid, selfish thoughts. “What happened to you girls? I thought you were taking the train to Sanctuary 7.”

            Dorothy finally stops gazing at Lance and breathlessly explains, “We got on the train like you said and headed toward Canada. We had to make a stop in Detroit, though, so passengers could get on and off. While Sally and I took a stroll on the platform to stretch our legs, we were spotted by some guys who work in Big Daddy’s prostitution ring. We were dragged to a house somewhere and beaten.”

            The bruises around Dorothy’s eyes prove she’s not exaggerating any of this. It takes everything I have not to put a bullet through the skulls of the two perverts still in the room. I tighten my embrace around Sally when I notice her blinking back tears.

            “Big Daddy showed up the next day,” Dorothy continues. “He beat us even worse than his thugs did. He then decided to bring us here, to the Wild West. Big Daddy said we could make more money here.”

            Lance grits his teeth. “And where is this ‘Big Daddy’?”

            Lance clenches his fists so hard that they turn white. He’d love nothing more than to shove his pistol down Big Daddy’s throat and make him crap bullets. I’d like to do worse.

            “I… I don’t know,” Dorothy says, glancing over her shoulder. She must be afraid Big Daddy will reappear at any moment. “He usually stays in the back to drink and smoke with the other pimps.”

            “Maybe we should pay him a little visit,” Lance says, marching toward the door.

            “No!” Dorothy shouts. She runs over to Lance and grabs his arm. “Big Daddy is too dangerous. Boom Boom knows, he nearly killed her in Cincinnati.”

            Lance looks over at me and cocks an eyebrow. I avoid eye contact. I never mentioned how badly Big Daddy brutalized me, mostly because of everything that happened with Caesar. There’s no sense in bringing it up now.

            The first pervert I knocked out starts to stir. I promptly kick him in the head.

            “You’re losing your touch, Firecracker,” Lance says. “Usually when you take someone down, they stay down for hours.”

            “I could say the same to you, blockhead.” I gesture toward the pervert Lance attacked, who is starting to stir as well. Lance casually walks over and socks the guy in the face. He immediately crumples to the floor.

            “So what are we going to do about the girls?” Lance asks.              

            “You can’t leave us!” Sally cries. “We hate it here!”

            Lance bites his lip. He turns to me and says, “They can’t come with us to Vegas. It’s way too dangerous, plus we don’t have enough room in the Moon Cruiser. We could put them on a train to Sanctuary 7, but how do we know they won’t get caught again?”

            Sally grabs my arm. “Boom Boom, please don’t leave us. Please.”

            I wipe away Sally’s tears. “I won’t, sweetheart. We’ll figure something out.”

            Dorothy suddenly gasps. Sally screams and backs up onto the bed.

            I spin around and bump smack-dab into Pitbull. His face is scarred and blackened. Sparks fly out of his cracked robotic eyeball. The stench of scorched flesh floods my nostrils.

            “Miss me?” Pitbull snarls.

            I stumble backwards. “How in the hell did you find---”

            I never finish my sentence because Pitbull punches me in the face. Thankfully it’s with his normal arm. His robotic one probably would have killed me. Still, the blow is strong enough to knock me flat on my back.

            I sit up just in time to see Pitbull grab Lance by his neck and hurl him out the door and over the balcony.

            “LANCE!”

            I whip out my taser and blast Pitbull in the chest. He falls to his knees and shakes violently. More sparks fly out of his shattered eye socket.

            I wave at Dorothy and Sally, who are still cowering in the corner. “C’mon girls, let’s move!”

            Dorothy grabs Sally’s wrist and leads her out the door. I hit the retract button on my taser and dash after them.

            I lean over the railing on the balcony and glance down. Lance is sprawled out on top of the piano. The piano man gingerly helps him up. He looks a little dazed and confused, but thankfully he doesn’t appear seriously injured. His Kevlar vest must have cushioned his fall.

            Dorothy and Sally are just about to run downstairs when Big Daddy blocks their path.

            “And where do you hoes think you’re going?”

            “Big Daddy, we---ahhh!”

            Big Daddy smacks Sally, sending her to her knees.

            “I don’t wanna hear your damn excuse!” Big Daddy screams. “I shoulda slit your throat the first time you ran away. I told you there’d be no more second chances.”

            Dorothy scratches Big Daddy’s face with her long nails. Big Daddy howls in agony and grabs his bleeding cheek.

            I rush over and kick Big Daddy in the gut. I follow up with a kick to the side of his head. Big Daddy tumbles down the stairs.

            “You girls alright?” I ask, helping Sally up.

            “Y… yeah,” Sally stammers. The poor thing must be in a state of shock from all the chaos. Dorothy, however, is eerily calm. She’d make one hell of a bounty hunter.

            I lean over the balcony. Lance is back on his feet and trading blows with a cowboy. The whole saloon is still embroiled in a no-holds-barred brawl.

            I turn back to Dorothy and Sally. “You guys need to go outside and hide under a porch or something until we’re finished here.”

            “No, we’re not leaving you,” Dorothy says.

            “You can help me by going outside,” I snap. I’m about to go off on a tirade when Dorothy and Sally gasp and step back. I spin around to find Yang back-flipping out of a motel room, wielding a sword. She swings the sword directly at my head. I duck just in the nick of time. It’s a close call, too; several strands of my hair flutter to the ground.

            Dorothy and Sally flatten against the wall as Yang erratically swings her saber. I dodge her next few swipes, but I can’t keep it up forever. I catch a break when Yang’s sword gets stuck in the balcony railing. I kick the sword out of Yang’s hands and punch her in the face. Yang holds her nose and stumbles backwards. Dorothy rushes over and shoves Yang over the railing. Yang plummets to the first floor but somehow uses her cat-like reflexes to land on her feet.

            I lean against the railing to catch my breath. Avoiding decapitation from a psycho ninja requires a lot of energy.

            “T… thanks for the assist, Dorothy,” I gasp. “You were really impressive.”

            Dorothy shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I’m just tired of being pushed around. It’s time I stood up for myself.”

            I nod. I understand what she’s going through more than she’ll ever know.

            Just when I think things are starting to go our way, I’m proven wrong when Pitbull barges out of the motel room. He grabs me by the neck with his robotic arm and hurls me over the balcony like he did with Lance.

            I curl into a ball on my way down, so that my armor-plated back protects the rest of my body. I slam onto the piano. Sharp pain shoots up my spine. I don’t have time to wallow in my agony, however. Pitbull catapults himself off the balcony and flies straight toward me. I roll off the piano a split-second before impact. Pitbull crashes through the piano with his cyborg elbow like some deranged pro-wrestler, completely crushing it.

            I’m still groggy from my rough landing, and I’m definitely in no state to fight someone like Pitbull. I fumble for my gun, but my fingers don’t work properly.

            Pitbull emerges from the wreckage of the piano and lunges toward me. Just when he’s about to grab me, an arrow bounces off of his bulletproof vest.

            “Pick on someone your own size, you defective bucket of bolts,” Arrow shouts from the other side of the room. He fires another arrow, which Pitbull deflects with his robotic arm.

            “You just signed your own death sentence, punk,” Pitbull snarls, charging after Arrow. I’m grateful for the diversion.

            Lance lumbers over, clutching his lower back.

            “You okay, Firecracker?”

            “Not really.” I’m tempted to use the last two pills in my belt buckle. I knew I should have brought more along.

            Lance helps me to my feet. My knees buckle on my way up, and I fall into his arms.

            “I’ve got you, Firecracker,” he says softly.

            I look up at Lance and smile. Lance is always there to catch me when I fall. Our faces are so close I could lean forward and kiss him if I wanted to. Strangely, despite the war raging all around us, I’m tempted to.

            Our tender moment is abruptly interrupted when Lance drops me and jumps back to avoid a throwing star. The star narrowly whizzes past Lance’s ear and imbeds into the back of an unfortunate cowboy. The cowboy shrieks and falls to his knees.

            Yang gives chase to Lance, who dashes into the back, drawing her away from me. Yin does a backflip off of a nearby table and swings her saber. I roll out of the way, just as the blade slices into the wooden floor. Yin’s about to swing at me again when Machete tackles her from behind. The blade clatters to the floor, and Machete and Yin engage in a furious brawl.

            I lean against a table and brush my hair out of my eyes. Unconscious, bloodied bodies litter the floor. So do shattered bottles, broken stools, and collapsed tables. Still, there are plenty of cowboys on their feet, as well as tons of intact whiskey bottles. This brawl could go on all night.

            Dorothy and Sally are over by the counter, doing their best to stay out of the fray. I begin to make my way over to them when Big Daddy pops up out of nowhere.

            I’m too far away to stop when happens next. Big Daddy levels a pistol at Sally… and fires.

            I scream as Sally’s arms fly into the air and she falls backwards. Dorothy shrieks and claws Big Daddy’s face with her nails. Big Daddy pushes her away and aims his gun at her head.

            There’s another gunshot.

            Big Daddy turns to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and fear. He looks down at my pistol, which is emitting a thin plume of smoke. Big Daddy then looks down at the rapidly growing red circle leaking through his shirt.

            Big Daddy falters and leans against the bar. His eyelids droop, like it’s taking everything he has to prevent from being sucked into the dark abyss of death.

            I rush over to Big Daddy and aim my gun directly at his forehead.

            “See you in Hell, bitch.”

            I pull the trigger again, and Big Daddy’s head snaps back. He crumples to the floor, never to rise again.

            I wipe away the fresh blood splattered on my cheeks. Dorothy kneels down and holds Sally’s quivering hand. Sally’s face is as white as snow, and her whole body is convulsing. Blood trickles from her chest. A red puddle seeps out from beneath her.

            I clutch Sally’s other hand. It’s already cold and clammy.

            Tears stream down Sally’s face. In between sobs, she says, “Oh God, it hurts so much. Dorothy, I… I don’t want to die…”

            Sally continues to cry. My heart cleaves in two. I’ve never seen something so horrible in my entire life.

            “Hang in there, Sally. Everything… everything will be okay.”

            Except it won’t be. Nothing will ever be okay again.

            Dorothy stares at me with eyes so watery I almost can’t see her hazel irises.

            “Isn’t there something you can do, Boom Boom?”

            I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head. Sally notices it and succumbs to an uncontrollable fit of sobs. I didn’t mean to be so blunt; it’s just that in situations like this, it’s impossible for me to lie. Still, I can’t sit here and let Sally die without doing something. I tear off my cowboy jacket and press it against her wound.

            “Dorothy, can you…”

            Dorothy nods and applies pressure to the makeshift bandage.

            Sally continues to cry out in pain. If only there was something I could…

            The pain! I can numb the pain!

            I flip open my belt buckle and grab my two remaining pills. For the briefest of moments I consider keeping them for myself. That’s when I realize my addiction has gotten out of hand. It’s changing me into a monster. I make a vow right then and there that I’m ending my addiction cold turkey. I don’t care if it kills me, I will not become a slave to addiction. Not if it’s going to destroy my very soul.

            I place the pills over Sally’s trembling lips.

            “Open your mouth, Sally. It’s medicine. It’ll help.”

            Sally opens her lips and I drop the pills inside. She takes a gulp and looks at me pleadingly, begging me to save her. I wish I could. I wish it more than anything in the world.

            The pills are fast-acting. It’s why I use them. Within a matter of seconds, Sally’s cries of torment become nothing more than a murmur.

            Dorothy hovers over Sally, rocking back and forth while she massages her left hand. Her long, black hair dangles over Sally’s face. Sally’s eyelids droop, and her convulsions begin to stop. The puddle of blood has started to soak through my pants.

            “Sally, don’t leave us,” Dorothy sobs. “You’re all I’ve got…”

            Sally doesn’t answer. She’s beyond our help… beyond our prayers. I’ve seen this more times than I care to remember. Sally has entered the twilight zone between life and death, and rarely does one return from it.

            Dorothy brushes Sally’s matted hair out of her eyes. They’re now fully closed. Her breathing has slowed dramatically. I touch her wrist with my fingertips. Her pulse is barely detectable.

            “Sally?” Dorothy whispers. “S… Sally?”

            By now the breathing has stopped. I clasp her wrist, feverishly waiting for another thump of blood to gush through her veins. Something… anything.

            It never comes.

            “Sally?” Dorothy whispers again as a torrent of tears cascade down her cheeks.

            Sally doesn’t answer.

            She’ll never answer us again.

Chapter Nine: Lance

            “Die you sniveling maggot!”

            Yang swings her blood-splattered blade. I jump back and trip over a fallen stool. I land on my back… hard.

            A cowboy bumps into Yang as she makes her way over to me. Yang plunges her sword into the poor cowboy’s chest. I think I now know where all the blood stains on her saber came from.

            Yang yanks the sword out of the cowboy and points it at me. I scoot back until I bump into something. I turn my head and see it’s another unconscious cowboy.

            I hold up my hands and say, “I thought you wanted to take us in alive!”

            “Plans changed after you twerps caught Pitbull on fire.”

            Yang swings her sword. I barely move out of the way in time. A bloodcurdling scream tells me she just hit the cowboy I was leaning against.

            Yang turns to deliver another strike, but I’m ready for her. I kick out both of my legs and sweep then under her feet. Yang topples over and lands face-first on the floor. Her sword clatters over to another cowboy, who snatches it up and runs off with it.

            “Give me back my damn sword!” Yank shrieks. She sprints after the cowboy and chucks throwing stars. The cowboy doesn’t stand a chance.

            I’m about to check on Boom Boom when I notice Pitbull hurling Arrow up against the wall. Arrow slides to the ground in a daze.

            “Hey, metal-brain! Over here!”

            Pitbull spins around and charges at me like a bull during mating season. I whip up my pistol and pull the trigger.

            It clicks blank.

            “Son of a...”

             Pitbull grabs the front of my shirt and lifts me over his head.

            “Happy landings, punk.” Pitbull hurls me through the air. I fly all the way toward the back of the saloon and collide into a cabinet full of whiskey bottles. I slide to the floor as bottles crash all around me, soaking me in alcohol. Several shards of glass lacerate my exposed skin. The whiskey enters my wounds, exacerbating the pain ten-fold.

            The bartender rushes over. “Oh my God, kid, are you alright?”

            “Do I freaking look alright?”

            “Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. Sheesh.” The bartender puts his arms under my armpits and helps me to my feet.

            Pitbull makes his way over. “Give me the kid and I won’t snap your neck, old-timer.”

            The bartender grabs a shotgun hidden under the counter and aims it at Pitbull’s face. “You come any closer and I’ll feed you a mouthful of lead.”

            Pitbull snatches the barrel of the shotgun with his cyborg hand and snaps it in half. The bartender gasps and backs up against the wall. Pitbull grabs the bartender by his shirt and hurls him up over the bar and halfway across the room. The bartender crashes through one of the few still-standing tables. He doesn’t get back up.

            Pitbull turns his attention back to me. I grab my mace and spray it in his face. It doesn’t faze him, though, I guess because his eyeballs are robotic. Pitbull grabs me and hurls me across the room as well. The world becomes a blur as I fly through the air and collide into two brawling cowboys.

            I groggily push myself off the floor. Pitbull charges over and kicks me in the gut. Even my Kevlar vest doesn’t do much to blunt the impact. I roll onto my back, gagging.

            Pitbull picks me up and tosses me again. This time I land on a table full of whiskey bottles. I slide off the table and collapse onto the floor, even more soaked than I was before.

            Pitbull stomps over and chortles. “Had enough yet, punk?”

            If I was smart, I’d get up and run away. But I’m not smart, so I woozily stand up and say, “I’m just getting started. By the way, you hit like a bitch.”

            Pitbull flashes an evil smile, revealing his rotted, yellow teeth. “I like it when my prey shows a little fight. I like that a lot.”

            I lunge toward Pitbull and swing a punch. My fist connects with his right cheek, but it’s like I’m punching solid steel. I yelp and clutch my throbbing hand.

            Pitbull cackles and taps his blackened, rotting flesh. “Most of my skeleton is encased in a metallic coating. It’s a brand new procedure they just started, and I was one of their first patients. Makes me nearly indestructible.”

            I fall to my knees as the pain in my fist intensifies. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the little bones in my hand are broken.

            “My God,” I gasp, fighting through the pain. “You’re barely human.”

            Pitbull scoffs. “Being human is overrated.” He flexes his robotic arm. “This is the future. Soon we’ll all be robots. General Kang is over 90% robot, and I aim to outdo her. After I get that $10 million bounty for turning your carcass over to Caesar, I’m gonna get even more work done.”

            “Nice life story.” I notice an intact whiskey bottle a few feet away from me. Next to it is a still-lit cigar. One of the cowboys must have dropped it.

            “Hey Pitbull, you look a little thirsty. Have a drink… on me!”

            I grab the bottle and hurl it at Pitbull’s face. He blocks the bottle with his robotic arm, just like I expected him to. The bottle shatters, soaking Pitbull from head to toe.

            Pitbull shakes his soaked, stringy hair, spraying droplets of alcohol everywhere. “Did you honestly expect that to faze me? All you did was piss me off!”

            “Oh, I’m sorry.” I grab the lit cigar and twirl it around in my hand. “Want a smoke, too?”

            Pitbull’s glowing eyes widen as his peanut-sized brain finally figures out what I’m up to.

            “What? No, don’t---”

            If Pitbull thought his pleas for mercy were going to make me reconsider, he’s sadly mistaken. I flick the cigar at his chest. Pitbull tries to duck, but he’s too slow. The instant the cigar makes contact, Pitbull erupts in flames. Everyone in the bar stops fighting for a moment to watch the flaming cyborg run out of the saloon, screaming bloody murder. Flickers of flames fall to the floor, igniting nearby puddles of liquor. The flames quickly spread to the wooden tables and stools. Some of them even start lapping up the bottom of my jacket. I forgot I’m covered in whiskey, too!

            I tear off my jacket and toss it to the floor. That causes another fire.

            By now most of the people in the saloon are aware of the inferno. Everyone stops brawling and runs for the exit. Quite a few of the cowboys drag their unconscious foes to safety. I find it amazing they’re willing to save the very people they were just fighting. The Wild West is truly a bizarre place.

            I glance around the saloon, looking for Krystal and Boom Boom. I rush past Machete, who’s on the ground trading blows with Yin.

            “Machete, we need to go! Now!”

            Machete looks up and gasps. “Who the hell started the fire?”

            I decide not to answer. Machete stops pounding Yin and tosses her against the wall. She then runs over to Arrow, who’s still slumped over on the floor, and lifts him over her shoulder. She snatches up his bow and arrows, too.

            Grunting under Arrow’s weight, Machete says, “Grab the girls and let’s roll.”

            A thunderous creaking sound reverberates throughout the saloon. I look up just as a flaming rafter dislodges from the roof and plummets toward me. Machete and I barely jump out of the way in time.

            “Like I said, let’s go,” Machete says, barging toward the exit.

            I turn around and nearly collide into Krystal. She has her arm around the bartender’s shoulder, helping him hobble out.

            “Where’s Boom Boom?” Krystal gasps.

            “I don’t know. I…”

            I trail off when I spot her over by the bar, at the opposite end where Pitbull and I were just brawling. She’s on her knees, crouched over a body… the body of a young girl. Dorothy is kneeling, too, with her head in her hands. Some black cowboy dude is slouched against the wall as well, with blood oozing down his face. I think it’s the guy Dorothy and Sally called ‘Big Daddy’.

            Sally!

            I look back at the body. A lump forms in my throat as I begin to realize what happened.

            “I… I’ll go get her,” I stammer.

            “Well hurry up,” Krystal calls after me. “This place is going up in smoke!”

            I dash over to Boom Boom and slide next to her. Sally’s eyes are closed and her face is snow-white. Boom Boom is pressing a blood-soaked jacket against her chest, but it does little to stop the hemorrhaging. The lump in my throat grows larger. It’s not fair that someone like Sally would meet her end in such a horrific way. No young girl should have to suffer what she went through.

            Part of the second floor balcony suddenly collapses. I gently tug on Boom Boom’s arm. “We have to go, now.”

            Boom Boom turns to me, as if she’s just noticing that I’m by her side. She’s still wearing her shades, but I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

            Boom Boom lifts her shades and wipes her eyes. In a cracked voice, she says, “Okay. C’mon, Dorothy, we need to get out of here.”

            Boom Boom and I stand up, but Dorothy remains at Sally’s side. “Now, we can’t leave her!”

            I reach for Dorothy’s arm. “I’m sorry, but it’s too late for her. If we stay any longer…”

            “No!” Dorothy screams, backing away from my outstretched hand. “Either she comes with us, or I stay!”

            The crackling roof releases a terrifying groan. Flaming pieces of wood rain down on top of us. The whole place could cave at any moment.

            “Alright, we’ll take her. But we need to move!”

            I cradle Sally’s lifeless body in my arms. Boom Boom grabs Dorothy’s hand and follows me to the door.

            I burst through the swinging door just as the creaking roof begins to crumble. I spin around and shout, “Boom Boom, hurry!”

            I watch in horror as the roof collapses. Boom Boom and Dorothy dive through the door just as the flaming wreckage slams to the ground. They collide into me and we all tumble off the porch.

            I lay on the ground for a few seconds before lifting my head. I’m so close to the flaming remnants of the saloon that my skin begins to roast. I grab Sally’s arm and scoot us back as far as I can. Dorothy and Boom Boom scoot back as well.

            Boom Boom coughs, clearing her lungs of acrid smoke. “That was too close.”

            I watch as some of the flames from the saloon spread to nearby stores. If this fire isn’t put out soon, it could engulf the entire town. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

            The bartender marches over and points a quivering finger at me. “You did this! You and your miserable friends! You burned down my saloon!”

            Machete, Arrow, and Krystal make their way over. Krystal puts her hands on her hips and says, “Quit your complaining. We did you a favor. Your saloon was a dump. Just cash in the insurance and move on!”

            “I don’t want no goddamn insurance payout!” the bartender shouts. “I want my goddamn saloon back! It was my livelihood, and you sons of bitches took it away from me!”

            All the cowboys from the saloon begin to surround us. A lot of them have their pistols out.

            “This doesn’t look good, guys,” I mutter.

            “Just stay calm,” Boom Boom whispers. “Don’t provoke an altercation.”

            “But I hate being calm,” Machete growls.

            We’re seconds way from being sucked into a Wild West shootout when the sheriff rides over on his horse. He’s followed by his deputies and the fake bank robbers.

            “What in tarnation is going on here?” the sheriff shouts.

            The bartender points at us. “Those hoodlums burned down my saloon! And now the fire’s spreading to the rest of the city!”

            This point is emphasized when people run out of the neighboring stores, screaming, “Fire! Fire!”

            The sheriff scowls. “Wait a minute, you’re the same twerps who attacked my actors. You just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can ya?”

            “It’s hard,” Krystal answers honestly. “It’s real hard.”

            The sheriff turns to one of his deputies. “Go fetch the fire department, Larry. If we don’t get this fire under control, the whole town will go up like a tinderbox. Mr. Blackbird will have our hides if such a travesty were to occur.”

            “Yes sir,” the deputy says. He pulls on the reins of his horse and kicks his side. The horse neighs and takes off at a gallop, kicking up a trail of dust behind him.

            The sheriff reaches for his gun. “Now listen here, fellas. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s totally up to you.”

            Arrow notches an arrow onto his bow. “The hard way sounds more fun.”

            The sheriff cocks his gun. The sound of dozens of other pistols being cocked rings out across the dusty street.

            Krystal, Boom Boom, and Machete whip out their guns as well. My gun, of course, is a piece of crap that doesn’t work. I unsheathe a blade and flip it around in my hands.

            “This should be fun,” Machete says. “We can shoot our way out as if it were a real-life western.”

            Boom Boom hands Dorothy a spare gun. It’d be nice if she gave it to me. I feel like an idiot bringing a knife to a gun fight.

            “I… I never fired a gun before,” Dorothy stammers.

            “It’s simple,” Boom Boom says. “Just aim it at a cowboy and pull the trigger.”

            “Oh, okay.”

            Dorothy aims the gun at the sheriff.

            “Uh, wait Dorothy,” I say, lunging for her arm.

            BLAM!

            I’m too late. Dorothy pulls the trigger and the sheriff topples off of his horse. He crumples to the ground and grabs his bleeding shoulder. “Help! I’ve been shot!”

            Machete slaps Dorothy on her back. “Nice shot, girlie. Next time, though, aim for the heart.”

            “Sorry,” Dorothy exclaims. “I didn’t mean to!”

            “Get em!” one of the deputies shouts.

            All the cowboys fire their guns. Luckily they’re drunk, so their aims are horrible.

            Me, Boom Boom, and the rest of the gang scatter. A few shots nick my Kevlar vest, but nothing hits my flesh. I’m sure that will change the longer this goes on.

            Pretty soon bullets are flying everywhere, shattering windows and ripping apart buildings. I grab Dorothy’s wrist and yank her behind some barrels of molasses.

            “Omigod, omigod, omigod!” Dorothy cries. “What is going on?”

            “This is what happens when you shoot first. Usually we try a little diplomacy before we start blasting people.”

            “Sorry, I’m new at this.” Dorothy’s hands are shaking violently and she has her gun aimed directly at me. I push her trembling hands in the opposite direction.

            “We’re going to get out of this, but you’ve got to remain calm.”

            “O… okay. I… I’ll try.”

            I peek out from behind the barrels. Yin and Yang leap off the roof of a one-story pharmacy across the street.

            “The bounty hunters are ours!” Yin yells, hurling throwing stars at several cowboys. It turns out the old saying is true: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Just moments ago, Yin and Yang were trying to hack us to bits, but now they’re helping us fend off an army of cowboys… so they can eventually hack us to bits. My brain hurts from trying to process it all.

            I grab Dorothy’s gun and fire several shots. I hit one cowboy in the arm and another in the ass. (I have no idea why he turned around.) I duck behind my barrel a few seconds later when a bombardment of bullets flies my way. Dorothy crouches into a ball and plunges her fingers in her ears.

            After the onslaught of bullets dies down, I peek back out to see how my friends are faring. Krystal is hiding behind a horse cart, occasionally emerging to fire off shots. Boom Boom, Arrow, and Machete are doing most of the work, leaping from hiding place to hiding place, taking down cowboys with insanely accurate gunshots. And of course Yin and Yang are making quick work of the cowboy army, especially since they’re not as hesitant as we are to use lethal force.

            Arrow and Machete are close enough that I can hear them shouting at each other.

            “Arrow, take a horse and go get the car!” Machete shouts over the BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! of her pistol.

            “No, I’m not leaving you guys!”

            “Damn it, Arrow, we don’t have time to argue! Go get the Moon Cruiser and pick us up! These cowboys are coming out of the woodwork.”

            Arrow finally gives in to Machete’s demands and runs into an alley. He emerges a moment later on horseback, galloping down the street under a hail of gunfire, kicking up a trail of dust behind him. Somehow, someway, he doesn’t get hit.

            I turn my attention back to the swelling army of cowboys. Several bullets obliterate our barrels, forcing us out of hiding. I grab Dorothy yet again and yank her behind a casket outside the tombstone place.

            I no more than jump up to fire my gun when a gleaming throwing star whizzes past my head, grazing my right ear. The star imbeds into a tombstone directly behind me.

            Yang hops over, wielding her sword. “We have business to settle,” she growls before swinging her blade down over my head.

            Dorothy and I jump back. The sword cleaves the casket in two, in the exact spot I was just standing. I scoot back until I bump into the tombstone. I groan when I realize I dropped my gun while avoiding Yang’s katana blade.

            “What’s going on, Yang? I thought we were teaming up against the cowboys!”

            “You thought wrong.” Yang comes at me again. I roll out of the way just as the blade slices the tombstone in half.

            Dorothy snatches my gun and fires it at Yang, but she misses. Yang retaliates by kicking Dorothy in the face. Dorothy yelps and tumbles into the open casket. Yang spins around and kicks me in the gut. I stumble backwards, struggling not to fall.

            Yang charges toward me, swinging her sword like a lunatic. I continue backing up until I stumble over the bottom step of a restaurant. Yang swings her sword at me, which I narrowly avoid by rolling out of the way. I leap onto the porch and grab a small chair. I heave the chair at Yang, who simply ducks to avoid it. She then kicks me in the neck. I fall through the restaurant’s front door and collapse onto the floor.

            I glance around to find the restaurant deserted. And for good reason; the back wall is on fire.

            Yang barges in after me and continues trying to slice me in half. I grab a silver platter and hurl it at Yang’s head, which she deflects with her sword. That gives me a chance to whip out my mace and blast her in the eyes. Yang shrieks and covers her face.

            I turn to bolt out the door and nearly collide into Dorothy.

            “What are you doing?” I shout. “This whole place is about to burn down!”

            Dorothy looks up at the flaming ceiling and gasps. “I… I was just coming to help you. I--- look out!”

            Dorothy shoves me to the floor and falls on top of me. Yang’s sword just barely misses her.

            By now the quick-moving fire has engulfed the back of the restaurant, the ceiling, and the walls. Only the front hasn’t been scorched. The thick black smoke billowing through the room makes it hard to see, even with my goggles on. I shove Dorothy toward the door. “Get out of here! I’m right behind you!”

            Dorothy hesitates a moment before hurrying outside.

            I turn to Yang. She’s still aimlessly attacking the air. I grab a pot off a table and bash her over the head. She crumples to the floor. 

            I’m almost tempted to leave her behind, but I really don’t want her to burn alive. I didn’t want Pitbull to catch on fire, either, I just didn’t have a choice.

            I grab Yang’s feet and drag her through the door. We make it just in time, too. The ceiling caves as soon as we step onto the porch. I seriously have no idea why we always cut things so damn close.

            Dorothy runs over to check on me. I wipe away the sweat pouring down my face and take in my surroundings. Dozens of wounded cowboys litter the street. Boom Boom, Krystal, and Machete are still exchanging shots from behind overturned horse carts. Yin is with them as well, hurling throwing stars. Dorothy and I dive toward Boom Boom’s bullet-riddled horse car and crouch down.

            Boom Boom changes out an ammunition cartridge. “Nice of you to join us.”

            “We were preoccupied.” I peek out over the top of the horse cart and fire off a shot, hitting a cowboy in the shoulder.

            “Where’s Arrow?” I ask, dropping back to the ground. “We’re wasting all of our bullets on these clowns when we should be saving them for Alaska.”

            “I have no freaking clue,” Boom Boom shouts over the roar of her gun. Bullet casings fly out and smack me in the arm.

            The cowboys close in on us, pounding us with bullets. And reinforcements continue to pile into the street. It’ll take a miracle for us to get out of this mess alive.

            And it’s a miracle we get. Just when all hope seems to be lost, a horrifying scream signals our salvation. The army of cowboys stops firing for a moment and watches in stunned silence as a scorched, deformed monster emerges from a back alley.

            “Dear God, is that… is that Pitbull?” Boom Boom whispers.

            I use the binocular function on my goggles to zoom in on the monster. When I get a glimpse of his face, it takes everything I have not to gag. The monster’s face is completely black. There’s no hair on his head, save for a few singed strands on the sides. Red eyes peek out from under the mass of rotted flesh that makes up what’s left of his face. A gleaming, metallic arm dangles from his side. His clothes look damp, as if he just jumped into a pond.

            The creature formally known as Pitbull shrieks in pain every time he takes a step forward. “I’m going to kill you, Lance! If it’s the last thing I do, I will kill you!”

            A few cowboys rush over and open fire on him. Pitbull blocks most of the bullets with his arm, while his Kevlar vest protects him from the rest.

            Pitbull snatches the nearest cowboy’s shotgun and snaps it in half. He then grabs the cowboy’s neck and squeezes it. A sickening snapping sound rings out across the street. The cowboy plummets to the ground.

            The other cowboys throw down their guns and run in the opposite direction. Pitbull lumbers toward me, snarling like a wounded beast.

            Yin elbows Machete in the face and wields her sword. “Give yourselves up and we’ll go easy on you.”

            “I’m tired of you and your dingbat sister running your mouths,” Krystal says, whipping out her taser.

            “Wait, no!” Yin shouts, but she’s too late. Krystal pulls the trigger and Yin collapses as a barrage of electricity courses through her quivering body.

            By now most of the cowboys have run off. I guess they’re terrified of a scorched cyborg who seems impervious to gunshots. To be honest, I kind of am, too.

            When Pitbull gets within 20 feet of us, I zap him in the neck with my taser.

            Only he doesn’t go down.

            “Oh crap,” I mutter, backing away. “This isn’t good… this isn’t good at all.”

            Pitbull’s screams grow louder, but he keeps lurching forward.

            “I’ll kill you!” he shrieks as a chunk of his flesh detaches from his cheek. “I’ll kill you all!”

            “I really didn’t want to do this, but…”

            Boom Boom aims her gun at Pitbull’s forehead.

            She’s going to kill him.

            Before Boom Boom pulls the trigger, the Moon Cruiser lands behind us. Boom Boom lowers her gun. She only kills when it’s absolutely necessary; now that Arrow’s here, I guess she doesn’t feel the need to blow Pitbull’s brains out.

            “Everyone get in the car!” I shout, still pressing the trigger on my taser. “I can’t hold him back forever!”

            Pitbull’s entire body quivers from the onslaught of electricity, but he continues his juggernaut march. It’s simultaneously the most amazing and horrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

            Machete hops into the front passenger seat. Krystal climbs into the back. Boom Boom tries to usher Dorothy toward the car, but she wrenches free from her grasp.

            “I’m not leaving Sally!”

            Dorothy runs over to Sally’s body, which is still lying beside the wreckage of the saloon. She grabs ahold of Sally’s feet and drags her toward the Cruiser.

            Boom Boom groans. “Dorothy, we can’t… I mean, it’s not practical…”

            Boom Boom trails off. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Dorothy to leave her friend behind.

            Machete, on the other hand, has no problem saying exactly what’s on her mind. “Oh no! You are not putting a dead body in my car!”

            “Then I’m not coming with you!” Dorothy shouts

            “Fine! I don’t care!” Machete shouts back.

            “Guys, we don’t have time for this,” I say. “Just shut up and…”

            My taser suddenly short-circuits. I toss it to the ground so I don’t get electrocuted. Without a wall of electricity holding him back, Pitbull falls flat on his face.

            I turn to Boom Boom and shout, “Seriously, we’re out of time! Get in the car!”

            Machete’s eyes widen when she sees Pitbull pushing himself up. “Alright, alright, bring the body! But I better not see any blood stains on my upholstery.”

            Machete never ceases to amaze me with her callousness. I help Dorothy drag Sally the rest of the way to the Moon Cruiser. Pitbull staggers to his feet and howls in fury. His eyes look like flaming embers stuck inside charred molten rock.

            Almost in a panic, I shove Sally’s body onto the floor of the car. Dorothy hops in after her, followed by Krystal and Boom Boom. I’m the last one in.

            “Go, Arrow!” I scream.

            Arrow clicks the ignition button. The Moon Cruiser levitates off the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

            I watch in horror as Pitbull lunges toward us. The Moon Cruiser begins to shoot forward, but Pitbull is moving insanely fast for a lumbering, 300-plus pound cyborg with third degree burns all over his body. He leaps into the air and grabs onto the trunk. The car tilts upwards from all the weight.

            “Die!” Pitbull hisses. His mind is enveloped in a cloud of ravenous, mass-murdering hatred.

            We shoot forward at an incredible speed, causing Pitbull to swing back and forth. The only thing keeping him from falling off is his cyborg arm. His robotic fingers have clawed into the trunk, keeping him anchored.

            The few remaining cowboys take aim at our fleeing car. Their shots shatter most of our windows, but thankfully no one gets hit. That unfortunately includes Pitbull.

             Boom Boom, Dorothy, Krystal, and I press ourselves against the back of the front seats, trying to get as far away from Pitbull as possible.

            Pitbull uses his regular arm to grab a gun from his belt and point it directly at me.

            “Gimme your gun, Boom Boom!” I shout. She tries to hand it to me, but I fumble with it. The gun slides out of my sweaty hands and tumbles under Arrow’s seat.

            Pitbull cackles and points his gun through our shattered back windshield.

            I shove Dorothy and Boom Boom to the floor and lay on top of them. Krystal kneels beside me and covers her face.

            “If we get out of this mess alive, we’re heading straight to Alaska!” I shout. “No more crazy stops!”

            Pitbull grunts, “Wait, you’re going to Alaska? That makes… holy crap, you’re going after Rasputin!”

            I lift my head and say, “Duh. What did you think we were doing?”

            Pitbull is still dangling from the back of the car, but he’s no longer pointing his gun at me. It’s like he’s reconsidering his decision to kill us.

            Arrow doesn’t give him much time, though. He leans over the back of his seat and aims an arrow at Pitbull’s heavily-charred face.

            “Get your own ride, chump.”

            Arrow fires the arrow directly into Pitbull’s left robotic eyeball. Sparks fly out as Pitbull screams bloody murder. He loosens his iron clad grip on the trunk and falls off. I peer over the side of the car and watch as Pitbull plunges into a small stream.   

            Dorothy and Boom Boom scoot away from Sally. I just now realize I shoved them on top of a dead body.

            “That was too close,” Machete says. “I agree with Lance, no more unnecessary stops. We head straight to Alaska and do what we came to do.”

            Now that we’re out of danger, we all take a seat. Boom Boom sits behind Arrow. Krystal plops down in the middle, and I sit behind Machete. Dorothy sits on my lap. Sally’s body is still on the floor, making for a morbid, depressing flight.

            Since most of the windows are shattered, gusts of wind sweep into the car, blowing our hair all over the place.

            “I say we fly for a few hundred miles before making camp, to put some distance between us and the cyborg freak,” Machete says. “We can bury the girl when we land.”

            I look out the back windshield. By now we’re pretty far away from the Wild West Settlement, but I can still make out the inferno we left behind. We’re not going to be Geronimo Blackbird’s favorite people when he finds out we destroyed his dream city.       

            “I still don’t understand how Pitbull and those ninjas found us again,” Arrow says. “It’s almost like they’re psychic.”

            “When we land we can search the car for more bugs,” Machete says. “We should also check our clothes.”

            Dorothy turns her head and rests it on my chest. I’m honored she feels so comfortable in my arms. I’m probably the first guy she’s ever met who hasn’t touched her inappropriately.

            I push back her damp, brown hair and caress her face. She truly is beautiful, but she has an aura of sadness and fragility that I feel compelled to protect. As long as Dorothy is under my watch, I’ll make sure no one hurts her ever again.

            I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion washes over me. I feel like I could sleep for days.

             As I descend into slumber, there’s one thought that keeps running through my mind. We’re nowhere near Alaska, and yet we’ve already gone through all kinds of hell. What are we going to have to endure in order to nab the most wanted man on Earth?

Chapter Ten: Boom Boom

            We stop to set up camp just before sunset. The ground is damp from a recent thunderstorm, so it’s not exactly the most ideal spot. It is in a meadow, however, and there’s a stream nearby, so it will have to do.

            As soon as we land, we check the Moon Cruiser for tracking devices. We spend a good 15 minutes looking all over the place: under the seats, in the upholstery, in the glove box, inside the engine and trunk. Arrow even crawls under the car to see if any bugs are attached to the underbody, but he comes up empty.

            After that we check our weapons and clothes, but as far as we can tell, we’re all bug-free. I’m unnerved by the fact that we don’t find anything. If Pitbull was able to find us twice before, he can certainly do so again. I just hope that he’s in so much pain from his injuries that he decides it’s best to leave us alone.

            Pretty soon the sun sets and the moon and stars come out. Machete starts a fire so we don’t freeze. The air is cooler than usual, signifying the quickly-approaching winter. Shortly after that we bury Sally.

            It’s a traumatic ordeal. I do my best not to cry as Arrow digs a shallow grave with a shovel from Machete’s trunk. My best isn’t good enough, though, especially when Dorothy begins to sob. Soon a waterfall of tears stream down my cheeks.

            Once the grave is deep enough, Lance picks up Sally’s body and gently lays her in the dirt. Arrow begins to fill the grave back in when Krystal blurts out, “Wait! We should say a few words.”

            “Krystal’s right,” Dorothy says in a cracking voice. “We can’t just bury Sally without saying something.”

            “That’s a good idea,” I say. “Do you want to go first?”

            Dorothy nods and opens her trembling mouth. All that comes out, however, is a choked sob. She buries her head in my arms and says, “I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”

            I rub her back. ” Shhh, it’s okay.”

            Dorothy’s sobs become muffled as she presses her face against my chest.

            I’m about to call the whole thing off when Lance steps up to the plate.

            “I’d like to say something.”

            We all look at Lance in awe. I’ve seen Lance wage war against dozens of criminals, but this may very well be the bravest thing he’s ever done. Everyone falls eerily silent as Lance begins his eulogy.

            “I haven’t known Sally a long time, which is a tragedy. She seemed like a wonderful, loving person. That’s all the more amazing considering she suffered a horrific life full of abuse, suppression, hatred, and neglect. But that’s not what I’m going to remember about Sally. From now on when I think of her, I’ll always think back to how she ended her life. She ended it doing something far too many people are afraid to do. She died fighting. She died fighting back against the very worst among us. Sally decided to rise up against those that would prey on the weak and defenseless. Because of this, Sally is, and always will be… my hero.”

            Lance’s voice cracks near the end. It’s enough to shatter my already broken heart.

            Lance sniffles and continues. “I hope Sally has finally found the peace that eluded her in life.”

            Lance wipes his eyes and turns his head. He hates when people see him cry. He thinks it makes him look weak. I beg to differ. To me it’s a sign that he’s a person of great sympathy and passion… and a huge heart.

            Dorothy completely breaks down as a result of Lance’s beautiful eulogy. Krystal blows her nose on some leaves and sobs, “Aw great, now my mascara’s running.”

            Arrow turns so no one can see his tears. I’m shocked beyond words, though, to see Machete sniffing and wiping her moist left eye.

            Arrow stares at Machete in shock. “Mom, are you… are you crying?”

            “No!” Machete snaps, turning her head and lighting a cigar. “It’s just my allergies.”

            “But you don’t have…”

            Arrow trails off when he sees me placing my finger against my nose. Machete should be allowed to grieve without everyone gawking at her.

            I go over to Lance and give him a hug. We embrace for a long time. By the time we break apart, Arrow has already buried Sally under a thin layer of dirt. Even though none of us are super religious people, Krystal concocts a makeshift cross out of branches and sticks it into the mud. It’s a sweet, moving gesture.

            Machete grabs some towels and rags out of her trunk and tosses them to us. “Alright, let’s go down to the river and wash up. You all smell like rotten cheese mixed with dog shit.”

            Arrow shakes his head. “Oh Mom, you have such a way with words.”

            We make our way down to the river bank and strip out of our dirty, blood-caked clothes. During times like this, you can’t be coy or embarrassed about getting naked in front of other people (despite how much I hate doing so). Still, as soon as I’m nude, I step into the river and submerge myself.

            The water is a lot cooler than I thought it’d be; shivers cascade down my spine. I clear my mind and wait for my body to acclimate to the low temperature. Once I’m comfortable, I use the small bottle of shampoo Machete brought along and dump a bunch of it in my hair and all over my body. I then use my rag to scrub away all the dirt and grime clinging to my skin. It’s the most refreshed I’ve felt in days.

            By now most of the others have disrobed and stepped into the river. Machete is a-ways downstream, probably because she doesn’t want to be bothered by us. Lance and Dorothy are near the bank, chuckling as they splash each other. I act like I’m not bothered to see them together, but it does bother me… a lot.

            Something suddenly touches my back. I shriek and spin around, slapping my attacker in the face.

            It’s Arrow.

            Arrow holds his right eye. “Whoa, calm down, Red. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

            “Omigosh, I’m so sorry!”

            I press my hand against Arrow’s bare chest. It’s like I’m touching marble. My eyes dart down to his chiseled abs. A small trail of hair leads down to… dang, the water comes up to his waist. Bummer.

            Arrow clears his throat. I look up to find him grinning.

            “My eyes are up here, Red.”

             Arrow’s eyes deviate from mine and gaze down.

            I lower into the water until it comes up to my neck. “So are mine,” I say, splashing him in the face.

            Arrow grabs my shampoo and pours it on his head. Some of the soapy lather trickles over his lean shoulders and down his chest, leaving a clean trail in its wake. Arrow’s almost as dirty as I am.

            “Oh wow, this feels so good,” he says, rubbing the shampoo into his hair.

            He grins at me and mischievously says, “Would you mind getting my back? I can’t reach that far.”

            “S… sure,” I stammer. I use my rag to wipe away all the grime on his neck and backside. Pretty soon his back is smooth and fresh, save for a few scars and bruises.

            Once Arrow finishes washing up, he turns to me. “Your turn.”

            Arrow moves behind me and runs his fingers through my hair, thoroughly washing it free of dirt and blood. His fingers dig deep into my scalp, gently massaging it.

            “Oh Arrow, that feels amazing,” I moan.

            “What can I say, I have magic fingers.”

            “Yes you do.”

            Arrow’s ‘magic fingers’ move down my neck. He digs in deep, loosening all my knots. My moaning intensifies. A cool breeze blows through, intensifying the pleasure. Small waves crash into our bodies. It’s an awesome sensation.

            Arrow moves down to my shoulders. I arc my back. “I haven’t had a massage like this in… ever!”

            Arrow leans in so close, his breath tickles my neck. “You are insanely beautiful, Red. You make the models in Sanctuary 41 look like carnival freaks. Like bearded ladies with goat horns sticking out of their foreheads.”

            A giggle escapes my lips, surprising and embarrassing me. I certainly didn’t intend to do it. I’m behaving like a giddy school girl. But Arrow knows how to woo a lady, that’s for sure. The Sanctuary 41 models are some of the most beautiful women in the world. To be compared to them would elicit a giggle from any girl.

            Arrow’s hands move lower, working out the knots on my lower back. My knees buckle. Owls hoot off in the distance, and crickets… well, cricket. It’s the perfect natural soundtrack to complement the perfect massage.

            After what seems like forever, I crack open my eyes and scowl at the sight of Lance giving Dorothy a massage. She seems to be enjoying hers even more than I’m enjoying mine. Lance flicks his tongue at me before turning his attention back to Dorothy. He’s just trying to make me jealous.

            And it works.

            I move away from Arrow and head back to shore.

            “Red, where you going?” Arrow calls after me. “I wasn’t finished!”

            “I’m sorry, Arrow,” I say, wringing out my hair. “I’m just really tired. I’m going to go lay down.”

            I emerge from the river and grab a towel. Krystal barges past me, buck naked, and screams, “Cannonball!”

            I watch in mild amusement as she leaps into the river, sending a small tsunami crashing into Lance and Dorothy. She’s a 10-year old trapped inside an 18-year old’s body.

            I dry off and wrap my towel around my chest. I then scoop my clothes off the river bank and head back to camp.

            I stand near the fire to dry off. I gasp when two glowing eyes materialize in the nearby brush. I think it’s a wolf. I grab my taser and zap the air. The bright blue light and zapping sound causes the eyes to disappear. I’ll need to remember that even out in the wilderness, we’re not safe from danger. Vigilance will be the key to our survival.

            I’m about to put my clothes back on when I detect a pungent odor. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s coming from my clothes. I really wish I had thought to bring at least another pair of underwear. I hold my breath as I put my nasty, sweaty, dirty clothes and body armor back on. My clean body is now once again covered in sweat and grime. I probably would have been better off not even washing up. At least then I wouldn’t have noticed the stark contrast between being squeaky clean and utterly filthy.

            I really was going to go straight to sleep, but now I’m hungry. I rummage around in the trunk until I find Machete’s sack of food. I pull out a bag of dried fruit and trail mix and sit on a log near the fire. I make sure not to eat too much as I notice our supplies are running low.

            I glance around the campsite, keeping my eye out for danger. I slide on my goggles so I can see in infra-red. A few nocturnal animals scurry around in the forest, like raccoons and opossums. The wolf I saw moments before is now deep in the forest. He won’t be back to bother us again, not unless he wants to get tased.

            My gaze eventually falls on Sally’s makeshift grave. I quickly look away so I don’t break down in sobs.

            Pretty soon the others return from their bath. Arrow arrives first. He asks if I’m okay. I tell him yes, that I loved his massage and I hope he can give me another one sometime soon. Arrow smiles and says he’s looking forward to it.

            Krystal and Machete are the next ones to show up, followed by Lance and Dorothy. Lance sits on a log next to me, and Dorothy snuggles up against him. I do my best not to appear annoyed, although I don’t think I’m entirely successful.

            I keep my goggles on and check out the news. Arrow does the same thing. Krystal starts watching one of her trashy reality shows. I can tell just by how she cracks up laughing. Machete sits on the hood of her car while chugging on a cigar. Dorothy continues clinging to Lance as they talk quietly amongst themselves. I increase the volume on my goggles and focus on the news.

            The first thing the reporter talks about is the destruction of the Wild West Settlement. Footage is shown of the still-raging fire, which has yet to be contained. According to the reporter, the blaze has scorched 30% of the town. All tourists and residents have been evacuated.

            The reporter then shows footage of us having a shootout with the cowboys.

            “Kind of ruins the whole allure of being in the Wild West when you know they have hidden security cameras,” Arrow grumbles. He must be watching the same news report I am.

            “At least they don’t know it’s us,” I say. “You can’t really make out our faces from the grainy footage.”

            That theory is instantly shot down when the reporter shows clear images of our faces. The reporter goes on to say, “The suspected assailants in the terrorist attack against the Wild West Settlement are freelance bounty hunters Machete, Arrow, Lance, Krystal, and Boom Boom. If anyone has any information on these individuals, they are urged to contact the government’s national criminal hotline. Monetary rewards will be given for information leading to their arrests. Wild West founder Geronimo Blackbird has also put out a $10 million reward for their capture.

            “This reward is not to be confused with the $10 million bounty being offered by fugitive mobster Caesar Dominguez,” the reporter elaborates. “Mr. Blackbird’s reward is actually sanctioned by the state, whereas Caesar’s is an unsanctioned, illegal bounty.”

            “Glad she cleared that up for everybody,” I grumble.

            Arrow sighs. “Great, now we have two bounties over our heads.”

            “Actually I have two bounties on my head,” I point out. “You forgot Caesar doesn’t care about you and Machete. Although I’m sure that will change when he finds out you’re helping us.”

            Arrow shrugs. “It really doesn’t matter how many bounties are out against us. One is just as bad as two. It’s like saying there’s a difference between being tossed into a 500-degree oven and a 5,000-degree one. You’re going to burn either way.”

            “Good analogy.”

            Arrow grins. “See, I’m not a brainless twat like your lover-boy, Lance.”

            My cheeks flush. “Lance is not my ‘lover-boy’. And yes, Lance isn’t the most well-read person on the planet, but he’s not an idiot.”

            “Yeah, whatever,” Arrow mumbles.

            I can tell he’s irritated I keep rushing to Lance’s defense. I don’t want things to turn frosty between us, so I quickly change the subject. “Do you think we should tell the others about Blackbird’s bounty?”

            Arrow thinks for a moment, then says, “Nah. Ignorance is bliss. No sense worrying them more than they already are.”

            I nod in agreement and turn my attention back to the news. The reporter moves on to breaking news coming out of Alaska. That piques my interest, for obvious reasons. The reporter talks about how violence has exploded all across Alaska after President Klaxton put out a hit on Rasputin. According to the reporter, anarchy has broken out after thousands of bounty hunters from all over the country have flooded the state. Footage pops up of gunfights breaking out in Alaskan clubs and bars as bounty hunters run into not only suspected Russian mobsters, but other criminals as well. Most of the violence is in New Las Vegas, Rasputin’s rumored hiding place. I’m not too terribly surprised, as New Las Vegas is the crime capitol of the world. Cramming thousands of bounty hunters into a city filled with thousands of criminals is a recipe for disaster.

            The reporter goes on to say dozens of bounty hunters have been killed during the shootouts, including some famous ones. Blackjack Johnson, who has over 200 apprehensions under his belt (and was an old friend of Dagger’s), was killed outside a Russian nightclub in New Las Vegas. And my personal favorite, Machine Gun Tooti, the star of a wildly popular bounty hunting reality TV show, was killed two days ago in her motel room on the New Las Vegas Strip. Krystal will be devastated when she finds out. She loved Tooti’s show.

            The reporter also gives an update on breaking news coming out of the slums surrounding Sanctuary 13, way up in Northern Canada. A Canadian terror cell apparently detonated a car bomb in a crowded market, killing 30 and wounding over 100. Sometimes I forget we have terrorism here in America, since it’s not as rampant as it is in China.

            The biggest difference between us and the Chinese is that our government reached out to Canadians after the invasion and worked hard to assimilate them into our society. Klaxton even made sure to pick a Canadian-born vice president. China did no such thing. They treated the survivors of their brutal Russian invasion like savages, hence the reason China deals with way more terrorist attacks than we do.

            The reporter moves on to international news. 90% of the time international news is about China, and this is no exception. The reporter says there has been an escalation in the number of terror attacks within the past 24 hours. Ten different attacks have killed over 1,000 and wounded nearly ten times that number. Even I find that number staggering, and I’m used to death and destruction. All the attacks are being blamed on the Purple Dragons. The Chinese claim the attacks are the result of the bounty being offered for Rasputin’s head.

             I personally don’t know if I believe all this. The Chinese are notorious for inflating casualty numbers to stir up international sympathy for their war against Russian insurgents. The Empress is probably just trying to apply further pressure on the Klaxton Administration to hand over Rasputin. I highly doubt that will work, as Klaxton didn’t become the dictator of America by being easily manipulated.

            The reporter goes on to show footage of General Kang accusing the U.S. of not doing enough to crack down on terrorism. Kang goes on to claim it’s ‘imperative’ the U.S. apprehend Mikhail so ‘justice can be served’.

            Footage then pops up of Chinese warships playing ‘war games’ 100 miles off the coast of Alaska and Hawaii. Chinese subs have also been detected off the coast of California. The Chinese sure are feverishly beating the drums of war. Having war games so close to the American coast is an unprecedented act of provocation. With that being said, I’m still skeptical the Empress and General Kang are stupid enough to start a war. That would lead to the end of all life as we know it.

            A sharp, stabbing pain shoots across my brain, forcing me to remove my goggles. For some reason I get terrible migraines if I wear the goggles too long. Now that they’re off, I see Dorothy leaning into Lance, laughing about something. Lance seems to be enjoying himself as well.

            The pain in my head moves to my neck and back. I cry out and lean against a tree.

            Arrow jumps up and rushes to my side.

            “What’s wrong, Red?”

             “I’m fine,” I murmur. “I just get these really intense migraines sometimes. It’ll pass eventually. I just… I need to take a walk… to clear my head.”

            I get off the tree and stagger toward the woods.

            “Okay, I’ll go with you,” Arrow says.

            “No,” I say, a little too loudly.

            Arrow steps back and cocks his left eyebrow.

            “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammer, clutching my head again. “I just… I need some time alone.”

            Arrow nods and sits back down on his log. “Okay. Well, I’ll be sitting here waiting for you to come back.”

            “Thank you,” I say before stumbling into the woods. I didn’t mean to snap at Arrow, it’s just I don’t want him seeing me like this. I’m having withdrawals from my pain pills, and it’s making me crazy.

            I trudge through a leaf-covered trail leading down to the river. I don’t put my goggles on, as that would just exacerbate my headaches. But I don’t really need them anyway; the moonlight filtering through the treetops illuminates my path.

            I walk for what seems like forever, until the blinding pain in my brain becomes unbearable. I lean against a tree and blink back tears. I’m beginning to regret giving Sally my last two pills. What I wouldn’t give to have one right now.

            Another wave of pain washes over me, sending me to my knees. I sit against the tree with my head between my knees until the pain finally, mercifully recedes. It doesn’t go away, though. It’s always there in the background, like a low, slow burn.

            Now that my head no longer feels like it’s about to explode, I go back to thinking about Lance and Dorothy. I don’t know why I get so jealous. It’s not like Lance and I are a couple. But he’s still my best friend, and we were together for so long that it still hurts to see him with another woman, even someone as sweet as Dorothy. I should be happy for her. She had a hard life, and now she has a sweet guy she can confide in without worrying about him abusing her.

            I really need to get my mind off of Lance. I’m driving myself crazy. I put my goggles back on and do some more research on Mikhail. I pretty much already know everything about him, but a little extra research wouldn’t hurt. He is one of the most dangerous terrorists on the planet. We need to take advantage of anything that can give us an edge.

            I read over his files again before watching some rare, archived footage of him attacking civilians in China. One of the grainy videos is of him whizzing over the skies of Beijing in his exoskeleton. Slender silver wings extend out of his back as if he’s some half-man/half-bird mutant. Electricity spirals out of his fingers, zapping people on the ground. I’ve seen a lot as a bounty hunter, and even I have to admit it’s a frightening, intimidating sight. Mikhail is the epitome of a terrorist, someone who strikes fear in the hearts of his enemies.

            He’s also somewhat of a coward, though. As soon as Chinese forces appear on the ground and fire at him, he flies off. It’s a cowardly act like I said, but remarkably effective. By attacking the weak and fleeing from the strong, Mikhail continues to create fear and chaos while living to fight another day.

            The date on the bottom of the video is from seven years ago. It’s also the newest video I can find of Rasputin personally carrying out an attack. He’s hidden himself from public view ever since, save for when the Chinese caught a glimpse of him a few days ago via their spy satellites.

            Rasputin was definitely more active and brazen back in the day. Up until about seven years ago, when the Chinese really started cracking down on him, he personally carried out dozens of attacks. Now he leaves the field work to his followers while he stays hidden. I guess he realizes he’s more valuable to his cause as a living, breathing figurehead as opposed to an assassinated martyr.

            That does lead me to question how someone who has remained so well hidden for so many years could be so careless as to be spotted by a satellite. And how did the Chinese create such powerful satellites to begin with? I would imagine the U.S. has thousands of jamming devices capable of disrupting Chinese satellite signals. Otherwise they’d be spying on us all the time, especially our military bases. Something seems off. It’s almost like the U.S. wanted China to know Rasputin was here.

            A cracking branch snaps me out of my thoughts. I spin around and aim my gun at… Arrow?

            Arrow raises his hands. “Don’t shoot, Red. Just checking on you.”

            I exhale and sheathe my gun. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone you know to be armed. How did you find me, anyway? Were you following me?”

            “No. You just aren’t very good at covering your tracks. You left a trail of footprints in the mud.”

            Arrow crouches beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulder. I pretend to be pissed he came after me, but really I’m not. I actually could use a little company. More specifically, I could use Arrow’s company.

            “So whatcha doing?” he asks, massaging my neck as we sit down on a tree stump. I’ve got to admit, the massage feels good… real good. Even better than the one he gave me in the river. My headache seems to melt away.

            I lower my neck to give him easier access to my shoulders. I almost purr like a cat when he digs into my aching muscles. If I had him around to do this every night, I’d probably never need another pain pill.

            “I was… uh, just doing some research on Mikhail,” I murmur.

            Arrow stops rubbing my neck and cups my chin with his left hand. He uses his right hand to lift my shades. He leans in so close that his breath tickles my earlobes.

            “You have such beautiful green eyes.”

            Arrow then does something I’ve both fantasized and dreaded for years. He kisses me on the lips.

            I instinctively jerk my head back. Arrow opens his eyes and frowns.

            “I’m sorry, Red. I just thought…”

            “No Arrow, it’s not you… it’s me. I just…”

            I trail off. I don’t quite know what I want to say. Mostly it’s because I don’t know what to feel. Arrow’s an amazing guy, but something’s holding me back. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something.

            Arrow rubs my hands. “Look Red, I really like you. I want to get close to you, but you’ve got to let your shields down.”

            I gaze into Arrow’s intense brown eyes. They’re unwavering and focused, proving to me he means every word.

            “I know, and I really like you, too. I just… can we please take things slow?”

            Arrow chuckles. “Of course, Red. Of course.”

            He pulls me in close. I rest my head on his chest and sigh. I’m beginning to like him even more than I did before, which I didn’t think was possible.

            We’re both quiet for a long, long time. I listen to Arrows heartbeat. It’s slow and deep, a steady thump, thump, thump. It’s such a comforting and relaxing sound that it nearly puts me to sleep.

            My eyelids start to flutter when Arrow says something that stuns me.

            “I’d like for you to show me your criminal database.”

            I lift my head and back away. I don’t like where this is headed.

            Arrow places his hand on my lower back. I almost get the sense he’s doing it so I don’t jump up and run off. Not that I would. But I still feel trapped. I don’t like the feeling.

            “My mom and I can help you guys take down Mikhail, but you’ve got to trust us,” Arrow says in a borderline pleading voice. He hesitates for a moment, then blurts out, “You really need to show us those files.”

            I jerk away again. A major red flag goes up in my mind. Arrow is asking for way too much.

            “I can’t do that. Lance and Krystal won’t let me.”

            “Oh, so you have to do what they tell you to do?”

            I narrow my eyes. Arrow knows exactly how to press my buttons, and right now he’s pressing all of them.

            “Of course not. But this database is something Dagger created specifically for us. We’ve never allowed anyone else to see it. I don’t know if I want to start now.”

            Arrow pulls me in close yet again. This time his magnetism keeps me from pulling away.

            In a seductive whisper that sends shivers down my spine, Arrow says, “Consider this a test, Red. A test to see if I can trust you. To see if you can trust me. We’re all in this together. It’s the most dangerous mission any of us have ever undertaken. Everything we’ve gone through so far will pale in comparison to what we’re about to encounter. We can’t possibly hope to capture Rasputin if we’re constantly watching our backs… if we’re unable to trust each other. We need to be more open… more honest… more trusting. If we can’t do that, we might as well go back to Sanctuary 7 and hang up our boots. Because we sure as hell won’t be able to accomplish what we set out to do.”

            Arrow certainly has a way with words. My lips part, but nothing comes out. My brain tells me I need to be cautious, but my heart yearns to earn Arrow’s trust. I’m tired of not having someone to confide in, someone to love and trust completely. I’m tired of keeping secrets. I’m tired of it all. I want to be free… free to love… free to trust.

            “Okay,” I whisper.

            Arrow falters, as if he can’t believe I’m giving in. Quite frankly, neither can I.

            “You’re willing to trust me? To share the database?”

            I nod. “Yes. Why not? You and Machete have saved us countless times before. I mean, you did steal some of our captures, but…”

            “And I deeply apologize,” Arrow says without hesitation, tightening his hold on my hand. “I really didn’t want to steal your bounties, and I knew what we were doing was wrong, but my mom can be a…”

            “Major bitch?” I say.

            Arrow chuckles. “I was going to say persuasive, but I guess that works.”

            Arrow slides his goggles on and listens patiently as I direct him to our database’s domain name. It’s a complex site that consists of random numbers, letters, and symbols. We made it that way so no one accidentally stumbled upon it. Even to this day, Lance and Krystal have trouble remembering it. That’s why they leave all the research to me.

            “Wow, I’d never in a million years be able to remember that,” Arrow says.

            “That’s the point.”

            “So what’s the password?” Arrow says eagerly. I glance at him out of the side of my goggles. He’s staring straight ahead, the green light from his shades illuminating his face with a ghostly glow.

            I bite my lip. It’s one thing to show Arrow the incomprehensible 67-character domain name of our database. It’s another thing entirely to give him our password.

            Arrow turns to me and lifts his goggles. I can feel his eyes boring into my brain.

            “The password, Red?”

            I take a deep breath and blurt out, “It’s Genesis-Lazarus.”

            Arrow cocks his eyebrow and smirks. “Really? That’s quite a password.” He lowers his shades and puts it in. He does it even before I do, because by the time I log in, my goggles alert me to the fact someone else is already on the site.

            Arrow gasps as he glances over the thousands of files scrolling across his lenses. “My God, you have everyone on here. This is a gold-mine! You have aliases, code names, past residences, lists of friends and family members, banking accounts and social security numbers…. No wonder you guys are so freaking good at hunting down criminals!”

            I shrug. “It’s no big deal. Just a little something Dagger and I put together.”

            I’m being modest, of course. I’m actually pleased Arrow is so impressed with our treasure trove of intelligence. I’ve been busting my ass keeping it updated. It’s refreshing to hear someone appreciate my hard work. Sometimes I feel as if Lance and Krystal take me for granted.

            After Arrow spends several minutes perusing some of our files, he turns back to me and asks, “Just out of curiosity, why is Genesis-Lazarus your password? I didn’t think you guys were religious.”

            “We’re not. It’s…” I trail off and bite my tongue again. I really shouldn’t tell him. “I’m sorry, Arrow, but I can’t tell you what it means.”

            Arrow’s smirk returns. “And why not?”

            “I just can’t,” I snap.

            Arrow shrugs and grumbles, “Okay.”

            I can tell he’s hurt that I snapped at him. But I’ve already given him way more information than I should have. The only people who know the meaning behind Genesis-Lazarus are Lance and me. Dagger knew, too, of course, but he took our secret to his grave. Krystal knows what the password is, but she never bothered asking why we chose it. (Krystal isn’t the most curious person in the world.) I know it sounds dumb, but I like the fact that the meaning behind Genesis-Lazarus is our little secret… something only Lance and I share. I’ve already betrayed Lance’s trust by granting Arrow access to our files. I won’t betray it again by sharing something so personal.

            Arrow soon forgets about me snapping at him when I direct him to Rasputin’s profile. He’s astonished when he sees all the intel we have on him. He becomes even more amazed when I share our plan to infiltrate Rasputin’s inner circle by meeting with Igor Bolshevik, a Purple Dragon sympathizer rumored to be a close confident of the world’s most wanted man. If we can convince him to accept us as new members of his Alaskan gang, there’s a good chance we’ll be able to find Rasputin’s hiding place.

            “That’s genius!” Arrow exclaims. “The Purple Dragons and all their affiliates love taking on new, young members. Machete and I have done enough research to know that. We may have to kill one of their rivals to prove our loyalty, but that’s a small price to pay to capture the world’s most wanted fugitive. Damn, Red, you are so amazingly smart. You’re like the perfect girl.”

            I’m glad it’s dark because I’m sure my blushing cheeks look sunburned.

            Pretty soon our conversation turns from Mikhail to us. We take off our goggles and proceed to have a normal conversation. A regular, normal conversation you’d have with a friend… or even a boyfriend. We talk about our interests… what we like to do in our free time (what little of it we have), what our favorite foods are, our favorite drinks, favorite sports. I find myself rattling on and on like some love-struck girl who’s thrilled her crush is actually talking to her. At first I’m hesitant to cut loose and gab, but Arrow encourages me. He says he wants to know more about me. He wants to know all my likes, interests, hobbies, everything.

            I tell Arrow I like to paint and write poetry, and to my pleasant surprise he says he’d love to see my work someday. Lance never wanted to see my artwork or writing, even when we dated. Arrow confides in me that he likes to write as well. He even started a novel about teen bounty hunters, and one of the characters is based on me! I crack up and tell him that sounds awesome. He laughs and says it’s actually pretty bad. Somehow I doubt that.

            We soon move on to our dreams. I confide in Arrow that I would love to one day become a teacher, more specifically a history or English teacher. Arrow tells me I’d be a natural. He then says he’d like to become a community organizer, or maybe even an attorney, so he can represent the poor and downtrodden in a court of law for little to no charge. I tell him he’d be fantastic, that the country needs someone like him to take on our corrupt judicial system. Needless to say the compliments flow freely between the two of us.

            Arrow pretty much has me in the palm of his hands, but he makes me fall for him even harder when he tells me his greatest dream is to marry an amazing woman like myself, someone he can cherish and grow old with. He wants to raise a giant family with her, having 6-10 kids that he can spoil rotten. And he hopes that soon there’s a lasting world peace, so he can raise that family free from the specter of a nuclear holocaust. My heart flutters as he tells me all this. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.

            Talk eventually turns to our families. Arrow explains his dad died when he was young, and so did his younger brother and sister. (His father died while on a bounty hunting mission with Machete, and his siblings died from one of the deadly influenza pandemics that seem to sweep across the globe every few years.) Arrow explains this is why Machete is so over-protective of him, why she’ll shoot someone without remorse if they so much as look at him funny. He’s all she has, and Machete is all he has…

            “Until now,” Arrow says, clutching my hands.

            My heart flutters once more. It’s like there’s a butterfly in my chest.

            “So what happened to your family?” Arrow inquires. “I don’t mean Dagger and Lance and all them, I mean your biological family.”

            A lump forms in my throat. I should have known this question was coming. Arrow has been very open and honest with me about his past. Why shouldn’t he expect the same from me? But I don’t like talking about my past. Even after all these years, the emotions I have about it are too raw… too fresh. I’ve survived by keeping my feelings buried in the deepest, darkest depths of my soul… out of sight and out of mind.

            I look down at the ground and quietly say, “My parents died when I was very young. I was 8 or 9, I think. I don’t recall exactly.”

            Arrow rubs my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Red. I didn’t mean to make you upset. But is that why Dagger took you in?”

            “He didn’t take me in right away,” I say, struggling to fight back a flood of tears. “The next few years are kind of a blur. I…”

            I grow quiet. The years following my parents’ deaths are not a blur at all. I remember precisely what I went through. But I can’t talk about it. It’s too painful.

            “Hey, it’s okay,” Arrow says, wiping away my tears. “You don’t have to talk about it. I know you and Lance are pretty much alone now that Dagger’s gone. I didn’t know him all that well personally, but he’s definitely a legend, especially in Sanctuary 7. And from what I’ve heard, he was a great man and an amazing father.”

            “He was indeed,” I say, sniffling. “His kids, Blade and Harpoon, were devastated when he died. They’re just now beginning to get back to their old selves. For a while there we were all in a state of shock. Dagger always seemed so invincible. He avoided death hundreds of times before. His passing reminded me that any of us could go at any moment. Our time on this Earth is not a guaranteed thing. That’s why we should cherish the time we spend with the ones we love. Nothing lasts forever.”

            “I’m definitely cherishing this moment,” Arrow says.

            I smile and blink away my tears. Arrow is saying and doing all the right things to woo a girl like me. Right now he could ask me to run away with him and I’d seriously consider it.

            “By the way, I think my mom had a crush on Dagger,” Arrow says sheepishly.

            That causes me to burst out laughing. “Omigosh, really? Why do you think that?”

            “Occasionally we’d talk about you guys, and she’d just sort of smile and stare dreamily off into space when his name came up,” Arrow elaborates.

            I continue laughing hysterically. When I finally calm down enough to talk, I say, “Wow, could you imagine Machete and Dagger as a couple?”

            “They’d have some freaky offspring, that’s for sure,” Arrow snorts.

            Arrow gets all serious again. “My mom and I were actually wondering what happened to Dagger. All we heard was that Caesar’s goons killed him. I know you guys usually went on missions together. Did he go out by himself or something?”

            The lump in my throat returns. This memory is just as raw and fresh as the ones about my parents.

            Arrow senses I’m upset. “Nevermind, it was wrong of me to bring it up.”

            “No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’ll do me some good to share the story. I’ve kept my feelings on this bottled up for far too long. I think that’s one of my problems. I never take time to open up… to laugh… to cry.”

            Arrow tightens his embrace. “Whenever you need to talk, Red, I’m here for you.”

            “I know,” I whisper, resting my head against his chest.

            I take a deep breath and say, “A little over six months ago, Lance, Krystal, and I became deathly ill. We caught that crazy bird flu that swept across the planet last spring, the one that killed over 100,000 people and sickened millions more.”

            “Yeah, I remember that,” Arrow says. “My mom got it, too. For a few days there I didn’t think she’d make it.”

            “Yeah, it was a bad one. I remember watching a report about it a couple months ago. Scientists say now that the climate has gone hay-wire, we can expect to see more pandemics. Something about the warmer weather allowing mutated strains of bacteria and viruses to spread and flourish.”

            “That totally sucks,” Arrow groans. “I hate getting sick.”

            “Yeah, I know. So anyway, we were all so sick we couldn’t even get out of bed. Soon pretty much everyone in our apartment complex caught it, including Blade, Harpoon, Krystal’s grandmother, and Dagger. But Dagger was the most hard-headed man I’ve ever known. He refused to acknowledge he was sick, even when he started vomiting. He continued going after criminals while the rest of us stayed home to recuperate.”

            “Oh, I see,” Arrow says gloomily. He’s a smart guy; he can probably guess where this story is headed.

            “Apparently one night he got a tip about where Caesar was hiding out. He stupidly decided to go after him by himself. He… was killed during a shootout outside some night club in Cincinnati.”

            I struggle to keep my composure. Arrow’s embrace helps keep my tears in check.

            “Lance and I found out he died the following morning, when we saw his bullet-riddled corpse hanging from a light post on the news. If only he waited until we got better. We could have helped him. He was probably so delirious with fever that he didn’t know what he was doing. He was like a father figure to me, and I miss him dearly. We’ve managed to stay afloat by continuing our bounty hunting missions, but it’s hard. Dagger was so good at hunting down crooks. Lance, Krystal, and I are just amateurs who luck out every now and then.”

            “Jeez, now I feel even worse than I already did about stealing your captures,” Arrow says miserably.

            “You should,” I reply, somewhat bitterly. “We busted our asses hunting down those thugs, and you and Machete just swooped in at the last second and stole from us. It sucked what you guys did.”

            “I know, and I can’t apologize enough.” Arrow lowers his head in shame.

            I instantly feel bad when I see how upset he is. Yes I’m still a little pissed he and Machete screwed us out of some lucrative bounties, but my feelings for him more than counteract that. I give his right hand a gentle squeeze, letting him know I forgive him.

            Arrow surprises me by leaning in for another kiss. I surprise myself when I don’t resist. Our lips meet and remain connected as we slide off the tree stump and lay in the grass. We spend the rest of the evening making out.

            It’s easily one of the best nights of my life. Right here… right now… in Arrow’s arms… all is right in the world.

Chapter Eleven: Lance

            I’m in the middle of dreaming about taking down Rasputin single-handedly when frantic shouting jolts me awake. I crack open my crusty eyes to find Boom Boom leaning over me, shaking my shoulders.

            “Lance, wake up! Wake up!”

            I lift my head. Dorothy is lying on my chest. My back aches from sleeping on the ground. My mind is in a fog, which always happens when I’m roused out of a deep sleep, but things are starting to come back to me. We set up camp for the night and Boom Boom went for a walk. Arrow eventually went after her. I was tempted to follow as well, but Dorothy and I were talking. Since she’s still reeling from the death of her best friend, I didn’t want to be rude and ditch her. Pretty soon we grew tired and lay on the grass. I must have drifted off to sleep shortly after that. I glance over at Krystal, who’s snoring loudly on the other side of our burned-out campfire. I don’t see Arrow and Machete, though. The Moon Cruiser is gone as well.

            “What the hell?” I grumble, sitting up. Dorothy slides off my chest and jolts awake. She rubs her eyes and mumbles, “Is it morning already?”

            I look up at the sky. It’s still pretty dark, but I do detect a soft, gray light off in the distance. Dawn is slowly yet surely shedding light on the darkened world.

            “Arrow and Machete ditched us!” Boom Boom shouts in a near panic. “We’re stranded!”

            I jump up and grasp Boom Boom’s trembling shoulders. “Okay, Firecracker, calm down. You freaking out isn’t helping matters.”

            Boom Boom’s eyes are wide with fear, and her face is ghostly pale. She’s not herself. She’s been a little off the past couple days now. I have a sinking feeling I know why.

            I give Boom Boom a gentle shake. “Focus, Firecracker, focus! Where did you and Arrow go last night? Do you know where he and Machete might have gone? Maybe they just went to go get some supplies.”

            I don’t believe that, of course. I agree with Boom Boom; they deserted us. But I need her to calm down.

            My ploy doesn’t work, though. She pushes past me and screams, “I can’t believe the bastard deceived me! I poured my heart and soul out to him!”

            Boom Boom gasps and steps back, nearly stumbling over a tree root. “My God! He couldn’t have… he didn’t!”

            “He couldn’t have what?” I ask.

            Boom Boom ignores me. Instead, she puts her goggles on and logs onto the internet. I can tell from the green light shining out of the sides of her lenses.

            Boom Boom bites her lip as she looks for something. A few seconds later, she screams, “No… NO!!”

            I grab Boom Boom’s shoulders once again and lift her goggles. Her eyes are filled with tears.

            “Boom Boom, listen to me.”

            Boom Boom’s wavering eyes finally focus. I take a deep breath and calmly say, “What’s going on? I want to help you, but I can’t unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

            Boom Boom shivers, almost like she’s going through some sort of withdrawal. I’ve encountered enough drug addicts over the years to know what it looks like.

            “He hacked into our database, Lance. He logged into our database and changed the password! We’re locked out!”

            “Wait, what?!”

            Boom Boom starts rambling again. “He only pretended to care about me so he could learn the password! The lying dog!”

            Boom Boom kicks the burnt remains of our campfire, spraying a cloud of ash into the air.

            I grab Boom Boom’s shoulders for the third time. “Boom Boom, how did Arrow find out what our password was? Did you tell him?”

            Boom Boom puts her head in her hands. Buried under a series of sobs is the answer I dread.

            “Yes.”

            Now it’s my turn to get angry. “Damn it, Boom Boom! Why would you do that? We never give out the password!”

            “I know! I know I shouldn’t have, he just knew how to get it out of me… I’m sorry!”

            I struggle to contain my volcanic anger and fail miserably. “Sorry doesn’t cut it! Do you have any idea how much time and effort Dagger put into that database?”

            “I put a lot of time into it, too,” she snaps. “You didn’t contribute crap!”

            “All of that is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is you gave away our database and we’ll probably never be able to access it again!”

            I pause for a moment, then blurt out, “Did you sleep with him?”

            Boom Boom gasps at my blunt question. “Talk about something being irrelevant. That’s none of your business! Besides, what would it matter if I did? You were sleeping with Dorothy!”

            Dorothy jumps in between us. “Nothing happened, Boom Boom, I swear! We just fell asleep!”

            “And besides, Dorothy’s not a traitor like your douchebag lover,” I say. “She’d never stab us in the back like he did.”

            Dorothy steps back as Boom Boom and I continue shouting and jabbing our fingers in each other’s chests. The argument gets pretty heated. It only stops when Krystal gets up and hollers, “I didn’t ask for an annoying wakeup call!” 

            “Sorry, Krystal, but we’ve got bigger things to worry about than you not getting enough beauty sleep.  Boom Boom gave Arrow our database while they were getting their freak on in the woods, and then he and Machete ditched us!”

            Krystal grins. “You and Arrow did the nasty, Boom Boom? Nice!”

            I wave my hand in front of Krystal’s face. “Hello, Earth to Krystal! Did you not hear that last part, about Machete and Arrow flying off in the middle of the night in the Moon Cruiser, leaving us stranded in the middle of the Canadian wilderness?”

            “Holy crap!” Krystal cries. “What are we supposed to do? I hate the fucking woods. There are bugs out here, and I need a damn cheeseburger. And maybe some fries. Oh, and a shake.”

            I blink twice at Krystal before turning to the others and saying, “I guess we’ll have to hike to the nearest town and get a car.”

            “But I hate hiking!” Krystal hollers. “And where’s my goddamn cheeseburger?!”

            It’s official, the insane asylum inmates have taken over Krystal’s brain.

            Boom Boom sits on a log and lowers her head. Her body quivers as if she’s got a fever. She almost looks as bad as she did when we all got sick last spring.

            A loud gurgling noise causes me to spin around.

            Krystal pats her tummy. “I’m starving!”

“I gathered that from your incessant ramblings about a goddamn cheeseburger,” I reply.

“Can we at least eat before we go anywhere?” Krystal says in her most annoying, whiny voice.

            “Sure,” I grumble, pointing to a small sack of trail mix and dried fruit sitting next to the smoldering campfire. “Machete and Arrow were ‘kind’ enough to leave us some food.” I’m using the word ‘kind’ very loosely, of course.

            “And they did leave us our weapons and goggles,” Krystal says, patting her utility belt. “See, Arrow isn’t that bad.”

            “Yeah, he’s only a major douchebag instead of a total one,” I say.

            We all plop down on the grass and dig into our meager breakfast. It won’t last us more than two days, so I try not to eat a lot. Unfortunately, my rumbling stomach compels me to eat a bit more than I intended. Krystal, Boom Boom, and Dorothy start scarfing down as well.

            I slide on my goggles and look up the nearest settlements. I know right off the top of my head there aren’t any Sanctuaries for at least several hundred miles. I quickly find the two nearest towns. One is a hellhole called Dresden, about sixty miles northwest of our location. The other is a small Mormon settlement called Brigham Young County. That’s only 30 miles southeast of us.

            I tell the girls my findings. I’m not at all surprised when Boom Boom says, “There’s no way in hell we’re going to Dresden.”

            “But why would we go to Brigham Young?” Dorothy asks. “We’ll be backtracking. Dresden is on the way to Alaska.”

            “I take it you ain’t never heard of Dresden, huh?” Krystal asks with a mouthful of dried apricots.

            “Not really,” Dorothy says coolly. “We didn’t learn a lot of geography while working our corners.”

            I cringe at Dorothy’s remark. It makes me so sick to think of all the abuse she and others like her have endured over the years. It almost makes me want to go on a pimp killing spree. Maybe I’ll do that after we nab Mikhail. I know Boom Boom will want to tag along.

            “Dresden is a settlement of evil, racist Neo-Nazis and Ku Klux Klansmen,” I explain to Dorothy. “A lot of the people who live there are sympathetic to the Neo-Nazis that rule Europe. It’s a horrible place. Every non-white person unlucky enough to stumble through Dresden’s gates is brutally lynched.”

            “Oh my gosh, that’s horrible,” Dorothy says. “I can’t believe the government would allow such a place to exist.”

            “It’s not quite that simple,” Boom Boom says. I’m glad to see her talking again, even if it is just so she can show off her smarts. “The government leaves Dresden alone to keep the peace with America’s blossoming Neo-Nazi movement. Just like what happened in Europe, a lot of white Americans are feeling threatened by the large number of non-Aryan immigrants flooding into Canada and Alaska. The Neo-Nazis hate the fact that all these darker-skinned people are ‘stealing their jobs’ and ‘taking their land’. Klaxton feels it’s best to allow all the Neo-Nazis in Dresden to live as they please. It’s a way for her administration to keep their vitriolic, genocidal views contained to the smallest space possible. If she were to crack down on them, that would ignite a devastating racial civil war. Allowing Dresden to exist is considered the lesser of two evils, basically.”

            “That still doesn’t make it right,” Dorothy protests. I notice everyone has stopped eating, even Krystal. Something about genocide causes people to lose their appetite.

            “I mean, they just lynch people and the government lets them get away with it?” Dorothy asks, still trying to wrap her mind around such an injustice.

            “It’s not that far-fetched of a concept,” Boom Boom says, assuming her slightly-annoying ‘professorial’ tone. “There was widespread lynching in the United States during the early 20th century. And of course lynching was wide-spread throughout Europe during World War 2, the era that today’s Neo-Nazi celebrate and revere. It’s rumored thousands of non-Aryans and so-called ‘undesirables’ have been murdered in Dresden over the years, including Jews, Muslims, Hispanics, blacks, homosexuals, people with mental disabilities, gypsies…. The list goes on and on. The government turns a blind eye and feigns ignorance on the genocide, all in the name of keeping peace with America’s massive racist population.”   

            “But where do the Nazis find all these people to lynch?” Dorothy asks. “Surely no non-white person would visit Dresden.”

            “I sure as hell wouldn’t!” Krystal hollers.

            “Dresden will occasionally send hunting parties into the surrounding woods,” Boom Boom explains. “Except these hunters don’t hunt animals… they hunt people. More specifically, non-Aryans. Usually they track down immigrants on their way to Northern Canada and Alaska. Most of the immigrants are simply fleeing the deserts of the South. The hunters bring the non-Aryans back to their settlement and lock them in internment camps until it’s time for a ‘lynching party’. It’s brutal, it’s horrific, and unfortunately it’s passively endorsed by our very own government.”

            Poor Dorothy looks like she’s about to puke. Boom Boom surely doesn’t help matters when she says, “As bad as Dresden sounds, it’s nothing compared to the holocaust going on over in Europe. It’s rumored tens of millions have died over there. Entire nations of immigrants from Africa and the Middle East, wiped off the face of the Earth because of the color of their skin and their religions. It makes the genocides of the 20th century pale in comparison.”

            Dorothy’s face turns sickly green. She gulps several times, I guess to keep down the bile rising up her throat.

            I stand up and stretch my aching back. “Well gang, we’ve wasted enough time. We have a long hike ahead of us. I checked the forecast and it’s supposed to storm later. The sooner we reach Brigham Young, the better.”

            Everyone gets up and grabs their things. I make sure to sling my blanket over my shoulder. I highly doubt we reach Brigham Young before nightfall, especially since we’ll be hiking through rugged terrain. I would bet we’ll be spending another uncomfortable night outdoors. Hopefully we can at least find a cave or some abandoned hut to protect us from the coming rain.

            Before we leave, Dorothy stops to kiss Sally’s grave. “Goodbye, old friend,” she whispers.

            Boom Boom stops to touch the cross. “We will never forget you, Sally. Never.”

            She wraps her arm around Dorothy’s trembling shoulders and leads her out of the campsite. Krystal and I follow after them.

            The hike is tougher than I expected. We have to navigate steep hills and travel around winding streams. By the middle of the afternoon, my goggles say we’re still 24 miles away from Brigham Young, even though we hiked way more than six miles. The harsh terrain is forcing us to go two steps to the left in order to take one step forward. I feel bad for Krystal; she’s sweating and cursing up a storm, talking about how this is not worth $25 million. I’m beginning to agree with her.

            The most hair-raising part of our odyssey occurs about an hour later. We just finish hiking up a pretty steep hill when a low, feral growl freezes us in our tracks.

            Boom Boom points off into the distance. “Look, a grizzly bear!”

            Sure enough, there’s a momma grizzly near some bushes, with her two cubs behind her. My blood runs cold as she locks eyes on us and bares her teeth.

            “Crap, what do we do?” I whisper.

            “Remain calm,” Boom Boom says. “No sudden moves.”

            Dorothy peeks out from behind my back. “Aren’t we supposed to play dead?”

            “I think that only works with black and brown bears,” Boom Boom replies. “Grizzles are more aggressive… I think. Hang on, lemme check online.”

            “Yeah, like the ferocious momma grizzly is going to give us a chance to look up her temperament,” I say sarcastically.

            Krystal suddenly barges up the hill, huffing and puffing.

            “My heart can’t take much more of this,” Krystal hollers for the whole world to hear. “Y’all know I have high blood pressure.”

            The momma grizzly’s growling grows louder. She must find Krystal annoying, too. I fear Momma Bear won’t be as diplomatic in getting her to shut up as we are.

            Boom Boom clamps her hand over Krystal’s big mouth. “Shh, be quiet!”

            Krystal pries Boom Boom’s hand off her face. “Why I gotta be quiet? We’re in the middle of the damn forest. I… oh look! Some bears!”

            “Yeah, bears,” I say. “So shush!”

            Krystal ignores me and continues walking toward them. “Aww, look at the babies! They’re so cute! They look like little teddy bears.”

            “Except teddy bears won’t bite your head off,” Boom Boom points out.

            “What are you talking about, Boom Boom?” Krystal says, continuing to get dangerously close to the bears. “They’re not going to…”

            The momma bear lets loose a ferocious roar that sends birds in the surrounding treetops fluttering to safety. Krystal stumbles backwards and utters, “Oh crap.”

            The bear charges toward Krystal, snarling and gnashing her teeth.

            Krystal spins around and hustles toward us. Her face is as white as a sheet.

            “Help! Don’t let that crazy bitch eat me! Help!!”

            Krystal barges past us and dashes down the hill.

            “Smooth, Krystal,” I grumble, grabbing my gun.

            I really don’t want to shoot the bear, but I also don’t want my guts gnawed on while I’m semi-conscious. I aim my gun at the momma’s head and begin applying pressure on the trigger when Boom Boom shouts, “Wait, I got this!”

            Boom Boom steps forward and hurls a flash grenade. The grenade hits the ground right in front of the bear and releases a blinding burst of brilliant white light. Boom Boom’s desperate move catches me off guard; I end up looking right at the blast. Even with my shades on I’m temporarily blinded. Everything turns white and fuzzy.

            Boom Boom follows up by heaving a tear-gas grenade. The tear gas explodes all over the bear. She gags and coughs before running off in the opposite direction. The cubs sprint after her.

            I fall to my knees and rub my eyes. I’m going to be seeing spots for hours.

            Boom Boom kneels down to check on me. “Sorry about that, Lance.”

            “It’s okay,” I say, standing back up. “I really didn’t want to kill the bear. I’m glad you scared her off.”

            Krystal peeks her head over the top of the hill. “Is the bear gone?”

            “Yes, Krystal,” Boom Boom says with a sigh. “Thanks for having our backs.”

            Krystal saunters over and says, “Hey, if y’all ever need help taking down an army of gangbangers, I’ll be right behind you. But man-eating bears are a different story. So are spiders. I hate spiders.”

            A flash of light streaks across the sky, followed by a crackling, thunderous BOOM. A few birds fly overheard, spooked by the thunder. Giant drops of rain splatter on my head. I look up at the rapidly darkening sky. The storm is now upon us. Fantastic.

            “Aw man, this rain is gonna mess up my wig,” Krystal groans, covering her hair with her hands.

            “We better get a move on,” Boom Boom says. “According to the radar, this storm is going to get way worse before it gets better.”

            Boom Boom turns out to be a modern-day Nostradamus. Barely a few minutes later we get drenched by freezing, gusting sheets of rain. We become completely soaked within a matter of seconds. Boom Boom and Krystal still have their cowboy jackets, but Dorothy and I are only wearing our regular clothes. Dorothy has it way worse than me, though; she’s still wearing her skimpy outfit from the Wild West. I give her my blanket, which she gratefully drapes over her head and shoulders. It doesn’t do her much good, though. The water soaks through the fabric as if it were a flimsy rag.

            We trudge through the muddy forest in silence. There’s not really much to say. What are we supposed to do, complain about the weather? At times the rain comes down so hard that it feels like we’re drowning. I keep my head down so I can breathe without inhaling water.

            Boom Boom spends the rest of our miserable hike trying to hack back into our database. She tries every password combination she can think of. Arrow, Arrow1, Arrow2, Arrow3, all the way up to Arrow1,000. She also tries different variations of Machete, Boom Boom, Red, bow, names of criminals Arrow helped take down, names of authors he apparently likes, but nothing seems to work.

            After spending a few hours listening to Boom Boom curse under her breath, I finally say, “Give it up, Firecracker. Arrow must have picked some crazy password with a bunch of numbers and symbols, like dollar signs, asterisks, and ampersands.”

            Boom Boom growls and swats at a low-lying branch. “I just can’t believe I fell for his tricks! I’m so stupid!”

            “Hey now,” I say, struggling to be heard over a lengthy rumble of thunder. I have to wipe my goggles with my sleeve every few seconds just so I can see. “We all make mistakes. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

            I’m trying to keep Boom Boom calm because I need her at her best if we’re going to get our mission back on track. Krystal doesn’t help matters when she says, “You sure have been making a lot of mistakes lately, Boom Boom. First you lost our car in Cincinnati, and now you lost our database. You used to be ‘Little Ms. Perfect’. What happened?”

            “Krystal, please shut up,” I say.

            A gust of wind sweeps through the valley. It’s the strongest one yet. My goggles say it’s blowing over 60 miles an hour.

            “We really need to find some shelter!” I shout over the howling wind.

            “But we’re still 23 miles from Brigham Young,” Boom Boom shouts back. “At this pace it will take us days to reach the settlement.”

            “I know, Boom Boom, but have you checked out the radar?” I holler. I have to spit out a mouthful of water every time I talk. “This is a monster storm, with tornadic activity. We need to…”

            I stop when a terrifying sound rings across the valley, sending shivers down my spine.

            “What is that?” Dorothy asks as the rumbling sound gets louder and louder.

            “It almost sounds like… a train,” Krystal says.

            Boom Boom gasps. “Holy crap, it just popped up on the radar. There’s a freaking tornado headed straight toward us!”

            “A tornado!” Dorothy cries. She’s on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. I think I am, too.

            “Everyone remain calm,” I say, even though my trembling voice gives me away as a hypocrite.

            I go on the internet and pull up a geographical map of the surrounding area. I immediately spot a cave a few hundred yards away. The radar indicates a tornado will sweep through this very area in less than a minute. We need to haul ass.

            “C’mon, guys, follow me!” I grab Dorothy’s arm and pull her toward the cave. Boom Boom and Krystal hustle after us. The wind blasts us in the back, nearly lifting us off the ground. My goggles say the wind gusts are now over 80 miles an hour. The outer edges of the tornado have already arrived.

            Even with all the rain and debris flying around, I catch a glimpse of the cave off in the distance. I glance behind me and nearly piss myself at the sight of a monstrous, dark-gray funnel cloud barreling down on top us. The rotating winds snap trees like toothpicks and send them hurtling through the air. It sounds like there’s a locomotive driving through my skull. The intense shift in air pressure causes my ears to pop, which only increases the deafening noise.

            “Hurry guys!” I scream, running as fast as I possibly can. I’m impressed and thankful everyone seems to be keeping pace, even Krystal. Nothing like a life or death situation to transform you into an Olympic sprinter.

            My goggles now say the gusts blowing at our backs are in excess of 100 miles per hour. Dorothy actually starts to lift off the ground. I yank her back down and keep running.

            The four of us dive into the cave just as a tree falls over the entrance. We all slam onto the damp ground and roll into the center of the cave. I groggily sit up and check on my friends. No one seems seriously injured.

            I peek out the front of the cave and watch in horror at the deadly force of nature we just barely avoided.  The massive tree that fell over the entrance has already blown away, giving us an unobstructed view of the tornado. All I see is a dark, swirling mass full of debris. The ‘train’ sound shakes the walls of the cave, inciting fears of a cave-in.

            Entire trees fly past the entrance, showing just how powerful the tornado is. My goggles tell me the winds at the center of the tornado are in excess of 200 mph! It’s a freaking 4F tornado! The government really needs to stop with all their geo-engineering. Ever since they started creating artificial storms to end the drought, powerful tornados have erupted all across the planet, killing thousands.

            A branch flies through the cave like a missile, missing Boom Boom’s head by mere inches. We all flatten against the wall and crouch down, shielding our heads with our hands.

            It seems to take forever for Mother Nature’s freight train to pass through. The tornado must have swerved to the left at the last second; otherwise, I’m sure more debris would have blown into the cave, ripping us to shreds.

            Dorothy spends the duration of the tornado with her fingers in her ears and her eyes clenched shut. I rub her back in an attempt to keep her calm.

            Krystal clasps her hands together and mumbles something. At first I don’t know what she’s doing (I can’t hear over the wind), but I eventually figure out she’s praying. It’s something she doesn’t do very often. While I wouldn’t consider any of us overly-religious, Krystal is a bit more spiritual than me and Boom Boom. It’s probably because of her deeply religious grandmother.

            The winds finally die down a bit, and the train sound gets quieter and quieter. I stand up and stretch.

            “I think the worst is over, guys.”

            I make my way toward the mouth of the cave. Boom Boom shouts, “Lance, get back here! There might be another twister on the way!”

            I wave her off. “The radar shows the storm is moving south.”

            The rain is still coming down pretty hard, so I don’t step all the way outside. I do peer out, however, and I’m shocked at what I find: complete devastation for as far as the eye can see. If the U.S. and China were ever foolish enough to launch a nuclear war, this would be the result.

            The tornado carved a half-mile wide path of destruction through the forest. Giant, 100-foot tall trees were uprooted and tossed aside as if they were popsicle sticks. Everywhere the twister touched down looks completely flattened. Off in the distance, the tornado continues its unrelenting rampage, plucking trees from the soil and tossing them hundreds of yards away. The dark gray twister spirals way up into the sky, connected to the black clouds that control it like some sinister puppeteer. Even moving away from us, the twister looks frightening.

            Boom Boom appears by my side. “My God. The destruction…”

 She looks out at the retreating twister and gasps. “Wow.”

            “Wow indeed.”

            “It would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t so annihilative,” Boom Boom says. “We stand there for another minute or so, watching Mother Nature’s equivalent of a nuclear bomb snaking through the forest like an out-of-control top.

            A bolt of lightning slams into the ground about 100 yards from us. A crack of thunder follows a split-second later.

            I grab Boom Boom’s arm. “C’mon, Firecracker, let’s wait this thing out. It’s not over yet.”

            We walk back into the cave. Dorothy’s still crouched down with her fingers in her ears. She cracks open her eyes and shakily asks,” Is it gone?”

            I nod. “Yes, we’re safe… for now.”

            Dorothy exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Those things freak me out.”

            Boom Boom goes to check on Krystal. I take off my goggles and lay them on the ground. I press a button on the side and a dull light emanates from the lenses, illuminating the cave in a soft, white glow.

            Now that we can see our surroundings, I immediately wish I left us in the dark. Thousands of creepy, crawly critters are clinging to the walls and peeking out from all the cracks and crevices. Giant spiders as big as my fists hang from monstrous, intricate webs. The webs are also filled with dozens of other larger, dead insects. (I think I know how the spiders got so big.) There are giant centipedes with hundreds of legs scurrying all over the place. And glowing eyes peek out at us from the back. I don’t know what they are until one of the critters runs up to us for a closer look.

            It’s a rat.

            Boom Boom and Dorothy scream and run over to me, clinging to my arms.

            “Ahh! I hate rats!” Dorothy shrieks, burying her head into my chest.

            “So do I!” Boom Boom cries. “Kill it! Kill it!”

            I burst out laughing. “Seriously? You can stare down an army of mass-murdering gangsters, but you see one rat and you freak out?”

            Boom Boom slaps my arm. “Don’t make fun of us!”

            Dorothy slaps my other arm. “Yeah. We’re girls. Rats are one of our worst fears.”

            “And besides, it’s not one rat. There are thousands of them.” Boom Boom points a quivering finger at the dozen or so glowing eyes staring at us curiously.

            I’m about to tell Boom Boom she’s exaggerating their numbers ever so slightly, but I bite my tongue. I really don’t want to get hit again.   

            Krystal flaps her wrist. “Y’all are crazy. Rats are harmless. I mean, yeah they may nibble on your toes if you fall asleep…”

            Dorothy and Boom Boom shriek again and dig their nails into my hands and neck. I really wish Krystal would shut up.

            “… but other than that… wait, is that… is that a giant spider?!”

            Krystal whips out her gun and points it into the back.

            I hold out my hands and shout, “Krystal, wait!”

            She doesn’t hear me. “Eat lead and die, you eight-legged freak!”

            Krystal unloads her gun. The spider scurries up its web and disappears into a crack. The rats squeal and run into cracks as well, as do all the other bugs.

            The bats hanging from the ceiling in the back, however, are a different story. Hundreds of them flutter past us and explode out of the cave. I don’t know what’s louder, the bats’ high-pitched squealing, or the girls’ screaming. (Although to be honest, I may have screamed, too.)

            The bats only take a few seconds to clear out, but the girls scream for a long time afterwards. They finally settle down once they realize the bats are gone.

            “Omigod, omigod, omigod, I can’t take much more of this,” Dorothy gasps, waving her hands in front of her face. “Wild West gunfights, tornadoes, rats, bats… I’m about to have a heart attack!”

            “Shh, calm down, Dorothy. Everything’s fine now. All the bats and rats and tornados are gone.”

            I lead her back over to my ‘goggle lamp’ and sit down with her, rubbing her back in an attempt to prevent her from hyperventilating. I think it works because her breathing slows down and she stops shaking.

            We all hunker down and wait for the storm to pass. Boom Boom keeps an eye on the weather report and gives us periodic updates. So far it’s estimated over 50 tornadoes have spun off from the storm, hitting cities and towns all across Western Canada and the central U.S. (There’s probably been way more, but since most of the interior of the country is nothing but desert, there aren’t a lot of people there to document them.) It’s too early for reporters to know the exact number of casualties, but so far over 100 people have been killed and hundreds more are wounded and missing. Thankfully the storm is nowhere near Sanctuary 7. Harpoon hates thunderstorms with a passion.

            Dorothy leans against my chest as I stroke her hair. We talk quietly so we don’t make Boom Boom angry. It doesn’t matter, though. Even our whispers echo throughout the cave.

            Boom Boom finally stands up and walks past my goggles. The light briefly flashes across her anguished face, giving her a ghostly appearance.

            “What are you doing?” I ask.

            Without turning around, Boom Boom says, “My head is killing me. I need some air.”

            “But the storm…”

            “The worst of it has passed. I just checked the radar. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Get some rest. We have a long hike tomorrow.”

            Boom Boom steps outside and walks out of sight. The rain isn’t coming down nearly as hard as it was, and the crackles of thunder have drastically decreased in frequency, but I still don’t like her being outside by herself. I’m tempted to go after her, but I don’t want to leave Dorothy. She’s still freaked out from the tornado.

            Krystal sprawls out on the ground behind my goggles and starts snoring. Dorothy and I are alone.

            “You don’t think Boom Boom is mad at us for… you know, talking… cuddling?” Dorothy asks tentatively.

            “If she is, she shouldn’t be,” I say bluntly. “We dated several times in the past, and it never worked out. She’s the one who broke it off the last time. I think she’s just upset Arrow betrayed her. I don’t know why she was shocked, though. I’ve been saying for years the guy’s a total douche.”

            Dorothy suddenly shivers. I pull her even closer to transfer some of my body heat. The storm brought in a cold front behind it. I’d build a fire, but I don’t think that would be smart to do in a cave with no ventilation.

            “I just don’t want there to be tension between us,” Dorothy says, stifling a yawn.

            “Boom Boom has a lot of personal demons,” I say. “You and she actually have more in common than you think.”

            “How so?”

            I bite my lip. I really shouldn’t tell her this. Boom Boom hates when it’s brought up, which is why Krystal and I never discuss it. But I feel like I can trust Dorothy. I don’t quite know what it is, but there’s a certain raw innocence to her, despite all the terrible atrocities she’s had to endure. It’s like I feel the need to protect her from the evils of the world. I’ve never felt that way about any other girl, not even Boom Boom. (Although to be fair, Boom Boom is the last woman on Earth to need any protection.)

            It’s then that I realize I’m beginning to have the same feelings for Dorothy that I once felt for Boom Boom. I’m falling for her… hard and fast. I decide I should try and trust her. If nothing else, this will let me know if I can.

            “Boom Boom used to be a sex slave, too,” I say.

            “Really?” Dorothy asks, her eyes wide with shock.

            “Yep. Uncle Dagger found her on the streets outside the slums of Chicago about five years ago. Her pimp approached his car while he was on a mission. Dagger was about to tell the pimp to buzz off, but then he saw Boom Boom standing off to the side, looking way too young to be wearing her skimpy outfit. Dagger got out of the car and made quick work of the pimp.”

            “So what happened after that?” Dorothy asks eagerly.

            “Well, Boom Boom wasn’t the first sex slave Dagger rescued, nor would she be the last. Whenever he came across children or teens working the streets, he usually killed their pimps and took the kids to a shelter. He was about to do that with Boom Boom when one of the pimp’s thugs came up from behind and fired several shots at his back. Most of the shots were deflected by Dagger’s bulletproof best, but one hit his arm. Dagger dropped his gun and fell to the ground.”

            Dorothy bites her nails. My story has her on the edge of her seat.

            “Dagger turned around to find the gangbanger hovering over him, pointing a gun at his head. A split-second later he heard Boom! Boom! At first he thought he got shot, but then he noticed two red holes on the gangbanger’s chest. The gangbanger spit up blood and collapsed into a dying heap. Dagger turned his head and found Boom Boom standing off to the side, clutching his smoking gun in her tiny, trembling hands. He decided to bring her home as payback for saving his life.”

            “That’s so awesome!” Dorothy exclaims.  

            “On a side note, that’s how Boom Boom got her name, from the gunshots she fired. Her street name was Sapphire, but Dagger hated that, for obvious reasons.”

            “Wow, our lives really are similar.”

            “That’s why Boom Boom always feels compelled to help girls on the street, especially young ones like you and Sally.”

            Dorothy’s eyes tear up when I mention Sally. I decide not to mention her again.

            “I’m really glad you told me that story, Lance. If Boom Boom can go through what I did and turn out so brave and awesome, then maybe I can, too. She’s such an inspiration.”

            I grab Dorothy’s hands and give them a gentle squeeze. “You are brave and awesome. Just for surviving and persevering.”

            Dorothy leans forward and kisses me on the lips. I kiss her back. The kissing soon turns passionate. We close our eyes and run our fingers through each other’s hair, all the while keeping our lips pressed together. I haven’t made out with anyone since Boom Boom and I broke up. I forgot how much I enjoyed it.

            My eyes snap open when Dorothy tries to undo my belt. Her other hand is behind her back, as if she’s trying to take off her blouse. Part of me wants this to continue, but my conscience won’t allow it.

            I back away and pull Dorothy’s hand off of my buckle. She slowly opens her eyes and frowns.

            “What’s wrong, Lance?”

            “I… I’m sorry, Dorothy. I really like you… a lot… but this is all wrong. We’ve moving way too fast.”

            Dorothy looks confused. “But I thought all guys like this.”

            Now I’m really glad I stopped things. She’s only doing this because Big Daddy brainwashed her into thinking all guys were like him… a sleazy, perverted scumbag.

            “No, Dorothy. That part of your life is over. You deserve a good guy who respects you, who likes you for the person you are inside, not what you are on the outside. This is not how normal relationships work. How about we take things a bit slower?”

            A smile slowly materializes across Dorothy’s lips.

            “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

            “Good,” I say, smiling back. I hold out my arm and she snuggles against my chest. We both lay on the wet blanket and close our eyes. Moments later she’s asleep.

            I don’t move for quite some time because I don’t want to disrupt her. I try to fall asleep, too, but my mind won’t stop racing. I keep thinking about so many things… our insane mission to hunt down Mikhail, Arrow and Machete ditching us, the prospect of war between China and the U.S., the hit Caesar put out on us, how much I miss Dagger, how much I miss my parents, whether Blade and Harpoon are behaving for Ms. Madison and Beverly, and whether or not Boom Boom will ever overcome her addiction… an addiction she still doesn’t think I know about.

            After a while I begin to get concerned that Boom Boom hasn’t returned from her walk. I slide out from under Dorothy and lower her head onto the blanket. Then I check the time on my goggles. She’s been gone for well over an hour. I’d better go look for her. 

            I step outside, side-stepping all the tree limbs the tornado dumped in front of the cave. The rain is now just a light drizzle, but the ground is soggy. My boots sink into the mud every time I take a step. The dark clouds have started to move out, allowing moonlight to filter through the cracks. The twister is long gone, but its path of annihilation remains.

            At first I’m not sure where Boom Boom could have gone, but then I notice a trail of footprints leading up the side of the hill that the cave is part of. I follow the trail up the hill and immediately find her. She’s leaning against a tree stump, facing me, but she doesn’t say anything. Her goggles are still on, so I can’t tell from her eyes, but I’m almost positive she’s asleep. I can tell from her slowed breathing and the fact she’s not hurling insults at me.

            I go to carry her back inside the cave. That turns out to be a horrible mistake. As soon as I touch her, Boom Boom jumps up and punches me in the face. I fall flat on my butt and clutch my nose. Blood trickles through my fingers.

            Boom Boom kneels beside me. “Lance, I’m so sorry! You startled me.”

            “It’s my fault,” I say in a nasally voice. “I should know better than to wake up a hormonal teen girl who knows karate and Kung Fu.”

            Boom Boom plops down next to me. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I just had to get out of that dark, rat-infested cave. My claustrophobia was off the charts.”

            I nod but don’t say anything. We both sit there for quite some time, neither of us saying a word. I find the silence unsettling. Usually we talk to each other nonstop. (Most of the time we bicker, but that still counts as ‘talking’.) Boom Boom puts her head in between her knees and starts shaking again. She’s in rough shape.

            I open my mouth to say something when Boom Boom blurts, “Do you love her?”

            I’m taken aback by the question. “Who?” I ask, even though I know precisely what she’s talking about.

            Boom Boom glares at me over the edges of her shades. “Dorothy. Do you love her?”

            “I haven’t known her long enough to love her.” I pause for a moment, not sure if I should tell Boom Boom how I really feel. I finally decide there’s no sense in lying. Boom Boom can read me like a book anyway.

            “I do like her, though. A lot.”

            “Hmph. Well, I hope you two have a happy life together.”

            I frown. Boom Boom’s addiction is messing with her head. She’s never this petty.

            “You know it never works out when we get together, Firecracker,” I say quietly.

            Boom Boom sniffles and adjusts her goggles. She doesn’t want me to see her tears. “I know. I didn’t mean to snap. I just wish I could find someone I could trust… someone I can fall in love with. I actually began to think Arrow might be that person. Last night he was saying all the right things. Now I realize he was playing me like a fiddle. What irks me more than anything is that you’re the only guy I’ve ever been able to trust. That’s why it hurts when I see other women clinging to you. It’s petty, I know, but…”

            Boom Boom sniffles again. I grab her hands and say, “Things never work out between us because our personalities clash. We’re like water and oil… fire and ice. We’re terrific friends… best friends, even… but we were never meant to be a couple. That doesn’t mean you won’t eventually find someone you can love and trust. You’re smart, beautiful, a good, decent person… you deserve way better than that ass-clown, Arrow. Hell, you deserve way better than me.”

            Boom Boom chuckles. “That’s one thing I love most about you… your self-deprecating humor. You really are too hard on yourself. You’re a great guy, Lance. Dorothy is lucky to have you. She deserves some happiness.”

            “So do you, Firecracker,” I say, kissing her hand. “I will always be here for you. We may never end up together, but I still lo… I still lo…”

            I shake my head and sigh. I don’t know why I can’t spit it out. Maybe it’s because I really don’t love Boom Boom. That shocks me. I thought I always did.

            Boom Boom yanks her hands from mine. “Don’t hurt yourself, Lance. I would hate for you to say something you’re going to regret,” she says bitterly.

            She then moans and grabs her head again.

            “Alright, Boom Boom, I’m done pretending nothing’s wrong with you.” I pop open my belt buckle.

            “What are you talking about?” Boom Boom asks.

            I pull out a small bag of pills and dangle them in her face. She gasps when she sees them.

            “You’re obviously going through withdrawal. I don’t like that you’re addicted to these things, just like you hate that I smoke pot, but you can’t just quit your addiction cold turkey, especially when we’re on a dangerous mission. We need you at your best. Blade and Harpoon are counting on us to get back to take care of them.”

            I place the pills in Boom Boom’s palm. “Take them. Please.”

            Boom Boom falters. “I… I don’t know what to say. I mean, how did you know? I was so careful. I never bought pills while you were around. I certainly never took them in front of you.”

            “You obviously weren’t too careful. I’ve known for about a year. I never gave you a hard time, even when you kept harassing me about my pot, because we all need a little something to help numb the pain.”

            “So you take pills, too?” Boom Boom asks.

            “No. I just bring them with me in case you need them. Like I said, I need you at your best.”

            Boom Boom continues staring at the pills. I can tell she really wants them… that she needs them. So I’m shocked when she crumples the bag in her hands and tosses it into the flattened forest.

            “Hey, those were expensive,” I gripe.

            “Sorry Lance, but I decided I don’t want to be a pill head anymore. I decided to stop when Sally got shot and I actually considered not giving her my pills, even as she lay there in horrible agony. I didn’t like what I was becoming… a soulless monster. I may be hurting now, but in the long run I’m saving my soul.”

            “I know exactly what you mean.” I grab my few remaining joints from my utility belt and hold them up in the air.

            “If you’re quitting cold turkey, then so am I.”

            “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Boom Boom asks tentatively.

            “I never have any good ideas,” I say with a smirk. I crumple the joints in my palm and toss them into the forest with Boom Boom’s pills. “There, now we can be miserable together.”

            Boom Boom smiles. “You really are a good guy, Lance.”

            “I always suspected I was, but I wasn’t completely sure,” I say, cracking a grin.    

            A branch behind us suddenly snaps. Boom Boom and I spin around and aim our guns at…

            “Arrow?” Boom Boom cries.

            “What the hell are you doing here?” I growl, cocking my gun.

            Arrow approaches us with his hands up. Even in the darkness I can see he doesn’t look too hot. He has bruises and cuts all along his arms and face, and his quiver only has a few arrows in it. It looks like he’s been through a bloody war. Unfortunately for him, I’m not feeling too compassionate.

            I begin applying pressure on my trigger when Arrow reaches for an arrow.

            “We’re not fooling around,” I warn him. “Stay back and drop your bow.”

            “How about we all remain calm?” he says, notching an arrow on his bow.

            “Arrow, for God’s sake, stand down!” Boom Boom shouts.

            “I will if you guys do,” Arrow says, still walking toward us. “Let’s all drop our weapons and…”

            BLAM!

            Arrow ducks to the ground as my bullet whizzes over his head.

            “Lance!” Boom Boom shrieks.

            “I’m sorry, my finger slipped!” I cry.

            That’s partially true. I didn’t mean to pull the trigger just yet. I got a little trigger happy because Arrow kept coming toward us.

            Boom Boom kicks my gun out of my hand. I yelp and clutch my throbbing wrist.

            “What are you doing?” I holler. “Arrow’s the bad guy here!”

            “I’m making sure you don’t shoot him again!” Boom Boom shouts.

            I’m about to give Boom Boom a piece of my mind when one of Arrow’s poisoned missiles shoots past my right ear, nearly grazing it.

            “You son of a bitch!”

            I charge toward Arrow as he tries to reload his bow. I tackle him before he can fire and toss him to the ground. We roll back and forth in the mud, trading blows. I pop him good in the nose and mouth while he slugs me in my right eye. Before I know it, though, Arrow is on top of me with a blade nestled against my neck. I stop struggling as the cold blade digs into my jugular. Not enough to penetrate my skin, but enough to let me know I’m one false move from soaking the countryside with my blood.

            “Get off of him!” Boom Boom screams.

            I see some movement out of my peripheral vision, then Arrow falls off of me. I scramble to my feet and watch as Boom Boom straddles Arrow’s body and nestles a dagger against his neck. How the tables have turned.

            “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end your miserable existence right now,” Boom Boom growls. She presses the dagger so deep into Arrow’s throat that a small trickle of blood leaks over the edge.

            “I’m sorry, Red,” Arrow groans. “I didn’t mean…”

            “Don’t!” Boom Boom snaps. “Don’t you ever call me that again!”

            I snatch my gun off the ground and point it at Arrow’s head. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here after what you pulled.”

            “I’m sorry,” Arrow says again, gritting his teeth as Boom Boom presses the blade even deeper. Hell hath no fury like a betrayed woman clutching a knife. Arrow is suffering the worst nightmare of any man who’s ever wronged a woman.

            “Machete and I left you guys for your own good!”

            “For our own good?” Boom Boom cries incredulously.

            “Yes, we were protecting you from what’s bound to be a dangerous mission. But first I needed to gain access to your database, so we could narrow down Mikhail’s hiding places. And you guys kept getting tracked down by Pitbull and those ninja freaks, which kept setting us back.”

            “So far you haven’t said anything that’s made me reconsider slitting your throat,” Boom Boom snarls.

            Arrow’s eyes widen when Boom Boom digs in even deeper. “After we caught Mikhail we were going to give you some of the money! I promise!”

            I scoff. “You expect us to believe that?”

            “I’m sorry, guys, I really am! But we don’t have time for this! My mom was kidnapped!”

            Boom Boom removes her blade from Arrow’s throat. “Wait, what?”

            Arrow scoots away from Boom Boom and wipes his bleeding neck with his sleeve. The cut isn’t too deep; it should heal pretty quickly (unfortunately).

            I shrug. “So Machete got kidnapped. How is that our problem?”

            “Lance,” Boom Boom snaps. She turns back to Arrow and cautiously asks, “What happened?”

            Still nursing his neck wound, Arrow says, “We were flying toward Alaska, but we must have gotten a little too close to Dresden because a bunch of Neo-Nazis blasted us out of the sky with energy blasters. The blasters fried our car engine and we crashed into the ground. Mom and I jumped out and exchanged fire with the Neo-Nazis, but there were too many of them. They zapped my mom with a stun gun and nearly got me as well. I was going to stay and help her, but she shouted for me to get out of there, to go get help. Some of the Neo-Nazis chased after me, but I was way too fast. I eventually lost them in the woods.

            “I kept running until I found some other white supremacists camping out a few miles away. I stole their car while they weren’t paying attention and flew back to find you guys. I had to stop for a while and hide in a cave while a bad storm passed through. Then I kept flying until I found you all here.”

            “You still have the car?” I ask, since that’s what we really need.

            “Yeah, I parked behind the cave,” Arrow says, pointing off into the distance.

            “Wait a minute,” Boom Boom says, shaking her head so ferociously that her hair swings back and forth, giving the illusion of lapping flames. “How did you find us in the first place?”

            Arrow looks down at the ground and says, “Well, a while back I stuck a GPS chip into the floor of your boot. I put it there so it would never fall out. That’s how my mom and I have been tracking you guys.”

            “You’ve been tracking me with a GPS device?” Boom Boom screams at the top of her lungs. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so angry. She takes off both of her boots and peers inside.

            “You won’t find the chip unless you cut your shoe up,” Arrow says sheepishly. He’s probably hoping Boom Boom doesn’t hurl a dagger at his head.

            “When did you do this?” Boom Boom growls.

            “Remember when we went to lunch a few months ago, after you broke up with Lance for like the 100th time? I bought you a new pair of boots and put the GPS chip in the heel when you weren’t paying attention.”

            “You actually went on a date with this loser?” I shout, jabbing my thumb in Arrow’s face.

            Boom Boom’s cheeks turn red. “It was just lunch. You and I had broken up and I was upset, so I went to the market by myself. I ran into Arrow, we had lunch, and he… he bought me boots because I told him I needed a new pair. This was before he and Machete started stealing our bounties, of course,” she added, as if that justified her lunch date with the king of douchebags.

            Boom Boom puts her head in her hands and groans. “I’m so stupid! Why do I keep letting him manipulate me?”

            “For the 1,000th time, Red, I’m sorry,” Arrow says impatiently. “I’ll make it up to you someday. I swear. But we have to save my mom! Time is of the essence!”

            “How do you know she’s not already dead?” I ask bluntly.

            “Lance,” Boom Boom snaps.

            “Hey, I didn’t kidnap her,” I snap back. “I’m simply asking an honest question. Machete was captured by freaking Neo-Nazis. How do we know they haven’t killed her already?”

            “She’s not dead,” Arrow says. “They don’t usually kill their captures right away.”

            I can tell from his shaky voice that he’s starting to have doubts.

            “Arrow’s right,” Boom Boom says, rushing to his defense like usual. “The Dresden hunters are like savage animals that play with their food before eating it. After the hunters capture their prey in the woods, they put them to work in their concentration camps for a few weeks before lynching them. Their ‘lynching parties’ are usually a day-long celebration that occur on Saturdays. The celebrations culminate with several non-Aryans being hung in front of a cheering crowd.”

            “That’s sick,” I say in disgust. It then dawns on me what day it is. “Wait a minute, today’s Saturday!”

            Boom Boom glances at the time on her goggles. “It’s 10:00, too. They’re going to start the lynching in two hours.”

            Arrow’s face becomes enveloped in a mask of anguish. “Please, guys, help me save her. I can’t do it on my own.”

            “I’m sure they wouldn’t kill her right away. However…” Boom Boom pauses to shoot me a discreet glance. She always does that when she’s about to say something I won’t like.

            “No, Boom Boom, don’t even say it,” I warn. “Don’t…”

            “We should probably go rescue her tonight,” Boom Boom says over my shouts of protest.

            Arrow breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Red. Thank you so much. I swear I’ll pay you back someday.”

            “Are you out of your mind?” I holler at Boom Boom. “You’re going to help this scumbag after all the crap he’s pulled? We need to go after Rasputin, not go on some suicidal rescue mission for some crazy lady who hates us!”

            “I’m not going to leave Machete to be brutally lynched,” Boom Boom says defiantly. “I would never be able to live with myself. You can stay here if you want, but I’m going with Arrow.”

            I throw my hands into the air and curse, but Boom Boom has me by my throat. She knows I won’t let her go to Dresden without me.

            Whether I like it or not, we’re about to go to war with a bunch of Nazis.

Chapter Twelve: Boom Boom

            Arrow sits perched on a tree branch about 20 feet off the ground. I’m dismayed to find him aiming his poisoned arrow at one of the five Klansmen sitting around their raging bonfire. The flickering flames make their white robes look red and orange. They resemble demons from the depths of Hell. And in a way that’s precisely what they are. Still, Arrow promised he wouldn’t use lethal force. The compulsive liar.

            Lance is no better. He promised the same thing, and yet he’s perched in another tree, his pistol aimed at another Klansman. I hate the Ku Klux Klan and Neo-Nazis just as much as the next person, but I don’t like killing people without provocation. It’s unethical, immoral, and cowardly. At least, that’s what I believe.

            I glance at Krystal, who’s hiding in the bushes with me. She has her goggles on and is smiling. I don’t think she’s even paying attention to what’s going on. She’s watching one of her TV shows. Un-freaking-believable.

            I turn to find Dorothy peeking out from some bushes about 100 yards behind us. She looks both excited and scared. I wanted her to stay in the car, but she begged to tag along. I reluctantly gave in, under one condition; she had to stay out of the way. So far she’s the only one who listened to me.

            I’m actually a bit shocked we got here as quickly as we did. Since it was so close to midnight, we flew to Dresden at break-neck speed. (First we had to convince Krystal not to kill Arrow when we brought him inside the cave. She wanted payback for having to hike a ‘million miles’. An agreement was reached when Arrow offered to rub the corns on Krystal’s feet at least once a day.)

            Actually, we never officially reached Dresden. About one mile from the city gates we came across this very bonfire. We decided to check it out. After all, we still needed disguises. Arrow and Krystal are the type of people the Neo-Nazis like to lynch (non-white), and Lance and I are on wanted posters all across the country.

            We parked about a quarter mile from the campsite (Arrow’s car is currently hidden behind some bushes) and hiked to this very spot. I’m glad we decided to stop. The Klansmen’s white robes and hoods should conceal us quite nicely. The trick, of course, is getting the robes off of the Klansmen. If I left it up to Arrow and Lance, they’d riddle the robes with bullets and arrows, soaking them in blood. Like that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

            I loudly whisper, “What are you guys doing?”

            Steading his bow, Arrow replies, “I’m about to blast one of these dipshits right in the eye. A quick and clean death, more than he deserves.”

            “And I’m about to shoot this other dude in the throat,” Lance says.

            “I said no lethal force!” I say in a borderline shout.

            “Fine, I’ll hit him in the kneecap.” Arrow lowers his bow ever so slightly.

            “It doesn’t matter where you shoot him, all of your arrows are poisoned.”

            “Oh, right. I should just get him in the eye then.” Arrow readjusts his bow.

            I sigh and march toward the campsite.

            “What are you doing?” Lance shouts. “Get back here!”

            I wave him off. “I got this. Watch and learn, fellas.”

            Lance and Arrow continue shouting at me, but I ignore them. We’ve spilt enough blood over the past several days. This is a situation I can resolve without engaging in a bloody massacre.

            The five Klansmen are so tipsy from their giant mugs of beer that they don’t notice me until I’m right in front of them.

            Sounding like the world’s biggest redneck, the guy in the center slurs, “Hey, what are you doing out here?” He then burps, hiccups, and farts all at the same time. (I wish I was kidding.)

            A Klansmen to his left drunkenly raises a gun. “We don’t like trespassers.”

            Another Klansmen smacks the gun down. “Don’t shoot her, Barry. She’s smoking hot.”

            Barry gawks at me through the eyeholes of his hood. “Gee, you’re right, Larry. She’s gorgeous.”

            The others mumble their agreement.

            I wiggle my hips and seductively say, “At ease, boys. I’m just out for a little late night stroll. I sure could use a drink, though.”

            The Klansmen stumble all over themselves in an attempt to offer me their drinks. I grab one of the mugs and raise it in the air. “To racial purity!”

            The Klansmen raise their mugs as well and shout, “To racial purity!”

            They then bring the mugs to the slits in their hoods where their mouths are. I pretend to take a sip, but I don’t open my lips. Booze tastes like crap to me.

            I wait a few seconds for the Klansmen to get even drunker than they already are. Then I attack. I smash my mug over the head of the Klansmen to my direct left. He yelps and stumbles out of his chair. I follow up with a stiff kick to his head. The Klansman slumps over in a groaning heap.

            It takes the other Klansmen a few seconds to register what’s going on. That’s all the time I need. In rapid-fire succession I kick all the Klansmen in the head. Within seconds the white supremacists are sprawled out on the ground, moaning in agony.

            Lance, Arrow, Dorothy, and Krystal all run over to me with huge grins.

            “That was awesome, Red,” Arrow gushes, wrapping me up in his muscular arms. “You are so hardcore.”

            A giggle escapes my lips. “Thanks. Now put me down, you’re making me dizzy.”

            Arrow releases me and I stagger back. He grabs my arm so I don’t topple over. “Sorry, Red. I got a little over-excited.”

            I’m about to say something when I suddenly remember I’m supposed to be pissed at Arrow, not giggling at his cheesy come-ons. I frown and pull away.

            Krystal slaps me on the back. “Girl, you are crazy. That’s why I love you.”

            Dorothy claps excitedly. “You have got to show me how to do that.”

            I actually do plan on showing Dorothy some self-defense maneuvers after we get back to Sanctuary 7. I’ll make sure no man ever abuses her again.

            Lance flashes me a discreet grin. He doesn’t have to tell me he thinks I’m badass. I already know he does.

            We tear off the Klansmen’s robes and hoods and put them on. The outfits are a bit loose, but at least they cover us up.

            I stare at the groaning Klansmen in disgust. They’re all white, balding, middle-aged Neo-Nazis with swastika tattoos on their arms and chests.

            “I feel like a ghost,” Krystal cracks, flapping her arms. “Ohhhhhh….”

            Adjusting my lopsided hood, I say, “You know, guys, this is supposed to be a stealth mission. We’re going in to find Machete and sneaking her out. We really don’t need five people. In fact, we might arouse suspicion if we all go in clumped together.”

            “Good point, Boom Boom,” Lance says. “Arrow and Dorothy should stay out here.”

            “What?” Arrow hollers.

            “Why me?” Dorothy pouts, her voice muffled under her hood.

            “Well, Arrow should stay out here because he’s a stupid idiot,” Lance explains. “And Dorothy, you should stay out here because I don’t want you getting hurt.”

            Dorothy and Arrow start shouting. I raise my arms and say, “Everyone shut up! We don’t have time for this. It’s almost midnight. I agree that Dorothy should stay out here, but Arrow is coming with us. We are saving his mother, after all.”                   

            “Thank you, Red,” Arrow says.

            “I told you not to call me that!” I snap.

            I turn to Krystal. “Take Dorothy back to the car and wait for us. Keep your goggles on in case we run into trouble. We may need you to fly in after us.”

            Krystal shrugs. “Whatever gets me out of wearing this silly robe. My ancestors must be rolling over in their graves.”

            Krystal takes off her white supremacist attire and tosses it into the bonfire. Dorothy does the same. I can’t wait until I can take mine off. I hate everything these robes stand for.

            Lance wags his finger in Krystal’s face. “Pay attention this time. If we send a distress signal, come get us!”

            Krystal puts her hands on her hips and sticks out her bottom lip. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m five, Lance. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

            A smirk creeps across Lance’s lips. I clamp my hand over his mouth before he says something to get Krystal all riled up.

            Krystal gives Lance the ‘evil eye’ before flapping her wrist and proclaiming, “Y’all ain’t got nothing to worry about. There ain’t any good shows on tonight anyway.”

            Surprisingly that does assuage my fears.

            “We need to make sure these guys don’t go get help after we leave,” I say, unlatching a grenade from my belt.

            Krystal peers at me over the top of her shades. “Girl, what’s your crazy ass about to do?”

            I twirl the grenade around in my hands. “I’m taking out their RV. I suggest you back up.”

            Everyone runs to the edge of the clearing. I pop open the hood and yank the pin out of the grenade before dropping it into the engine. I slam the hood back down and run toward the woods. I just reach the bushes when an explosion rattles my eardrums. I turn to find the front of the RV on fire. Thick, black smoke billows into the night sky.

            “Boom Boom doing what she does best,” Arrow says with a smirk. “Making a boom-boom.”

            “Nice, Arrow. That was almost clever,” Krystal says.

            “Alright, enough fooling around,” I bark. “Let’s do what we came here to do. Krystal and Dorothy, go get the car ready.”

            “Yes sir,” Krystal says with a sarcastic salute.

            Krystal and Dorothy disappear into the brush. The boys and I hustle our way toward Dresden. It’s already after 11:30 and the city gates are about a mile away. We need to haul ass if we want to rescue Machete before midnight.

            We thrash through the forest, tripping over fallen branches. This part of the wilderness looks to be relatively untouched by the storm, but some of the branches were torn off by the fierce winds. We finally reach the settlement about ten minutes later. The clock on my goggles says it’s 11:40. We’re cutting it close, like usual.

            We dash up to the city gates, tripping over our long robes in the process. My hood keeps slipping off my head, forcing me to hold it with one hand.

            A massive, 20-foot tall brick wall surrounds the city. The entrance is blocked by a swinging gate made of vertical steel bars. Hovering over the gate is a glowing red sign that reads Dresden.

            We approach the guard shack just outside the gate. The shack is encased in what appears to be bulletproof glass. The guard is wearing a gray uniform that bears a striking resemblance to the ones worn by Nazi officers during the 1930s and 40s. It even has a swastika emblazoned on the front. I find his outfit even more offensive than the white robes we’re wearing.

            The guard is guzzling a mug of beer. A machine gun dangles from his shoulder. I gulp as we step in front of him.

            The guard is still slurping his booze like there’s no tomorrow when Lance clears his throat and says, “Er, excuse me, Mr. Nazi Guard.”

            The guard drops his mug and unslings his gun, pointing it at us though a small opening in the front of his booth.

            “Halt!” The guard shrieks in German. “Wer geht da?”

            Lance turns to me and shrugs.

            “Don’t look at me,” I whisper. “I know some Spanish, French, and Chinese, but German is definitely not my forte.”

            Lance turns back to the inebriated guard. “Hey bro, this is America. We speak English here.”

            Spoken like a true red-neck racist. Lance is a better actor than I thought.

            The guard blinks at us several times before slurring, this time in English, “What are you all doing coming up to the gates at this hour? Everyone else is inside celebrating ‘Racial Purity Night’.”

            I can’t believe they actually have a name for their weekly atrocities. The guard says it with the same nonchalance one would have announcing ‘Ladies Night’ at a bar.   

            I hesitantly reply, “We were, uh, doing a little hunting. You know, looking for immigrants in the forest. Can you please let us in? We want to see the… er, lynching.”

            I almost can’t get the words out of my mouth. I can’t even pretend to enjoy such a thing. I must be at least somewhat convincing as a genocidal racist, however, because the guard presses a button, causing the steel gate to slowly, creakily swing open.

            “Alright, didn’t mean to hold you up,” the guard says. “Come in, come in!”

            I step through the city gates and look around in bewilderment. It’s like I’ve entered a different world, where white supremacy reigns supreme and no one dares stay out in the sun too long for fear of resembling their darker-skinned enemies. There are thousands upon thousands of white people in the streets, drinking beer and waving Confederate and Nazi flags. Most of the Dresden citizens are wearing white robes and hoods. Others are skinheads, with leather jackets and swastika tattoos on their arms and bare chests. Still others resemble the guard at the gate, wearing Nazi-replica military uniforms. They look like they could have walked right off the cover of a World War 2 history book. Even more disturbing, though, is the sight of hundreds of children dressed in brown shirts. This is a sign they are members of Hitler’s Youth, a Nazi-era organization for children that was recently resurrected over in Europe (and now apparently here in America). It sickens me to no end to see innocent children indoctrinated in the studies of hatred and senseless prejudice. It would be ironic if this contemporary version of Dresden suffered the same fate as its Third Reich counterpart. Indeed, there’s even a plaque in the front of the settlement memorializing the firebombing of the German city back in 1945. If only karma were a real thing.

            As we make our way through the congested streets, another thing becomes shockingly apparent. Over half of the people in Dresden have blonde hair and blue eyes. I had heard this was happening in Europe, but I didn’t realize it was occurring here as well. To make Adolf Hitler’s dream of a ‘racially pure’ society a reality, the Neo-Nazis have started using genetic engineering to manipulate the embryos of all their pregnant women, so that their children are born without debilitating birth defects. They also alter the genes that control hair and eye color, as well as skin tones. It’s a good thing my bright red hair is hidden under my hood. I’d stand out like a blazing fire in a sea of ice. Lance, on the other hand, would fit right in. (Physically, not personality-wise, of course.) Still, I can’t help but resent Lance for being the poster child of what every Neo-Nazi wants to look like. My hatred for Neo-Nazis runs that deep.

            Despite all this, however, even a place as horribly morbid as Dresden has its charms. The village has elaborate fountains in the middle of the streets that shoot water way up into the sky. Some of the fountains have cute statues of baby angels spitting water out of their mouths. Quaint cabins with huge bay windows are off on the sides of the streets, sticking out of grassy hills. Most of the cabins have vibrant flower beds and vegetable gardens. If it weren’t for the people who lived in Dresden, I would actually consider moving here. I’m so used to being surrounded by towering skyscrapers that the wide open spaces and one-story buildings are a refreshing change. My claustrophobia would become a non-factor in such a place.

            The air soon becomes filled with the tantalizing smells of schnitzel, bratwurst, sauerkraut, Bavarian pretzels, and beer. My mouth waters, reminding me how hungry I am. None of us have had a decent meal in days. I’m definitely feeling the effects of it. I’m fatigued and a little light-headed, and my stomach is in a perpetual state of discomfort. But I do my best to ignore the pain. What I wouldn’t do for some pain pills, though. I wonder if Lance is going through withdrawal like I am.

            I side-step a few puddles in the middle of the street. That’s the only sign a ferocious storm blew through just hours before. The clouds have cleared up so much that I can see the stars.

            I’m so busy looking out for puddles that I nearly collide into a statue. I glance up and groan. It’s a 20-foot tall marble statue of Adolf Hitler giving his infamous Nazi salute. If I had a bazooka on me, I’d blow it to bits.

            There are several other statues on the side of the road. Most of them are Nazis from the 1930s and 40s, like Josef Mengele, Rudolf Hess, Adolf Eichmann, the ‘Bitch of Buchenwald’ Ilse Koch, and countless others. There’s also a statue of the First Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, Nathan Forrest, and the president of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis. Last but not least is the 40-foot tall statue of the current Fuhrer of Neo-Nazi Europe, Sarah Coulter. ‘Fuhrer’ Coulter is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed tyrant that makes the ‘Bitch of Buchenwald’ seem like a saint in comparison. I quickly move away from the statues so I’m not tempted to riddle them with bullets.

            I rush over to Arrow, who has pulled ahead of us. On the way I ponder the absurdity of the three leaders of the most powerful empires on Earth being women. Perhaps this is a sexist, stereotypical assumption, but I always assumed the world would be a bit more peaceful with women in charge. After all, we are the more emotional, compassionate sex (theoretically). And yet the three women currently ruling the majority of the planet seem to be even more violent than their male predecessors. There used to be an old saying back in the 20th and 21st centuries; if women ruled the world, you wouldn’t have wars, just a bunch of countries not talking to each other. That humorous saying turned out to be half right. Now that women rule the world, countries don’t spend too much time talking, but boy do they still like to fight.

            “What exactly are we looking for?” I ask Arrow.

            “A prison or concentration camp,” Arrow replies coolly, sidestepping two kids in brown shirts chasing after some other kids pretending to be ‘undesirables’. “I’m guessing she would be held…”

            “Hey guys, what’s this?” Lance points to a monstrous crowd that has gathered near a field.

            We walk over and peer over the tops of all the white hoods in front of us. There are at least 10,000 people standing around, maybe more. Off in the distance is a wooden stage with several nooses hanging from a steel bar. Hovering over the illuminated stage is a holographic clock counting down to midnight. Right now it says we’re one minute and twelve seconds away.

            “It’s the lynching,” Arrow says. “We’re too late.”

            Even though I’m still annoyed with Arrow, I can’t help but rub his back.

            Lance offers his support, too, in a gruff, indirect way. “If they bring her out, I guess we’ll just have to fight our way through the crowd.”

            I glare at Lance from under my hood. “You expect us to take on 10,000 drunk, unruly white supremacists all by ourselves?”

            Lance shrugs. “Sure, why not? Could be fun.”

            I roll my eyes and turn back to the stage. When the countdown clock drops under one minute, the crowd starts counting down with it. The enthusiasm from the blood-thirsty crowd increases dramatically the closer the clock gets to zero.

            “Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five…”

            I gasp in horror as a holographic screen up in the sky shows two cute blond boys cheering the coming executions. It’s a sight that sickens me to no end.

            “…three… two… one!”

            The clock strikes midnight and fireworks explode off in the distance, decorating the night sky with fragments of red, blue, and green light. I barely hear the KA-BOOM of the fireworks over the fanatical crowd. I’m ashamed to be part of such a spectacle.

            After the fireworks die down, Dresden’s Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard takes the stage and does the one-handed Nazi salute. 10,000 arms pop into the air and respond in kind. Lance, Arrow, and I reluctantly raise ours so as not to attract suspicious stares.

            The Grand Wizard bellows, “Hello, Dresden! Are you ready to party?”

            The tsunami of cheers that follow suggest yes.

            “That was some storm earlier, huh?” the Grand Wizard says, his voice booming through his headset. “Some of you were afraid we’d have to cancel tonight’s festivities, but as you can plainly see, not even an act of God can stop ‘Racial Purity Night’!”

            The cheers grow louder. I wonder if this is what Hitler heard after he delivered his genocidal diatribes to thousands of screaming supporters.

            The Grand Wizard flaps his hands and the rowdy crowd grows eerily quiet. “Now I know all of you fine people would love to hear me talk all night, but that’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to celebrate our Aryan superiority. And what better way to do that than with a good old fashioned lynching?”

            The crowd roars again. The Grand Wizard goes on to give a sick but impassioned speech about how they’re not monsters for doing this, that they’re simply trying to preserve Aryan dominance. He then rants about how ‘undesirables’ are taking all their jobs and land, and how they’ve tainted the gene pool with their ‘defective and vile DNA’. It’s hands-down the most disgusting garbage I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard quite a bit of trash in my day.

            The Grand Wizard finally quits spouting his hate-filled rhetoric and gestures toward the back. “Bring out the undesirables!”

            By now the crowd has built up behind us. I have to stand on my tip-toes just to see. Way off in the distance there’s a dark and forbidding three-story prison surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. There are other buildings, too, but the prison is the center of the camp. A sign hanging over the camp reads Auschwitz Zwei. I know enough German to know zwei means two.

            “I’d wager $25 million that’s where Machete’s being held,” Lance says.

            “Congratulations, you’re $25 million richer,” I reply grimly.

            The gates to Auschwitz 2 swing open and a horse-drawn cart emerges. At first the cart is too far away for me to see who’s in it. I do make out three people, though. I activate the zoom-in function on my goggles. I’m relieved to discover Machete isn’t in the cart, but my heart sinks when I see who is.

            There’s a 20-something Hispanic woman who looks beside herself with grief. Tears stream down her ashen cheeks. Behind the woman is a balding, middle-aged Jewish man. I know he’s Jewish because the Neo-Nazi bastards put a yellow Star of David on his torn and tattered shirt. He seems to be a bit more in control of his emotions, but his trembling bottom lip does indicate some fear.

            Most heart-wrenching of all is the dark-skinned teen boy behind the Jewish man. The boy’s eyes are wide with fear, and his entire body is trembling. I start for the cart, but Arrow grabs my arm.

            “No, Red,” he whispers. “I know how you feel. I want to help, too, but we’re hopelessly outnumbered. It’s best to stand down… for now, at least.”

            I wrench my arm from Arrow’s grasp. “You wouldn’t be so passive if Machete was in that cart.”

            Arrow doesn’t respond because he knows I’m right. But I know he’s right, too. If we try to rescue these poor souls, we will be lynched right along with them. Then we won’t be able to save Machete or go after Mikhail. As much as it breaks my heart, our only option is to stand down and watch three brutal murders. I already feel my soul beginning to crumble.

            The horse-drawn cart eventually makes its way toward us. The crowd parts in the middle, making a path for the doomed so-called ‘undesirables’. It’s as if Moses himself were parting the Red Sea… a sea full of blood. Arrow, Lance, and I have to scoot back to make room for the people backing into us. It takes everything I have not to shoot the obnoxious jerk in front of me shouting racial slurs.

            The crowd begins to hurl objects at the shackled prisoners. Tomatoes splatter the unfortunate souls from head to toe. They also get bombarded with heads of cabbage. A few particularly sadistic Neo-Nazis chuck jagged rocks. One of the rocks hits the Jewish man in the mouth. He falls to his knees and spits out blood.

            The boy tries to jump out of the cart, but before he can make the fateful leap, the collar around his neck glows electric blue and makes a zapping sound. The boy shrieks and falls to the floor of the cart.

            I blink back hot tears as the prisoners continue their odyssey of torment through the crowd. Soon they’re so covered in red goo that I can’t tell if it’s from the tomatoes or blood. Maybe it’s best I don’t know.

            Once they reach the stage, the prisoners are yanked from the cart and dragged onto the platform. The woman and boy struggle, but they’re so beat up from their captivity that they’re no match for the guards. The Jewish man does not struggle at all. I am in awe of his poise and air of calmness. If I was in his shoes I’d be totally freaking out.

            My body tenses as the Klansmen tie the noses around the prisoners’ necks. By now the woman and teen are crying uncontrollably, begging for mercy. The Jewish man remains stoically calm. He doesn’t want to give his hated tormenters the satisfaction of seeing him beg for a mercy he knows will never come.

            The Grand Wizard takes center stage and grins like the psychotic lunatic he is. “Let the countdown begin!”

            The holographic clock over the stage restarts and begins counting down from 20. The crowd counts along with it, as if they were counting down to New Year’s Eve or something. This time my heart overpowers my mind. I reach for my gun. Before I can grab it, however, Arrow grips my wrist. I try to break free, but he’s too strong.

            “Arrow, this isn’t right.”

            “I know, Red, but we can’t take on this crowd all by ourselves.” His voice is shaky. He’s having trouble standing here, too.

            If Arrow wasn’t clutching my arm and talking sense into me, I would be barging up to the stage right now with guns a-blazing. But the reality of our situation has come crashing back into me. Doing the right thing and intervening would result in our instant deaths.

            Lance starts getting antsy. I follow Arrow’s lead and give Lance’s hand a gentle squeeze. He looks over at me and tilts his head ever-so-slightly. I don’t need to peek under his hood to know he’s overcome with grief.

            “Boom Boom, we can’t…”

            I tighten my squeeze. “I know, but we must. Blade and Harpoon are counting on us coming home in one piece.”

            This calms him down. A lot of times it’s the only play I have when I need to prevent Lance from doing something reckless. His devotion to those kids is astonishing.

            “Ten… nine… eight…”

            Sweat pours from all my pores, soaking my robe. This is one of the most horrible things I’ve ever had to endure. I’d rather be tossed through a window than watch this.

            “…five… four…”

            Lance steps forward. I squeeze his hand so tight I’m sure I’ve cut off his circulation.

            “…three… two…”

            The woman continues crying. The boy wails, “Please have mercy! My little sister needs me, I’m all she has!”

            The Jewish man remains calm. He is the strongest man I’ve ever seen.

            “…one!”

            The floor slides out from under the prisoners and their bodies drop. The ropes go taut, and the prisoners jerk violently.

            It’s done. A quick, clean death. At least they didn’t suffer.

            The crowd roars its approval. I stagger back, light-headed from the barbarism I just witnessed. Arrow hangs on to my arm to keep me steady.

            “It’s okay, Red. I’ve got you.”

            Arrow’s words are of no solace to me.

            As the cheers of over 10,000 genocidal lunatics reaches a mighty crescendo, I feel my heart and soul crumble.

            This is the world we’re fighting to save? A world that turns a blind eye to ethnic cleansing? That passively endorses whole-scale genocide to keep a fragile peace?

            A horrifying thought enters my mind.

            Maybe a nuclear holocaust wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

            Maybe the world deserves to burn.

Chapter Thirteen: Lance

            I don’t know how long I’ve sat on this fountain bench with my head in my hands, struggling to keep vomit from gushing up my throat, but it must have been a while because Krystal pops up on my goggles and shouts, “Are you okay? Do Dorothy and I need to open up a can of whoop ass on some Neo-Nazi scumbags?”

            Dorothy pops up next to Krystal, cocking a gun. “You can count on us, Lance! We know what we’re doing!”

            As sickened as I am at what I just saw, I do have to laugh when Dorothy inadvertently points her gun in Krystal’s face.

            Krystal backs away and hollers, “Don’t point that thing at me, you crazy lunatic! ‘Friendly fire’ isn’t as friendly as it sounds!”

            “Oops, sorry!” Dorothy says sheepishly, yanking the gun out of sight.

            I nod my head. “We’re fine, guys. We just… uh… got held up. We’re going to go get Machete shortly.”

            “Alright,” Krystal says, still glaring at Dorothy over the top of her shades. “Give us a holler if you need anything.”

            Krystal and Dorothy fizzle out of view. I adjust my lopsided hood and stand up from the stone bench encircling the fountain.

            Boom Boom is on the other side with her hooded head in between her knees. Tool-bag is beside her, rubbing her back.

            I glance over at the gallows. The prisoners are still dangling from their nooses. What are the Neo-Nazis going to do, leave them there all night? Sick bastards.

            The faces of the executed will haunt my dreams for years to come, especially the woman and kid. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for not intervening.

            Thankfully the massive crowd has started to disperse. We can’t very well break into Auschwitz with thousands of onlookers hanging around.

            I make my way over to Boom Boom. Speaking quietly so no passing Klansmen can hear me, I say, “So what do we do now?”

            Boom Boom finally lifts her head. In a weary, defeated voice she says, “Machete is undoubtedly being held in Auschwitz. I’m going to bet the fence is electrified, so we can’t climb over it. There is a guard shack over on the side, though.

            “So we take out the guard and use his keys to break in?” Arrow asks.

            “Not exactly,” Boom Boom says, stretching her back and neck. Spending several nights on the cold forest floor has left us all with aches and pains. “I’ve been doing a little research on Dresden while we’ve been sitting here.”

            And here I thought Boom Boom was over here grieving. In reality she was figuring out a plan to save Machete. She never ceases to amaze me.

            “Apparently the entire town gets trashed on ‘Racial Purity Night’,” Boom Boom says. “Pretty soon everyone will be holed up in bars and parties. We should be able to break into Auschwitz with no problem.”

            “What about the guards?” I ask.

            “From what I read, Auschwitz doesn’t have a lot of guards. The prisoners are too weak and fatigued from forced labor to fight back.”

            Boom Boom’s being a little too hopeful. We always have problems, even for things that we think are going to be a piece of cake.

            The three of us walk around town, doing our best not to come across as suspicious. About an hour later the streets are pretty much deserted. Everyone is crammed into Dresden’s many bars. Shortly after 1:00am we make our way over to Auschwitz.

            Boom Boom marches up to the guard and knocks on his bulletproof glass booth. She must frighten him because he spills his beer and jumps out of his chair.

            “What the blazes are you doing here?” he shouts, stepping out of the booth and swinging his gun at us.

            Boom Boom raises her hands. “Sorry to disturb you, we just wanted to take a tour of the camp.”

            The guard blinks several times as his beer-flooded brain tries to figure out what Boom Boom’s saying. He finally says, “There are no tours for Auschwitz at this hour, you crazy drunks!”

            Talk about the sky calling the ocean blue.

            “We weren’t asking for a tour,” Arrow says. “We’re telling you we want one.”

            The guard jabs his gun in Arrow’s face. “Ah, tough guy, huh? We’ll see how tough you are when—ARRGH!”

            Arrow swats the gun out of the guard’s hand and kicks him in the gut. He then grabs the guard’s head and slams it against the bullet-proof glass. The guard slumps to the ground.

            Arrow and Boom Boom tear off their Ku Klux Klan disguises, as do I. Boom Boom places her dagger against the guard’s neck.

            “Now listen, you Neo-Nazi scum-bucket. You’re going to deactivate this fence and help us find a prisoner. If you try anything funny, like call for backup, we will kill you. Do you understand?”

            The guard feverishly nods his head.

            We help the guard to his feet and carry him back to the booth. The guard types away on his holographic computer. I watch the screen to make sure he doesn’t try and call for help. I breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls up an image of the fence and presses the ‘deactivate’ button. The guard leads us over to the gate, trembling in fear as Boom Boom continues to prod him with her dagger.

            “Open it up,” Boom Boom barks.

            The guard grabs the gate door and swings it open. Boom Boom shoves him through and we follow after him.

            The four of us hurry past dark warehouses where the prisoners are forced to work. One of the warehouses appears to be used to build windmills and solar panels. Another one is a flying car assembly plant.

            We head over to the prison in the center of the camp. There’s one guard in a booth watching TV. When he sees us, he runs out and flashes a gun. Arrow hits him in the neck with one of his poisoned arrows.

            We rush past the dead guard and enter the prison’s front door. There’s another guard sitting behind a desk. Arrow shoots this guy in the chest. Boom Boom grumbles under her breath, but she doesn’t seem as upset about Arrow killing Neo-Nazis as she did before they killed those prisoners.

            We huddle behind the desk and pull up a holographic map of the prison. The faces of the prisoners pop up. We quickly find Machete’s cell, way up on the third floor.

            Arrow leads us to an elevator at the end of the hall. We cram inside, including the guard, and shoot up to the third floor.

            When the elevator door slides open, we come across another guard. Arrow’s about to shoot this one like he did the others, but Boom Boom says, “I got this.”

            Boom Boom charges toward the guard as he fumbles with his gun. She delivers a dropkick into his chest and sends him flying into the solid steel bars of a jail cell. She then delivers two stiff kicks to his head, knocking him out cold.

            “Showoff,” Arrow says.

            “I can’t let you have all the fun.” Boom Boom grabs the unconscious guard’s gun and places it in her utility belt. We can never have enough weapons.

            I glance inside several of the cells as we walk down the aisle, and I’m appalled at what I see. There are all kinds of non-Aryan prisoners, including Hispanics, Muslims, African Americans, Native Americans, Jews (with their yellow stars on their shirts), homosexuals (they have pink triangles), gypsies, and other dark-skinned races. The Neo-Nazis have spared no one. There are men, women, and children. Each cell has nothing but a concrete bed sticking out of the wall, a bucket to use as a toilet, and a water spigot that hangs over a drain.

            Arrow points at a shaggy man in one of the cells. “Why do you have Russians?”

            At first I wonder how Arrow even knows the guy is Russian, but then I see the Purple Dragon tattoo on his arm.

            The guard stares at Arrow like he just asked the dumbest question in the world.

            “Because Russia inflicted heavy casualties against the Nazis during World War 2,” he replies. ‘We hate Russians more than almost any other race or ethnicity, save for maybe the Jews.”

            “Unbelievable,” Boom Boom grumbles. “You Neo-Nazis are so consumed by hate that you continue carrying out vendettas against enemies you had over 200 years ago. Un-freaking-believable.”

            I’m not a big history buff, so none of this makes much sense to me. I follow Arrow to the last cell. Inside we find Machete.

            “Mom!” Arrow calls out.

            Machete looks up from her concrete bed and gasps. Her face looks a little bruised, and there are a few cuts running up and down her cheeks, but it doesn’t look like the Neo-Nazis roughed her up too badly.

            I expected her to be over-joyed we came to bust her out, so I’m a little surprised when she snarls, “You fools, why did you come for me? Go after Mikhail!”

            “Nice to see you, too, Mom,” Arrow grumbles.

            I shove the guard and demand, “Open the cell.”

            The guard hesitates, but after Boom Boom flashes her blade, he presses his palm against a sensor near the cell door. There’s a series of beeps, and then the cell door swings open. Machete walks out and punches the guard in the gut. He groans and falls to his knees.

            Machete squats in front of him and wags her finger in his face. “You’re lucky I didn’t use a knife.”

            “Angry much?” I say.

            Machete scowls. “Just getting some retribution.”

            “Alright, let’s get out of here,” Arrow says, rushing toward the door. Machete grabs the guard by his hair and drags him behind her.

            I notice Boom Boom staring longingly at the prisoners. By now most of them are wide awake and peering at us through their bars. The sight of the frightened children reaching out to me breaks my heart.

            “I feel the same way you do, but what are we supposed to do? We can’t bring them with us.”

            Boom Boom ponders for a moment, then says, “Well, there is that car factory. Everyone can steal a car and go their separate ways.”

            I grin at the thought of all the prisoners escaping in cars they helped build.

            “What are you two waiting for?” Machete hollers. “Let’s move!”

            I turn to find an adorable African American girl looking up at me through her bars. Her big brown eyes are filled with tears.

            “Mister, have you seen my brother?” she asks in a trembling voice. “The guards took him away just a little while ago. They didn’t hurt him, did they?”

            Boom Boom cries out and covers her mouth. I feel like I’m about to puke. The girl’s brother was the young teen boy we watched get executed.

            I shake my head. “You’re right, Boom Boom. This is all wrong. It was wrong to watch those three people get lynched, and it would be wrong to leave all these people behind. Let’s bust them out.”

            Boom Boom beams.

            “C’mon, you idiots!” Machete hollers. “You’re holding us up!”

            Boom Boom marches up to Machete and jabs her in the chest. Machete looks as shocked as I am.

            “First off, why don’t you show a little gratitude? You ditched us in the middle of the Canadian wilderness and we still risked our lives to save you.”

            Machete does something that stuns me to no end. She actually apologizes!

            “You’re right,” she grumbles, looking down at the ground. “We shouldn’t have ditched you. I was just tired of that cyborg and those ninjas coming after us.”

            I decide to add my two cents. “The fact is, you don’t like us, and we don’t exactly enjoy your company, either. But we need to count on each other if we’re to have any hope of nabbing Mikhail. No more backstabbing, no more ditching. We got a deal?”

            Machete sighs. “Yes! Now can we please go?”

            “Not so fast,” Boom Boom says. “Arrow, I want access to our database. What did you change the password to?”

            Arrow rubs the back of his head and sheepishly says, “Arrow ‘hearts’ Red.”

            Boom Boom tries to keep a straight face, but her quivering lips give away the fact she’s struggling to suppress a smirk.

            “Wow, Arrow, that’s almost sweet.”

            “No, it’s stupid,” I say.

            Boom Boom ignores me and logs into our database through her goggles. A few seconds later she says, “All done. I changed the password back to the old one, with one notable exception. Now there’s an undecipherable series of 20 numbers, letters, and symbols behind it.”

            Arrow lowers his shoulders in dejection. “I sure will miss looking over all those files.”

            “I’m glad we were all able to kiss and make up,” Machete says, tapping her foot impatiently. “Now can we please go?”

            “One last thing,” Boom Boom says, gesturing to the dozens of prisoners. “We’re freeing all the slaves.”

            Machete’s face turns fiery red. “Excuse me?”

            “You heard me,” Boom Boom says, puffing out her chest. She’s so cute when she acts tough. “We’re not going to leave all these people to be brutally murdered.”

            The prisoners murmur excitedly. We’re not exactly being quiet, so they can hear us plotting their escape.

            “Please take us with you!” a gypsy woman shouts, clutching her bars.

            “Yes, please don’t forsake us!” begs one of the men wearing the pink triangles.

            The hallway soon becomes flooded with the pleas of desperate prisoners. Even someone as cold-hearted as Machete can’t stay stone-faced in the face of such an emotional appeal for mercy. She finally throws up her hands in defeat.

            “Oh alright. But how do we get them out of Dresden?”

            “We already got that figured out,” Boom Boom says excitedly. I have to admit, I’m kind of excited about sticking it to the Nazis, too.

            The guard shakes his head. “Absolutely not! I refuse to release all these prisoners! They will tear me limb from limb!”

            “Maybe,” Machete says, grabbing the guard by his neck and slamming him up against the wall. “But if you don’t do what we say, I’ll definitely tear you apart.”

            “I’ll make sure none of the prisoners hurt you,” Boom Boom says. “But don’t open the cells yet. I need to talk to everyone first.”

            Boom Boom makes her way to the center of the prison floor and shouts, “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

            All the chatter dies down.

            “We’re going to let everyone out, but in order for this to work, everyone needs to keep quiet.” Boom Boom points to Arrow. “Follow the guy with the bow, he’ll lead you outside. My friends and I are going to go free the prisoners on the other floors. Once everyone is out, we’re going to the car factory. All you adults need to make sure you take some of the kids with you. I don’t want anyone left behind. There are two sanctuaries within a 500-mile radius of this camp, Sanctuary 17 and 19. Use the GPS systems on your cars to go to one of those two sanctuaries. You won’t be able to go inside since I doubt any of you have much money, but you can easily sell your cars and use those funds to eke out a living in the surrounding slums. It won’t be an easy life, but it’ll be a hell of a lot better than living here. Everyone understand?”

            All the prisoners nod their heads.

            “Good.” Boom Boom pulls out her gun and aims it at the guard. “Open the cells, now.”

            The guard gulps and places his palm on the main sensor. After a series of beeps all the cell doors swing open. The prisoners rush out and glance at each other in disbelief. I’m sure most of them think it’s a dream.

            The young black girl comes up to me and asks, “My brother, have you seen him?”

            The question is like a kick to my gut. I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. My tongue is so dry it feels like sandpaper. How do I tell a young girl her beloved older brother was murdered because of the color of his skin?

            A young Hispanic woman rushes over and gives the girl a hug. The girl starts to tear up. I think she knows her brother is gone.

            The woman glances at me and says, “They took my sister, too.”

            I nod. Her sister was the Hispanic woman who was killed along with the boy and the Jewish man. I see the resemblance in her face.

            “I will take care of the girl. I will treat her as if she’s my own daughter,” the woman says, scooping the girl into her arms.

            “Thank you,” I say. It’s as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I’d hate for the girl to have to fend for herself.

            Boom Boom grabs the guard by his shirt and shoves him through the crowd of prisoners. He trembles as the prisoners close in on him.

            “Keep your emotions in check, guys,” Boom Boom says. ‘I know this scumbag put you all through hell, but we need him to free the others.”

            The prisoners reluctantly step back and allow the guard to pass through unscathed. They have more willpower than I do.

            Arrow leads all the prisoners outside while Boom Boom, Machete, the guard, and I go free the prisoners on the second and first floor. We then head outside and run over to the factory. On our way I see cars already taking off into the night sky. By the time we reach Arrow, most of the prisoners from the first floor are gone.

            As we wait for the other prisoners to escape, I glance around the darkened camp. Next to the renewable energy factory is an armory full of weapons and explosives. If we have time we can scrounge around for weapons.

            “This is actually easier than I thought it’d be,” Boom Boom says, waving to the Hispanic woman and African American girl as they fly off in a car with a Jewish man and a gypsy.

            “I know,” I say. “It’s a little too easy if you ask---”

            I’m interrupted by a blaring siren. Spotlights materialize in the sky and spin around in circles.

            “What the hell?” Machete shouts. I can barely hear her over the siren.

            We all turn to find the guard leaning against the factory wall, his hand gripping an alarm handle. In all the excitement of the jail break we forgot to keep an eye on him.

            “You fools,” the guard cackles. “Now you will pay for your betrayal of the Aryan ra—ARGH!”

            We never hear what the guard was going to say because Arrow sends a poisoned arrow hurtling into his heart.

            “Damn, I only have two arrows left,” Arrow grumbles.

            “We can stop for weapons in Alaska,” Boom Boom says, ushering the last few prisoners into the last vehicle.

            “Doesn’t look like there are any cars left for us,” Machete observes.

            “That’s okay, Krystal can come get us.” I pull her up on my goggles and shout, “Krystal, get your ass over here NOW!”

            Krystal pops into view. “On my way. Should be there in about a minute.’

            Dorothy pops up with her gun. “Yeah Lance, you can count on us!”

            Krystal shoves the gun out of her face. “What did I tell you about aiming that thing at me?”

            Krystal and Dorothy fizzle out of view.

            “They’ll be here in a minute!” I shout to the others.

            “I don’t think we have a minute.” Boom Boom points to the dozens of Klansmen and Neo-Nazis rushing toward the front gate, armed with machine guns and swords. They stop to make sure the gate isn’t electrified, then kick it open and rush inside, their weapons aimed directly at us.

            “Fall back to the renewable energy factory!” Boom Boom hollers.

            We all follow after her into the factory. We jump behind some solar panel assembly lines in the center. Boom Boom and I crouch behind the assembly line facing the front door. Machete and Arrow face the back. Boom Boom hands them some of her extra weapons since they’re pretty much unarmed, save for Arrow’s two arrows.

            “Aw man, I hate guns,” Arrow gripes.

            “Shut up and shoot!” Boom Boom hollers.

            Almost on cue, a swarm of Klansmen and Neo-Nazis burst through the front door, their guns a-blazing. Boom Boom and I unload a barrage of artillery, forcing the Nazis to dive for cover behind assembly lines and piles of spare windmill parts. I assume the Nazis have started coming through the back door because Machete and Arrow begin firing as well.

            We continue this crazy shootout for the next 30 seconds or so, firing off shots and dropping back to the floor to avoid incoming artillery. Matters are complicated by the fact that the Nazis on the opposite side of the factory are firing at Machete and Arrow, and of course when they duck that leaves our backs exposed. Boom Boom is actually hit in the back by one of those shots. Thankfully the bullet hits her armor.

            We manage to hit a few Nazis, but most of our shots miss. And more of the Nazis keep pouring into the factory despite the fact we’re firing through the door. Some of the Nazis dive from assembly line to assembly line, getting closer to us with each passing second. Boom Boom tosses a flash and smoke grenade, but it does little to stop the Nazis’ advance. We’re quickly becoming overwhelmed.

            One of the Nazis suddenly races toward us, unloading his gun and screaming like a lunatic. Several of his shots riddle Boom Boom’s bullet-proof vest, sending her flat on her back.

            “You bastard!” I shout, firing a shot directly at his chest. The Nazi spits up blood, but his momentum keeps him moving forward. He doesn’t stop until he collapses onto our assembly line. Blood oozes out of his mouth and onto the ground next to us. I shove him off the assembly line, where he collapses to the ground on the other side.

            Boom Boom staggers back to her knees and continues shooting. She appears rattled, but probably not as rattled as I was seeing that crazy Nazi charging at us like a suicide bomber. If the rest of them do that, we’re screwed.

             And of course that’s exactly what the Nazis decide to do. The Grand Wizard bursts through the door and shouts, “CHARGE!”

            That’s the rallying cry that unleashes full-scale chaos. Dozens of Nazis leap out of hiding and come at us like a stampede of cattle.

            “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!” I cry, dropping down to avoid the bombardment of bullets. Boom Boom and the others do the same.

            I glance at Arrow and Machete. Even they look scared.

            “Well guys, it’s been fun,” Machete says over the deafening roar of gunfire.

            “At least we saved all those prisoners,” Boom Boom says solemnly.

            I shake my head. I just can’t believe we’re going to meet our end like this… torn apart by Nazis. As Boom Boom likes to say, un-freaking-believable.

            And then, just when all seems lost, a shattering of glass signals our salvation.

            I look up as our stolen Chariot XX descends through the skylight. The four of us cover our faces to protect them from the glass shards raining down on top of us.

            A monstrous explosion sends me and Boom Boom flying into Machete and Arrow. My ears start ringing like crazy. I peer over the top of the assembly line and gasp at the sight of the far end of the factory exploding in flames

            I look up to find Dorothy hanging over the side of the car, clutching a bazooka. Krystal, who is in the driver’s seat, points to the other side of the factory. Dorothy aims her bazooka in that direction and fires. Another concussive explosion sends Machete and Arrow flying into me and Boom Boom.

            It takes a few seconds for us to regain our bearings. By the time we do, Krystal lands the car in between the assembly lines and wildly flails her arms.

            “Get your asses in the car!”

            She doesn’t have to tell us twice. We all scramble into the back, and Krystal blasts into the sky.

            I look down just as the Grand Wizard emerges from some burning rubble, looking badly injured but very much alive. He points a machine gun at us and shouts something, but I can’t hear him.

            Before he can fire, I unload several shots. Two red dots appear through the Grand Wizard’s white robes, right where his heart would be. The Wizard falls flat on his back. Now he can join his beloved Adolf Hitler in Hell.

            We quickly emerge from the flaming factory. The cool air is a stark contrast to the hot flames down below. I lean back into my seat and breathe a sigh of relief. I’m both exhausted and exhilarated at what we accomplished. We saved over 300 people from genocide. We couldn’t save those three poor souls from being lynched, but we made up for it by freeing hundreds of others.

            “Thanks for the save, Krystal,” I gasp, struggling to catch my breath. “That makes up for all the times you fell asleep on the job.”

            “Actually she did fall asleep,” Dorothy says, still holding her smoking bazooka. ‘I just happened to hear your voice through her goggles, so I woke her up.”

            “Why you gotta be a snitch?” Krystal snaps.

            “Where did you get the bazooka?” Arrow asks.

            “We found it in the trunk,” Dorothy explains.

            “You look very badass with a bazooka,” I say.

            “Really?” Dorothy gushes. “Thanks! You know, I think I could learn to like this bounty hunter stuff.”

            “Good, you can take my place,” Krystal gripes. “I’m getting too old for this crap.”

            Gunfire suddenly pings the side of our car. Everyone ducks as our few remaining windows and mirrors shatter. An intense white light envelopes the entire car, blinding us.

            “Ah crap, they have a spotlight on us,” Krystal cries, struggling to keep the car steady as bullets demolish the paint job.

            I peer over the side of the car at the ground below. Hundreds of Klansmen and Neo-Nazis are outside the gates of the internment camp, pointing their guns at us. Dozens of orange flashes flitter in and out of existence. It’s a good thing most of the Nazis are drunk, otherwise we’d be getting hit a lot more than we are.

            I glance over at the renewable energy factory, which by now is engulfed in a raging inferno. Right next door to it is the armory. A light bulb goes off in my head.

            Krystal’s just about to take off when I holler, “Hang on a second!”

            “Why, so we can die?” Krystal hollers as bullets whiz by.

            “Give me your bazooka, Dorothy!”

            “Er, okay,” she says, handing it to me.

            I grab the bulky weapon and aim it at the armory.

            “Lance, what are you doing?” Boom Boom asks frantically.

            I squint my left eye to get a better view of my target. “Let’s just say I recommend you all cover your ears.”

            I ignore the bullets whizzing past my head, lock my sights on the open doorway of the armory… and fire.

            What happens next seems to occur in slow motion. A grenade explodes out of the bazooka with such force that I nearly topple out of the car. Thankfully Boom Boom has the presence of mind to grab the front of my Kevlar vest. I regain my balance and watch as the missile streaks toward the armory, right through the open doorway.   

            Bulls-eye.

            The explosion that follows is unlike anything I’ve ever seen or heard. A monstrous fireball resembling a small nuclear detonation mushrooms high into the sky. Even with us being hundreds of yards away, I still feel the scorching heat. Seconds later there’s a deafening KA-BOOM that shatters windows all over town.

            After the first big explosion, hundreds of smaller ones go off as the fireball detonates all the bombs, grenades, mines, gun cartridges, and piles of gun powder stacked away in the armory. The fireball grows bigger and bigger until it engulfs the entire internment camp. But the raging inferno doesn’t stop there. The flames leap over the fence and spread from house to house. The Nazis stop firing at us and run away from the advancing flames.

            “Holy crap, Lance, you blew Dresden to Hell and back,” Machete cackles.

            A small fireball explodes out of the inferno and narrowly misses our car.

            “That’s it, I’m getting out of here. I don’t care what you crazy people say.” Krystal slams on the accelerator and we zoom off toward the horizon. A cool breeze blows through the shattered front windshield, whipping my hair into a frenzy. I look out the back and watch as the flames quickly overtake a good chunk of the town. Thick, black smoke billows into the sky, blotting out the stars.

            Boom Boom shakes her head in mild amusement. “What is up with us destroying all these places we visit?”

            “I don’t know, but I definitely like your guys’ style,” Machete says, still laughing.

            “So what do we do now?” Krystal asks.

            Boom Boom pulls up a map on her goggles. “It looks like we’re only a day and a half from New Las Vegas. I say we keep flying for a while, stop for a few hours to get some shut-eye, and fly all day tomorrow. We should reach Vegas sometime the following afternoon.”

            “Sounds like a plan to me,” I say. “Mikhail Rasputin, ready or not, here we come.”

Chapter Fourteen: Boom Boom

            When the bright lights of New Las Vegas come into view, the first thing I say is, “I can’t believe we actually made it. Over 3,000 miles in four and a half days. Un-freaking-believable.”

            The others mumble their agreement. We went through so much crap to get here, but as soon as we left Dresden we barely had any problems at all. I’m not complaining, of course. But I do get the feeling the lack of action has pulled everyone into a false sense of security. We’ll have to snap out of that, and fast. The most dangerous part of our mission is about to begin.

            “Man, this place is badass,” Krystal says from the front passenger seat, leaning half her body out the shattered window. (Machete took over flying responsibilities after spending the first night screaming at Krystal for her erratic aerial maneuvers.)

            I have to agree with Krystal. Even in the afternoon the city lights are almost blinding. There are skyscrapers and elaborate casinos and clubs for as far as the eye can see. Some of the casinos are shaped like pyramids, others are giant spheres (almost resembling colossal golf balls), and others are dual towers connected by walkways.

            “As much as I’d love for us to get a hotel here, it’s way too crowded.” Machete points to the massive crowd of people in the streets. “Every bounty hunter in the country is probably down on the Strip. They’ll be just as happy handing you guys over to Caesar as they would be nabbing Rasputin.”

            It’s busy in the sky, too. Hundreds of cars are zooming around and cutting each other off, honking their horns and flashing middle fingers.

            “There are cheap motels a few miles from here,” I say, checking my goggles. “We’ll be less likely to run into trouble if we hang out there.”

            “Good suggestion, girlie.” Machete makes a crazy U-turn in mid-air, sending Lance and me colliding into our door. She then shoots off at break-neck speed, sending me crashing back into my seat. Thank God for seatbelts.

            As we head toward a more rural area, I check the news on my goggles. There’s a report detailing how people are getting antsy as the Chinese continue threatening a surgical military strike if Rasputin is not apprehended. Some analysts believe the strike could happen in a matter of days. Footage is then shown of people all over the country flooding supermarkets to stock up on food and water. Rich people living in the sanctuaries are purchasing underground bunkers in near-record numbers. And of course crime in the slums and non-Sanctuary cities has skyrocketed as poor people commit increasingly brazen robberies to shore up on their meager supplies. The whole country is losing its collective mind.

            I’m even more shocked by the report that pops up after that. European ‘Fuhrer’ Sarah Coulter has put out a rare press release stating she and the other leaders of the Fascist Empire of Bavaria (none of us in America call it that, we still call it Europe) are ‘appalled’ and ‘outraged’ by the assassination of the American Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. Coulter’s statement claims the Wizard was a ‘great man and close friend of the Bavarian people’. The press release goes on to say the Bavarian Grand Wizard is ‘heartbroken’ over the murder of his ‘American brother of the cloth’, as is the rest of the Bavarian Nation. It ends by stating the Bavarian Ku Klux Klan and their Neo-Nazi brothers will work tirelessly until the Grand Wizard’s assassins are apprehended and executed. Good thing they don’t know it was us!

            We reach the rural outer edges of New Las Vegas in no time. Machete parks in a wooded area and walks over to the front office of a cheap, $100 a night motel called the Poor Man’s Paradise. She returns moments later, dangling a key in the air.

            “We’re in Room 36,” she says, pointing to the very back of the motel, the part that faces a wooded area. We’re out of sight of the main road. It’s the perfect spot for people who don’t want to be seen.

            We all get out of the car and head inside the room. Machete turns on the light and about a dozen cockroaches scatter, crawling under the two beds and the sofa against the wall. The beds and sofa are covered in stains, as is the worn and tattered carpet. The door to the bathroom is open, so I can see the toilet looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a year, and the shower curtain is yellow and moldy. There’s a giant crack on the ceiling that indicates the roof is one bad storm away from caving in, and the entire room smells like dirty feet and crap.

            “This place is disgusting!” Krystal hollers, stomping on a roach that stupidly runs up to her.

            “I agree,” Dorothy says, sticking out her tongue. “I’d rather sleep outside.”

            “No one’s stopping you,” Machete says.

            Arrow gives Machete a dirty look, prompting her to sigh and say, “We won’t be here that long. We just need a place to lay low until we make our next move.”

            I cautiously sit down on the edge of one of the beds, making sure no critters are under the cover.

            “Right now we don’t have many leads on where Rasputin may be hiding, save for he’s probably somewhere in Alaska,” I say. “And if he’s in Alaska, he’s probably in New Las Vegas, since there’s such a concentration of Russian mobsters. There is, however, one person who’s most likely been in contact with Rasputin at some point within the past several weeks. Heck, he could be hiding him in one of his casinos for all we know. Igor Bolshevik.”

            Machete nods. “Yeah, he’s rumored to be one of the most powerful Russian mobsters in the country. Arrow told me you guys were thinking about going after him.”

            “So where is this Igor guy?” Dorothy asks.

            “He owns a casino on the Vegas Strip. I bet you can’t guess what it’s called.”

            “The Purple Dragon?” Dorothy says.

            “Bingo. Rumor has it Igor is one of Rasputin’s biggest American supporters. He uses some of the hundreds of millions of dollars he makes from his casinos and drug smuggling to finance Rasputin’s terror operations. This is all ‘allegedly’, of course. Igor has never been formally charged for helping the Purple Dragons. But that’s probably because the American Government isn’t too keen on arresting people who are helping destabilize their biggest foreign threat.”

            “So we know where Igor’s at,” Dorothy says. “What’s the plan? How do we use him to get to Mikhail?”

            “The most important thing is earning Igor’s trust. We have to convince him we want to join his gang. Once we do that, we can infiltrate his inner circle and hopefully locate Rasputin.”

            Dorothy scoffs. “You’re making this sound like it’s going to be easy. How are we going to convince Igor we want to be in his gang, especially when you, Lance, and Krystal are wanted by Caesar and Blackbird?”

            I can’t help but smirk. Dorothy is a smart, observant girl, asking all the right questions. She really would make a good bounty hunter.

            “First we’re going to need some good disguises. A lot of Russians nowadays dye their hair purple. They also wear leather jackets and carry around electric swords.”

            “Electric swords?” Dorothy cries. “Aren’t those illegal?”

            “Technically. But as with everything in America, you can find them if you know where to look.”

            I personally hate electric swords. They look like pocket knives, but when you click the trigger, a two-foot long blade pops out. You then click another button and the sword heats up, so it slices through flesh and bone easier. That’s not its only purpose, either. The heated blade cauterizes any wound, preventing a victim from bleeding to death. This is useful in torture sessions, when you want to prolong the torture as long as possible. You can also make the sword electrified, which causes instant death when you stab someone. They’re nasty weapons, which is why even our ruthless government outlawed them. But the Ruskies love em.

            “And you think just by dressing up, Igor will hire you guys?” Dorothy asks.

            “Not exactly,” Lance says, cutting in. “Russian gangsters are always looking for new blood, since most of their gangbangers are older. That’s one thing we have in our favor, youth. But they’re probably going to have us go through an initiation first.”

            “Like?” Dorothy inquires.

            “They’re gonna want us to carry out a hit,” Krystal blurts out, munching on some beef jerky she bought from the store.

            “Omigosh, really?” Dorothy cries.

            “Don’t worry, they won’t have us go after anyone innocent,” Arrow says casually, chomping on an apple. “Probably just a rival gangbanger. Or, if we’re lucky, we’ll get to go after someone even more corrupt… like a politician.”

            Krystal, Machete, and Lance laugh at Arrow’s morbid joke. Dorothy and I, however, do not. I’m beginning to think we’re the only ones with any class.

            “Another thing,” I say, looking directly at Machete and Krystal. “We should probably only send three of us into Igor’s fortress. That way the other three can act as backup in case things go to hell.”

            “Okay,” Machete says. “You, me, and Arrow can go, and the others can wait outside.”

            I sigh and shake my head. I’m about to break the news to her, that she can’t be part of the infiltration team, but thankfully Arrow comes to my rescue.

            “You can’t go inside with us, Mom, and you know that,” Arrow says sternly.

            “And why not?” Machete growls.

            “Because you’re old,” he says bluntly. “These Russian perverts want young, beautiful women like Boom Boom, and young, strong, attractive guys like me.”

            “And me, too,” Lance says.

            “Don’t flatter yourself, chump,” Arrow replies.

            Before the boys get into an argument, I say, “No offense, Machete, but Arrow’s right. Igor may find you… intimidating.”

            Machete seems to like my answer better than Arrow’s. Intimidate is better than being called ‘old and ugly’. Not that Machete is ugly. But the eye patch and scars don’t do her any favors.

            I’m relieved when Machete grumbles, “Fine, I’ll be backup. But I want in on the mission to nab Mikhail.”

            “Deal,” I say without hesitation. I want someone crazy like Machete on that mission, too.

            We spend another ten minutes fine-tuning our mission, then we head back out to the car. First we stop at a barbershop outside Vegas. Since Lance, Arrow, and I are the ones going undercover, we’re the only ones to get any work done. (Although Krystal does buy herself a purple wig. She looks like a cracked-out clown when she puts it on.)

            I get my hair chopped off at my shoulder. I really don’t want to do it because I like my hair long, but I figure it’s necessary to drastically alter one of my most distinctive features. I then have my hair dyed dark purple. The transformation is uncanny. I barely recognize myself in the mirror.

            Lance gets his shaggy hair trimmed a few inches and dyed light purple. He looks totally different, too. I personally think he looks sexier than ever, but I don’t tell him that. He already has a big head. If I inflate it anymore he might not fit through the door.

            Arrow absolutely refuses to get his hair cut, and he complains when we try to persuade him to dye it. He does get a few purple streaks put in, though. It’s not quite as important for Arrow to alter his look. He’s not as ‘wanted’ as Lance and me.

            After that we go to a shady-looking tattoo parlor in a back alley to get the most important and convincing part of our disguise: a purple dragon tattoo. Lance and I spend a good half an hour arguing with Machete about just getting a fake tattoo. We really don’t want a permanent mark indicating we’re radical terrorists hell-bent on China’s downfall. But Machete convinces us to get real ones after reminding us what Russians do with people they suspect of being spies and informants. (Let’s just say they make Caesar’s torture methods seem like a mild toothache.)

            At the tattoo parlor, a muscular woman who could easily pass as Machete’s cousin straps me into a chair and goes to work injecting my left shoulder with ink. It hurts like hell, but I bite my lip and tough it out. The woman’s assistants work on Arrow and Lance. Arrow doesn’t say much, but Lance whines about how much it hurts. He finally shuts up when Machete tells him to quit being such a bitch.

            After the tattoo ladies finish up, the three of us stand in front of a cracked mirror and admire our tats. As much as I hate that I had to get one, I have to admit it looks pretty badass. It’s an angry-looking purple dragon with his wings extended, blowing fire out of his mouth. Arrow and Lance got similar ones. Machete, Dorothy, and Krystal go on about how awesome it looks and how they want to get one. I take it the tattoo ladies are flattered by all the praise because they give us a 20% discount.

            After the tattoo parlor we head to a clothing store to buy some leather jackets, pants, and boots. Machete tells us we won’t be able to wear our armor underneath the vests, as that will give us away as spies. I don’t feel comfortable going into a mobster hotspot without a Kevlar vest, but I guess we don’t have much of a choice.

            We then stop at a nearby gun store and ask the owner if he has any electric swords. At first he acts like he doesn’t know what we’re talking about, since they’re illegal to sell, but after we flash our tats he grins and leads us into the back room. There we come across bazookas, rocket launchers, EMP bombs, nerve gas canisters, and even material to make a dirty bomb. This guy totally needs to be investigated by the feds. But we can worry about that later. Right now we need the final piece of our disguise… the Russian weapon of choice, the electric sword.

            The shopkeeper takes us behind yet another locked door, where he opens a steel vault. I find it amazing the electric swords are more well hidden than the dirty bomb kit. The shopkeeper gestures toward a glass cabinet containing dozens of the prized illegal weapons.

            “Aren’t they beautiful?” he asks, his eyes glistening as he stares at the blades in awe.

            “Yes they are,” Machete says lustfully.

            Machete and the shopkeeper should hook up. They both have a psychotic love for weapons.

            The shopkeeper opens the glass case and shows us how the swords work. He flips the handle around in his hand to show us how easy they are to wield and conceal. He then presses a trigger on the handle. A gleaming, two-foot long sword pops out of the end. Another button sends a current of crackling electricity washing over the blade. The last button heats the blade until it glows red. The shopkeeper concludes his presentation by pulling out a block of concrete and cleaving it in two.

            “Awesome little gadget, isn’t it?” the shopkeeper says.

            “Yes it is,” Machete says, licking her lips. Her infatuation with instruments of torture is disturbing.          

            “So how many of these bad boys do you want?” the shopkeeper asks.

            I glance at Lance and Arrow. “Three.”

            “Make it four,” Machete blurts out.

            “Hell, I want one, too,” Krystal hollers.

            Dorothy is the only one with enough decency not to request such a vile weapon.

            The shopkeeper greedily rubs his hands. “That will be $50,000.”

            “$50,000?!” Krystal hollers. “What a scam!”

            We fork over the funds anyway, of course. We all place our thumbs against the shopkeeper’s portable scanner and transfer ten grand from each of our accounts. Arrow also buys another quiver full of arrows, and we all load up on extra ammo. We then hi-tail it out of there and head to a small diner down the street to get some supper while we finalize our plan. The sky has just started to turn dark, but it’s still too early for us to be waltzing into Igor’s club. It’s best to wait until it’s much later, when he and his henchmen are inebriated from a night of partying. (My research suggests Igor loves his vodka.) The less coherent Igor is, the more likely we can convince him to let us join his gang.

            We all squeeze into a booth in the back of the quaint diner and order some sandwiches. We quickly find out how effective our disguises are. The waitress is petrified when she takes our order. She keeps glancing at our purple hair and leather jackets. And when Arrow removes his jacket, exposing his purple dragon tattoo, the waitress nearly drops her tray of drinks. She scurries into the back to place our order, and when she brings the food out about ten minutes later, she nervously stammers, “The… the boss said the f… f… food is on the house. En… enjoy!” She then dashes into the back.

            The other people in the restaurant scarf down their food and quickly leave.

            “Man, this is awesome,” Arrow says. “Everyone thinks we’re Russian mobsters. We could probably walk into a convenience store and get anything we want for free.”

            “We’re using our powers of impersonation for good, not evil,” I say half-jokingly.

            Everyone digs into their sandwiches. I take a small nibble of mine, but I’m not terribly hungry, even though I’ve barely eaten anything in days. I’m too anxious about what we’re getting ready to do. I usually never get freaked out when we’re on a mission, but this is different. It’s the biggest, most dangerous operation of our lives, and it has global implications. The stakes couldn’t be higher.

            “Why you not eatin’, Boom Boom?” Krystal asks, food flying out of her mouth. “Ain’t you hungry?”

            I’m so disgusted that she’s talking with her mouth full that I can’t help but snap, “No, I’m not. Now can you please chew with your mouth shut?”

            Krystal gives me the evil eye. “Well excuse me for not being as perfect as you. Jeez, you and Lance have been awfully grumpy ever since you gave up your drugs. You both could use a joint and some pills.”

            “Shut up, Krystal,” Lance says. “Boom Boom and I are trying very hard to get over our addiction, and it doesn’t help when you crack jokes about it.”

            “I’m not cracking jokes, I know exactly what you’re going through. I go through withdrawal when I don’t get my daily dose of bacon. That’s why I’ve been grumpy. While we’re on the topic, does anyone have any bacon on them?”

            “Sorry, I left it in my other pants,” Arrow says, deadpan.

            We finish eating and head out so the waitress doesn’t have a heart attack. Since we got the meal for free we leave a big tip.

            We head back to the motel and finish figuring out our plan. I check out Igor’s casino on my goggles to try and figure out where he might be. His casino has an actual giant statue of a purple dragon sitting in a fountain, with its wings spread out like it’s about to take flight. Every 60 seconds a stream of fire shoots out of the dragon’s snarling mouth. It’s a pretty kickass statue, if I do say so myself.

            The casino consists of two 1,000-foot tall, sparkling crystal towers connected by four separate walkways, the last one connecting both roofs. The casinos are in the basement and lower levels. The middle levels are hotels, restaurants, and stores. The upper levels are more casinos and clubs. The top floor in the left tower is the most prestigious Russian club in New Las Vegas, the Purple Dragon Lounge. I bet all the gold in China that the Purple Dragon Lounge is where we’ll find Igor. I relay all this to Lance and the gang, and they agree it’s as good a place as any to start our hunt for Rasputin.

            After that we work on our codenames and fake backgrounds. It’s not enough to look like a Russian mobster. We have to act and talk like ones, too. I decide to call myself Ruby. Arrow picks Arkady, and Lance chooses Vladimir.

            We go over our backstories, repeating them until they’re drilled into our heads, then we work on our Russian accents. Arrow gets pretty good at his, but Lance just sounds like he’s constipated. I actually know a little Russian, so I practice a few common sayings, like ‘Pass the vodka, comrade’ and ‘It’s a beautiful day to kill some Chinese’.

            I had hoped my immersion in the Russian language would get my mind off the mission, but it does little to calm my nerves. I’d do almost anything to get my hands on some pills.

            When the clock finally strikes midnight, Machete growls, “Let’s roll.”

            Lance, Arrow, and I leave most of our weapons in the motel. Igor’s not going to welcome us with open arms if we have guns and tear gas grenades dangling from our utility belts. We do keep our electric swords, though. I also strap a few blades inside my boots. You can never be too safe when dealing with mobsters.

            The short flight to the Purple Dragon Casino is eerily quiet. No one makes small-talk, no one cracks jokes. Everyone recognizes the seriousness of what we’re about to do. This is what we came to do. This is the End Game.

            Machete drops us off half a mile from the Purple Dragon, so we can blend in with the crowd.  

            “We’ll be on the roof of a hotel across the street,” Machete says.

‘           “If you need help, holler the password,” Krystal says. “You remember what it is?”

            “Yeah, help,” Lance says.

            You can tell none of us are very good at these stealth missions.

            Dorothy leans over the side of the car and kisses Lance on his cheek.

            “Be careful,” she whispers.

            Lance cups her chin. “I will. Don’t worry, everything will be fine. We’ll be back in Sanctuary 7 before you know it.”

            Dorothy grins. “I can’t wait.”

            I’m proud of myself for not grimacing. I’m actually starting to get used to Lance and Dorothy being a couple. I think.

            Machete and the girls lift off the ground and zoom toward their hotel lookout.

            “You guys ready?” Arrow asks, adjusting his goggles. He looks so vulnerable without his bow and arrow.

            “Ready as we’ll ever be,” I reply.

            The only two guys I’ve ever had feelings for walk side-by-side with me as we make our way toward our target. We do our best to avoid the drunk tourists and gamblers staggering out of the casinos, celebrating their lucky wins or, as is more often the case, lamenting their lousy luck. I cringe at the thought of so much money being blown on a roulette table, or during a round of blackjack. Countless millions that could feed the hungry, clothe the cold, and shelter the homeless. It truly is disgusting that so many starve while the wealthy few go through their piles of cash like Krystal goes through toilet paper after gorging on bean burritos (something she does regularly).

            Even though I’m tense and anxious, I do take in my surroundings. The Vegas Strip is everything the brochures say it is, and more. Bright, neon lights illuminate the entire town. I peer inside several casinos and clubs and see thousands of people hooting and hollering over crap tables, butchering songs during karaoke hour, laughing at stand-up comedians, and giving standing ovations to cabaret singers. Everyone seems oblivious to the fact that the world’s most wanted terrorist is in their midst, or that a war is on the horizon. Ignorance truly is bliss.

            The thing I love most about the Strip is all the music that spills out of the surrounding clubs. Classic and contemporary rock, jazz, alternative, you name it. As soon as you walk far enough along for one song to fade into the background, another song pops up off in the distance, increasing in volume the closer you get to its source.

            Magicians stand near back alleys, performing card tricks and making bunny rabbits disappear in a cloud of smoke. They must be pretty decent tricksters because they’re attracting large crowds. There are also a few street musicians playing jazz on their saxophones, their suitcases overflowing with cash and gold coins from generous passerbys.

            We walk past a 24-hour buffet, and the enticing aromas that waft over me unleash a waterfall in my mouth, as if a dam inside my saliva glands suddenly burst. Lance and Arrow stare longingly through the window at the smorgasbord of fried chicken, country ham, mashed potatoes, multi-colored gelatins, and piles of buttery vegetables. None of us have eaten much during the past several days, and certainly not enough to compensate for all the calories we burned waging war against Nazis, cyborgs, psychotic cowboys, and Mother Nature herself. I probably lost close to ten pounds from all the hiking, running, brawling, and lack of sleep. I can feel my ribs if I press down on my stomach. Lance and Arrow look a little gaunt in their faces. The sooner we get back to Sanctuary 7, the sooner we can refuel our undernourished bodies. I personally can’t wait to spend several hours soaking in a hot bubble bath. The dirt and grime encasing my body is driving me bonkers.

            After walking half a mile through the congested Strip, we finally reach the Purple Dragon Casino and Resort. The fountain with the dragon statue is in the center of the courtyard. The dragon is incredibly detailed, with gleaming scales and glowing eyes.

            I focus my attention on the resort itself. I have to crane my neck just to see the top of the monolithic structure. It truly is an awe-inspiring spectacle. The resort consists of two cloud-touching crystal towers that are capped by spires that spiral into the Heavens. The towers sparkle under the moonlight. Walkways connect the towers at four separate points. Even from the Strip I can see hundreds of people walking to and from each tower.

            Lance points to the top of the tower on our left.

            “That’s Igor’s private club. I wonder if I can see through the windows.”

            Lance steps all the way back to the fountain, right in front of the dragon, and looks up. He uses the zoom function on his goggles to peer inside. This would be easier if we had thought to buy a new robotic mosquito. Unfortunately those are incredibly expensive, and our funds are tight at the moment.

            After a few seconds, Lance frowns and says, “The windows are tinted. I’m using infra-red, but I still can’t see much from this angle. Just a bunch of people dancing. Lasers are bouncing all over the place, so it must be a rave or---”

            Lance is interrupted by a monstrous fireball that flies out of the dragon’s gaping mouth. He yelps and falls flat on his butt. The fireball shoots out about 20 feet, sending other tourists scattering, before it vanishes into thin air.

            I rush over to Lance and struggle not to laugh at his terrified face.

            “That… that fireball was real?” he stammers.

            Now I do laugh. “Of course. It’s all part of the spectacle.”

            “I just figured it was a hologram! I mean, the damn fireball went out into the street. Aren’t they afraid it’s going to hit someone?”

“These are Russian mobsters we’re talking about,” I remind him. “Also, I’m sure most people are smart enough not to walk in front of a dragon’s mouth.”

            Arrow and I chuckle, but Lance glowers.

            “We’ve wasted enough time already. Let’s go,” he says grumpily, marching toward the casino’s front entrance. Arrow shrugs and follows him. I bring up the rear.

            The three of us walk through the skyscraper’s revolving door and enter a world of controlled chaos. The entire bottom floor is a vibrant, brightly-lit casino with slot machines and crap tables for as far as the eye can see. Several enormous holographic TV screens hover near the ceiling, showing sport games. I’m assuming they’re replaying games from earlier since it’s after midnight (and 5:00am on the East Coast). The entire casino is a smorgasbord of noise, with the music from lounge singers mixing with the clinking sound of coins spilling from slots, people cursing and cheering their luck, and sirens blaring whenever someone hits a jackpot (which seems to occur quite frequently).

            “I’m surprised no one’s bothered to check our IDs,” Lance says.

            “Russian clubs typically don’t,” I say. “The gangsters who run them want as much money as possible. They don’t care how old you are or how many warrants you have, as long as you have money to spend.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I become a fugitive,” Lance replies.

            Arrow and I follow Lance as he navigates the densely-packed casino floor. The place is overflowing with purple-haired, leather jacket-wearing Ruskies. There are also some regular Americans, too, of course, but the overwhelming majority of the people we walk past are obviously Purple Dragon sympathizers. Most of the Ruskies are guzzling booze and throwing down large bills like they’re flush with cash. I guess contrary to popular belief, crime does pay. At least, it does if you’re a Russian mobster hiding in plain sight in New Las Vegas.

            Scantily-clad waitresses saunter past with trays full of vodka and other liquors, which the gambling Ruskies eagerly gulp down. Some of the waitresses are sporting dark purple Mohawks like Krystal. Others have spiky violet hair.

            I almost bump into an older woman who looks vaguely familiar. I stare at her for a moment until it hits me. It’s Chainsaw Judy, one of the country’s premiere female bounty hunters. The reason I didn’t immediately recognize her is because, like us, she’s wearing a disguise. Unlike us, however, the disguise isn’t very well done. She didn’t even bother to dye her hair purple, although she is dressed in leather. I quickly disappear into the crowd so she doesn’t see me. I’m pretty sure my new hair cut is enough to keep my cover from being blown, but you can never be too careful around clever bounty hunters like Judy.

            I just catch up with Lance and Arrow when I notice yet another poorly disguised bounty hunter, this one an older guy by the name of Switchblade. He’s wearing a long, blond wig over his normally bald head, but the distinctive scars running up and down his cheeks and neck give him away. In fact, several mobsters point at him and whisper to each other. Poor Switchblade probably won’t last the night.

            I almost immediately catch sight of three other bounty hunters. It seems everyone and their brother has come here looking for Rasputin. I’m sure if any of them recognize Lance and me, they won’t hesitate to turn us over to Caesar or Geronimo Blackbird. $25 million is a heckuva lot of money, but $10 million isn’t chump change.

            I tap Arrow and Lance on their shoulders. “Let’s head up to Igor’s club. This place is crawling with trouble.”

            “I know, I’ve spotted several bounty hunters,” Lance says. I’m relieved he’s being as observant as I am.

            Arrow points to the back of the casino. “There’s an elevator.”

            We quicken our pace. Along the way I notice we’re beginning to draw attention. Some of the male mobsters leer at me, undressing me with their eyes. I resist the urge to barf.

            I’m not the only one being ogled, either. Some of the waitresses are looking over at Lance and Arrow, smirking and licking their lips. To his credit, Arrow completely ignores them. Lance, however, acknowledges the ladies with a giant grin. He and Arrow couldn’t be more different. Despite his deplorable decision to ditch us in the middle of the forest, I find myself falling for Arrow all over again. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a man who treats me like the most gorgeous woman alive, a man who’s impervious to the flirts of other stunning women.

            We reach the elevator and step inside. Thankfully no one else comes in with us.

            Arrow gestures toward the control panel, where all the floor numbers are. It goes all the way up to 70.

            “I take it we’re going to the very top?” he says, peering at me over the top of his shades.

            “Yep,” I reply. Arrow presses the 70th floor button and the elevator door slides shut. We immediately shoot skyward. Arrow leaves his thumb on the button so we go all the way up without stopping at other floors. It’s a trick cops and firefighters use when they have to respond to emergencies in multi-story buildings.

            I watch anxiously as the floor numbers flash by.

             21… 22… 23… 24…

            I get more nervous with each floor we ascend. The tension in the cramped elevator is palpable. Lance is clutching his fists, eager to get this over with. Even normally calm Arrow is jiggling his left leg.

            I glance up at the walls and ceiling and bite my lip. I truly hate tight, enclosed spaces. I always feel like the walls are going to cave in on me. I close my eyes and work to clear my mind. I also take deep, calming breaths. It helps a little, but not by much.

            The elevator finally dings. I open my eyes just as the door slides open. The scene that awaits us makes the craziness of the casino down below seem like an old lady’s tea party. Hundreds of teens and young adults are jumping around and dancing to blaring, pulsating techno music. The club is dark, but it’s illuminated by hundreds of emerald lasers that are shooting all over the place. I could easily imagine myself suffering a seizure if I allowed one too many lasers to bounce off my eyeballs.

            Most of the people in the club have wild purple hair, and they’re all scantily clad. The boys have their shirts off and are prancing around in skimpy shorts, while the girls are shaking their ‘moneymakers’ in bikinis. Streaks of neon-green paint are splattered all over their arms, legs, and bare stomachs, making them glow in the dark. It’s as bizarre and chaotic a scene as I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few bizarre scenes in my day.

            “I think most of these people are tripping on ecstasy!” Arrow shouts. I barely hear him over the deafening noise.

            I glance around at the crazed clubbers and realize he’s right about the ecstasy. Everyone appears to be cracked out of their minds, jumping around and snapping their heads back and forth.

            Arrow points to the very back of the club. Two tall, muscular guards are standing in front of a roped-off stairwell that leads to a balcony hanging over the dance floor.         

            “I bet they know where Igor’s hiding.”

            We weave our way through the insane crowd. Several people bump into us. One scrawny dude grabs my hands and tries to pull me into a mosh pit. I yank my hands out of his sweaty grasp and punch him in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor. I spin around and chase after Lance and Arrow before one of his buddies or jealous girlfriends come after me. The last thing we need is a roomful of drugged out teens starting a brawl.

            We somehow make our way through the raucous crowd without any further problems. Lance cautiously approaches the two burly guards. They’re wearing shades to hide their searching eyes and ear pieces to stay in touch with their fellow sentinels. Their dark suits are a stark contrast to the skimpy attire of the people in the club. A revolver and nightstick hang from each of their belts. These guys could spell trouble if we don’t approach them correctly.

            Lance clears his throat. “Er, excuse me. We’re here to see Igor… Igor Bolshevik.”

            The guards look down at Lance and scowl.

            “Scram, kid,” one of the guards barks in a thick Russian accent. “Don’t make us toss your carcass out of here.”

            Arrow and I step behind Lance, ready to kick some ass if the need were to arise. Thankfully it doesn’t. The other guard raises his bushy eyebrows and says, “Hang on, Ivan, these youngsters are the type of people Mr. Bolshevik is looking for. Young, strong, attractive, and most importantly of all, fearless.”

            The guard who barked at Lance looks at us and says, “They are pretty fearless to barge up to us when we’re obviously armed.” He pats his revolver for dramatic effect. “I suppose a trip upstairs is in order.”

            It takes everything I have not to shout, “Yipee!” and do a little dance. Lance and Arrow both exhale. They must be just as shocked and relieved as I am that the guards are allowing us to meet Igor so easily. The Russians must be really hard-up for young recruits.

            The guard who first proposed we be allowed access to Igor says, “I’ll take them up, Comrade. You stay here and enjoy the show.”

            “Oh goody,” the other guard growls. I take it he’s not a huge fan of techno.

            The nicer guard (the one who doesn’t snarl all the time) leads us up the winding staircase. Once we reach the balcony, he leads us down a dark hallway until we arrive at a steel door guarded by another burly guard. This guard has a machine gun.

            The new guard says, “I didn’t know you were babysitting tonight, Winston.”

            Our guard (I guess his name is Winston) says, “Can it, Bob. These kids want to see the bossman.”

            Winston looks us over. “Hmm, they definitely fit the bill of what Mr. Bolshevik is looking for. We need to frisk em first, though.”

            Bob waves his machine gun in our faces as a deterrent in case we decide to make some sudden moves. The boys and I raise our hands and patiently wait as Winston runs his hands all over our bodies, searching for weapons. The only weapons they find are our electric swords. Instead of being angry, they say we have good taste in weaponry. They don’t give us our swords back, though. I guess they’re going to keep them until after our meeting with Igor. I struggle to suppress a grin when Winston fails to locate the blades I have strapped to my legs. These guys aren’t very good friskers.

            Winston finally steps back and hooks our electric swords onto his utility belt. “You kids got tats?”

            “But of course, Comrade,” I say in my most convincing Russian accent. We remove our jackets and show off our new dragon tattoos. Winston and Bob smile and nod approvingly.

            “Excellent,” Bob exclaims, lowering his machine gun. “We love young Russians who aren’t afraid to express their support for the Purple Dragons. I am sure Comrade Bolshevik will find you most acceptable. Come! Come!”

            Bob opens the steel door, and we walk up another flight of stairs. This one leads to the roof. As soon as we step outside I’m almost immediately bowled over by the gusting wind. Arrow is behind me, so he keeps me steady. I don’t know why I was caught off guard. Every idiot knows the top of a skyscraper is especially windy.

            I glance over the edge of the roof. The lights on the strip look like tiny yellow dots. And the people look like ants.

            Across the chasm of open sky is the other crystal tower. Both roofs are connected by a long walkway. There are a few people on the other roof smoking cigars and chatting.

            Winston and Bob lead us to the rear of our roof. Eight people are gathered around a table, smoking cigars and watching holographic TV screens floating over their heads.

            Igor is plainly visible in the center of the small group. He’s sipping a glass of vodka, gazing up at the security footage of his casino while his minions ramble on about something or other. They’re speaking Russian, so it’s hard for me to decipher what they’re saying. I’m somewhat fluent in Russian, but only if it’s spoken slowly and deliberately.

            Igor appears to be in his early 50s. He looks worn and rugged, with stringy black hair, a grey-speckled goatee, and pock-marked skin lined with scars. (It seems every Russian mobster has scars.) The most distinctive thing about him is the gleaming gold chain dangling from his neck. At the end of the chain is a gorgeous purple dragon with rubies for eyes. There must be some sort of light mechanism inside the dragon, because every few seconds its mouth glows red, as if it’s about to hurl a fireball. Igor also has gold rings adorned with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires on all of his fingers, and his loose-fitting shirt is made of pure silk. Igor certainly has no qualms about flaunting his incredible wealth.

            I glance at Igor’s inner circle, sizing everyone up, trying to determine who may be a threat. Two of Igor’s gangbangers are guards with shades and black suits, like Bob and Winston. They could cause some trouble, but we should easily be able to incapacitate them if it becomes necessary. Two scantily-clad girls are perched on Igor’s lap, running their hands through his chest hair. They won’t be much of a problem, either.

            The remaining three gangbangers, however, kind of freak me out. The two guys are big and muscular, with long black hair and beards that go down to their chests. They remind me of grizzly bears. And their partner is a massive woman with curly red hair. She looks like she could break some bones with her rugged, calloused hands.

            Bob marches up to Igor and says, “Hey Boss, Winston and I brought you some new wannabe gangsters. They seem pretty promising.”

            Igor and his cronies look over at us. Igor grins, revealing several gold teeth.

            “Ah, well done, Comrade. You brought me exactly what I asked for. Young, attractive, strong-looking applicants. Well done indeed.”

            Bob and Winston smile. They seem pretty proud of themselves.

            Igor groggily stands up. He sways back and forth, an indication that he’s had a bit too much to drink. Our plan to come late at night appears to have been a wise one.

            Igor staggers over to me and wraps a few strands of my hair around his index finger. The stench of vodka and bratwurst wafts over me.

            “Yes, you and your friends look like precisely the type of recruits I urgently require. The question, of course, is whether or not your appearances are deceiving.”

            Igor snatches my goggles and hands them to Winston. I instinctively reach for them, but Igor grips my wrist.

            “We’ll give your goggles back after the initiation, my dear. We can’t risk you recording our questionable activities and showing them to the feds.”

            The muscular, bearded Ruskies and the bulging woman with the red hair wobble over to Lance and Arrow and grab their goggles as well.

            Igor and his monstrous, inebriated henchmen proceed to frisk us even more thoroughly than Bob and Winston. They’re also way rougher. Igor pinches and prods almost every inch of my body. At first I don’t know what the hell he’s doing, but I eventually figure out he’s seeing how fit and muscular I am, making sure I’m not soft and pudgy.

            Igor also checks for weapons. Unlike Bob and Winston, he finds my blades. Igor’s henchmen check out Lance and Arrow, but they don’t find anything.

            Igor and his goons proceed to yank on our hair.

            “Ouch!” I shout, slapping Igor’s hand. “What the hell is that for?”

            Instead of being angry I hit him, Igor chuckles. “Ah, you are a feisty one. I’m liking you more and more all the time. And I apologize for the hair pulling. We’re just making sure it’s not a wig. You’d be amazed at how many spies try to infiltrate our ranks. Why, just last week we had to mercilessly slaughter a group of teens we determined to be government agents.”

            I gulp and ask, “How did you determine they were agents?”

            “Their hair came off when we yanked on it,” Igor replies casually.

            “And they had fake tattoos,” the curly-haired woman says as she continues tugging on poor Lance’s hair. “Not to mention body armor!”

            I’m so glad Machete convinced us to ditch our armor and go with real tats.

            “Thanks for reminding me to check the tats, Norma.” Igor grabs my arm and starts rubbing his hand over my dragon tattoo. I try to wrench free, but he’s too strong. He stops chafing my skin a few seconds later.

            “Yep, it’s real,” Igor proclaims.

            “The boy’s tat is legit as well,” Norma says, releasing Lance’s arm.

            “What about the Indian boy?” Igor asks his other two henchmen.

            “He’s good,” the slightly-shorter man says.

            The slightly taller goon slaps his shorter partner on the back. “Fred’s right, boss. These kids are the real deal.”

            “Don’t touch me, Frank,” Fred snaps.

            So the curly-haired woman is Norma, the shorter goon is Fred, and the taller one is Frank. If I’m going to pretend to be a Russian gangster, I might as well learn the names of my ‘comrades’.

             Igor steps back and his smile fades away. His face is now deadly serious.

            “Now that the physical inspection is complete, it’s time for phase 2: the interrogation.”

            Igor narrows his eyes and says, “Почему вы хотите присоединиться к Пурпурные Драконы?”

            I blink several times. I know Russian, but it has to be spoken slowly and clearly enunciated in order for me to comprehend it. I glance at Arrow and Lance. They look equally perplexed.

            I take a deep breath and say, “Простите, товарищ, но мой слух не так уж и велик. Не могли бы вы повторить вопрос, медленно и четко?”

            Basically what I said was, ‘I’m sorry, Comrade, but my hearing is not all that great. Can you please repeat the question, slowly and clearly?’

            Igor’s eyes light up when he discovers I speak his native tongue. I may have just saved our hides; Igor’s goons have just removed their hands from their gun holsters.

            Igor slowly replies, “Но, конечно же, моя дорогая. Я просто спросил, почему вы хотите быть фиолетовый дракон?”

            My frantically beating heart slows down. I actually comprehend the question! He wants to know why I want to be a Purple Dragon. Easy enough.

            “Потому что мы ненавидим китайских, товарищ. Мы хотим, чтобы китайский утонуть в море крови.”

            What I tried to say was, “Because we hate the Chinese, Comrade. We want them to drown in a sea of blood,” but I’m not entirely certain I got the translation right until Igor bursts out laughing. Norma and the rest of the cronies laugh, too.

            “Excellent response!” Igor proclaims in English. “Most excellent!”

            Norma points at me. “I like this one, Igor. I like her a lot.”

            Lance and Arrow laugh uneasily. They have no clue what I said, but they’re smart enough to know it kept our undercover operation from being blown wide open.

            Igor turns to Lance and asks him the same question he asked me, in Russian. Why do you wish to join the Purple Dragons?

            Lance stares at Igor blankly and utters, “Huh?”

            Igor and the others laugh. I laugh, too, and gently touch Igor’s shoulder. His eyes light up when he sees how ‘touchy-feely’ I am.

            Switching back to English, I say, “Pay the boys no mind, darling. They never bothered to master the language of our Homeland. Too busy playing video games.”

            Igor continues chuckling. Lance and Arrow give me dirty glances for implying they’re not as bright as I am, but they keep quiet so I can continue weaving my web of lies and deceit. I’m like a black widow, wooing my prospective mate before decapitating him with one lethal, traitorous blow.

            Igor wraps his right arm around my waist. “I’m okay with your male companions not being as well-read as you, my dear. They appear fit and strong, that’s all that matters. They will make terrific drug and arms smugglers.”

            Igor goes on to inquire what our names are. I tell him I’m Ruby, Arrow introduces himself as Arkady, and Lance grudgingly says his name is Vladimir. Igor grins and says our parents were very wise giving us such excellent Russian names. He then asks about our families, where we came from and that kind of stuff. I tell him my parents grew up in Russia and my father worked for the resistance. One day the Chinese killed him in a firefight, so my mother smuggled me and my siblings onto a ship bound for America. We eventually landed in Alaska and tried to rebuild our lives. Unfortunately my entire family succumbed to one of the many influenza outbreaks we seem to suffer every year, and I was forced to spend several years of my youth on the streets. I eventually hooked up with Arkady and Vladimir, who were also street urchins, and we sort of became a family. I told Arkady and Vladimir all about the evils of China, and over the years they have grown to hate the Chinese as much as I do. I finish by saying we were inspired to join Igor’s gang after Klaxton placed a bounty on Rasputin’s head. We want to do everything we can to keep our ‘Savior’ safe from the Chinese savages.

            Igor actually tears up near the conclusion of my elaborate ruse. He sniffles and says, “Your story has moved me beyond words, my child. I would be honored to take you and your male companions on as foot soldiers in our war against Chinese Imperialism.”

            “So does that mean we get to join your gang?” I ask a little too eagerly. I’m astonished at how easy this has been.

            “Not quire,” Igor says with a twinkle in his eyes. “Although I appreciate your enthusiasm, and you are undoubtedly smart, charismatic, and stunningly beautiful, I still must regretfully request you move on to our third, and second most difficult, initiation process. We call this the toughness test.”

            “The toughness test?” Arrow says.

            “Yes. To see how tough you are,” Igor says, deadpan.

            “Thanks for clearing that up,” I say sarcastically.

            “No problem,” Igor chortles. He steps back and gestures toward Norma, Fred, and Frank, who grin and crack their knuckles.

            “You will engage in a friendly brawl with my three most formidable minions. There are no rules, just that you last more than five minutes. The contest begins… now.”

            Igor hurries back over to his seat, where his female companions plop down on his lap and go back to rubbing his hairy chest. Bob, Winston, and the other guards walk over to Igor to enjoy the show.

            Lance and Arrow rush over to my side as Norma and her fellow stooges stagger toward us, chuckling as they contemplate the various ways they will pound us to a pulp.

            “C’mon guys, this shouldn’t be too hard,” Arrow says, jumping around like he’s a boxer. “We took on a mob of cowboys and Neo-Nazis, remember? And these morons are drunk! Piece of cake.”

            Arrow runs up to Fred, the slightly shorter guy, and punches him in the face. Fred simply smiles, as if the blow didn’t faze him at all. He punches Arrow in the gut, sending him to his knees.

            “My God, I think he ruptured my spleen,” Arrow gasps.

            I’m horrified, but Lance laughs. “Serves him right for being so over-confident. Tell your lover-boy to watch and learn.”

            Lance rushes up to Frank, the taller dude, and bobs and weaves as if he, too, were a boxer.

            “C’mon, ugly, give me your best shot,” Lance taunts.

            ‘Ugly’ responds by grabbing Lance around his neck and lifting him over his head.

            “Whoa, can we talk about this?” Lance cries, flailing his arms and legs.

            “Happy landings, chump,” Frank cackles as he tosses Lance like a sack of flour.

            Lance hurtles all the way across the roof before landing on top of the table in front of Igor and his cronies. Lance slides off the table and crumples to the roof. Several bottles of vodka crash on top of him. Normally I wouldn’t be too concerned about Lance crashing through a table, because normally he’s protected with body armor. But all he’s wearing now is a leather jacket. He’s got to be hurting.

            “Frank, you spilled our drinks!” Igor hollers.

            “Sorry boss, won’t happen again,” Frank grumbles as he marches over to Lance, who is struggling to push himself up.

            I’m about to rush over to help him, but Norma steps in front of me. She cracks her knuckles so loud that I almost think she broke her fingers.

            “Where do you think you’re going, girlie? I know I said I like you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t bust your face in. Then you’ll look like me! We can be twin sisters!”

            I swing my right leg at Norma’s head. I never make contact because she grabs my ankle and twists it. I cry out in pain and swing my fist at her face. There’s a sickening crunching sound, followed by blood gushing out of her nostrils. Norma grins like a sadistic lunatic as the blood trickles over her yellow teeth.

            “You really are something else, Ruby. I sure hope you somehow beat us because I really wanna work with ya!”

            Norma releases her grip on my ankle and grabs me by the hair. She then tosses me halfway across the roof, ripping out a handful of my hair in the process.

            I land on my back… hard. Without my armor blunting the impact, it feels like someone pounded my spine with a sledgehammer. I try to breathe, but all the wind is knocked out of me. I feel like I’m suffocating.

            Just when I finally get some air back in my lungs, Norma’s bleeding face hovers over me.

            “Miss me?” she cackles.

            I throw a punch and miss by a mile. Norma lifts me over her head and hurls me toward the edge of the roof.

            For a second I fear I’m going to fly over the edge, but I do finally land back on the roof. I bounce once and come to a rest at the ledge. That was close… too close.

            I groggily push myself up just as Arrow lands a few feet away from me. I watch in horror as he takes a huge bounce and goes over the ledge.

            “Arrow!”

            I scramble to the ledge and practically heave half my body over the side of the skyscraper. Tears of joy spill down my cheeks when I find Arrow dangling from the roof. His hands are clutching the ledge so hard that his knuckles have turned white. I can barely see his eyes through his whipping mass of black hair, but I can tell they’re wide with fear.

            “A little help, Red?” he grunts.

            “Hang on, I’ve got you!” I grab his right wrist with both hands and prop my feet up against the ledge.

            “Try pulling yourself up,” I groan, pulling with all my strength. It doesn’t help that the gusting wind is trying to suck me off the roof.

            I just begin to make progress when a pair of meaty, clammy hands wrap around my neck and lift me into the sky. I don’t have to see her face to know it’s Norma. I can smell her cheap perfume.

            “How cute, you went to save your Indian lover-boy,” Norma cackles as she tightens her grip, cutting off my air supply. “Unfortunately, cute doesn’t cut it with the Purple Dragons. We can’t be having you compromise our missions by trying to save your lover-boy every time he gets in trouble. You gotta learn to leave your friends behind for the good of Mother Russia.”

            By now my vision has become blurred. The sky looks darker than it did before. That’s when I realize I’m blacking out. I frantically claw at Norma’s hands, but it’s no use. She’s far too strong for me to pry myself free, way too vicious to show mercy. I just can’t believe after everything we’ve gone through, we’re about to go down like this.

            Just when I’m about to fade away, I slip through Norma’s grasp and crash to the roof. I spin around to find Norma soaked in vodka. A shattered bottle lies at her feet. Lance is behind her, preparing to hurl another bottle.

            “Didn’t you hear what I said about leaving your loved ones behind?” Norma snarls.

            “Let’s just say we have different philosophies,” Lance says, pulling back his arm. “Unlike you, we’re not cowards who desert their friends.”

            Norma lunges toward Lance, but she’s way too slow. Lance hurls the bottle straight at her face. It explodes on impact, showering her head in booze and glass fragments. Norma shrieks and clutches her bleeding face.

            On the far side of the roof, Igor claps and laughs like a deranged, sociopathic child. “Excellent! You all are way more entertaining than the last batch of recruits. They went flying off the roof within seconds.”

            Damn these Russians are crazy. I really need to go help Arrow, but if I turn my back I’ll just get choked again. I decide to go on the offense and deliver a dropkick to Norma’s head. She staggers forward, straight into Lance’s swinging fist. This sends the ogre to her knees. I follow up with three stiff kicks to her head. Norma falls face-first to the ground as Igor and his cronies give a collective, “Ohhh…”

            Fred charges toward us, swinging a metal chair like he’s a professional wrestler. His taller counterpart, Frank, makes his way over to Arrow. I start to run toward Frank, but Fred swings the chair at my head, barely missing me.

            Fred continues coming after me with the chair. He’s way slower than I am, so I easily dodge all of his shots.

            Out of my peripheral vision I see Frank trying to stomp on Arrow’s fingers. Arrow keeps sliding his hands back and forth on the ledge, but eventually Frank is going to make contact, sending Arrow tumbling to his death. And Norma is already back on her feet, strangling Lance. We need to end this, now. Fred takes another swing at my head. I drop to my knees and punch him in the groin.

            “Not the family jewels!” Fred wails in a high-pitched voice.

            I snatch up the chair and wallop Fred upside the back of his head. He collapses into a cursing, groaning heap.

            Igor gives me another round of applause. “Excellent, Ruby, excellent! You would make a fantastic assassin!”

            “If you thought that was awesome, wait until you get a load of this!”

            I sprint over to Igor and his cronies with my chair. Igor stops laughing and cocks an eyebrow. “Wait, what are you…”

            He never finishes his sentence. I smack Winston with the chair, grab his machine gun, wrap my left arm around Igor’s neck, and place the muzzle of my confiscated gun against his right temple. The girls shriek and topple off his lap. Bob and the other guards aim their guns at me. I crouch behind Igor and peep my head over his shoulder.

            “No false moves or his brains splatter all over the Vegas Strip!” I bark.

            Igor’s goons appear perplexed, like they don’t know what to do. I guess this never happened to them before.

            “Drop your guns,” I demand. “NOW!”

            “Do as she says,” Igor says, sounding surprisingly amused.

            Bob and the other goons hesitantly lay their weapons on the roof.

            “Now tell Norma and the other doofuses to stop trying to kill my friends!”

            “Norma, stop choking Vladimir! And Frank, pull poor Arkady off of the ledge.”

            Norma plants Lance back on his feet while Frank grabs Arrow’s arms and drags him away from the abyss.

            “So did we pass?” I hiss in Igor’s ear. “Keep in mind I get trigger happy when I don’t get my way.”

            “Yes, yes, you passed with flying colors!” Igor exclaims ecstatically. “I love your improvisation skills. You broke all the rules I laid out for you, but sometimes you have to do that in order to accomplish a mission. I need quick-witted, vastly intelligent people like you. Well done. Well done indeed.”

            I loosen my grip around Igor’s neck, but I keep the gun pressed against his skull.

            “If I knew this is what you wanted, I would have tried to kill you from the get-go.”

            Igor bursts out laughing again. He is a bizarre man. Charismatic, but bizarre.

            “You are rather psychotic, you know that?” I say bluntly.

            “I prefer eccentric, but I will acknowledge I’m not like most other people,” Igor chortles before turning a bit more serious.

            “You know what I enjoyed most about your stellar performance? The fact that you and your friends stuck together and helped each other out, even when Norma advised you that was not wise. You guys actually taught me a thing or two about standing your ground, even in the face of overwhelming odds. We may have to rethink our whole ‘leave your friends behind in order to accomplish the mission’ mentality.”

            “It is rather cowardly to leave your friends to death and torture.” I rejoin Lance and Arrow, but I keep my machine gun trained on Igor.

            Frank helps Fred up and leads him over to Igor. His head is bleeding profusely from my chair shot. I start to feel bad for him, but then I remember he did try to kill me.

            For several tense seconds we all stand there in a face-off, me and the boys on one side of the roof, and Igor and his cronies on the other side. Igor watches us intensely, as if he’s trying to peer inside our minds.

            After an uncomfortable amount of time passes, Igor says, “I like you guys. I like you all a lot. That’s why I’m going to accept you into my gang.”

            Lance and Arrow gasp. A shiver of excitement shoots up my spine. We did it.

            “Thank you, Comrade,” I say in my most convincing accent. “This is the highest honor of our lives. You won’t regret this.”

            “I don’t think I will. Before I accept you into my fold, however, I kindly ask you carry out one more task.”

            My hear sinks and my smile fades away.

            “One more task?” I stammer.

            “Yes. The fourth and most difficult portion of our initiation process. You must carry out a hit.”

            The TV screens hovering over Igor’s head begin to show a steady stream of faces. The names of the targets flash under their headshots. There are politicians, police officers, detectives, casino owners, rival gangbangers, suspected Chinese spies. It seems there is no end to the number of people Igor would like to see dead.

            “We don’t care which one of these targets you choose to go after,” Igor says as the faces flash by. “All I ask is that you bring me the severed head of your victim.”

            “Their severed head?” I cry.

            Igor cocks an eyebrow. “Yes. I require proof that you actually killed one of my many rivals. What better proof is there than a severed head? Will this be a problem?”

            Lance clutches my shoulders in an attempt to keep my calm. “No, no problem at all,” Lance says casually. He’s lying, of course. I know he’s as appalled at what Igor is asking of us as I am. But he knows we must do it if we are to have any hope of nabbing Rasputin.

            Lance gasps and mutters, “Caesar?”

            I glance at him and say, “What?”

            Igor overhears us and waves his hand. The TV screens rewind back to an image of the man who has made our lives a living hell over the past six months… Caesar Dominguez.

            “Caesar is one of the people you want killed?” I ask.

            “But of course,” Igor says. “It’s no secret there is no love lost between our two organizations. Caesar is always trying to encroach on our territory and poach our clients. Rumor has it he has recently moved his base of operations to the Vegas area.”

            “Why?” Arrow asks.

            Igor shrugs. “Who knows? We believe he decided to do so after Klaxton placed a bounty on Rasputin. Caesar probably believes he will be able to move in on our lucrative Vegas market if Rasputin falls. He is sadly mistaken, of course. Rasputin is well hidden. No one will ever find him. But Caesar is still a formidable foe. We’d all sleep much easier if he were taken out.”

            “Then we’ll bring you his head,” Lance blurts out.

            Arrow and I spin around and gawk at Lance like he’s on crack.

            “Are you nuts?” I whisper. “Let’s go after someone a little easier!”

            “No, I want that son of a bitch dead just as much as Igor does,” Lance growls.

            I shake my head and groan. Lance is letting his hatred for Caesar corrupt our mission. I can’t really say anything, though. Igor and his goons are all staring at us, searching for signs of weakness. We have to prove we’re tough enough to join his gang. It’s our only play.

            I shrug. “Okay. We’ll go after Caesar.”

            Igor and his goons nod approvingly.

            “You all got some guts, I’ll give you that,” Norma says. “If you bring us the head of Caesar, I’ll bet even Rasputin will come out of hiding to congratulate you.”

            “Really?” I stammer. I can barely contain my excitement. Maybe Lance knows what he’s doing.  Maybe going after Caesar is our best play.

            “I’m sure a meeting with the Great Leader can be arranged, assuming you are able to accomplish what no one else has,” Igor says, flashing his golden smile. “If you bring us the head of our greatest rival, I will secure you a meeting with the most wanted man on Earth.”

            “That would be an amazing honor,” I say as solemnly as I can.

            Igor gestures to Norma, who grabs several bottles of vodka from a cooler. Norma pours everyone a drink. The boys and I grab a glass and join the Ruskies in a toast.

            “To the resurrection of Mother Russia!” Igor proclaims, raising his glass high into the air.

            “To Mother Russia!” we all shout.     

            Igor and his goons chug their glasses in one gulp. The boys and I take a small sip. It takes everything I have not to spit it out.

            As Igor and his goons rattle on about how much they hate Caesar, one thought consumes my mind.

            How the hell do we nab Caesar when we almost died going after him a week ago?

Chapter Fifteen: Lance

            To say everyone is pissed I proposed going after Caesar would be an understatement of epic proportions. On the ride back from Igor’s hideout, I’m the victim of a relentless barrage of profanity, insults, and death threats. (Most of the death threats come from Machete and Krystal.) I try to calmly explain we’re killing two birds with one stone. Instead of taking out an innocent politician or rival casino owner, we’re going after one of the most evil crime lords in America. In the process we will win the trust and respect of the Ruskies, giving us access to Rasputin’s whereabouts. The threats and insults continue to fly, but they do become a little less intense and vulgar. I guess everyone finally realizes I’m right.

            On our way back to our crappy motel, we stop at a store to grab some supplies. Boom Boom, Arrow, and I are still pretty beat-up from our little romp on the roof of Igor’s casino. I grab a couple bottles of aspirin to help blunt the stabbing pain shooting all over my battered body. I’ll have to make sure I hide the bottles when we go to sleep. I don’t want Boom Boom suffering a relapse.

            We also grab some gauze and bandages to wrap around our bruised backs and limbs. Dorothy makes sure to grab some bug spray for our roach-infested room. We also get some bottled water and snacks. (None of us want to risk drinking water from the sink in our room. We’d probably get dysentery.)

            By the time we get back to the motel, we’re utterly exhausted. We all take quick showers, wrap our abused bodies in bandages, and get ready for bed. Boom Boom and Arrow share one of the beds, something I’m not too happy about. I get payback by sharing the other bed with Dorothy. (The look of fury on Boom Boom’s face is priceless.) Krystal sprawls out on the sofa, and Machete falls asleep in a chair.

            It feels like I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes when Machete claps her hands and bellows, “Rise and shine, slackers!”

            I crack open my crusty eyes and glance at the clock. It’s 7:45am. I pull the sheet back over my head. “Let us sleep in, Machete. We’re exhausted.”

            Machete grabs my legs and yanks me off the bed.

            “Ouch!” I holler after slamming onto the floor. “I’m up, I’m up!”

            Dorothy and the others groggily sit up and rub their eyes. Krystal sniffs the air like she’s a bloodhound.

            “What’s that delicious aroma? It smells like sausage! And eggs! And biscuits! And BACON!”

            Krystal jumps up and exclaims, “Omigod, did you bring us bacon?!”

            Machete chuckles and holds up two crinkled bags. “Yep. While you lazy bums were waking up the dead with your obnoxious snoring, I went to a fast food joint and bought some sandwiches.”

            We all jump out of bed and scarf down our deliciously greasy breakfast.

            “Oh God, this is soooo good,” Krystal says with a mouthful of bacon “It’s better than sex!”

            “I wouldn’t go that far,” Arrow says, winking at Boom Boom. “But it is pretty damn good. Thanks Mom!”

            “Don’t mention it,” Machete says, wiping her greasy hands with a napkin. “Now enough with the small talk. We’ve got work to do. I’d like for us to get Caesar’s fat ass as soon as possible, preferably by tonight if we can locate him. You kids are the ones with the treasure trove of intelligence. Where do we find him?”

            Boom Boom slides on her goggles and activates the holographic television function. A beam of light shoots out of her lenses and projects a transparent screen on the wall. She logs into our database and pulls up Caesar’s profile. His snarling face pops up on the wall.

            “According to our most recent intel, Caesar does have a close family member in the New Las Vegas area. His cousin, Vinnie Rodriguez, is one of Igor’s biggest rivals in the casino business.”

            An image of Vinnie materializes. He looks somewhat similar to Caesar, except he’s a bit thinner and younger.

            “You may recall that Vinnie was on Igor’s hit list,” Boom Boom adds.

            “I’ve heard of Vinnie,” Machete says, lighting up a cigar in our room. I pop open the window so we don’t gag on her smoke. “He’s a no-good scoundrel.”

            “Yes, well, it’s rumored that Vinnie helps Caesar hide his dirty money, either in his well-hidden vaults, or through his real estate investments.” Boom Boom pulls up shots of Vinnie’s numerous casinos, hotels, and mansions.

            “If it’s well known that Vinnie helps Caesar, why doesn’t the government go after him?” Dorothy asks.

            “They don’t have any concrete evidence to use against him,” Boom Boom explains. “Plus, Vinnie is a smart guy. He’s donated millions of dollars to Klaxton’s presidential campaigns over the years. He also donates to a lot of local politicians.”

            “Let’s just say Vinnie knows who to bribe to keep the feds off his back,” I say, adding my two cents so it seems like I’m contributing to the conversation. I can’t let Boom Boom get all the glory.

            “So you think Vinnie is hiding Caesar in one of his hotels?” Arrow asks.

            “No, I don’t,” Boom Boom replies. “Caesar is too smart to hide in such a congested part of Alaska. I think he’s hiding… here.”

            An image pops up of a nondescript cabin in the middle of the Alaskan Wilderness, over 100 miles from the bright lights of Vegas.

            Boom Boom goes on to show us night-time satellite images of the cabin, when things are a lot busier than they are during the day. Armed guards patrol the premises while semi-trucks are unloaded. I’ll bet my favorite handgun whatever is inside those trucks isn’t legal.

            “You’ve definitely convinced me,” I say. “Who unloads giant pickup trucks in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night? If Vinnie is hiding his cousin anywhere, it’s gotta be there.”

            “How did you find out about this cabin?” Machete asks, sounding impressed.

            Boom Boom nonchalantly replies “A few months ago, I hacked into a government account that had a list of real estate properties rumored to be owned by Caesar’s friends.”

            Machete chuckles. “You kids are so damn clever. I love it!”

            I scarf down the rest of my sandwich and say, “If you guys think that’s where Caesar’s hiding, let’s go get the bastard.”

            “Not so fast, blockhead,” Arrow says smugly, like his crap don’t stink. “It would be suicide to invade that cabin in broad daylight. Let’s at least wait until the sun sets.”

            I’m about to tell Arrow to go straight to Hell, but Boom Boom says, “Arrow’s right, we should wait.”

            “You would agree with ‘lover-boy’,” I grumble.

            “Excuse me?” Boom Boom snaps.

            “Guys, don’t fight,” Dorothy pleads. “Let’s just chill out and relax until it’s time for the mission.”           

            Arrow should thank Dorothy. I was seconds away from busting his lip.

            We spend the rest of the day hanging out in our room. It’s not because we want to, of course. We just don’t want to risk running into trouble.

            We wait until it’s after 10:00 before we head out. Boom Boom, Arrow, and I put our armor back on and load up on weapons. The six of us then leave the ‘Hellhole Motel’ and fly out to the middle of nowhere, where the cabin is located. We park a half mile away so no one sees us coming. Machete, Boom Boom, Arrow, and I get out while Krystal and Dorothy stay in the car for backup.

            “Pay attention this time, Krystal,” I say. “Things can go bad in a hurry.”

            Krystal flaps her wrist. “Chill-lax, Lance. I got this.”

            Dorothy leans out of the car and kisses me on the lips.

            “Be careful,” she whispers.

            I force a smile. “Hey, you heard Krystal. We got this.”

            “Just hurry back,” she says seriously.

            Machete takes off into the forest. Boom Boom, Arrow, and I follow after her, making sure not to step on any branches. I bring up the rear, so I occasionally glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re not being followed. The sky is overcast, so the forest is even darker than usual. The night vision function on my goggles makes everything look ghostly green.

            We finally reach the edge of a clearing. Vinnie’s cabin is in the middle of a field. The cabin looks deceptively calm and quiet. There aren’t any semi-trucks like we saw in the satellite images, but there are about a half dozen flying cars parked in the driveway. There’s not too much security, either, just two armed guards patrolling the front entrance.

            I pull out my gun. “This should be a piece of cake. All we gotta do is drop the guards and…”

            Machete grips my wrist. “Don’t fire your gun, moron. You’ll wake up everyone in the cabin. I wish I had thought to bring along some silencers.”

            “I’ll get em.” Arrow notches an arrow on his bow and sends it hurtling toward one of the guards. The arrow pierces the guard in the throat, sending him to the ground.

            The other guard doesn’t even have time to shout for help. Another poisoned dart slams into his chest. The guards twitch for a few seconds before their bodies grow still.

            “Nice shot,” Boom Boom says.

            “Let’s move,” Machete growls, exploding out of the brush. Boom Boom, Arrow, and I follow after her, keeping an eye out for hidden danger. We make our way across the clearing without any problems. Machete and Arrow check the pulses of the guards to make sure they’re dead. We then scramble to the front entrance.

            Just as we step onto the front porch, another guard emerges from the back.            

            “Hey, what are you—ugh!”

            I sock the guard in his mouth. Boom Boom follows up with a savage kick to his head. He collapses to the ground, unconscious.

            Machete turns the handle on the front door. I’m shocked when it opens.

            “Don’t they use locks?” I whisper.

            “Who needs locks when you have armed guards?” Boom Boom quips.         

            We sneak inside the cabin, swinging our weapons back and forth. Four gangbangers are asleep on recliners in the living room. We rush over to the snoozing gangbangers and slap on sleeper-holds. The gangbangers open their eyes and kick their feet, but our arms are wrapped tightly around their necks. We release our holds when they finally stop squirming

            Machete points toward the stairs leading to the second floor. We all nod and follow her up.

            As we ascend the stairs, I marvel at our luck. This should have been one of our most difficult missions, but it’s actually been insanely easy. Vinnie and Caesar must have really thought no one would uncover their hideout, because the security here is pathetic.

            But then another disturbing thought enters my mind. Maybe Caesar isn’t here. That would totally suck.

            We reach the top of the stairs and make our way down the hallway. All the doors are shut. Machete and Arrow take the right side of the hall while Firecracker and I take the left. I open the first door and peek inside. All I see is some skinny dude and a hot chick lying in bed, snoring up a storm. Machete and Arrow must not have found anything, either, because they shut their door and tip-toe to the next one.

            A girl in a nightgown suddenly emerges from a room at the end of the hall.

            Before any of us can take her down, she screams, “Vinnie! Caesar! We’ve got intruders!”

            “At least now we know we’re in the right place,” I grumble.

            All the doors fly open and the hallway becomes illuminated with orange flashes.

            “Run for it!” Machete screams, leaping down the stairs.

            Arrow and I grab Boom Boom’s arms and pull her down to the first floor. A hail of bullets narrowly whiz over our heads. Machete jumps behind one of the recliners while Boom Boom and I hop behind a sofa. Arrow slips behind a bookcase.

            Several of the gangbangers barge down the stairs, firing their guns indiscriminately. Boom Boom and I poke our heads out over the top of the sofa and fire off several shots, hitting two of the gangbangers in the chest. Arrow and Machete take out the remaining gangsters. The staircase becomes slippery with blood.

            Over the roar of gunfire I hear another distinctive noise… the sound of a revving turbo engine.

            “Caesar’s getting away!” I shout, racing toward the door.

            Boom Boom and Arrow dash after me. Machete tosses a grenade up the stairs before jumping out with us. A split-second later, a thunderous explosion blows out all the cabin windows. I glance over my shoulder to find a ladder leaning against the side of the cabin. Two nameless goons are standing on the roof, about to climb down. Machete and Arrow take them out with a bombardment of arrows and bullets.

            I twirl back around and sprint toward the flying cars parked at the end of the driveway. One of the cars, an open-air convertible, is already hovering off the ground. Vinnie is in the driver’s seat while Caesar and Maxwell are in the back.

            “The gig is up, Caesar!” I shout.

            Caesar spins around. His face is fiery red and contorted in a mask of rage.

            “You damn teenage bounty hunters! Why won’t you die??”

            Caesar aims a gun at my head and fires off several shots. I duck behind a nearby car. When I pop my head up a few seconds later, Caesar and his entourage are already speeding toward the horizon.

            Arrow runs over to me and says, “Way to go, bonehead, you let them get away.”

            I shove Arrow in the chest. “I didn’t see you doing much, douchebag.”

            Arrow shoves me back. “You must really want an arrow in your right eye socket.”

            We’re about to come to blows when Boom Boom hurries over and smacks both of us upside the back of our heads.

            “You morons can kill each other later. Right now we’ve got a job to do.”

            Boom Boom presses the side of her goggles and barks, “Krystal, get your ass over here, NOW!”

            I’m stunned when Krystal lowers out of the sky about two seconds later. And I’m terrified to find Dorothy clutching her trusty bazooka.

            “I thought we got rid of that thing,” I say, pointing at Dorothy’s weapon of mass destruction.

            “Nope, I put it back in the trunk after Dresden,” Dorothy says. “I got it back out in case we need it.”

            By now Machete has joined us. We all scramble into the car and float into the sky.

            “That was fast, Krystal,” I say. “Usually you take your sweet time when we call for help.”

            “Actually, I was already on my way when Boom Boom called. We heard gunfire and figured you guys were knee-deep in some serious shit.”

            Bullets nick the back of our car as three bloodied gangbangers stagger out of the burning cabin. Boom Boom, Arrow, and I fire at the goons, sending them scattering.

            Krystal’s about to take off when Machete shouts, “Give me the bazooka!”

            “Uh, okay,” Dorothy says, hesitantly handing it over.

            “Mom, what are you doing?” Arrow asks nervously.

            Machete doesn’t tell Arrow what she’s doing, she shows him. She aims the bazooka at the cars in the driveway and pulls the trigger. A missile whizzes out of the cannon and detonates all the cars in a massive explosion. A red-hot ball of flame shoots up into the sky, right in front of our faces. The heat scorches my cheeks, and the fire is so intense I have to close my eyes and look away.

            I involuntarily jerk backwards and bang my head against my seat. I crack open my eyes to find the trees whizzing past us. I glance behind me and the fireball is rapidly retreating into the horizon.

            “I sure as hell wasn’t waiting for that fireball to melt my mascara,” Krystal grunts as she slams on the accelerator. The forest speeds by even faster than before.

            “We wasted too much time!” Boom Boom says. “We don’t have any trackers on Caesar. He could be anywhere by now.”          

            “Or he could be right in front of us.” Krystal points to a small object off in the distance. I zoom in with my goggles and, sure enough, Caesar pops into view.

            Machete shakes her head. “The idiots would fly in a straight line. Don’t they know anything about losing a trail? You make a bunch of sharp turns!”

            “Not everyone is as smart as you, Mom,” Arrow says.

            Machete seems quite pleased with Arrow’s assessment of her intellect.

            Krystal zooms right up to Vinnie and bangs against his back bumper. Maxwell spins around and shouts, “Not you damn kids again!”

            Caesar whips out a machine gun. “Eat lead, maggots! I’ll cash in on my own bounty!”

            Caesar unleashes a hail of bullets. We all crouch to the floor as Krystal takes us into a nosedive. Caesar’s assault gives them some space, but they’re still well within our line of sight.

            “Everyone okay?” I ask, peeking over the top of the bullet-shredded front seat. The windshield has been completely shattered.

            Boom Boom raises her head and says, “He nicked my armor, but other than that I’m fine.”

            Machete pops up with her still smoking bazooka.

            “That’s it, I’ve had enough of that fat tub of lard. Let’s end this.”

            Machete hoists her bazooka over her right shoulder and takes aim at Caesar’s car. Another grenade shoots out of the barrel and spirals straight toward Caesar’s car. It clips the back and detonates, engulfing the car in flames. The car drops like a comet and crashes into a meadow, exploding on impact.

            “Bulls-eye,” Machete cackles.

            Krystal lands about 100 feet from the flaming wreckage.

            We climb out of the car and rush over to the crash site. I hop over a flaming tire and skid to a halt. The flames are so intense I have to step back. Vinnie is still slumped over in the front seat, his lifeless body already blackened from the flames. Caesar and Maxwell, however, are nowhere to be found. They must not have been wearing seatbelts.

            I trudge further into the meadow.  A body is lying next to some bushes. It’s too little to be Caesar. It must be Maxwell. I don’t bother checking on him. The massive puddle of blood leaking out beneath him is enough to tell me he’s not alive.

            Dorothy runs over and gasps. I wrap my arms around her slender waist and gently press her face into my chest. She doesn’t need to see this.

            Machete barges over and laughs. “Hoo-boy, what a mess! So where’s fat-ass?”

            Boom Boom points to a cluster of trees at the edge of the meadow. “He’s over there!”

            We all run to where she’s pointing. It doesn’t take us long to find the man who’s caused us so much hardship and heartache.

            Caesar is slumped against a tree stump. There’s a trail of blood leading up to him, which indicates he dragged himself over. Blood gushes from a cut on his temple and trickles out of his nose and mouth. His right ankle is sideways, like it’s broken. He appears to be in horrendous pain. He’s probably got some internal bleeding going on.

            I’m surprised when I realize I no longer feel intense hatred for Caesar. I hate all the horrible things he’s done over the years. I hate that he killed my uncle. I hate that he put a bounty on our heads, making our journey to Alaska far more difficult than it ever had to be. But no matter how hard I try (and trust me, I’m trying pretty hard), I can no longer muster hatred for the man. Not in his current state, anyway. I feel nothing but pity, like I would for a wounded animal. He’s not long for this world, anyway. Why waste time allowing a cancer like hatred to eat away at my soul more than it already has?

            Caesar shakily swings a machine gun at all of us. None of us budge. Caesar’s so banged up, he probably couldn’t hit a bulls-eye five feet in front of his face.

            “S… stand back!” he says in a half-sob. “I’ll shoot you all! STAY BACK!”

            Dorothy looks away. “I can’t stand to see anyone like this. Make it quick.”

            I cock my gun and point it at Caesar’s chest. “I intend to.”

            Caesar closes his eyes and takes deep, labored breaths. It’s taking everything he has to stay conscious.

            He slowly reopens his eyes and garbles, “What are you going to do with me? Take me to D.C.?  Back to Cincinnati?

            “Nope,” Machete says, polishing her blade with a rag. “We’re taking you to your old pal Igor Bolshevik.”

            Caesar’s eyes widens in horror. He tries to scoot back even further, but he has nowhere to go.

            “No, don’t take me to him! Igor is a sadistic monster! You have no idea what he’ll do to me!”

            Arrow notches an arrow on his bow. “Don’t worry, we’re not taking you in alive.”

            Caesar fires off several shots. A few of the bullets hit Boom Boom in her chest. I respond in kind, blasting Caesar in the heart. Arrow sends an arrow hurtling into his neck. Caesar gags and drops his gun, clutching at the arrow. He finally stops twitching and his eye glazes over. His hands fall to his sides and he slides off the trunk until all that remains propped up is his ghastly, lifeless head.

            I feel no satisfaction in Caesar’s death. At this point it’s just a job, a means to an end.

            I turn to check on Boom Boom. Arrow is already by her side, helping her up.

            “I’m fine,” she grunts, clutching her stomach. “My armor deflected the bullet fragments. Did we…?”

            Boom Boom trails off when she sees Caesar staring up at the sky, waiting for the Reaper to embrace him in his skeletal arms.

            Boom Boom sighs. “It’s finally over.”

            “No,” Machete says, whipping out her electric blade. “It’s only just begun. Now we go after the top dog. First, though, we need to send our friend Igor a little present.”

            Machete presses a button on the blade handle. A two-foot long blade pops out. She then presses another button. Within seconds the blade turns bright red.

            “Wait, are you going to decapitate him?” Dorothy cries.

            Machete kneels beside Caesar and yanks back his head, exposing his neck.

            “Uh, yeah. Igor wants Caesar’s head in a box, remember? Besides, I sure as hell ain’t dragging his fat carcass all the way back to Vegas.”

            “Oh God,” Boom Boom moans, walking away. Arrow follows her.

            “I may be one touch chick, but decapitation is too much for even my hardcore ass,” Krystal says, jogging back to the car.

            I wrap Dorothy in my arms and lead her away as well. Unfortunately we don’t move quite fast enough. I’ll never forget the sound of that heated blade slicing through human flesh.

            Our exhausting, heart-breaking journey is almost over. The question is, will I have to compromise my soul in order to get over the finish line?

            Or have I compromised it already?

Chapter Sixteen: Boom Boom

            It’s a little after 1:00am and Arrow, Lance, and I are back in Igor’s casino, riding the elevator up to his club. After Machete decapitated Caesar, she tossed his head in the trunk and we flew back home to change into our leather outfits. The boys and I couldn’t very well show up in our armor. We then stopped at a store to buy a box for the head before heading back over here. I can’t help but occasionally glance at the box in Lance’s hands. The bottom of it is leaking blood. I have to swallow to keep my bile down.

            The elevator door finally opens and we step out into the club. It’s even more packed than it was the night before. On our way to the back, some girl bumps into Lance, nearly knocking the box out of his hands. The last thing we need is for a head to roll onto the dance floor.

            We make it to the back stairwell, where Winston and Bob are chatting about how much they hate their wives. They seem like such great catches.

            Lance saunters up to the guards and says, “How’s it hanging, fellas?”

            Winston grins. “Hey, it’s my favorite teenage gangbangers! I was afraid I’d never see you guys again. Did you find Caesar?”

            Lance holds up the bloody box. “Yep.”

            Bob gasps and nearly drops his gun. “Is that… did you really….?”

            “Don’t embarrass yourself, Bob,” I say. “We’d like to see Igor before our ‘gift’ starts to attract flies.”

            “Of… of course!” Winston stammers, still in awe over our success. “Follow me!”

            Winston leads us up the spiraling staircase and out onto the roof. Igor, Norma, and the rest of the gang are swilling vodka and watching security footage. They don’t immediately notice us.

            Winston hurries over to his fellow gangbangers and bellows, “Boss, you have visitors! Ruby, Arkady, and Vladimir have brought a gift!”

            Igor and his cronies look over at us in a combination of shock and delight. I take it they, like Winston, weren’t expecting us to survive our encounter with Caesar.

            “We weren’t expecting you guys back so soon!” Igor exclaims.

            Lance hands Igor the box. “What can I say, we’re eager to meet the ‘Great Leader’.”

            Igor tears open the box and gasps. “By the White Wolf, you kids did it!”

            Igor grabs Caesar’s severed head and holds it up for all to see. “They got him! They got Caesar!”

            Norma, Fred, Frank, and the rest of the gang give us a rousing standing ovation. I’ve never seen so many people so excited about a murder. It makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.

            Norma smacks me on the back. “I bet you’re the one who hacked his head off, aren’t you, Ruby?”

            I force a weak smile. “You got me.”

            Arrow crosses his arms. “So when do we get to meet Rasputin?”

            Igor juggles Caesar’s head. “Actually, I just talked to Rasputin this morning. I told him all about you kids, how you had the potential to be our most successful recruits yet. He had a good laugh when I told him you decided to go after Caesar. But I don’t think he seriously believed you’d do the deed. When I show him this, however…”

            Igor spins Caesar’s head like it’s a basketball.

            “… he will be a believer. We’re having a big meeting tomorrow night with Rasputin and some other high-profile Purple Dragon executives.”

            I try not to smirk. It’s hilarious how Igor and his cronies are treating their criminal enterprise like it’s a legitimate business, with ‘executives’.

            “I’m sure Mikhail won’t mind if you all tagged along,” Igor rattles on as he goes back to juggling Caesar’s head. “He definitely won’t mind when he finds out you removed one of the biggest thorns in his backside. Caesar here has been stealing a lot of our business over the last few years. With him gone the rest of his black-market operation should crumble, leaving us to fill the void. Our profits will skyrocket!”

            “So we’re actually going to get to meet Rasputin tomorrow?” I blurt out. At first I feel stupid for acting so excited, but it turns out my sincere outburst works to our advantage (even though I’m not excited for the reasons Igor and his cronies might think).

            “See how eager they are to meet the Fearless Leader?” Norma gushes. “If only more Russian teens shared your enthusiasm!”

            “Yeah, if only,” I grumble, massaging my throbbing back.

            “Yes, yes, you will get to meet the Great Leader,” Igor says, apparently moved at my convincing display of Russian patriotism. “The meeting is taking place at an undisclosed safe-house sometime tomorrow after midnight. Even I won’t know where it’s at until hours before the meeting. It could be quite far from Vegas. I suggest you get here tomorrow by 10:00 in case we must travel.”

            “S… sounds good,” Lance stammers. He’s as shocked as I am that our plot to infiltrate the Purple Dragons has actually worked. We had to commit a murder to prove our loyalty, but that’s irrelevant at the moment. The important thing is we did the impossible… we penetrated the Dragon’s inner circle. And in roughly 24 hours, we’re going to come face-to-face with the world’s most wanted man. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tinge of excitement. Sure Rasputin is a mass-murdering terrorist, but he’s also one of the most famous people in history. As an amateur historian, I find it exhilarating I will get to meet someone of significant historical stature. (If Lance could hear my inner monologue, he would label me a major geek, and rightfully so.)

            Igor pours us all a glass of vodka. He then raises his glass into the air.

            “To Ruby! To Arkady! To Vladimir! To the death of Caesar! And most importantly of all, to Mother Russia!”

            The rest of us raise our glasses and shout, “To Mother Russia!”

            I do my best to choke down some of the foul vodka so I don’t blow our cover. But I don’t think it would matter if I did spit it out. Igor and his cronies are treating us like royalty for taking out one of their most hated foes. If things continue going our way, we’ll be cashing in our $25 million in no time. It’s almost like we’ve been in a dark, dank tunnel for a long, long time, and all of a sudden we see a glimmer of light off in the distance. I just hope what we see is daylight and not the headlights of an oncoming train.

            We chill with Igor and the gang for about an hour. Lance finally yawns and tells our new ‘friends’ we want to get some rest before our big meeting with Rasputin.

              “Of course, of course, you’ve all had an exhausting day,” Igor says. “Go! Go! We’ll see you tomorrow!”

            I’m relieved when we finally get out of the casino. I was getting extremely sick seeing them toss around Caesar’s head like it was a hot potato. I almost screamed when Norma tossed the damn thing into my lap.

            We make our way back to the rendezvous point on the Strip, far from Igor’s prying eyes. Lance and Arrow can barely contain their excitement.

            “Can you believe this?” Lance says giddily. “We’re actually going to meet Rasputin! I can’t believe this crazy plan worked!”

            “What should we do when we get to the meeting?” Arrow asks, side-stepping some drunk gambler stumbling along the sidewalk. “Should we try to capture Mikhail the instant we see him, or should we play it cool and earn his trust like we did with Igor?”

            “Let’s take down the bastard tonight,” Lance exclaims, slamming his right fist into his left palm.

            “Oh yeah, that’s real smart,” I say scathingly. “Mikhail will probably be surrounded by tons of security, and they’re not going to let us go to the meeting armed. We’d be slaughtered within seconds.”

            “But Machete and Krystal will be nearby, they can back us up,” Lance says, although he sounds less sure about his brash plan now that I’ve brought up how impractical it is.

            “Is that supposed to make me feel better about our chances?” I ask.

            “Quit being so stubborn, Firecracker. We’ve gone through hell and back to get to this point. The world is on the brink of war, and we’re going to be in the same room as the most wanted man on Planet Earth. We may never see him again after tonight. We need to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

            Lance makes a lot of sense, but that doesn’t change the fact that an attempt to take down Rasputin in a roomful of Russians is suicide.

            Lance and I delve into one of our trademark verbal sparring matches. Profanities and personal insults fly freely between us. People on the Strip start to stare.

            Arrow grips both of our arms. “Knock it off. You’re drawing attention to us. We can talk about this back at the motel.”

            Before Lance and I can respond, Krystal, Machete, and Dorothy lower out of the sky in our banged up, stolen Chariot XX. The boys and I hop in the back and we fly off.

            Machete, Krystal, and Dorothy stare at us eagerly.

            “Well?” Krystal blurts out from the front passenger seat. “Did it work? Are you members of the Blue Lizards?”

            “It’s the Purple Dragons,” I say. “And yep, we’re in!”

            “You should have seen their faces when we showed them Caesar’s head,” Arrow says, chuckling. “They couldn’t believe we caught him.”

            “Even better, they want us to come back tomorrow so we can meet Rasputin,” Lance proclaims proudly.

            Machete and the girls hoot and holler, like we just won the lottery or something. And I guess in a way we have.

            “I knew you guys would do it!” Krystal leans over her seat and swallows me up in a hug. Machete grumbles as Krystal’s ass bumps into her face.

            “Congratulations!” Dorothy gushes, turning around on Lance’s lap and planting a kiss on his lips. I do my best not to scowl, but I’m pretty sure I fail miserably.

            “So Rasputin is coming to Igor’s casino?” Machete asks, sounding a bit confused.

            “No, we’re meeting up with Igor and his cronies at the casino, then they’re taking us to some undisclosed location,” I explain.

            I see Machete frowning in the rearview mirror. “I don’t like that. You guys are going to be cut off from us. You won’t be able to wear your goggles, and we certainly can’t follow you. Criminals like Igor are experts at spotting trails. It’ll be especially obvious if they take you somewhere secluded and we’re the only car behind them.”

            “You can still follow us, just from a distance,” Arrow says. “Red still has that GPS chip in her shoe, remember?”

            “I know. I tried digging it out, but I can’t find it,” I grumble. I don’t like the fact Arrow is able to follow my every move. I’m definitely getting new shoes when we get back to Sanctuary 7. If we get back.

            Krystal greedily rubs her hands. “Alright, so all we gotta do is follow you guys to Rasputin’s secret lair, and then we burst in and shoot up the place. Should be a blast!”

            “See Boom Boom, I’m not the only one who thinks that’s a great idea,” Lance says smugly.

            I massage my throbbing temple. My headache has returned with a vengeance.

            “You can’t seriously think that’s a good idea, Krystal,” I say.

            “Boom Boom’s right, you both are mentally retarded for thinking such an idiotic plan would work,” Machete says.

            I’m stunned. I figured Machete would be all gung-ho for a suicidal charge into a building full of bad guys.

            “But why should we wait?” Lance says. “We worked so hard to get this one opportunity to come face-to-face with Rasputin. What if this is our only chance? What if after tomorrow we never see him again?”

            “You have to convince him it is worth seeing you again.” Machete looks directly at me. “You know what I’m talking about, Boom Boom. I see the way Arrow and Lance look at you. I see how every perverted man looks at you. You are very pretty, with a fiery personality to match. Use your sex appeal to convince Rasputin you’re worth seeing again… alone.”

            I nod. While I’m not particularly thrilled at the idea of ‘whoring’ myself out to Rasputin, it is a brilliant plan. If I can get him alone, we should easily be able to take him down. Then we just have to drag him up to D.C. and voila, we’re all multi- millionaires.

            “I don’t know,” Arrow says. I can tell he doesn’t like me ‘whoring’ myself out, either.

            I gently touch his arm. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen. You know this is our best shot at getting him. We’re not doing this just for us, you know. America and China are on the verge of a nuclear war. We’re doing this for the entire planet.”

            Arrow rolls his eyes. I guess he really doesn’t care about the planet. “Fine. But if he so much as touches you inappropriately, I’m breaking his nose when we take him down.”

            Why do I always gravitate toward such violent guys?

            We arrive back at the motel and try to get some sleep, try being the key word. I spend most of the night staring at the ceiling. I have so many emotions boiling up inside of me… excitement, fear, trepidation, sadness, happiness…. I have no idea how tomorrow night will go down. We could be one step closer to apprehending Rasputin, or we could all be dead. The Ruskies don’t play around.

            Before I know it, the dark sky outside our window transforms into a soft gray, the first sign of the approaching dawn. I feel smothered in our small, cramped room, and roaches keep crawling over my legs. I slide out of bed, grab my leather jacket, and reach for the door handle. I hesitate when I realize I’m unarmed. I grab my utility belt off the table and buckle it around my waist. I instantly feel safer. I open the door and softly close it behind me.

            The cool, morning breeze refreshes me instantly. Leaves flutter around me, swirling in the wind. The trees are getting more and more barren with each passing day. I walk toward the wooded area in the back of the motel and enter a small trail. I walk for about a mile, until I come across a bubbling brook. I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Something about being alone in the wilderness always puts me at peace.

            A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly shoots up my spine and slams into my brain. I crouch down and clutch my skull. My pangs of withdrawal are slowly getting easier to tolerate, but every now and then I have a relapse and it feels like my entire world is coming to an end. Slowly yet surely the pain dissipates back to the dull, constant pain that is always there in the background. I can deal with that. The excruciating pain is what makes me long for a bottle of pills.

            A branch snaps off in the distance. I whip out my gun, twirl around, and come face to face with Arrow.

            Arrow holds up his hands and backs away. He cracks a grin and says, “When will I ever learn?”

            “Goddamn it, Arrow.” I shove the gun back into my holster and punch his arm. “Quit sneaking up on me!”

            “I’m sorry, Red, I just heard you leave and wanted to keep an eye on you. Vegas isn’t exactly the safest place in the world, even this far away from the Strip. You still have that bounty over your head. I don’t think word of Caesar’s death has spread yet.”

            I shrug and swat at a low-hanging branch. “I don’t care. Let people come after me. I can take them.”

            Arrow chuckles and wraps his arms around my waist. “I know you can, Red.”

            I push Arrow away. “Don’t. Don’t act like everything’s fine between us. I’m still pissed at you for abandoning us. Say what you want about Lance, but he would never leave me like that.”

            Arrow grimaces. My words have hurt him more than any physical trauma ever could. He looks down and says, “I know, Red. I could apologize a thousand times and I wouldn’t come close to absolving my sin. But I swear on everything I hold dear that I will make it up to you. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but I won’t stop until you’re able to trust me again.”

            Arrow puts his arms back around my waist. I lean back, but this time I don’t resist too much. As much as I hate what he did, I still have feelings for him. I eventually allow him to pull me toward his chest. I sigh deeply. This is what I miss most about dating Lance. The human contact. The feeling that someone loves me.

            Arrow kisses my forehead. In a soft whisper, he says, “You are like an intoxicating drug, Red. You ignite all of my deepest and darkest passions and desires. I love you dearly and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

            I gasp and back away. Arrow grabs my arms and stares directly into my eyes. I stare back and get absorbed into his deep, chocolatey irises. No matter how hard I try to break away, I can’t. His gravity is too great.

            “I mean it, Red. I love you more than anything else on this Earth. I’ve never loved another girl. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, ever since I first laid eyes on you. I want to marry you, raise a family with you, grow old and die with you.”

            My eyes glisten. No one has ever told me they loved me, not even Lance.

            “Arrow, I… I don’t know what to say.”

            Arrow falters for the briefest of moments, but then he steadies himself, as if he won’t give me up without a fierce fight. “Okay… I understand completely. Don’t say anything then. Just think about it. When this is all over, I want to be with you… for the rest of my life. If you say no, I’ll completely understand and leave you alone. But just think about it.”

            I nod and choke back a sob. He starts to break away, but this time I grip his arms and pull him close.

            “Please hold me a little while longer,” I say, resting my head against his chest.

            Arrow tightens his embrace. We stand there in the woods in silence, hugging each other, as the dawn gives way to a vibrant new morning.

*

            By the time Arrow and I make our way back to the motel, everyone is already awake. Lance doesn’t look too pleased when Arrow and I walk through the door, but he doesn’t say anything. He shouldn’t have to. We’ve both moved on. He has Dorothy, and I… I have Arrow. I didn’t tell him in the woods because I still want him to suffer a little bit for that crap he pulled in Canada, but my answer is yes. I will marry him, raise a family with him, and grow old with him. I’ll never find another man who loves and adores me as much as Arrow does. Even during the height of our romance, Lance never felt as passionately about me as Arrow does. I would be a fool not to accept his proposal. Now that I’ve realized I do love Arrow, I actually hope Dorothy and Lance work out. I want Lance to be happy, and I think Dorothy is the kind of woman he can grow old with. After this crazy mission is over, we can start to build our own, separate lives. It’s kind of scary, but also sort of exciting. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, though. We still have one major task to accomplish before we can start thinking about the future.

            We spend the rest of the day holed up in our room, going over our plans. Machete, Krystal, and Dorothy will drop us off on the Strip like they’ve done the past couple days and wait until we head out to Rasputin’s lair. Then they will use their goggles to follow my GPS signal. Once we arrive at the lair, they will park out of sight and wait until we leave. If the lair is deep in the Alaskan wilderness like we think it might be, Machete will even get out of the car and sneak as close to the lair as she possibly can without being seen. That way if things go bad, she’ll be able to hear the gunfire and rush in to rescue us. That’s a worst-case scenario, of course. We don’t expect there to be any shootouts, especially since we’ve decided this won’t be the night we take down Rasputin. It’s way too risky. Our main goal tonight is convincing Rasputin he can trust us.

             I have the hardest job, of course. I have to convince Rasputin I’m the sort of woman he wants to spend the night with. I think I can do it, but I may have to get all touchy-feely with him, something I’m not looking forward to. Dwarfish, vodka-swilling, hairy old men with a messiah complex are not exactly my cup of tea.

            Around 9:00, the boys and I change into our leather outfits. We don’t bring any weapons with us except for our electric swords. We then pile into the car and fly out to the Strip.

            During the ride everyone is eerily silent. Even Krystal doesn’t crack any jokes. Dorothy curls up in Lance’s lap, twirling his purple hair around her fingers. I lean against Arrow as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and rubs my arm. This is it. This is what we came to do. There’s no room for error. It’s do or die time… literally.

            Machete drops us off at our rendezvous point.

            “Good luck, kids,” Machete says gruffly.

            Krystal and Dorothy wave as they take off.

            “You ready, guys?” I ask nervously.

            “Not really,” Lance says.

            “Let’s roll,” Arrow says, taking off toward Igor’s casino. Lance and I follow suit.

            We navigate through the crowd of gamblers and eventually reach the casino. This time Lance remembers to steer well clear of the fire-breathing dragon statue. We go inside the packed casino and take the elevator to the top floor. It’s the third time in three days we’ve had to make this trip. Quite frankly, it’s getting a little monotonous. Hopefully we don’t have to keep doing it.

            The elevator finally dings and the door slides open. We step out into the jam-packed club and do our best to shield our eyes from the pulsating lasers. How most of these kids don’t suffer seizures is beyond me. We weave through the mosh pit of cracked-out teens and make our way toward Winston and Bob by the back staircase. They greet us like we’re old friends and lead us up to the roof. Just like the last two nights, Igor and his cronies are in the back, watching security footage. This time, though, they’re not chugging vodka. I guess Igor wants everyone to be on their best behavior when they meet the ‘Great Leader.’

            We walk past two fancy Lightning XL convertibles on our way over to Igor. Igor clasps us all on our shoulders and says, “I’m glad you all could make it. Like I suspected, we are going to be traveling quite a distance. I’m glad you were punctual.”

            “We wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling,” I say in my husky Russian accent.

            Igor grins and cups my chin in his hand. “I can’t wait for Rasputin to meet you. He will surely congratulate me for finding such a beautiful and intelligent recruit.”

            I force a smile. “Er, thanks.” Pretending I like Igor is starting to take a toll on me. If I have to keep the façade up much longer, I’ll probably snap and punch him in his face.

            I climb into one of the cars with Lance, Igor, and Norma. Arrow goes to the other car with Fred, Frank, and the others. After everyone is strapped in, we lift off the ground and zoom toward the wilderness.

            We’re in the air for half an hour before we finally descend. The car lands bumpily, jostling me into Lance. I glance around and realize we’re in a field surrounded by forest. There’s a small cabin in the center of the clearing. It looks somewhat similar to Vinnie’s cabin. I guess all fugitive criminals hide out in cabins in the woods.

            Lance and I climb out of the car. The other car lands next to us. We wait for Arrow, then we follow Igor and the rest of the gang inside.

            The interior of the cabin is fairly dark. The windows are tinted so no one can peer inside. There’s a couch and a fireplace in the living room, but that’s about it.

            Igor walks over to a bookcase on the back wall. He presses his palm against a sensor and the bookcase pops open.

            “Cool, it’s one of those hidden passageways,” Lance says.

            Igor slips through the doorway and the rest of us follow suit.

            The passageway is a bit more illuminated than the cabin, but not by much. We have to duck to avoid bumping into the low-hanging lights. The walls are made of cobbled stones, and at times it feels like they’re closing in on me. I take a deep breath and forge on. Lance notices I’m on the verge of freaking out and puts his arm around my waist. I appreciate the gesture. It does calm me down… a bit.  

            We walk for several minutes. After a while I realize we’re walking in circles, and the tunnel has a slight downward angle. Apparently we’re heading to some secret underground lair. It reminds me of the spy movies we used to watch with Dagger.

            We finally reach the end of the tunnel and enter a massive, well-lit room. There’s a giant table in the center of the room, with dozens of wooden chairs. A cube-shaped, holographic TV screen hovers over the table. Right now the TV is showing news footage about another devastating terror attack in China. I don’t pay much attention to it, though, because Mikhail Rasputin is sitting at the table, surrounded by armed guards.

            I tug on Lance’s arm. He looks over at the table and gasps.

            “My God… it’s really him.”

            I’m somewhat shocked to discover Rasputin is even shorter in person than he appears on TV. His face is covered in long, stringy, gray-streaked hair. His short, stout body is covered in an armored exoskeleton. I see the edges of his wings protruding out of his back. He’s also wearing his computerized gloves, the ones that fire electricity.

            Rasputin looks over at me and smiles. My ‘sex appeal’ is already working.  

            Igor waltzes up to Rasputin with the box carrying Caesar’s head. He places the box on the table and bellows, “It is good to see you again, Comrade. We bring you a gift, courtesy of our new recruits.”

            Rasputin opens the box and peers inside. He then laughs and plucks the head out of the box, holding it up for all to see. “Tremendous! I’ve been waiting for Caesar’s head to cross my desk for years! Excellent job! How ever did you find him?”

            Lance is about to say something, but I grip his wrist and say, “We don’t give away our tactics for free, you know.”

            Rasputin stares at me lustfully. “You’re right, Igor, this one is special.”

            Rasputin pulls out the chair next to him. “Please, come sit.”

            I saunter over to Rasputin, shaking my hips along the way. Rasputin’s eyes widen and he licks his lips. I plop down on his lap and do my best to ignore his unpleasant odor.

            Rasputin rubs my back. “I appreciate a woman who doesn’t play games. You seem like the sort of person who knows what she wants and takes it.”

            I twirl the tip of Rasputin’s beard around my finger. “You have no idea.”

            Rasputin leans his face close to mine. It takes all my strength not to lean back. “Igor has told me so much about you, Ruby. You are more beautiful… and far more fiery… than he described. I could use a gorgeous assistant like you.”

            I rub my fingers through his greasy hair. “It would be the honor of my life, Comrade. I would do anything for the liberation of Mother Russia.”

            Lance and Arrow sit on the opposite side of the table and engage in small talk with Norma and the gang. Meanwhile, Rasputin and I continue chatting. I tell him how my ‘Russian mother’ smuggled me to America to escape the evil Chinese, and how after she died I met up with Arkady and Vladimir. I then tell him about how we took down Caesar (although I leave out anything that would implicate us as spies). I even tell him I was the one who hacked off Caesar’s head, something that delights Rasputin to no end.

            I’m in the process of heavily hinting that I would like to spend a night alone with him (something Rasputin agrees would be a ‘tremendous’ idea) when a guard bursts into the room and breathlessly proclaims, “The Wolf has arrived!”

            Everyone abruptly stops talking.

            “Mikhail, darling, who is the Wolf?” I ask.

            “The Wolf is the one who has been organizing and financing our war against China,” Rasputin explains. “You will love her, trust me.”

            The door to the dungeon swings open. I try to get a glimpse of the Wolf but it’s too dark. All I see is a silhouette.

            Lance gasps. “Dear God…”

            I glance at Lance in confusion. I mouth, ‘What’s wrong?’ but he’s not paying attention. I turn to Arrow and he appears just as shocked as Lance.

            I turn back to the door just as the Wolf steps out into the light.

            It’s President Klaxton.

Chapter Seventeen: Lance

            Igor spits out his vodka. “The Wolf is the President of the United States?! Holy crap!”

            President Klaxton glares at Igor for several tense seconds. She looks even more intimidating in person than she does on TV (and trust me, she looks pretty fucking scary on TV). Her dirty blonde hair creates a curtain around her hardened, slightly wrinkly face. She’s wearing heavy makeup, I guess so she looks good on television. Her striped pantsuit is clean and crisp, like she just picked it up from the drycleaners. She also looks a bit bulkier than usual. She must be wearing some sort of Kevlar vest under her clothes. The machine gun she has slung over her shoulder only adds to her badass appearance. I’m starting to see how she’s been able to cling to power for over two decades: through sheer fear and intimidation.

            Klaxton’s fierce, icy blue eyes are focused on Igor, staring a hole through his skull. Igor gulps and sets down his glass of vodka.

            Klaxton finally turns to Rasputin. In her trademark raspy, frigid voice, she says, “I thought your subordinates were intelligent, highly trained assassins. What I see instead is a roomful of unkempt, incompetent jackasses.”

            I can’t help but smirk. That was actually pretty funny.

            Mikhail shrugs. “So I fudged a bit on my descriptions. Good help is hard to find these days, as you know.”

            “Yes, I am quite aware,” Klaxton growls. She looks around the room and furrows her brow when she lays eyes on me, Boom Boom, and Arrow. Sweat pours from my armpits. Klaxton is so intense and scary she’s making me a nervous wreck.

            “Who the devil are these kids?” Klaxton barks. She says it with such venom that I nearly topple out of my seat.

            Rasputin waves Klaxton off as though she’s annoying him. He’s probably the only person on the planet who could get away with that.

            “Relax, Angela. You’re freaking everyone out with all your barking. Poor Vladimir looks like he’s about to have a stroke.”

            Rasputin gestures toward me. Klaxton gives me the ‘evil eye’. If I wasn’t about to have a stroke before, I sure am now.

            “I told you we might have some new recruits at our meeting. You told me to bring people capable of carrying out a devastating terrorist attack in the heart of China, so that’s what I did.”

            “Wait, we were brought here to launch a terror attack?” I blurt out.

            “You never told us that, Igor!” Boom Boom shouts.

            Igor holds up his hands. “Relax, Ruby. Consider it a great honor that I brought you and your friends along. Mikhail called me up last week and said to bring along my most talented men and women for a top-secret mission. After your flawless initiation I realized you, Vladimir, and Arkady were the best soldiers I had.”

            “You could have told us beforehand,” Boom Boom snaps.

            “Why would I do that?” Igor says with a sneer. “You might have declined to come.”

            Klaxton turns her attention to Boom Boom. “You do realize it’s not lady-like to act like a whore in front of the President of the United States, don’t you? Get off of Rasputin’s lap and show some self-respect.”

            Boom Boom’s cheeks turn bright red. She silently slips off of Rasputin’s lap and sits in the empty chair to his right.

            Klaxton shakes her head and clicks her tongue dismissively. “Seriously dear, you can do so much better than Rasputin.”

            “Anyway,” Rasputin says, sounding annoyed that Klaxton keeps insulting him, “I trust Igor’s judgment. If he thinks we can trust these kids, then that’s good enough for me. As you know, we Purple Dragons have a thorough initiation process to weed out weaklings and spies. These kids took out one of your most wanted fugitives, Caesar Dominguez. Does that not earn them your trust and respect?”

            Klaxton’s hardened face softens a bit at that revelation. “Oh really? Do you have proof that Caesar is actually dead?”

            Rasputin lifts Caesar’s head out of the box. “Is this proof enough for you?”

            Klaxton gags and steps back.  “How foul! Put that away!”

            Rasputin snickers and puts the head back in the box.

            Klaxton goes back to staring intensely at me. Beads of sweat roll down my neck.

            “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she finally asks.

            “Um, I don’t think so,” I stammer.

            Klaxton frowns. “Your face looks very familiar. So does yours.”

            Klaxton points at Boom Boom. Boom Boom glances at me and cocks an eyebrow. That’s our discreet signal for ‘get ready for trouble’. Klaxton must recognize us from Caesar’s bounty posters. Or she could just recognize us as the ‘teenage bounty hunters’. We are sort of famous. Our disguises fooled Rasputin and Igor, but apparently Klaxton is a lot harder to trick than they are.

            I start to reach for my electric sword when Klaxton says, “Nevermind. I’m probably imagining things.”

            I breathe a sigh of relief, as does Boom Boom. That was close.

            Klaxton snaps her fingers at the secret service agents who walked in behind her. “Kill them.”

            The secret service agents point their guns at me, Arrow, and Boom Boom.

            I hold up my hands. “Whoa, what the hell, man?”

            One of the agents presses his gun against my skull. “Shut your trap, punk.”

            Igor jumps out of his chair, sending it toppling to the floor. “Madam President, there must be some misunderstand-AHH!”

            Another agent whacks Igor across the back of his head.

            “Mikhail, you’re not going to let them do this, are you?” Boom Boom says pleadingly.

            “Not by a longshot,” Rasputin growls. He extends his right arm and neon-blue spirals of electricity unravel from his fingertips. The electricity envelopes the agent next to Boom Boom and sends him flying across the room. He slams against the cobbled wall and collapses to the floor in a smoldering heap.

            The other agents point their guns at Mikhail. Igor, Norma, and the others point their guns at the agents, as do Rasputin’s bodyguards. Arrow, Boom Boom, and I stand up and unsheathe our electric swords. We might as well prove to Rasputin we have his back.

            Rasputin chuckles. He holds up his gloved hands as tendrils of electricity dance along his fingertips.

            “Looks like we have ourselves an old-fashioned standoff.”

            Klaxton crosses her arms and scowls. She’s not as easily amused as Rasputin.

            Rasputin suddenly turns deadly serious. “I know you’re painfully aware how pivotal I am to your plans, Angela. You need me far more than I need you. It’s extremely difficult for us to attract young, competent recruits for our aging movement. If you desire my continued cooperation, you will leave these kids alone.”

            Klaxton’s steely face remains entrenched in a scowl.

            Rasputin shrugs. “Fair enough.” He grabs Boom Boom and pulls her to his side. “I don’t really care about the boys, but I get to keep the girl. That’s non-negotiable.”

            “Hey, that’s not fair!” I blurt out.

            Boom Boom rips her arm out of Rasputin’s grasp. “No! Either we all live… or we all die.”

            Klaxton’s lips curl into a sadistic sneer. “Don’t tempt me, girlie.”

            Mikhail nods approvingly. “I like that you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for your friends. You have great courage. We need more of that around here.”

            Mikhail turns his attention back to the glowering president.

            “As I stated before, Angela, you are in desperate need of my assistance. The kids live, or our deal is off.”

            Klaxton curses and kicks a chair. “Fine. The damn teeny-boppers can stay. But never… and I mean NEVER… have a bunch of outsiders attend one of my meetings ever again. I don’t care if you vouch for them. One loose string can unravel an entire operation.”

            Mikhail takes another sip of vodka. “Calm down, Angela. You’re going to raise your blood pressure.”

            The secret service agents lower their guns and back away. Rasputin’s goons do the same. Arrow and I sheathe our blades.

            Klaxton straightens her pantsuit. “Now that all the excitement is out of the way, let’s proceed with our meeting.”

            Klaxton sits down at the head of the table. Her secret service agents stake out different positions around the room, so they can keep an eye on everyone. Rasputin’s guards stand behind him. Igor, Norma, and the rest of the gang sit down at the table. Arrow and I plop down next to them.

            Klaxton clasps her hands together. “As you all know, we are here to initiate the final phase of our mission to destroy the Empire of China.”

            I know I shouldn’t say anything, but my head is spinning with so many questions that it feels like it’s about to explode. I clear my throat and awkwardly say, “Er, excuse me for interrupting, but… like, how long have you and Rasputin been in cahoots?”

            Boom Boom shoots me a look that says ‘stop talking’. I realize that’s good advice when Klaxton grits her teeth.

            “We have been partners in our covert war against China for quite some time. Now please refrain from interrupting me ever again, little boy. I’m the goddamn President of the United States, and I hate… I HATE… being interrupted.”

            I gulp and say, “Er, sorry Ms. President. It won’t happen again.”

            Klaxton has this amazing ability to make me feel small and weak. I think I’d rather take on an army of Nazis than have a conversation with her.

            Klaxton starts talking again. “Over the past several years, I have been secretly coordinating terror attacks with the Purple Dragons against the Chinese. I was hopeful that the Chinese would launch a surprise attack on American assets like the Japanese did in World War 2, thereby drawing us into a war, but alas, that has yet to occur.”

            “Wait, you actually want a war?” Boom Boom blurts out.

            “What did I say about interrupting me?” Klaxton growls.

            Boom Boom shuts up.

            “Like I was saying, the Chinese have proven to be remarkably calm in the face of the Purple Dragon’s relentless onslaught. I think it’s that damn teenage empress. I know General Kang is eager for a war. It occurred to me several weeks ago that we need something a bit more destructive than a few car bombings to get the Chinese’s attention.”

            I’m stunned by what I’m hearing. The president wants a war with China? What sort of madness is this?

            “So, uh, what were you thinking about doing?” Arrow asks hesitantly.

            “I won’t be doing anything,” Klaxton replies. “You and your friends will be smuggling a small nuclear bomb over the Bering Strait and into the Siberian Wilderness.”

            “A nuclear bomb?” Boom Boom cries, nearly falling out of her seat. “Where are we supposed to find a nuclear bomb?”

            “We saw materials for making a dirty bomb in that gun shop in Vegas, remember?” I say.

            Klaxton flashes a rare grin. “You’re starting to unravel my plan. You kids aren’t as dumb as you look.”

            An insult wrapped in a compliment. Nice.

            Klaxton snaps her fingers and one of her agents carries over a metallic suitcase.

            “This is the bomb I was talking about. It’s called a suitcase nuke, in case you’re too stupid to figure that out. It has enough fissile material to irradiate and kill thousands… maybe tens of thousands if it’s a windy day.”

            “Why would you bring that in here?” Boom Boom cries. “We’re all going to get radiation poisoning!”

            “Quit being so hysterical, girlie. The nuclear material is encased in a metallic casing that prevents the release of any radiation. It will also mask the uranium from Chinese radiation sensors, allowing you to sneak the bomb into Siberia without being detected. You shouldn’t run into any Chinese forces during your flight. We’ll provide you a radar-deflecting flying car. And even though the Chinese like to pretend they rule Russia with an iron fist, that’s all simply propaganda. The reality is most of Russia, including Siberia, is under the control of the Purple Dragons and other dissidents. Anytime China sends forces in after them, they are bogged down in a brutal guerrilla war. Now the Chinese just sort of leave them alone until they leave their isolated sanctuaries.”

            “You will meet up with members of the Purple Dragons at an undisclosed location,” Klaxton rattles on. I do my best to keep up, but I’m still struggling to get over my shock that the president is in cahoots with the world’s most wanted man. “Several of their suicide squad members will then attach the nuclear suitcase to the engine of a flying car, creating the biggest car bomb in history.”

            “And where are you wanting this bomb to be detonated?” I ask. “At a Chinese military base? A hospital?”

            “No. I want to assassinate the Empress.”

            Everyone in the room gasps.

            “But… how…” Boom Boom starts to say.

            “I’m getting to that, girlie,” Klaxton barks. “Keep your panties on. Empress Xing is usually hidden away to keep her safe from assassins. Next Saturday, however, is China’s annual celebration of Xing’s ascension to the throne. It’s one of the few times a year she comes out of hiding. She will be part of a parade that snakes through the streets of Beijing. She will be surrounded by security, and she’ll most likely be encased in some sort of bullet-proof bubble. But even that won’t protect her from a radar-deflecting nuclear car bomb that drops out of the sky. And even if she somehow survives the blast, she will undoubtedly be grievously wounded. That will put that vicious cyborg freak General Kang in charge. She will have no qualms declaring war against us.”

            Practically everyone in the room appears to be reeling from Klaxton’s shocking assassination plan. Boom Boom composes herself enough to say, “With all due respect, Madam President, there are a few holes in your plot.”

            Good ole Boom Boom. She’s going to try and use logic to talk Klaxton out of her psychotic plan. I’m not exactly the world’s smartest person and even I see problems with it. For one, why would the Chinese assume we had anything to do with the bombing?

            Boom Boom says exactly that. “While it’s apparently true you’ve been working with Rasputin and the Purple Dragons for years now, the Chinese don’t know that. I’m sure they suspect it, but they don’t know for sure. Why would they jump to the conclusion that the U.S. provided the bomb? The Dragons could have just as easily gotten the nuclear material elsewhere.”

            “It’s so cute how you’re pretending to be smart,” Klaxton says condescendingly. “First of all, the only places you’d be able to find any nuclear material is here in America, in China, and in Bavaria. During the 21st century, America, China, Russia, and the other nuclear powers at the time locked down all nuclear material. And when China invaded Russia, the first thing they did was take control of Russia’s nuclear facilities. This was after they took out Russia’s defenses with a relentless bombardment of EMP bombs, of course. Otherwise, the Ruskies probably would have used their nukes to repel the invasion. We did the same thing with Canada.

            “Secondly, the Chinese will realize they got this nuclear material from us because we’re going to tell them so. More specifically, Rasputin will tell them. Shortly after the bombing, he will broadcast one of his terror videos over the internet, taking credit for the attack and claiming he got the material from one of our gun stores in Vegas.” Klaxton turns to me. “As you alluded to before, little boy, we do have dirty bomb kits available in a few select shops on the Strip. All of that material is fake, of course. I don’t want to risk some crazy Canadian terrorists getting their hands on something like that. But the Chinese won’t know it’s fake. Rasputin will reveal photos of him shopping at one of the stores, ultimately making America an accomplice in the deadliest terror attack in history. General Kang will have no choice but to declare war. It will prove we’ve, at best, been passive in cracking down on Russian dissidents and, at worst, that we’ve actually encouraged them.”

            “This seems like a lot of work just to start a war,” I point out. “If you want to fight the Chinese so bad, why don’t you just attack them first?”

            Klaxton chuckles and shakes her head. “Just when I begin to think you kids have some brains, you go and say something as stupid as that. I can’t launch a preemptive strike for two reasons. One, Americans would not rally around me like they would if we were attacked first. I’m going to need the full, patriotic support of the entire country if we are to have any hope of taking it to the Chinese. And two, history would view me as the aggressor in the conflict, and I refuse to have my legacy soiled like that.”

            Unbelievable. Klaxton is more concerned about how history will view her than she is about the safety and security of the people she’s supposed to protect.                          

            “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense,” Boom Boom says, shaking her head so fiercely that her purple hair whips back and forth. “Why on Earth do you want to start a war? What purpose could it possibly serve except to cause widespread death and destruction?”

            “It’s simple economics, dear,” Klaxton replies, sounding almost bored with the question. “A war is the only way we’ll ever be able to end this crippling depression.”

            I think everyone in the room says, “Huh?” at the same time, even Klaxton’s secret service agents.

            Klaxton sighs. “It’s really not that complicated to comprehend, is it?”

            “Sort of,” I say to a chorus of chuckles.

            Klaxton purses her lips. “As everyone here is painfully aware, the Horrible Depression has been chugging along for well over 40 years, ever since that fateful day when Hurricane Omega wiped out New York’s financial district. When I was first elected president, I had high hopes I’d be able to turn the economy around. At the time we had been mired in a global depression for two decades. 22 years later, I have nothing to show for my efforts. Unemployment still hovers around 50% and crime is more prevalent than ever. During my 22-year rule of the most powerful empire on Earth, I’ve tried everything to turn things around. I spent trillions on stimulus projects. I freed up revenue by outsourcing criminal apprehensions to bounty hunters. I manipulated our currency. I slashed interest rates to zero. I cut taxes to stimulate consumer spending. But nothing has worked. The economy hasn’t budged a single percentage point since I took office. It’s the deepest, widest, most stubborn depression in world history, a depression that’s been going on for nearly half a century. I was beginning to think we’d be stuck in a depression for all of eternity.

            “That’s when it hit me. I figured out precisely what medicine our economy requires to get it moving again. All we need is a healthy dose of war. World war to be exact.”

            President Klaxton has officially gone bye-bye.

            “How exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Boom Boom blurts out. She sounds like she’s on the verge of hysteria.

            “You seem like a somewhat intelligent young woman,” Klaxton says. “You’re certainly smarter than the other peons in this room. All you have to do is look back on history to see why this is a flawless plan. The second greatest depression the world has ever known, the so-called Great Depression of the 1930s, was strikingly similar to the one we’re stuck in today. Granted, this one is many times worse, but there are similarities. Unemployment was sky-high. President Roosevelt did many of the same things I’ve tried: stimulus, social programs, cutting taxes. While his socialist ploys worked to a certain degree, they did not end the depression. The Great Depression did not officially end until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, sucking us into World War 2. It took a world war to end the Great Depression, and it will take nothing less to end this one.”

            “How exactly does a war help the economy?” I ask.

            Klaxton looks at me like I’m the dumbest creature she’s ever laid eyes upon.

            “Don’t they teach you wretched children anything in school?” she snarls. “War is the ultimate stimulus program. If we go to war with China we will see an explosion in job growth. Millions of men will be sent overseas while millions of women go to work in our factories, building guns, bullets, bombs, tanks, planes, armor, and military rations. The unemployment rate will be cut in half within a year, and it could drop as low as 10 percent only a few short years after that. We will finally be able to claw our way out of our economic grave.”

            My eyes do kind of glaze over at the thought of a low 10% unemployment rate. The country would change overnight. Poverty and crime would disappear as people finally had money to care for themselves. Maybe a war is the answer.

            Boom Boom snaps me out of Klaxton’s brainwashing when she asks, “What happens when China lobs a few nuclear and antimatter missiles our way? You honestly expect China to sit there and allow us to invade their territory?”

            Klaxton waves Boom Boom off. “Do you really think I’d consider a war with China if I didn’t have a plan to deal with their weapons of mass destruction? First of all, the same thing that prevented the United States and the Soviet Union from entering a nuclear war is the same thing that will prevent the U.S. and China from having one: the specter of mutual annihilation. Just like the U.S. and the Soviets waged a Cold War during the latter half of the 20th century, so too will the U.S. and China. We managed to have skirmishes with Soviet-backed forces in Korea and Vietnam, and we helped the Afghans repel a Soviet invasion in the 1980s. We will have similar battles with China. Think of it as the world’s greatest super powers playing a friendly game of chess, with the entire planet as our chessboard. It’s sort of like what occurred in the Orwellian classic 1984, when the empires of Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasia were engaged in a perpetual state of war to keep their people in line and to stimulate the global economy. So too will I control our economy with a willing sparring partner, General Kang.”

            “But you said it yourself, General Kang is insane,” Boom Boom says, struggling to reason with our deranged leader. “What if Kang goes crazy one day and decides to launch China’s entire nuclear and antimatter arsenal? The world would ignite in a nuclear holocaust.”

            For the first time, I detect a gleam of doubt in Klaxton’s icy cold eyes. But it’s only for the briefest of seconds. An instant later, she is back to her cold, intense self.

            “If Kang is as foolish as you say, then our missile defense shield will make short work of their attempted bombardment. Our EMP rockets will intercept their warheads over the Pacific and send them hurtling to the depths of the sea.”

            “Are you positive our shield will stop all the warheads?” Arrow asks. “Even if one slips through, it’ll cause an insane amount of destruction.”

            Klaxton once again appears unnerved by the prospect of our nuclear shield not being all it’s cracked up to be. After all, it’s not like you can test it. We won’t know if it works until an actual nuclear war breaks out.

            Klaxton finally says, “I have full faith in our rocket scientists and engineers. The shield will protect us, I am sure of it.”

            Boom Boom shrugs. “Okay, but it sounds like you’re playing Russian roulette with nuclear bombs.”

            “Oh, I love Russian roulette!” Norma exclaims. “It’s my favorite pastime!”

            Klaxton glares at Norma until she gulps and looks down.

            “You all seem to forget I’ve been in power longer than any president in American history,” Klaxton says haughtily. “I think I know what I’m doing.”

            “I just can’t believe you’re behind all of this,” Boom Boom says. “I bet you allowed Chinese satellites to capture that image of Rasputin in Vegas, didn’t you?”

            “Bingo,” Klaxton says with a shrewd smile. “I wanted the Chinese to have proof Rasputin was in Alaska. That way they could accuse us of not doing enough to find him. I put a bounty on his head to pretend I was doing something, but I was never concerned he’d actually be found. He was too well hidden. I might as well have put out a bounty on a leprechaun.”

            “That’s not a slight against my height, is it?” Rasputin growls.

            “Keep your Napoleon Complex in check, short-stuff,” Klaxton snaps. “So like I said, you kids don’t have to worry about a war with China resulting in a nuclear holocaust. I have everything under control. Soon the economy will be chugging along on all cylinders, and I’ll go down in history as the woman who ended the Horrible Depression and took out the Chinese. I’ll be greater than Washington, Lincoln, and Roosevelt combined. And it’s all thanks to my perfectly orchestrated façade.”

            Klaxton is seriously on crack. I mean, comparing herself to three of our greatest presidents? What the hell!

            “Now that you all know what’s up, it’s time to put Klaxton’s plan into action,” Rasputin says, patting the suitcase nuke. “At dawn we will begin our odyssey to Siberia. By this time next week, the world will be at war.”

            Igor and the rest of Rasputin’s cronies break out in huge grins.

            “I can’t wait to return to Russia,” Norma says, clapping like a deranged baby.

            Rasputin glances at me, Arrow, and Boom Boom. He’s probably wondering why we look so frightened.

            “What’s wrong, my dear?” Rasputin asks, patting Boom Boom on her back. “I figured you would be ecstatic to return to our Homeland.”

            Boom Boom clears her throat and forces a smile. “Oh, I am, Mikhail. It’s just… I’m overwhelmed by the pure scope of your plan.”

            Rasputin is about to respond, but a secret service agent rushes into the room and whispers something to Klaxton. I can tell by her reddened cheeks that it’s not good news.

            Klaxton unleashes a feral grow, causing us all to jump back in our seats.

            “There’s a spy in our midst! Goddamn it, Rasputin, you swore to me all of your soldiers were loyal!”

            Rasputin raises his bushy eyebrows. “They are loyal, Angela. What do you mean there’s a spy?”

            Klaxton waves at the holographic TV screen hovering over our heads. The screen flashes to an image of all of us in the dungeon. Our meeting is being steamed live over the internet.

            “WHAT?!” Rasputin shrieks, leaping to his feet.

            “Which one of you is the traitor?” he snarls, pointing at all of us. Electricity crackles from his fingertips. “Reveal yourself so you can be disemboweled alive!”

            Rasputin focuses on Igor. “Is it you?! Is it one of your men?!”

            Igor turns white and backs away from the table. “No, Rasputin, I swear on my mother’s grave I had nothing to do with this. My life is devoted to the Purple Dragons.”

            Igor turns to me and scowls.

            “Vladimir! He must be the spy! And Arkady! And Ruby!”

            Rasputin glares at Boom Boom. Through clenched teeth, he hisses, “Is this true, Ruby? Did the Chinese send you here to compromise our mission?”

            Boom Boom backs away from the table. Arrow and I do the same.

            “No, Mikhail, it wasn’t us, I swear!” Boom Boom cries.

            “SILENCE!” Rasputin bellows. He points his glowing hands straight at Boom Boom’s chest.

            “You may have revealed our plot to the entire world, but you will not live to enjoy your triumph!”

            I whip out my sword and press a button on the handle. A crackling current of electricity washes over the blade. Arrow whips his out as well.

            “Leave her alone, you dirty midget!” I shout.

            Rasputin cackles as dozens of guns swing toward me. All the Russian mobsters and secret service agents have me, Arrow, and Boom Boom in their crosshairs.

            “You are brave, boy,” Rasputin says admiringly. “Stupid, but brave. Any last words before you are executed in front of the entire world?”

            I never get to say anything because throwing stars whiz into the room and imbed into three of the agents’ skulls. Yin and Yang backflip out of the passageway and hurl more throwing stars. Everyone ducks for cover.

            “Yin! Yang!” I shout gleefully. I never thought I’d be happy to see them again, but boy was I wrong.

            My excitement increases when someone else barges into the dungeon: Pitbull. Except it doesn’t look like the Pitbull I remember. This Pitbull is wearing a metallic helmet that covers his entire head. His new, glowing red eyes shine through the helmet’s eyeholes. A small opening at the bottom of the helmet reveals his snarling mouth. Both of his arms are now robotic, and so are his legs. The rest of his body is covered in black armor. He truly is more machine than man now.

            “P… Pitbull?” I stammer.

            “Miss me, kid?” he says.

            Pitbull then swings his machine gun toward President Klaxton, who is kneeling under the table. Klaxton’s eyes widen in fear when he levels his gun at her chest.

            “So you wanna start a world war? Allow me to fire the first shot.”

            “Pitbull, wait!” I shout.

            My screams are drowned out by gunfire as Pitbull assassinates the President of the United States in front of the entire world.

Chapter Eighteen: Boom Boom

            All hell breaks loose as gunfire erupts all throughout the dungeon. Lightbulbs explode and mirrors shatter, spraying glass everywhere. Lance, Arrow, and I leap behind a tattered old sofa in the rear of the dungeon. Since we don’t have any guns, we can’t really contribute to the fight.

            I peek over the edge of the sofa as Pitbull rips Klaxton’s secret service agents to shreds with automatic machine gunfire. The agents try and shoot him back, but the bullets simply bounce off his robotic limbs and body armor.

            Yin and Yang bounce around like Chinese acrobats, chucking what seems to be an unending supply of jagged throwing stars. Russian gangbangers and secret service agents drop like flies from the merciless assault. I yelp when I see Winston’s brains splatter against the wall, courtesy of a headshot by Pitbull. I sort of had a soft spot for the guy, even if he was a gangbanger. Soon the dungeon floor is covered in a shallow sea of blood.

            “Holy crap, I can’t believe Pitbull just killed the president!” Arrow shouts.

            I glance at Klaxton, who is still lying under the table. I can only imagine how the rest of the world is reacting right now. All of America is probably gripped in hysteria while China is getting ready to launch on invasion. You can’t really blame them if that’s the case. Our president just admitted on live television that she wanted to assassinate the empress and start a world war. Then again, they just did watch Klaxton get shot. Maybe Pitbull did the world a favor by killing her. Hopefully China will wait for all the facts to come out before lobbing missiles at us.

            My head starts throbbing like crazy again. All the flashes of gunfire aren’t helping matters. Neither is the fact I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the shocking revelation that our president is a genocidal lunatic. And, oh yeah, she was just shot! My brain is suffering from information overload.

            “I just wanna know how Pitbull found us again!” Lance shouts over the gunfire.

            Almost on cue, Pitbull leaps behind the couch with us to change out his ammunition cartridge. Gunshots rip the sofa to sheds, forcing us to flatten to the ground.

            “Don’t just sit there like you’ve got nothing to do,” Pitbull growls as bullets nick his metallic mask. He tosses us all handguns from his utility belt. “Kill some Ruskies!”

            The boys and I grab the guns and return fire. The agents and Ruskies duck behind bookcases and overturned tables.

            As we hop up and down behind the couch like whack-a-moles, trading shots with Rasputin’s goons, I try to figure out exactly what the hell’s going on.

            “Seriously Pitbull, how do you keep finding us?” I shout.

            Pitbull cackles, his metal mask glowing orange from his muzzle flashes. “I bet that’s been driving you crazy all week, huh? We found you the first time when I chucked a GPS chip in Machete’s car outside Detroit. The second time I shoved a tracking device down Arrow’s throat while I was choking him during our skirmish in the woods. You know, when you guys set me on fire the first time.”

            “Er, sorry about that,” I say. “It wasn’t anything personal.”

            Pitbull grumbles some unflattering obscenities before saying, “The tracking device is this new version that attaches to the lining of a person’s stomach. We’ve been tracking you punks for the past several days.”   

            “If that’s the case, why did you wait until now to come after us?” Lance asks.

            “Because you damn twerps caught me on fire a second time at that Wild West Settlement. Then you shot me in the goddamn eyeball, sending me plummeting over 100 feet into a river!”

            “Er, sorry about that,” Arrow says sheepishly. “It wasn’t personal, just business.”

            “Yes, well anyway, I had to stop to get some work done. I couldn’t very well come after you brats with charred, rotted flesh hanging off my body.”

            “That wouldn’t be recommended,” I say as I blast an agent in the chest. I duck when one of his buddies takes aim at my head.

            “As I was hanging from your car, I overheard you twerps say something about coming after Rasputin,” Pitbull says as he blasts poor Fred in the leg. “After Yin and Yang found me washed up on the river bank, they took me to the hospital, where I had all this wonderful work done.”

            Pitbull taps his helmet and his new robotic arm in case I’m too stupid to figure out what ‘work’ he was talking about. “After my procedure, we decided to switch our target from you guys to Rasputin. After all, his bounty is $15 million more than yours. We continued tracking you dorks, but only so you would lead us to Rasputin. The plan was to rush in at the last minute and steal him from you.”

            “Sounds like someone else we know,” I say, nudging Arrow in his side.

            Pitbull fires off a burst of gunfire before crouching back down to trade out another ammo cartridge.

            “We trailed you to this cabin and sent a mosquito in after you. I wanted to televise Mikhail’s apprehension on the internet so the government couldn’t screw us out of the bounty. They’ve been known to do that with ones that are seven and eight figures. Never in a million years did I think we’d uncover a conspiracy to assassinate the empress. I figured I’d better put a bullet in Klaxton to placate the Chinese. You know General Kang’s probably over there eager to lob a few missiles our way.”

            So I was right. Pitbull took Klaxton out with the hope the Chinese wouldn’t overreact. He’s truly smarter than I give him credit for.

            Rasputin emerges from an overturned table and sends a bolt of lightning hurtling our way. It slams into the sofa, igniting it in flames. Pitbull, Lance, Arrow, and I jump out into no-man’s land and continue trading shots with the secret service and Russian gangbangers. Matters are further complicated now that Rasputin is releasing bolts of electricity. I jump back and forth, doing my best to avoid the bombardment of bullets and electrical blasts. Rasputin stops his indiscriminate firing when his bolts zap two of his own bodyguards.

            I aim my gun at Rasputin’s head and fire off a shot. He deflects the bullet with his armored forearm and fires another bolt of electricity. I barely duck in time. It comes so close that my hair stands on end.

            Machete suddenly bursts into the dungeon and fires two handguns simultaneously, sending Rasputin scrambling for cover.

            “Machete!” I exclaim. I’ve never been so excited to see someone in all my life. We sure as hell can use her help.

            “I saw everything on the internet,” Machete shouts as she takes down two secret service agents with insanely accurate headshots. “Dorothy and Krystal are waiting outside. Let’s kill Rasputin, grab his body, and get the hell out of here!”

            Before any of us can act, President Klaxton staggers to her feet.     

            “You’re alive!” I cry in disbelief.

            “Of course I’m alive, you wretched girl.” Klaxton tears off her bullet-riddled shirt, revealing an armored exoskeleton similar to Rasputin’s.

            Klaxton points her arms at us. Two pistols protrude out of her computerized wrists and release quick bursts of gunfire. Machete and I dive for cover.

            I land hard and roll onto my back. Rasputin rushes over to Klaxton and ushers her toward the passageway.

            “They’re getting away!” I shout, scrambling to my feet.

            Machete is still on the ground, groaning in pain. She must have hurt herself when she landed. I glance at Lance, Pitbull, Yin, and Yang. They’re on the other side of the dungeon, waging unholy war against the secret service and Russian mob. I don’t see Arrow anywhere.

            That means it’s up to me to take down the world’s most wanted man and the world’s most powerful woman. Fantastic.

            I lumber after Rasputin, who has just reached the doorway.

            “Stop!” I scream, firing a shot at his head. I miss and merely clip his armored upper back.

            Rasputin twirls around and snarls. He looks like a possessed lion with his matted mane of hair and clenched teeth. He raises his gloved hands and points them at me. Blue electricity flickers in and out of existence.

            “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, you traitorous bitch!” he hisses.

            I aim my gun directly at his forehead and pull the trigger.

            It clicks empty.

            I drop the gun and stagger back. My entire body goes numb as I realize this is it. I’ve escaped death more times than I can remember. This time, however, my luck has run out.

            “Red, move!”

            I glance to my right. Arrow is coming at me like an out-of-control freight train. I turn back to Rasputin just as lightning spirals toward me.

            Arrow barrels into me, knocking me to the ground. My vision is flooded by a brilliant burst of blue light. The light vanishes just as suddenly as it appeared.

            I ignore the pain from my rough landing and look up. Rasputin and Klaxton are gone. Arrow, however, is still standing.

            He looks at me, his eyes wide with agony and fear. Spirals of electricity crackle all over his smoldering body.

            “Arrow?” I whisper as hot tears stream down my cheeks.

            Arrow reaches out to me, his fingers clawing the air.

            In a raspy voice filled with pain and regret, he whispers, “Red…”

            Then his eyes roll into the back of his head and he topples backwards.

            “ARROW!!”

            I jump up and rush to his side, ignoring the bullets careening overhead. I hear a woman screaming for her son. I think it’s Machete, but I’m not really paying attention. All I’m focused on right now is Arrow.

            I grab his hand. It’s burning hot from the electricity.

            “Arrow?” I sob, wiping his long, silky hair out of his eyes.

            “Arrow!” I scream, louder than I’ve ever screamed before.

            But he doesn’t answer.

            I touch his neck.

            There’s no pulse.

            Arrow is dead.             

Chapter Nineteen: Lance

            I’m crouched behind an overturned table, trading shots with Igor and Norma, when a bloodcurdling scream cuts through the dungeon.

            “NOOOOO!”

            “Machete?”

            I spin around and watch in confusion as Machete slides beside Boom Boom.

            That’s when I see the body.

            Arrow.

            Smoke billows from his chest. He must have been zapped by Rasputin.

            A cold chill runs down my spine. Arrow and I would never be confused for best friends. In fact, at times we truly detested each other. But I never actually hated the guy. And I certainly never wished for him to die.

            I’m most concerned, however, for Boom Boom. This is going to mess her up… big time.

            Two of Rasputin’s bodyguards charge toward Machete and Boom Boom, firing their guns. I fire a shot at one of the bodyguards, hitting him in the shoulder. I don’t have to fire again, though, because Machete unleashes a feral growl and lunges toward the bodyguards while clutching a blade.

            “YOU BASTARDS KILLED MY SON!” she shrieks like an enraged banshee, slashing at their throats. Poor Machete is caught in the throes of a full-fledged berserker rage, attacking anything that moves. I have to look away from her violent assault. It’s too gruesome even for me.

            I dash through the crossfire and slide beside Boom Boom. She’s beside herself with grief. I shake her shoulders and say, “I’m sorry about Arrow, Firecracker, but we have to go after Rasputin. He’s getting away.”

            That gets Boom Boom’s attention. She looks at me through red, bleary eyes and says, “Let’s get the son of a bitch.”

            I grab Boom Boom’s shaky hand and pull her toward the tunnel. I glance over my shoulder one last time before I enter the passageway. None of the bad guys are paying attention to us; they’re all focused on taking down Pitbull and the ninjas. Machete continues hacking up every secret service agent and Russian mobster she can get her hands on. I gasp when Yin gets blasted in the back of the head by Igor. She collapses into a puddle of blood, never to move again. I ignore the part of my brain that screams for vengeance. We need to get Rasputin. If we don’t, all of our blood and sacrifice will have been for nothing. And the world will hurtle toward the black hole of war.

            We dash through the passageway, moving as fast as our bruised and battered bodies will allow us. We never see Rasputin or Klaxton off in the distance because the winding tunnel goes around in circles, but I can hear them grunting and panting. They both must be injured from the shootout. Even body armor doesn’t prevent a speeding bullet from causing bumps and bruises. I know that from experience.

            Boom Boom and I finally burst out from behind the bookcase in the cabin living room, just in time to see Klaxton and Rasputin stagger out the front door. Boom Boom and I sprint after them, firing at their backs.

            “Give it up, Rasputin!” I shout. “Your days of terror and destruction are over!”

            Rasputin responds by spinning around and firing a bolt of lightning. I shove Boom Boom to the ground just as the sizzling electrical blast whizzes over our heads. The bolt slams into the front of the cabin, causing it to erupt in flames. I hope Machete and the gang make it out before they burn alive. Pitbull especially has seen enough fire over the past several days to last a lifetime.

            I crawl on my hands and knees as Rasputin and Klaxton climb aboard a sleek Blackhawk helicopter. The presidential seal is emblazoned on the side. Rasputin shoots us a fleeting glance before disappearing inside. He must think we’re no longer a threat. Fatal mistake.

            “C’mon, Boom Boom,” I growl, pulling her to her feet. We lumber toward the helicopter, but we’re too far away. The propellers begin whipping around, kicking up a cloud of dirt, grass, and leaves.

            I try to speed up, but it’s no use. By the time I reach the chopper, it’s already 30 feet off the ground, well out of reach. If only I had my utility belt, then I could fire my grappling hook.

            Boom Boom arrives at my side a couple seconds later. We both fire at the chopper, but it’s just a waste of ammunition. Soon the chopper is nothing but a blinking light in the night sky.

            We don’t have time to feel sorry for ourselves, though, because Krystal and Dorothy drop out of the sky in our battered, bullet-riddled car.

            Dorothy hops out and throws her arms around me. I pull her tight and kiss her head. What happened to Arrow could just as easily happen to her. I intend to do everything I can to keep her out of harm’s way.

            “You guys okay?” Krystal asks as Dorothy and I climb into the back. Boom Boom hops into the front.   

            “We’re a little beat up, but we’ll survive,” I groan, clutching my injured ribs.

            “Where’s Machete and Arrow?” Dorothy asks, glancing back at the burning cabin.

            “Machete stayed behind to deal with Igor and the rest of the Dragons,” I say. “And Arrow…”

            “Arrow’s dead,” Boom Boom says in a choked sob.

            “WHAT?!” Dorothy screams. “NO!”

            Krystal’s face becomes engulfed in sorrow.

            “Oh Boom Boom, I’m so sorry!”

            “We can grieve later,” Boom Boom says, wiping away her tears. “Right now I want to rip out Rasputin’s heart and shove it down his throat.”

            “Where did he go?” Krystal asks as we float into the sky. “And is that psycho Klaxton with him? Dorothy and I saw everything on the internet. She’s one crazy bitch.”

            I lean over Krystal’s seat and point out the shattered windshield. “He’s that blinking dot of light. And yep, Klaxton is with him. I say we blow both of them out of the sky.”

            “Roger that.” Krystal presses down on the accelerator and we zoom toward the helicopter at close to 200 miles an hour. The cold wind slams into my face so fiercely, it feels like my skin is about to peel off.

            As we get closer I check my gun to make sure I have enough ammo for a prolonged aerial dogfight, which is probably what it’s going to take to bring them down.

            Dorothy pops an ammo cartridge into her gun.

            “What are you doing with that?” I ask.

            Dorothy cocks an eyebrow. “What do you think? To shoot Rasputin.”

            “I don’t think so.” I snatch the gun out of her hand. “I want you to crouch down on the floor and cover your head. Boom Boom, Krystal, and I will take care of Rasputin.”

            “But I can help!” Dorothy protests! “I can--”

            “Damn it, Dorothy, don’t argue with me!” I explode. Krystal and Boom Boom stare at me in shock. I usually don’t go off like this.

            “This isn’t a game!” I continue. “This is life and death!”

            Dorothy appears heartbroken. I instantly feel like the worst person on Earth. I gently touch Dorothy’s shoulder. In a much quieter and less hostile voice, I say, “I’m sorry, Dorothy. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. So please… please stay down.”

            Dorothy lowers her gaze and whispers, “Okay.”

            She places the gun on the seat and crouches to the floor. I feel bad I hurt her feelings, but if that’s what it takes to keep her safe, then I’m willing to do it.

            We’re flying so fast that we catch up to Klaxton’s helicopter in no time.

            “So what’s the plan?” I ask, aiming my pistol at the chopper’s still-open hatch door.

            “The plan is to kill them,” Boom Boom growls.

            We pull up alongside the chopper. I can now see directly inside the hatch door. Klaxton and Rasputin are nowhere to be seen. They must be up in the cockpit.

            “Anyone got a grenade?” I ask.

            “Here,” Krystal says, handing me one.

            I yank out the pin and hurl the grenade inside the chopper. I’m stunned when Rasputin suddenly dives into view, snatches up the grenade, and tosses it back at us.

            “Incoming!” I scream, ducking to the floor alongside Dorothy.

            Krystal takes us into a nosedive a split-second before the grenade detonates. Pieces of shrapnel rip up our left wing, but miraculously none of us are hurt.

            Krystal takes us out of the nosedive and zooms back up toward the chopper, giving me whiplash. Our damaged wing wobbles like crazy. I’m not sure how much longer our beat-up car will be able to stay in the air.

            Rasputin is still standing by the open hatch door. He releases a barrage of electricity. A few of the bolts hit the front of the car. The engine sputters and spews smoke.

            “That’s not a good sign!” I shout.

            “We’re losing power, fast!” Krystal cries, banging on the control panel. The car starts beeping and all the lights on the dashboard flicker.

            Rasputin continues hurling lightning bolts like he’s Zeus suffering a mid-life crisis. Krystal does her best to avoid the blasts. She violently swerves back and forth, sending me colliding into Dorothy and then into my door. Still, despite all of Krystal’s crazy swerving, a few tendrils of electricity zap the smoking engine.

            “We’re seriously about to go down, guys!” Krystal cries over the car’s incessant beeping. “Maybe we should land!”

            “No!” Boom Boom shrieks. “If we lose Rasputin now, we’ll never find him again! Keep the car steady, I got this!”

            Boom Boom snatches a flash grenade from Krystal’s utility belt and pulls the pin. Unlike with the grenade I tossed, Boom Boom hangs on to hers for a few extra seconds. She then hurls the grenade through the hatch door, right in Mikhail’s face. She times the throw perfectly. The flash grenade detonates just as it sails inside the chopper, enveloping Rasputin in ball of intense, blinding light. Rasputin wobbles out of view, holding his hands over his eyes.

            “Nice shot, Boom Boom!” I exclaim.

            Boom Boom growls and hops into the back of the car, clutching a gun in one hand and her electric sword in the other.

            “Whoa, what are you doing?”

            “Finishing what we started. Krystal, thrust our left wing inside the helicopter’s hatch door. I’m going across.”

            “WHAT??” we all shout simultaneously.

            “Just do it! We’re running out of time!”

            Krystal sighs and pulls up alongside the chopper. She does a remarkable job of sliding the wing directly inside the hatch door. I would never in a million years be able to perform an aerial maneuver like that.

            Boom Boom doesn’t waste any time. She climbs onto the wing and hurries across like she’s walking the plank of a flying pirate shit.

            “Stay with us, Krystal. We’ll try and make this quick,” I say before hopping onto the wing. The gusting wind nearly blows me off. I don’t know how the hell Boom Boom made it look so easy.

            I miraculously stumble across the wing and hop inside the chopper. Someone behind me yelps. I spin around just as Dorothy leaps onto my arms.

            “Dorothy, what are you doing?” I cry, pulling her away from the door.

            “I’m not letting you face Rasputin alone,” she says defiantly. “I can help. I’m tired of running and hiding. I want to fight!”

            I don’t get a chance to argue with her. There’s a loud explosion, followed by the wing of our car sliding out of the hatch door.

            “Krystal!” I scream, thrusting half my body out of the helicopter. I watch in horror as Krystal spirals out of control toward the forest below, the flaming engine leaving a trail of smoke.

            “No!” Boom Boom screams, leaning out the door with me.

            Boom Boom spins around and aims her gun at Rasputin. He’s in the back of the cabin, still staggering around blindly.

            “I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch!” Boom Boom screams, firing off several shots. Rasputin shields his face with his forearms. The bullets ricochet off his armor, forcing us to duck for cover.

            Rasputin blindly hurls lightning bolts. We dodge the blasts, but a few stray bolts spiral into the cockpit.

             Klaxton jumps out of her seat. “Rasputin you nitwit, you’re going to destroy the engine!” She then crawls out of view. I don’t bother going after her. We need to focus on Rasputin.

            I aim my gun at Rasputin’s head. Before I can fire a shot, however, the propellers sputter. This causes the chopper to wobble. I fall to my knees and my gun clatters to the ground. I reach for it, but the chopper shakes again, sending the gun tumbling out the hatch door.

            “You have got to be kidding me!”

            Rasputin goes back to indiscriminately firing electrical blasts. Boom Boom and Dorothy cower behind a cabinet. That’s not going to keep them safe, though. The lightning bolts are starting to bounce off the walls. If Rasputin keeps this up he’s eventually going to hit us.

            I whip out my electric sword and press the button on the side that heats the blade. Within seconds the saber glows bright red.

            “I really don’t want to do this, Rasputin, but you’ve left me no choice!”

            I swing my sword at Rasputin’s outstretched right arm and hack off his hand. The hand falls to the ground and slides under a chair. There’s less blood than I thought there’d be. I guess the scorching-hot sword cauterized his wound.

            Rasputin clutches his severed wrist, howling like a wounded beast. He staggers toward the hatch door, still not able to see.

            Rasputin must realize he’s about to walk out into open sky because he abruptly stops and turns around. He peers at me through half-shut eyes and snarls.

            I point my glowing sword at his chest. “It’s over, Rasputin. Enough blood has been spilt this day. Surrender and you’ll get a fair trial in a court of law. If you fight on… you will die. The choice is yours.”

            Rasputin suddenly cackles. I take it he’s delirious from rage and pain.

            “I would rather die for my cause than be treated like a caged beast for the rest of my days. Go ahead and kill me, foolish child. Make me a martyr. My cause will explode across the globe, becoming a religion. In death I will become more powerful than I ever was in life. Just as the Romans inadvertently ignited the Christian Faith by assassinating Christ, so too will my death ignite a religion among my followers. I will be worshipped as a God!”

            “Wow, dude, you are totally off your meds,” I say, my electric sword still pointed at his heart.

            Rasputin’s eyes widen. I think the effects of the flash grenade are starting to wear off. He cocks his head and says, “You are looking at me like I’m some sort of evil madman. I can assure you that is not the case. There is a method to my madness. At least, there was before you meddlesome children ruined everything.”

            Boom Boom emerges from her hiding place and points her gun at Rasputin’s head. “You are evil. You’ve killed tens of thousands of innocent civilians! You killed Arrow!”

            Rasputin shakes his head. His mane of hair whips back and forth in the fierce wind. “Ahh, so that was Arkady’s real name, I take it? I am sorry your friend suffered a premature demise, but I’m not the one who started this. You attacked me first, remember? You snuck into my lair as spies, betraying my trust. You are the evil ones. How can you support a regime as sadistic and morally corrupt as the Chinese Empire?”

            “We don’t support China,” I say. “We just think you’re the greater of the two evils.”

            Rasputin glares directly into my eyes. “Is that so? Do you know why I refer to my organization as the Purple Dragons?”

            “Because you like mythical beasts?” I say sarcastically. “I don’t freaking care! Why are you rambling on about---”

            Rasputin cuts me off. “15 years ago the Chinese bombed my house, wiping out my entire family. I wasn’t home at the time, but I wish I had been. Living without my wife and children has been a fate worse than death.”

            Rasputin sniffles and blinks back tears. Even after all this time, the deaths of his loved ones are tearing him apart. “When I went to retrieve their bodies from the rubble, the first person I stumbled upon was my youngest daughter, Anastasia. She was a beautiful girl, so full of love and life. She was only four. But the Chinese didn’t care. Their bombs tore her asunder as if she were a common criminal. I found her under a pile of smoldering debris, clutching her favorite stuffed animal… a purple dragon.”

            My mouth drops open. I’m doing my best not to allow Rasputin’s hypnotic words to alter my emotions. But Mikhail must be using some of his fabled ‘black magic’ oratory on me, manipulating my mind so I don’t pull the trigger. And I think it works. After hearing such a heart-breaking story, I’m actually beginning to grow sympathetic to his cause. I now realize how he’s been able to control a worldwide terror movement while hiding out in secret lairs. His words are like magic. Maybe he is some sort of dark wizard.

            Mikhail’s lips curl into a sneer. He suddenly whips up his still-intact left arm and fires another bolt of electricity. I duck to the ground, busting my face on the cold floor.            

            That’s when I see it, lying on the ground in front of me: Rasputin’s severed right hand. I grab the computerized glove and squeeze the hand out. I then slide the glove over my own hand and rise to my feet. Mikhail is lumbering toward Boom Boom, who is on the ground, moaning in pain. She must have hurt herself while dodging the electrical blasts. Rasputin raises his glowing hand and prepares to electrocute her just like he did to Arrow. I refuse to let that happen.

            I point my own glowing hand at Rasputin’s chest. I’m not exactly sure how the glove works, but whatever I’m doing seems to be working. Spirals of electricity dance around my fingertips.

            “Hey Rasputin!”

            Rasputin turns his head and his eyes widen in horror.

            “No!”        

            He tries to swing his arm toward me, but he’s too late. I close my fist and open my hand. Tendrils of electricity explode out of my fingers and cascade all over Mikhail’s body. Mikhail screams in excruciating agony as his body turns electric blue. His skin begins to smolder and his mane of hair erupts in flames. Rasputin staggers backwards toward the hatch door as the barrage of electricity cooks his body inside and out. Boom Boom leaps to her feet and fires her pistol. Blood gushes from Rasputin’s throat. The mass-murderer finally plummets out of the hatch door.

            Boom Boom, Dorothy, and I hurry over to the door and peer out to make sure he’s really gone. We see his tiny, rapidly shrinking body plunging toward a river in the forest below. Even if he survived his electrocution and gunshot wounds, a fall from this height would kill him on impact. Mikhail Rasputin, the most wanted man on Earth, is finally dead.

            And we have no body to show for our efforts. We just flushed our $25 million reward down the drain. But the bounty wasn’t real to begin with, I guess. Klaxton never intended to pay it in the first place.

            Klaxton! She’s still in the helicopter!

            I spin around just as the president emerges from the cockpit in her armored exoskeleton, clutching a machine gun.

            Klaxton swings her gun at the three of us and shouts, “I’m the President of the United States, bitches. Eat lead and die!”

            Klaxton fires off a burst of gunfire. I dive to the left side of the cabin, narrowly avoiding the bombardment. I crash onto the cold steel floor, busting my face yet again. Blood pours from my forehead.

            I flip around and watch as Boom Boom exchanges gunfire with Klaxton. Klaxton shields her face with her arms and jumps behind a cabinet.

            I glance over at Dorothy, who’s still standing by the hatch door. A river of crimson gushes from her bullet-riddled chest.

            “Dorothy! Noooo!!!”

            Dorothy looks over at me. Her eyes are already beginning to glaze over.

            “Lance…” she whispers, reaching out to me.

            I jump up and race toward her, but the chopper wobbles again, sending Dorothy plunging out of the open door.

            “NOOOO!!!”

            I know it’s suicide, but I swore I would protect Dorothy with my life.

             I sprint toward the door… and I leap out after her.

Chapter Twenty: Boom Boom

            “I’m the President of the United States, bitches! Eat lead and die!”

            I spin around and draw my gun. Klaxton fires her machine gun at Lance and swings it toward Dorothy. I dive to the right side of the cabin while firing off a few shots of my own. Klaxton shields her exposed face with her armored forearm and ducks behind a cabinet. I’m about to go after her when Lance shouts, “Dorothy, nooo!!”

            I turn around and gasp. Dorothy sways back and forth in front of the hatch door as blood oozes from her chest.

            Dorothy reaches toward Lance. Her face is as white as freshly fallen snow.

            “Lance…” she whispers.

            The chopper suddenly tilts to the right, sending me slamming into the wall. Dorothy loses her balance and plummets out of the helicopter.

            “Dorothy!” I scream.

            I lunge toward the door just as Lance barrels toward it from the opposite direction. It suddenly dawns on me he has no intention of stopping.

            I sprint toward Lance as fast as I possibly can and tackle him in mid-air, just as he’s about to leap out the door. We both slam onto the chopper’s unforgiving steel floor and roll into the back. We finally come to a stop after crashing into a filing cabinet. I end up on top of Lance. Daggers of pain erupt all over my body. My spine feels as though it’s been thrown out of alignment. But I can’t worry about that now.

            Lance shoves me off of him and clambers to his feet. His forehead is bleeding pretty badly. He starts to run back toward the hatch door.

            I grip his wrist. “You can’t help her, Lance! She’s gone!”

            Lance shoves me so hard that my head slams against the cabinet.

            “No, Boom Boom, I can still save her!” he shouts, delirious from pain and sorrow. “I promised her I’d keep her safe!”

            I really don’t want to do this, but it’s time for some tough love. I punch Lance in his face, sending him stumbling back on his ass. Blood gushes from his nose. I may have broken it.

             I don’t give Lance a chance to get back up. I lean on top of him and hold down his thrashing arms.

            “Lance, please, pull yourself together!” I plead. “I need you! I can’t do this alone. Please, help me!”

            Lance’s watery eyes focus on mine. I can see his madness finally fading away.

            “Boom Boom, I…”

            His eyes widen in terror.

            “Boom Boom, look out!”

            Lance shoves me aside and rolls to the other side of the chopper, just as a barrage of bullets rip into the steel floor. I spin around to find Klaxton marching toward us, her machine gun emitting a thin plume of smoke.

            “You damn kids ruined my perfectly orchestrated plan! You’ve soiled my legacy! Now you’re gonna die!”

            Klaxton fires off more bullets. I leap through the gunfire and roll into the cockpit.            

            Klaxton unleashes another salvo. I flatten against the wall, narrowly avoiding her shots. The barrage of artillery rips the control panel to shreds. Part of it erupts in flames.

            The fire spreads rapidly. I need to get out of the cockpit before it turns into an oven. I’m already sweating like crazy.

            I peek my head through the doorway. Klaxton is less than ten feet away. She aims her gun at my head and fires off another shot. I barely move out of the way in time.

            Just when I think all hope is lost, the crackle of electricity reminds me I’m not alone.

            I leap back into the cabin just as Lance fires lightning bolts at Klaxton. Klaxton ducks behind a filing cabinet.

            “Let’s finish her,” I growl, cocking my gun.

            We close in on Klaxton and prepare to blast her out of hiding.

            That’s when the propellers decide to stall.

            “That’s not good,” Lance groans, looking up at the roof of the chopper.

            The lights flicker off, plunging us into darkness. The cabin remains somewhat illuminated by the soft blue glow emanating from Lance’s glove and the raging inferno in the cockpit.

            Klaxton emerges from her hiding place. He face is red from the flickering flames. She looks like a demon rising up from the depths of Hell.

            “Looks like this flight is about to end early. Sayonara, suckers!”

            Klaxton barges past us, shoving us aside with her armored arms. She then leaps out of the hatch door and drops out of sight.

            “Holy crap, did Klaxton just commit suicide?” Lance cries.

            We run to the door and peer out. Klaxton suddenly zooms in front of us. Her exoskeleton has sprouted gleaming metallic wings, just like Rasputin’s. She rockets toward the horizon like some sort of giant, mechanical bird.

            An explosion in the cockpit sends Lance and me flying all the way to the back of the cabin. An instant later the chopper goes into a nosedive.

            Lance and I crash into a couple of cushioned, nailed-down chairs in the center of the chopper. It’s the only thing that prevents us from tumbling into the flaming cockpit.

            Lance wraps his arms around me. “I’ve got you, Firecracker! Hang on!”

            “Lance, I don’t think we’re going to make it!” I cry as we continue our plunge toward Earth. “From this high up there’s no chance we’ll---”

            “Don’t talk like that, Boom Boom!” Lance shouts, cutting me off.  He pauses for a second, then blurts out, “I have to tell you something, something I should have said a long time ago! I…”

            Lance never finishes his sentence. We slam into a river and the entire chopper vibrates, like a bomb has gone off. A wall of water immediately rushes into the cabin.

            “Take a deep breath!” Lance shouts as the water gushes up to our necks.

            We both inhale as much oxygen as we possibly can, then close our mouths, just as the freezing water rises past our heads.

            The water is so frigid it feels like I’m being stabbed by a thousand daggers. It takes all of my self-control not to open my mouth and scream. I clutch Lance’s hand and we swim out the hatch door, out into the abyss.

            For a second I’m so disoriented I can’t tell what’s up and what’s down. If the sun were out, I’d be able to see the light. With it being an overcast night, however, it’s dark in every direction.

            Lance tugs on my arm and points at the chopper. It’s slowly sinking. So that’s the bottom. We kick our legs and swim toward the surface.

            We don’t get very far, though. The chopper suddenly explodes underwater. Pieces of debris whiz past us, slicing my arms and legs. One piece leaves a nasty gash across Lance’s already bleeding forehead. He opens his mouth involuntarily, then thrashes around as he starts to drown. I quickly lose my grip on his hand. Matters are further complicated when the explosion creates an underwater tsunami that sweeps us apart. I flip around in circles, losing all sense of direction.

            I immediately panic. I’m rapidly running out of oxygen and I don’t know where the surface is. My lungs feel like they’re on fire. My entire body is wracked by wave after unrelenting wave of excruciating pain. I feel like I’m in a dark, watery tomb, which is only exacerbating my claustrophobia. And Lance is nowhere to be seen.

            Just when I’m on the verge of suffering a major mental breakdown, I notice pieces of debris sinking past my head. I kick my feet and swim like mad in the opposite direction.

            Just when my lungs feel like they’re about to burst, my head explodes out of the river. I gasp and thrash around. I enjoy my first few mouthfuls of luxurious air before I focus on finding Lance. I spin around in a complete circle to gather my bearings. The river bank is about 100 yards away. Pieces of the chopper float past me, heading downstream.

            “Lance!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Lance!”

            I don’t see him anywhere. Panic floods my body. I already lost Dagger, Arrow, and Krystal. I can’t lose Lance, too. I’ll descend into madness.

            “Lance!” I shriek. “LANCE!”

            Something splashes out of the water about 20 yards away from me.

            “Lance?”

            I swim toward the thrashing figure. When I get within ten yards, I make out Lance’s shaggy purple hair. He’s alive!

            I swim up to Lance and place my arm under his armpit. Blood pours from his head. He doesn’t look good.

            “Lance, are you okay?” I ask in a trembling voice.

            Lance doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes and starts to sink back under the water. I slide his right arm around my shoulder to prop him up.

            “Hang in there, Lance,” I say, struggling to keep us both afloat. “We’re almost there. Just hang on.”

            After what seems like an eternity, we finally wash ashore. I toss Lance on his back and collapse to my hands and knees, my fingers sinking in the mud. I spit out a mouthful of water and start hacking, freeing my lungs and throat of any residual liquid. My entire body shivers from the icy river. If I don’t warm up soon, I’ll suffer from hypothermia.

            I crawl over to Lance and cradle his head in my hands. His skin is ice-cold, and his face has turned blue. His eyes are still shut and he doesn’t appear to be breathing.

            “Lance?”

            I shake his head. He doesn’t stir.

            “Lance! Wake up!”

            I touch his neck. I don’t feel a pulse, but it could be because my fingers are frozen. I press my ear against his chest, listening for a heartbeat. All I hear is a continuous ringing sound. My eardrums still haven’t recovered from the pulsating explosion in the helicopter.

            I begin performing CPR. I clasp my hands together and press down on the area above Lance’s rib cage, giving quick, powerful thrusts with my palms.

            Nothing happens.

            “C’mon, Lance,” I mumble, quickening the thrusts. Pretty soon I’m pounding away on his chest.

            By now I’m gripped in hysteria. “Goddamn it, Lance, don’t leave me! I can’t do this alone! I need you! Wake up! Please! WAKE UP!”

            I eventually keel over from exhaustion. I rest my head on Lance’s chest and break down in sobs.

            “Lance… don’t do this to me. Please… don’t leave me…”

            A suffocating sense of hopelessness washes over me, robbing me of everything but loneliness and despair.

            And then he coughs.

            I jerk my head up and stumble back. I wipe away my tears and whisper, “Lance?”

            He coughs again.

            “Lance!”

            The ocean of despair has parted, as surely as the Red Sea parted for Moses. I scramble over to Lance and begin applying pressure on his chest again. Lance coughs some more, and an unfathomable amount of water gushes out of his mouth. It’s like a pipe bursting underneath a sink. Lance crawls to his hands and knees and continues vomiting up water, until it’s all out. The coughing continues, but he’s alive.

            I’m no longer alone.

            Lance plops down on his butt and wipes his mouth. “Wh… what happened?” he blubbers.

            I respond by throwing my arms around him and squeezing him tight. Lance is caught off guard for a moment, but he eventually returns the embrace when he hears me crying.

            “It’s okay, Firecracker. I’m alright.”

            In between sobs, I choke out, “I thought I lost you. I can’t lose you! First Dagger, then Sally, then Arrow, then Krystal, then Dorothy…. If I lost you, too, I was going to lose it.”     

            Lance squeezes me tight and runs his fingers through my soaked hair. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m not leaving you, I promise.”

            “I know that,” I say, burying my face in his chest. “You never leave me. You’re always there for me, through thick and thin. I… I love you, Lance. I always have and I always will. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

            Lance continues holding me in his comforting embrace. “I love you, too, Firecracker. That’s what I was trying to say on the helicopter, before we crashed.”

            I back away a bit and stare into Lance’s eyes. They’re completely different from Arrow’s. Arrow’s irises were like milk chocolate. Lance’s are icy-blue. But there’s a tenderness there, just below the icy surface.

            “You have the most amazing emerald eyes,” Lance says, leaning toward my lips.

            I don’t back away. In fact, I lean forward to close the gap. Our lips meet for the first time in months and we engage in a passionate kiss. It’s different from when we used to make out. This time we truly mean it.

            Our lips remain pressed together for what seems like hours. We finally part, but we remain entangled in a loving embrace.

            “We were made for each other, you know that, right?” Lance says quietly, still gazing into my eyes. “We’re both lone wolves who keep looking for love. We’ve tried so hard to find other people, but it never works out. They always end up getting hurt… or worse. It’s because of the nature of our work. No matter how hard we try to deny it… to make it not so… destiny finds a way of bringing us back together. I say we stop fighting destiny and just accept it.”

            “You’re right,” I say, resting my head back on his chest. “We need to quit dragging other people into our ruthless, brutal world. All we need is each other. We were just too blind and foolish to see it… until now.”

            A car engine rumbles off in the distance, causing us both to jump back.

            “What the hell?” Lance grumbles. He holds up his right hand, which is still encased in Mikhail’s computerized glove. The fingertips turn electric blue. I’m not sure how he’s controlling it. It’s probably through the computer chip in our brains.

            I reach for my gun, purely out of habit. When I feel nothing hanging from my waist, however, I’m reminded I’m unarmed.

            Lance steps in front of me and points his glowing hand in the direction of the rumbling engine.

            “What do you think it is?” I ask, peering over his shoulder.

            “I have no clue,” Lance says, sounding nervous. “It could be the Russians, or maybe it’s Klaxton’s secret service detail coming to look for her.”

            I bite my trembling lip. Neither of us are in any condition to fight. I hope whatever’s coming is friendly.

            Intense headlights blast our fragile eyes. Lance and I step back and squint at the vehicle that emerges.

            “Who’s there?” Lance shouts, his gloved hand crackling with electricity. “Reveal yourself before I blow you to smithereens!”

            The lights turn off, plunging us back into darkness. A familiar voice shouts, “Lance? Boom Boom? Is that you?”

            “K…Krystal?” I stammer.

            A massive, wild-eyed black woman suddenly comes charging at us.

            “Boom Boom! Lance! You guys are alive!”

            Krystal swallows me up in a crushing bear hug and spins me around, making me dizzy. She finally lets me go and rushes over to smother Lance.

            I clutch my head. My entire world is spinning. But I’ve never been happier. Blinking back tears of joy, I exclaim, “Krystal, I can’t believe you’re alive! We saw you crash!”

            Still hugging Lance, Krystal says, “The engine came to life right before I was about to smash into the ground. I was able to glide to the river bank, but when I landed the left wing fell off. I drove along the river, following the wreckage of the chopper. I hoped beyond hope I’d eventually find you guys. And I did! I did find you!”

            Krystal starts blubbering. “I… I’m so glad you guys are okay. I would have been lost without you.”

            Lance pats our sobbing friend on her back. “We would have been lost without you, took, Krystal. You and Boom Boom are my best friends… my only friends, really.”

            “I love both of you guys,” Krystal says in between sniffles.

            “We love you, too,” I blubber back, joining the group hug.

            We embrace each other for a long, long time, shedding tears over our traumatic ordeal. It’s a cathartic experience, one we all badly need.

            Krystal finally steps back and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Can we go home, guys? I just… I’d really like to go home.”

            I crack a genuine smile. It’s the greatest idea I’ve ever heard.

            “Yes. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Twenty-One: Lance

            One week later…

            I hate funerals. I always have and I always will. And even though Arrow and I never got along, I hate his funeral more than most.

            I hate how he died. I hate how I feel partially responsible, since I wasn’t nearby to help him take down Rasputin. I hate how he died saving Boom Boom, making me feel like I’ll never be able to pay him back… especially now that he’s gone. I hate how his death reminds me of all the people who died before him. My parents. Dagger. Sally.

            Dorothy.

            A frigid breeze sweeps rain in my face, forcing me to close my eyes. It’s not raining hard, but the priest has been droning on for so long that my suit is now soaking wet. My drenched hair hangs over my face. I keep shaking my head to get the hair out of my eyes, but it doesn’t do any good. My damn hair always manages to fall back over my eyelids. I am glad to see my hair is back to its natural blond hue. It took days for the purple dye to wash away.

            Boom Boom leans against me while quietly sobbing into a handkerchief. The poor thing’s been distraught for days, ever since we learned the date of Arrow’s funeral. According to the media, Machete carried Arrow’s body through Rasputin’s burning lair so she could give him a proper burial. At first I wondered how the media learned all this, but then I remembered Pitbull’s robotic mosquito recorded everything going on in the dungeon. It must have continued recording after Boom Boom and I left.

            Boom Boom was hurt that Machete never bothered to stop by and check on us, or to tell us about the funeral. We only found out when we saw Arrow’s obituary on the Sanctuary 7 Gazette’s website. I don’t think Machete is even aware we’re here. She’s been sitting up front, crying over Arrow’s casket all afternoon. She keeps murmuring, “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” It’s enough to break my heart. Arrow’s death has completely shattered Machete. He was all she had. That’s even more evident by the fact no one else is at the funeral. There are rows and rows of nothing but empty chairs. Like us, Machete and Arrow had no family, and few, if any, friends.

            I glance behind us. Krystal is sitting with Blade and Harpoon. The kids are behaving themselves for the most part, which is remarkable considering they both have bad cases of ADD. They do occasionally shove each other, but they knock it off when Krystal twists their ears.

            Blade and Harpoon were so excited to see us when we first got back, but they were nowhere close to being as happy as I was. I think Boom Boom and I hugged and kissed them for a good half an hour before they managed to squirm away. Unfortunately, Krystal’s grandmother took a turn for the worst while we were gone. Mrs. Madison had to call the ambulance and have her taken to the hospital. Doctors fear she may only have a few days left. Krystal’s putting on a strong face, but I can tell the prospect of losing her grandmother is bothering her. It’s bothering us all. When she goes, we won’t have any guardian figures looking out for us. We truly will be on our own.

            The rain picks up in intensity. We could easily move up a few rows, so that we’re underneath the canopy hanging over Arrow’s casket. But I get the feeling Machete wouldn’t like that very much. I don’t want to upset her more than she already is. Just one week ago she was cocky and fiery, ready to take on an army of bad guys at a moment’s notice, never showing any emotion save for anger and annoyance. Now she is but a shell of her former self, robbed of the one thing that brought her happiness… her only child.

            While the priest rattles off passages from the Bible, I glance around at the rest of the Sanctuary 7 Cemetery. The beautiful, three-story funeral home is off in the distance, towering over a tranquil lake. A bunch of ducks and geese are in the water, quacking and diving for food. The entire cemetery is massive, with dozens of lakes and streams. Hundreds of elaborate tombs, statues, and mausoleums are scattered all over the place. Tall trees hang over the smaller gravesites, providing shade to weeping visitors when they visit in the scorching summer months. Now most of the trees are barren, their leaves covering the ground as a result of the rapidly approaching winter.

             My parents and Uncle Dagger aren’t buried too terribly far from us. I try to visit as often as I can. I don’t know why, but it comforts me to do so. I almost imagine they’re looking down on me, watching my back. I don’t know if there’s a Heaven, but I like to imagine there’s some sort of afterlife. I like to think Dorothy and Sally are up there right now. I even hope Arrow is with them. If there isn’t an afterlife… if life on Earth is all there is… then our Creator, whoever He or She or It may be, has played a cruel joke on us all.

            Boom Boom’s sobbing intensifies. I pull her close and gently rub her head. There’s nothing I can say to ease her pain. All I can do is be there for her, like she’s always been there for me.

            I can’t believe it’s only been a week since our manhunt for Rasputin came to a brutal, horrifying end. It seems like a lifetime ago. After Krystal found us on the shore of that Alaskan river, we decided to drive up to Washington, D.C. That was the nearest city, and we were all in desperate need of medical attention. We drove 50 miles over rugged terrain until we reached the nearest hospital. We then checked ourselves in to get our wounds treated.

            We were only in our rooms for a couple hours when a bunch of government agents rushed in, flashed their badges to the startled nurses, and whisked us away to some secret government facility. At first we were afraid Klaxton had sent her people after us, but we soon realized we were actually being put into protective custody, per the orders of Vice President Cindy LeBeau. LeBeau didn’t want to run the risk of Klaxton sending assassins after us, since we were the last people to see her before she escaped.

            It turned out Vice President LeBeau had nothing to do with Klaxton’s conspiracy to assassinate Empress Xing. She, like most of the rest of the world, found out about the conspiracy from Pitbull’s live internet feed. LeBeau immediately went to work having all secret service agents and administration officials arrested and interrogated, to see who else was involved. The interrogations led to the arrests of a few other high-ranking government agents, but so far Klaxton’s conspiracy appears to have been confined to her small, tight-lipped inner circle.

            Shortly after the shocking internet feed went viral, LeBeau put out an alert to all Alaskan hospitals to keep an eye out for young teens matching our descriptions. That, of course, was how they found us so quickly. We were told all of this by one of LeBeau’s top aides. A couple hours later, the vice president herself came in to talk to us.

            To say I was unimpressed with LeBeau would be a drastic understatement. She did not come across as presidential material, which is going to be a big problem since she’s about to take Klaxton’s place as President of the United States (once Congress officially impeaches her in absentia).

            LeBeau is a meek, mild-mannered, almost shy Canadian woman in her mid-to-late 50s. She’s a bit thinner and taller than Klaxton, almost lanky, and she wears red-rimmed glasses and has spiky black hair. As she talked to us (I guess to gather information on Klaxton’s whereabouts) she didn’t even make eye contact. She almost seemed intimidated by us, which is scary. The girls and I are smart-mouthed 18-year olds. How’s LeBeau going to act when the Chinese start pushing her around?

            Speaking of the Chinese, LeBeau has done everything in her power to placate them. Congress did a quick investigation on LeBeau and came to the conclusion that she had nothing to do with Klaxton’s insane plot to ignite a world war. The Chinese apparently believe that, too, because they haven’t demanded that she step down. I personally feel the Chinese love the fact LeBeau is about to become president. They know she’ll be much easier to manipulate than Klaxton. The sole reason Klaxton picked LeBeau as her vice president (besides making Canadians happy) was because she knew LeBeau wouldn’t ‘rock the boat’ and question her policies. Klaxton (and the rest of the country, for that matter) never actually thought LeBeau would ascend to the presidency. Now that she’s about to, the entire country is incredibly nervous. LeBeau doesn’t exactly install confidence in the American People. Say what you want about Klaxton, but she was full of a confidence that was contagious. Americans knew they could count on Klaxton to keep the Chinese at bay. LeBeau is the complete opposite. She comes across as a complete pushover. The Chinese must be salivating at the prospect of a LeBeau Presidency.

            Speaking of Klaxton, she’s still on the run. It’s like she vanished off the face of the Earth. The Chinese have pretty much forgotten about Rasputin (especially after LeBeau informed them he’s dead). Now the Chinese want Klaxton. In order to keep General Kang and Empress Xing happy, LeBeau put out a $100 million bounty on Klaxton’s head. Pretty much everyone on the planet is now looking for her.

            Right before LeBeau allowed us to leave (after her interrogators realized we had no clue where Klaxton flew off to), we asked if she knew what happened to Pitbull and the gang. One of LeBeau’s aides informed us police officers searched the scorched remains of Rasputin’s cabin and found a bunch of dead mobsters and secret service agents. Pitbull, Yin, and Yang, however, were nowhere to be found. (I know for a fact Yin is dead, since I saw her brains get blown out. Yang must have taken her body.) Igor, Norma, and a few others were missing, too. They all must have escaped the inferno before the authorities arrived.  

            Before LeBeau let us go, she was kind enough to give us $100,000 for our efforts in uncovering the conspiracy. It’s only a fraction of the bounty we were promised for taking out Rasputin, but it’s a heck of a lot better than the goose egg we were expecting. LeBeau also gave us a brand new car to fly back home in. Last but not least, LeBeau pardoned us for burning down the Wild West Settlement, wiping out Geronimo Blackbird’s bounty. (Caesar’s bounty is no longer a factor, for obvious reasons.)

            A rumble of thunder snaps me out of my thoughts. The rain is coming down in sheets now. I pull my jacket up over my head, but it doesn’t do much good. It feels like I just jumped into a lake.

            The priest must take the sudden downpour as a sign from God to wrap things up. He says a few last words before going over to comfort Machete. He places his hand on her back and starts to say something when she grabs his wrist and whips out a dagger.

            “Oh boy,” I groan. I stand up and get ready to rush to the priest’s rescue.

            Machete holds the dagger up to the priest’s face. “I’ve endured enough of your holier-than-thou dribble. I hate to burst your bubble, bub, but there is no God. If there was, He surely wouldn’t have taken my son from me.”

            The priest stutters, “Ma’am, I didn’t mean to upset you. I…”

            Machete growls and twists the priest’s arm, sending him to his knees.

            “Leave him alone, Machete!” I shout.

            Machete snaps her head around and scowls. The hatred in her eyes is beyond frightening. She releases her grip on the priest, who jumps up and runs toward the funeral home, slipping in the mud and tripping over his robe.

            “Who the hell invited you heathens?” she snarls, thrusting her dagger in our direction.

            I turn to Harpoon and Blade, who appear frightened by Machete’s outburst.

            “Why don’t you guys go play in the rain?” I say calmly. “We’ll come get you when we’re done here.”

            “O… okay,” Harpoon stammers. She grabs Blade’s hand and they rush over to a small pond on the far end of the cemetery plot.

            I make my way toward Machete. Boom Boom and Krystal hesitantly follow me.

            In as sympathetic a voice I can muster, I say, “We know you’re hurting, Machete. We all are. But…”

            “Don’t you dare act like you know how I feel,” Machete interrupts, rising to her feet. The pouring rain does little to extinguish the white-hot rage burning inside her. “Until you’ve lost a child, you’ll never know how I feel.”

            Boom Boom brushes past me.

            “Boom Boom, wait,” I say, reaching for her arm.

            Boom Boom waves me off. “Hang on, Lance. I just want to talk to---”

            Boom Boom turns around and walks right into Machete’s foot. Boom Boom yelps and collapses next to Arrow’s casket.

            “Boom Boom!” I run toward Machete and try to tackle her, but she punches me in the nose and kicks me in the groin. I cry out in agony and keel over on my side, clutching my privates. It’s almost less painful getting stabbed than it is being kicked in the balls.

            I hear Krystal yelp a few seconds alter. I guess Machete took her down as well. I roll over to find Machete leaning over Boom Boom, placing her blade against her neck.

            With tears pouring from her one good eye, Machete says, “I blame you for Arrow’s death. He died saving you. It’s your fault he’s gone. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!”

            Squirming, Boom Boom cries, “Machete, I’m sorry! I never meant for---”

            “Shut up!” Machete screams.

            Machete keeps Boom Boom pinned to the ground, but she does lift the blade. “Now you listen to me and you listen to me good. The only reason I’m not going to kill you is because Arrow loved you. I have no idea why, but he did. He would never forgive me for slicing your jugular, so I’m not going to. But if I ever see you or your damn friends again, I will not hesitate hurling a dagger in between your eyes. Do you understand me?”

            “Y… yes,” Boom Boom whispers.

            Machete sheathes her blade and jumps up. She briefly glances at me and Krystal before marching toward her car.

            I slowly rise to my feet and shout after her, “Where are you going?”

            Machete stops in her tracks, but she doesn’t look back.

            “I’m hunting down Klaxton. And when I find her, I’m going to kill her.”

            She then storms to her car, hops in, and zooms off.

            I help Boom Boom to her feet. “Did she cut you?” I ask, checking out her neck.

            Boom Boom shakes her head. In between sniffles, she says, “No, but I think we should keep our distance from Machete. I believe her when she says she’ll kill us.”

            “I think you’re right.” I pause a moment because I know what I’m about to say next will ignite a firestorm. I take a deep breath and finally blurt out, “I also think Machete has the right idea about going after Klaxton. I think we should do the same.”

            Krystal and Boom Boom look at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.

            “Are you nuts?” Krystal hollers at the top of her lungs. “We almost died a million times going after Rasputin, and now you want us to go after someone even more dangerous?”

            “Krystal’s right,” Boom Boom says, still massaging her throat. “I just want to stay home and take care of the kids. If we need to go after small-time criminals again to make ends meet, that’s fine, but I don’t want to get dragged into another international manhunt.”

            “But guys, if we find Klaxton… if we get that $100 million… we can retire! We’ll never have to go bounty hunting again!”

            “Nice try, Lance, but that’s the same argument you used to convince us to go after Rasputin, and look how that turned out,” Krystal says.

            “And even if we were stupid enough to go after her, where the hell would we even start looking?” Boom Boom asks. “She could be anywhere. At least with Rasputin we knew his general location. Klaxton could be in Canada. She could be in any of the hundreds of isolated oases in the Great American Desert. She could be in Central America, in South America, in Antarctica. Hell, she could even be over in Africa, or Bavaria, or Siberia! While she may be a controversial figure, she still has ardent supporters all around the globe. A manhunt for Klaxton will make our search for Rasputin seem like a childhood game of hide and seek.”

            “I concede that it’s not going to be easy, but nothing worth doing ever is,” I say. “It’s our moral duty to go after her.”

            “How do you figure?” Krystal asks.

            “Well, until Klaxton is apprehended, there won’t be peace between the U.S. and China. The threat of war will still hang over our heads. We owe it to Dorothy… and Arrow… to bring her to justice. If this world is to ever know peace… if Blade and Harpoon are to live in a world free from the specter of nuclear war… then we must go after her.”

            Krystal shakes her head. “Sorry Lance, but Boom Boom and I ain’t joining you for no suicide mission. Ain’t that right, Boom Boom?”

            Boom Boom takes a quivering deep breath and says, “Actually, Lance might be right. Maybe we should hunt her down. After all, we did find Rasputin when no one else could. Why couldn’t we find Klaxton, too?”

            Krystal’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “Wait, what?! Are you nuts?!!”

            I smile at Boom Boom. She always has my back when it matters most.

            “Don’t worry, Krystal, you don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.”

            “Hell naw, I’m not letting you two get all the credit for capturing that psycho bitch,” Krystal says, wagging her finger at us. “If y’all are stupid enough to go after Klaxton, then I’ll be stupid right along with you.”

            My grin widens.

            “It’s settled then. But you’re wrong about one thing, Krystal. We’re not trying to capture her. If there’s one thing we learned tonight, it’s that Klaxton will never allow herself to be taken alive.”

             As a monstrous bolt of lightning splits the sky in half, I say, “Tomorrow morning we begin our mission to assassinate the President of the United States.”

To be continued in: WORLD WAR FOREVER

SPECIAL BONUS:

Excerpt for HIGHWAY TO ARMAGEDDON 2: WORLD WAR FOREVER

Chapter One: Boom Boom

Sanctuary 41: December 22nd, 2150

            “Blackjack!”

            All the drunk gamblers curse and slam their fists on the table, rattling their piles of chips. I chuckle and pull all the chips toward me, basking in the glow of my 17th straight win. When you know how to count cards, the sky’s the limit with how much you can earn. 

            The dealer, Jon, flashes me a discreet wink as the crowd of people who have gathered to watch break out in applause. I glance at the security guards at the far end of the casino, the ones who are peering at me over the tops of their shades. They do not appear happy. I’m going to have to wrap things up before I get tossed out. I’m sure Geronimo Blackbird’s accountants can’t be thrilled I already swindled $100,000 from their coffers.

            My target brushes up against me and slides her hand up and down my back. Her other hand touches my exposed thigh, sending chills up my spine. Her fingers are icy cold. I feel like a slut dressed in this flimsy mini-skirt and low-cut blouse, but I had to catch my target’s attention. From the way she’s clinging all over me, my attire appears to be working. 

“You are amazing, Sapphire,” Pocahontas Blackbird purrs, breathing heavily in my ear. It takes everything I have not to shove her away. While Pocahontas is unquestionably beautiful, with her long, flowing blonde hair, toned body, and bronze skin, I am definitely not aroused by the same sex. But I have to convince Pocahontas I am interested in her flirts if our mission is to succeed. 

I turn toward Pocahontas and seductively whisper, “I’m tired of taking these drunks’ money. Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private and have some fun?” 

Pocahontas’ bright blue eyes light up and a devilish smirk creeps across her undeniably gorgeous face. She twirls a strand of my dyed black hair around her left index finger and says, “That’s the most amazing idea I’ve heard in ages. Let’s go.” 

I snap my fingers at Jon. “I’d like to cash out, please.” 

The gamblers at my table sigh in relief. I take it they’re ecstatic I’m about to make a sudden exit. 

“About goddamn time,” some dirty old drunk grumbles. He looks like he’s about to expire from alcohol poisoning. 

“You cleaned us out, you jezebel,” another drunk slurs. 

“I sure am going to miss all you charming old men,” I reply. “You sure do know how to sweet talk a lady.” 

All the drunks grumble some unflattering remarks. Jon shakes his head in mild amusement and hands me a slip of paper claiming I’m $100,000 richer than I was when I first walked through the door. 

I glance over at the guards in the back. They’re staring at me, but they seem content that I’m exiting the game. That’s great. The last thing I need is Blackbird’s goons breathing down my neck. 

I wave the sliver of paper announcing my sudden new accumulation of wealth in Pocahontas’ face. “C’mon, Raven,” I say, calling her by her alias. “Let’s cash this in and head upstairs.” 

Pocahontas grabs my wrist. I wince, as she has a surprisingly strong grip. “You got it, Sapphire,” Pocahontas says lustfully, calling me by my alias.  

Pocahontas practically drags me over to the cash-out counter. I hand the attendant my slip, she hands me a stack of large bills, and Pocahontas drags me off yet again, this time to the lobby where the elevators are located.  

I can’t help but gaze around the lobby in awe. Every building in Sanctuary 41 is spectacular, but Blackbird’s hotel puts all others to shame. The walls are built out of solid gold. Glittering crystal chandeliers dangle from the soaring ceilings, dazzling me with all their shininess. Priceless paintings from Da Vinci, Monet, Raphael, Picasso, and countless others adorn the walls. There are also a plethora of gorgeous marble sculptures of angels, Greek-style nude men and women, and various endangered and extinct animals like tigers, lions, and polar bears. It’s almost too much for my brain to absorb. Then again, that’s not much of a surprise considering how fucked up my brain’s been acting lately. It’s like I can’t ever concentrate on anything. I’m surprised I’ve been able to count cards as well as I have. I wouldn’t have been able to keep it up much longer, though. It’s best that I ended my little charade when I did. 

I definitely haven’t been myself since I gave up my pills… or since Arrow’s assassination. It’s like my mind has regressed. I need to clear my head fast, though, if I expect to finagle any information out of Pocahontas. She may be a wild and crazy girl, but she’s also cunning, smart, and incredibly ruthless. If she wasn’t, we would have found her way before now. She’s definitely been one of the most evasive targets we’ve ever gone after, right up there with President Klaxton herself. I mean, former President Klaxton. I keep forgetting she’s not in charge anymore.  

Pocahontas drags me into an empty elevator and furiously jabs at the control panel. 

I force a smile. “My, you are quite eager to get up to your room.”

Pocahontas grins, flashing her gleaming white teeth. “You have no idea, babe. I cannot wait to get you out of that dress!” 

It takes everything I have to keep my smile intact. I have nothing against lesbians, but I’m 100% straight. I’m not quite as excited as Ms. Blackbird is for our prospective romp in the sack. But I cannot allow her to detect even the slightest hint of hesitation. This mission is the culmination of over two months of countless dead-ends and laborious investigations that literally took us all over the American continent. Ever since Klaxton went on the run after all that chaos in Alaska, Lance, Krystal, and I have been futilely searching for Pocahontas’ father, multi-billionaire and ardent Klaxon supporter Geronimo Blackbird. He was one of Klaxton’s biggest campaign contributors during her dictatorial 22-year reign as supreme leader of the Americas, so it only made sense we would go looking for him. If anyone on the planet has even the slightest idea of where Klaxton is hiding, it would be Geronimo. 

It would turn out, unfortunately, that finding Geronimo was almost as impossible as finding Klaxton herself. We went to dozens of Sanctuaries where he had various businesses and casinos… we’ve even come here to Sanctuary 41, his home, at least half a dozen times… but no one would talk. It was like Geronimo had suddenly become a ghost. It got to the point where I began to think he might even be in hiding with Klaxton. That’s when we decided to look for his daughter. 

Finding Pocahontas was exceptionally difficult, as one might imagine, but at least we had some leads. After we roughed up some known friends and associates of Mr. Blackbird, we discovered Pocahontas was actually staying right here in Sanctuary 41. But she had changed her name and drastically altered her appearance. Apparently she’s been hiding out in this hotel for the past several months, shielded by her father’s loyal associates. As she’s not allowed to leave the premises for fear of being nabbed and brutally interrogated by government agents, Pocahontas basically stays locked away in her room for most of the day. She is occasionally allowed out to roam the casino and hit on hot girls (like yours truly). I’m assuming she is allowed to do this so she can maintain some shred of her sanity. I would probably go crazy, too, if I wasn’t allowed outside for months at a time. 

So basically Pocahontas Blackbird is hiding in plain sight, right under the government’s very nose. The plan is for me to get Pocahontas alone in her room and persuade her to spill the beans on her elusive father’s whereabouts, by any means necessary. I’m certainly not looking forward to what’s about to happen, but it’s a necessary evil, as Lance likes to keep reminding me. (That’s apparently his new favorite catch phrase.) And I must reluctantly agree with him. Sometimes you must do reprehensible things to keep the world from going up in flames. If Klaxton isn’t located and apprehended soon, the Chinese will invade our shores. They already proved their aggressiveness when they sunk several of our warships out in the Pacific a few weeks ago. Thankfully cooler heads prevailed and nuclear war was averted, but I’m not willing to bet the same scenario will play out if another act of provocation is initiated. America may be quite a bit softer now that Klaxton is no longer in charge (her replacement, President LeBeau, leaves a lot to be desired as a leader), but we’re still not willing to become China’s bitch.        

As soon as the elevator door slides shut and we begin our ascent to the 40th floor, Pocahontas shoves me up against the back of the car and starts sucking my face. I try not to gag as Pocahontas shoves her wagging tongue down my throat. I barely enjoy kissing guys like this, let alone girls.          

Pocahontas must sense my hesitation because she slowly withdraws her tongue and backs away, a look of immense disappointment plastered all upon her elegant face.

            “What’s wrong?” she asks in a hurt-filled voice. “Am I taking things too fast?”

            I almost blurt out the truth, that hell yes she’s taking it too fast, but then I realize the truth will only make an already difficult mission that much more impossible. So I bury the truth into the deepest, darkest recesses of my soul and curl my lips into a devilish smirk.

            “Not quite. You were actually taking things way too slow.”

            I grab Pocahontas by her grinning face, slam her up against the back of the elevator, and shove my own wagging tongue down her throat, nearly choking her. Pocahontas moans in ecstasy as she runs her fingers through my hair. I mimic her outpouring of lesbian affection and rub my fingers through her hair as well. Pocahontas wraps her right leg around my lower body and pulls me closer.

            In between gasps for air, Pocahontas purrs, “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Where have you been all my life?”

            I’m about to thank her for the compliment (I seriously am not very good in erotic situations, as Lance knows from the handful of times we’ve had sex), but I never get the chance. Pocahontas, apparently far more enamored by me than any man I’ve ever encountered, tears off my low-cut blouse and starts unbuttoning my bra. I step back and cover my bosom.

            Pocahontas smirks and says, “What’s wrong? You’ve never done it in an elevator before?”

            “I can’t say that I have,” I say, suddenly feeling extraordinarily self-conscious. I mean, what if the elevator stops and someone comes in?

            Apparently reading my mind, Pocahontas leans in close and says, “Relax, Sapphire, hardly anyone uses these elevators at this late hour. People are either in bed or downstairs gambling away their life savings.”

            Pocahontas unbuttons her blouse and bra and allows her articles of clothing to fall to the floor. I gulp and gaze upon her perky breasts. The girl’s got a rack, I’ll give her that.

            Still clutching my bra, I back up against the wall and stammer, “Er, if it’s alright with you I’d like to wait until we…mmm!”

            Pocahontas goes back to shoving her tongue down my throat and running her hands up and down my body. Things are seriously getting out of hand.

            And then my worst nightmare is realized. The elevator jerks to a stop, causing me and my ‘lesbian lover’ to stumble into the rear of the car. I spin around just in time to see the elevator doors slide open and an elderly couple attempt to step inside. When they see me and Pocahontas entangled into each other’s arms, with our clothes laying on the floor, they both gasp and stagger backwards.

            The elderly woman makes the sign of the cross and cries, “Why I never! You kids these days have no self-respect or self-decency! Back in the early 2100’s we knew how to keep our clothes on!”

            Her elderly husband merely smirks and flashes us a discreet thumbs-up. I guess men act the same around young ‘lesbian’ lovers no matter how old they are.

            Pocahontas laughs and gives the elderly couple the one-finger salute as the doors slide shut.

            I smack her hand and chastise, “That wasn’t very nice.” 

            “Oh please, did you see the way that old fogey was looking at us?” Pocahontas says in disdain. “He was practically raping us with his eyes.” 

            Before I can throw in my two cents, Pocahontas goes back to sucking my face. The 40th floor can’t come fast enough in my humble opinion. Thankfully no one else tries to come in while I’m experiencing my first gay make-out session.

            When the elevator finally comes to a halt and the doors slide open, I shove Pocahontas off of me, gather up my clothes, and hop out of the car.

            Pocahontas waltzes out into the hallway with me, naked from the waist up. 

            Glancing at the doors lining the hallway, I whisper, “Quick, put your top on before somebody sees us.”

            Pocahontas snorts. “All these rooms are empty except for mine in the back”

            I cock an eyebrow and ask, “And why’s that?” 

            Pocahontas shrugs. “I like my privacy.” 

            I bet she does. Her father’s associates probably gave her this deserted hallway so they could control who has access to her. It’s probably what’s allowed her to remain in hiding for so long.  

            Pocahontas grips my wrist and drags me down the lengthy hallway, until we reach her room at the end. She touches the holographic keypad near the door handle with her fingertips, causing the sensor to beep and blink its little red light. A few seconds later, the light turns green and the door swings open. 

            Pocahontas waltzes in like she owns the joint (which I guess she does) and throws her clothes on the floor before flipping on the lights.  

            “Welcome to my humble abode,” Pocahontas says as I walk in beside her. 

            My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets at the sight of the glamorous room. 

            “Wow,” I say in a whisper. 

            Pocahontas laughs and wraps her arm around my shoulder. “I take it you like the room?”

            “Like isn’t strong enough of a word,” I say, soaking in my surroundings as best I can. While the downstairs lobby certainly wowed me, this luxurious penthouse suite might have that beat.

            Pocahontas’ suite is actually several massive rooms linked together. As I slowly walk into the living room, my feet sink into the softest, most comfortable carpet that’s probably ever been created. I kick off my high-heel shoes so my toes can experience the pleasurable softness. It’s like my feet have sunk into a giant slipper.  

            I glance around at all the priceless, gold-framed paintings adorning the walls. There are also several exquisitely detailed statues of animals, angels, and mythical creatures, like centaurs and winged lions. A luxurious-looking kitchen off to my right has marble counters with crystal glasses and pieces of fine china stacked on top of them. There’s also a fully-stocked mini-bar, with several half-empty bottles of liquor and wine sitting on the counter. (I take it Pocahontas likes to drink.)

            Even more spectacularly, in the center of the sprawling living room is a small, sparkling pond filled with about a dozen exotic-looking goldfish. At the back of the pond is a small, gushing waterfall. Situated throughout the room are several realistic-looking fake trees, their branches covered in red, orange, and yellow leaves. The trees also glow and change colors, from green to blue to violet. The sound of the cascading water, combined with the sights of the artificial fall foliage and the color-changing trees, makes me feel like I’ve wandered into a mystical forest full of magic.  

            I finally tear my eyes away from the trees and gaze up at the towering ceiling. Glittering crystal chandeliers dangle above my head. And a massive sky-light peers out into the Heavens, allowing me to stare up at the stars. I’m not sure how much this room costs, but whatever the price-tag, it’s absolutely worth it.

            Pocahontas saunters up to me and wraps her arms around my waist, snapping me out of my reverie. 

            “You seem enchanted,” she purrs, her breath tickling my neck. 

            I smile at my prey and softly whisper back, “I am indeed.” 

            Pocahontas leads me to her bedroom. Along the way we pass a massive holographic TV screen broadcasting the news. The reporters are rambling on about the pending war with China. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Can’t they ever find anything else to talk about? Yeah, we know Armageddon is upon us, but you would think they would intersperse the dire news with some happy stories of long-lost puppies being reunited with their owners, or a young child miraculously surviving the latest outbreak of bird flu. But I digress. 

            When we enter the bedroom, our feet are bathed in a soft, phosphorus light emanating from the floorboards. That soft light is all the illumination we are granted, with the exception of the small sliver of moonlight that manages to penetrate the thick curtain hanging over the balcony window. Pocahontas leads me to a sprawling, king-sized bed in the back. The bed is adorned with dozens of plush, flower-emblazoned pillows and a wool comforter.  

            I turn toward Pocahontas and gulp at the sight of the lust in her eyes. She’s eager to get the party started. I, not so much. 

            I make a dramatic showing of wiping away imaginary sweat trickling down my forehead. “Whew, it’s hot in here. I’m going outside for a second.” 

            Before Pocahontas can protest, I make my way over to the balcony. I slip through the curtains, open the sliding-glass door, and step outside. A cool gust of wind slams into me, nearly knocking me back on my heels. The wind continues to gust, causing my hair to flap around behind me. I do my best to ignore the gale-force winds and gaze off toward the brightly-lit horizon. Being on the 40th floor allows me a birds-eye view of Sanctuary 41 in all its gaudy, eye-watering glory. Illuminated cloud-touching skyscrapers jut up toward the heavens, casting dark shadows on the crowded city-scape below. The skyscrapers go on for as far as the eye can see, stretching all the way back to the massive, 1,000-foot high concrete wall that surrounds the city. Floating outside the walls are an armada of heavily-armed flying cars, keeping an eye out for any outside threats. Since Sanctuary 41 is the richest city on the face of the Earth, home to some of the world’s most powerful and outrageously wealthy individuals, it is also the most heavily fortified city on the planet, with the possible exception of Washington, D.C., and the Chinese Empress’ palatial estate. I always thought Sanctuary 7 was pretty secure, but our home city has nothing on this place. And with it being on the eastern outskirts of the Canadian Rockies, the Chinese would have no hope of bombing it. Sanctuary 41 is the most landlocked city in America, protected by thousands of miles of wilderness on all sides. If the Chinese ever invaded, Sanctuary 41 would be the last city to fall. Even Washington would collapse before Sanctuary 41 ever did.   

            “Sapphire, you okay?” 

            Pocahontas’ words jolt me out of my thoughts. I turn around and nearly collide into her as she steps out onto the balcony with me. 

            I put my hand around her slender waist and lead her back inside. 

            “Er, yes. Sorry, I just needed some air.”

            Pocahontas grins and says, “That’s okay.”

            She starts to close the balcony door, but I grab her wrist and say, “No, leave it open.” 

            Pocahontas cocks an eyebrow and inquires, “Why?” 

            I rub the back of my head and awkwardly reply, “Er, I’m just really hot. Sorry.”

            Pocahontas shrugs. “Suit yourself. I think it’s chilly outside, but to each their own.” 

            Pocahontas plops down on the edge of her bed and starts rubbing her right hand over her breasts. “So, how about we get things started?” 

            I gulp and stammer, “S… sure.” 

            Pocahontas yanks me onto the bed, rolls on top of me, and tears off my blouse and bra. I’m now completely naked from the waist up, just like she is. Pocahontas leans toward me and presses her lips against my own. She then starts to passionately make out with me, running her hands up and down my body while sucking my face. A few times she even slips me the tongue. I’m initially repulsed by the make-out session, but I’m shocked when I gradually find myself growing accustomed to it. I must admit Pocahontas is a fantastic kisser. She’s definitely way better at it than Lance.  

            Pocahontas eventually starts to inch her way down my body. I instinctively shove her away and gasp, “Wait, not yet.” 

            Pocahontas lifts her head and frowns. “Am I going too fast again?” 

            I sit up and stammer, “No, I just… I was wondering…” 

            Throwing caution to the wind, I yank a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket and say, “I was just wondering if you’re into bondage?” 

            Pocahontas flashes a huge smile. “So you like it rough, huh?” 

            I force a seductive smile of my own and reply, “You bet your sexy ass I do.”  

            Pocahontas reaches for my cuffs. I yank them away from her and blurt out, “Actually, I always fantasized about… you know, being the dominant one. I was hoping I could handcuff you.”

            I know for a fact that I don’t sound too enthusiastic, but Pocahontas doesn’t seem to notice. Instead she laughs and says, “That sounds hot as fuck.” 

            Pocahontas lays down on her stomach and puts her arms behind her back. “Go ahead, cuff me!” 

            I don’t wait for a second invitation. I immediately slap the cuffs onto her slender wrists.  

            “Ouch, you pinched my skin,” Pocahontas moans. 

            “Sorry,” I say, flipping Pocahontas onto her back. “I guess I got a little over-excited.”

            Pocahontas looks up at me and eagerly says, “So, go ahead. Do your worst.” 

            I look down at Pocahontas and sigh. “I’m really sorry about this, Pocahontas. I wish things didn’t have to end this way, but your father has left us no other choice.” 

            For the first time all evening, Pocahontas’ gorgeous face turns downright fearful.  

            “Wait, how do you know my name? And what do you mean about my father? Who… who are you?”

            I pull out a small roll of duct tape and whisper back, “I’m the one who’s going to end this war… by any means necessary.” 

            Before Pocahontas can say another word, I tear off a piece of tape and slap it across her mouth. Pocahontas starts thrashing around and moaning through the gag. I sit on top of her and put some more tape over her lips. 

            By now Pocahontas is completely freaking out. She rolls back and forth, kicking her feet. Her violent, jerking movements take me by surprise and I fall off the bed. I jump back up and immediately get kicked in the mouth by Pocahontas’ flailing legs. 

            “Son of a bitch,” I curse, clutching my bleeding mouth with my right hand.  

            Pocahontas clambers to her feet and races toward the living room. I chase after her and tackle her from behind. We both crash to the floor and roll toward the mini pond, almost falling in. 

            Pocahontas continues moaning and kicking her feet, but with her hands cuffed behind her back, she’s no threat to me. I grab her by her long, black hair and drag her back into the bedroom. 

            “Please Pocahontas, stop struggling. You’re just making things harder on yourself.” 

            Pocahontas doesn’t take my advice. If anything, she starts moaning even louder. So I do the only thing I can think of. I pull back my fist and slug Pocahontas square in the jaw. Pocahontas lets out a little cry and falls sideways onto the floor. 

            I shake my right wrist, doing my best to ignore the throbbing pain rippling up and down my arm. I hate punching people; it always seems to hurt me as much, if not more, than my opponents. 

I grab my bra and blouse off the floor and put them back on. I do it just in the nick of time, too, because a few seconds later a flying Stratosphere XL 2151 floats up next to the open balcony. I hurry over and tear upon the curtains. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the insanely expensive aerial vehicle is my thick, sassy, African-American bounty hunting partner and legitimate best friend, Krystal. She’s wearing her trademark bullet-proof vest (which is currently riddled with bullet holes, a testament to how well it works) and a fully-loaded utility belt stocked with all sorts of lethal and non-lethal weapons, including daggers, tasers, flash grenades, smoke bombs, incendiary grenades, and pistols. And standing in the front passenger seat of the open-roof car, with his chiseled arms crossed upon his armored chest and a no-nonsense look plastered across his hardened face, is my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Lance.  

Lance gruffly says, “About damn time. We’ve been waiting out here forever.” 

“Ohh, I’m sooo sorry to have kept you waiting,” I snap as Lance hops off the car and lands in the balcony as gracefully as a stealthy cat. “I guess it’s hard for you to sit there and do absolutely nothing while I do all the dirty work, counting cards under the surveillance of casino pit bosses and getting groped by the lesbian heir to an underground criminal empire.” 

“Wait, you got groped by a lesbian?!” Krystal hollers for all the world to hear as she puts the car into ‘hover’ mode and hops onto the balcony next to Lance. 

Lance and I both go, “Shhh!” 

Krystal puts her hands on her pudgy hips and sticks out her lower lip. “Ah hell naw, you two bitches had better not be shushing me! We all know I do most of the work around here!” 

“You mean you eat the most food,” Lance says, brushing past me as he checks out the hotel suite. 

Krystal gives Lance the evil eye before turning to me and saying, “He ain’t ever gonna let me live that down, is he? I can’t help it I was going through my menstrual cycle that one night and momentarily lost my mind and ate all the goddamn food in the fridge. Maybe Lance’s scrawny ass wouldn’t be so damn judgmental if he had blood gushing out of his vagina once every 30 days.”           

I nod in agreement so Krystal shuts the hell up. I would never say this to Krystal’s face (mostly because I don’t want her gouging out my eyes with her long-ass fake nails), but she has gotten considerably huskier since our mission in Alaska. All she ever does nowadays (when we’re not scouring the countryside for criminals) is eat and eat and eat some more. I think it’s a coping mechanism for her, a way for her to keep her sanity after all the shit we’ve been through. Still, I’m getting a bit concerned about her health. Krystal is only 5’6’’ and she has to be close to 300 pounds now. Not only is she starting to become a liability on our missions (after all, there’s no way in hell she can keep up with me and Lance when we’re forced to run away from mobs of thieves and bandits), but she’s also starting to have breathing problems. Perhaps once things calm down I can convince her to go on a diet. (I’ll work on that right after I convince pigs to grow wings out of their ass and fly.)           

Krystal suddenly storms past me and heads into the living room. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything to eat in the fridge. I’m famished!” 

            Lance walks back into the bedroom and says, “How about you eat some vegetables this time?” 

            Krystal responds with a tsunami of profanity not fit for print.  

            Lance hovers over Pocahontas, who is still slouched over on the floor, moaning from my sucker-punch, and starts fidgeting with the syringe of truth serum we brought along. Lance isn’t even gazing at Pocahontas’ naked breasts like most guys would. He’s solely focused on our mission. 

            I shiver as a chilling gust of wind blows into the room, causing the curtains to flap around like crazy. Doing my best to ignore the cold, I say, “Are you sure this serum will work? I mean, we did buy it from a somewhat unreliable source.” 

            Without looking up, Lance grumbles, “Yeah, Jack has screwed us over a few times before, but he’s still the best guy to go to when we need any sort of potion or elixir. He didn’t become Sanctuary 7’s richest ‘witch doctor’ because he always fucks people over. Sometimes his shit actually works.” 

            “I just can’t believe you gave him $50,000 for one little vial.” 

            Lance shrugs. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I was more than willing to sneak in here and torture the information out of Pocahontas, but you nixed that idea.” 

            I glare at Lance furiously. The old Lance would have been joking, but something tells me this new Lance would have no qualms using torture to finagle information out of a target.  

            I hold up the giant wad of cash I won at the blackjack table. “At least this will replace what we spent on the serum.” 

            Lance looks up long enough to eye the wad of cash and flashes a rare smile. “Awesome job, Firecracker. That’ll buy us a shitload of new weapons.” 

            The smile quickly evaporates and Lance goes back to preparing the truth serum for injection.

            I lean against the wall and stare at Lance while he measures the amount of serum in the syringe. He has changed so much in just the past several months. Lance used to be so kind-hearted and caring. And really fun, too. But after what happened in Alaska… when he saw his girlfriend brutally murdered by President Klaxton… well, I suppose that would change anybody. But Lance’s transformation has been unsettling to say the least. He’s completely different now. Darker… sadder… meaner… and much more violent. 

But I suppose I’ve changed a lot, too. After all, I also witnessed someone I loved fall at the hands of a genocidal monster. When Rasputin electrocuted Arrow before my very eyes, a part of me died. Still, Lance’s metamorphosis has been particularly jarring. He used to refrain from using lethal force on our bounty hunting missions. He would only kill if our lives were in jeopardy. But recently he’s been showing less restraint when it comes to taking down a target. And he’s been much more reluctant to show even the slightest hint of mercy. Beating our targets to a bloody pulp after they’ve surrendered… shooting people in the head even after they no longer pose a valid threat… electrocuting people with that stupid robotic glove he commandeered from Rasputin’s severed hand…. 

Even Lance’s physical appearance is drastically different. He used to always be clean-shaven, his hair was always trimmed, and he always kept himself in tip-top shape. But now his hair dangles past his shoulders, he has an almost perpetual 5 o’clock shadow, and he’s way thinner than I’ve ever seen him. He’s like the complete opposite of Krystal. Sometimes he will go days without eating anything. But he still loves to drink. And even though he promised me he would stop, he’s gone back to doing drugs. Mostly pot, but I’ve seen syringes in the trash can and white powder residue on the kitchen table. Whenever I try to talk to him about his spiraling descent into darkness, he gets angry… almost violent… and he storms out of our apartment for hours at a time… sometimes even days. So I’ve stopped nagging him. Even though Lance is unquestionably damaged, I still need him. Besides Krystal and the twins, he’s all I’ve got.           

What scares me more than anything, though, is Lance’s obsession with finding Klaxton and ending this standoff between America and China. I mean, what happens once this is all over? Our hunt for Klaxton has basically become Lance’s sole purpose for living. What happens if we find her? Will Lance be able to live the rest of his days in peace? Lance has become so violent, so dark, that I can’t help but fear what will happen when he no longer has a mission to keep him going. 

            Out of all of his physical and internal changes, I must admit the thing I hate most about this new, gloomier Lance is that damn robotic glove he continues to wear, the one he snatched from Rasputin after he hacked his arm off. I hate it because it reminds me of Arrow. After all, that’s the same glove Rasputin used to electrocute him. But Lance ignores my pleas for him to throw it out. He keeps it on almost all the time now, except when he showers. He even sleeps with the damn thing. Sometimes he will sit in a recliner late at night and watch the electricity dancing along his fingertips. He’s figured out how to generate lightning through the use of his thoughts like Rasputin did. It has something to do with the computer chip we all have imbedded in our brains, the same one that allows us to access the internet and other electronics through the use of telepathy.  

            I will be the first to admit the glove has gotten us out of a lot of tricky situations. Like a few weeks ago, when we were in the ruins of Seattle and came under attack by a gang of over 50 bandits. Lance took them all down within a matter of seconds. Having a glove that fires lightning bolts can be quite a potent weapon. But I hate how it’s almost turned Lance into a cyborg. He’s starting to remind me of Pitbull. Pitbull is more machine than man now, and I desperately hope Lance doesn’t follow in his footsteps. But the signs are not good. The glove has caused Lance to become obsessed with power. It makes him feel invincible, like no one can touch him. I fear one day his newfound cockiness will be his undoing. I’ve already lost enough loved ones to last a life time. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive if I lose Lance, even if he’s no longer the same man I once fell in love with.  

            “I got it!” Lance blurts out excitedly, snapping me out of my thoughts. He holds the syringe up and says, “I think I’ve measured it correctly. Not enough and it’ll just cause Pocahontas to act like she’s drunk. Too much and it’ll knock her out, maybe even kill her. But this amount… this should get her to start spilling her guts. Our $50,000 investment will sure be worth it if your friend helps us find Klaxton and secure that $100 million bounty.” 

             “More importantly, Klaxton’s apprehension will end this stupid, senseless war,” I say. “Enough people have died as a result of America and China’s worldwide game of chess.” 

            Lance leans down to grab Pocahontas’ right arm. Pocahontas opens her eyes and scoots back in horror. She starts screaming through her gag. The tape mutes most of the sounds coming out of her mouth, but she’s still making a hell of a lot of noise. While there’s luckily no one else on her floor, there are people underneath us. If Pocahontas keeps screaming, eventually someone’s going to come up here to check on her.  

            Lance and I grab Pocahontas by her arms and legs and fling her onto the bed. Lance then jumps on top of her and holds down her wrists. Pocahontas responds by wildly kicking her feet. 

            “Boom Boom, grab her legs!” Lance grunts, struggling to restrain our surprisingly strong target. 

            I leap onto the bed behind Lance and grab Pocahontas’ ankles. It takes everything I have to keep her legs locked to the bed.  

            Lance leans in close to Pocahontas and soothingly says, “Calm down, lady. I promise this won’t hurt one bit. We’re just going to give you a little truth serum so you tell us where your daddy is. Then we’ll give you some knock-out serum and you won’t remember anything that’s happened over the past 24 hours. It’ll be a forgotten nightmare.” 

            Now that Pocahontas knows we’re after her elusive father, she starts squirming harder than ever. I lose my grip on her feet, allowing her to pull back her right knee and shove it into Lance’s groin. Lance groans and falls off the bed, cursing as he clutches his busted balls.    

            Pocahontas sits up and kicks me in the face. I stagger back as a sharp stabbing pain erupts all throughout my orbital bone. Pocahontas takes this opportunity and runs with it… literally. She leaps to her feet and dashes into the living room. Lance and I stumble after her, bumping into each other as we try to squeeze through the doorway.

            Lance shoves me aside. “Quit fooling around, Boom Boom, she’s getting away!” 

            “I’m not fooling around, asshole,” I retaliate as I race after Lance into the living room. We both sprint past Krystal, who is sprawled out on the couch eating a bag of chips and guzzling a bottle of wine while she watches one of her favorite reality shows on Pocahontas’ ginormous holographic TV screen. She is so absorbed by her trashy TV show that she doesn’t even notice us dashing past her. 

            “Sit tight and relax, Krystal, we’ve got this,” I quip sardonically. 

            Without even looking up, Krystal flaps her wrist and grunts, “I know you do. Now try and keep quiet, I wanna hear what Shanaynay is gonna say to Monique when she finds out the stupid hoe slept with her baby’s daddy.” 

            Lance glances back at me and says, “And we keep her around why?” 

            “She used to be pretty good at whooping ass, but I will admit she’s been slacking as of late,” I say as we continue speeding through the apartment. 

Lance and I find Pocahontas at the front of her apartment, her back toward the door as she fumbles with the doorknob with her handcuffed hands. She makes an admirable attempt at escaping, but that’s all it is… an attempt. 

“Mmmm… mmmmm!” Pocahontas begs through her gag as tears stream down her cheeks. I instantly feel like the worst person in the world at the sight of the terror in her eyes. I hate that we’re forced to do things like this, but when the world’s on a one-way trip to Hell, you gotta do what you gotta do in order to survive.         

Lance grabs Pocahontas by her naked shoulders and says, “Relax lady, I promise you won’t get hurt as long as you cooperate. You have no reason to fear us.” 

            Pocahontas does not take Lance’s words to heart. She slams backwards against the door and starts swinging her legs again. She manages to kick Lance in the side, which seems to piss him off. 

            “I said stop struggling,” Lance growls. He once again grabs Pocahontas by her shoulders and throws her to the floor. Pocahontas groans as she slams into the carpet. 

            “Lance, be gentle,” I snap as I lean down to check on her. 

            Pocahontas responds to my kind gesture by banging the back of her head against my chin. 

            “Son of a bitch,” I curse, falling back on my butt. 

            “You were saying?” Lance says with a smirk. 

            I growl and grab both of Pocahontas’ legs just as she starts to get back to her feet. “Get her arm and help me carry her back into the bedroom!” 

            Lance does exactly that. Pocahontas continues struggling, but it’s virtually impossible for her to escape with both of us holding onto her extremities. Lance and I easily carry our prey past Krystal (who is in the middle of spitting wine all over the carpet as she cackles at her stupid show) and throw her back onto the bed. 

            Pocahontas bounces once and scoots all the way back to her headboard. Her eyes are still filled with fear, but there’s something else in there, too. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a feeling of betrayal… and anger. After all, I did play with her emotions, tricking her into thinking I liked her just so I could get to her father. I’ve been hurt and betrayed by people I thought loved me plenty of times throughout my torturous existence. I know precisely how Pocahontas feels, and it makes me sick to my stomach that I’ve become what I’ve always hated. But if my little charade helps us find Klaxton… if it helps us end this damn war… then it will all be worth it. I have to keep remembering that. If the ends justify the means, then it has to be done. Sometimes in order to defeat your enemies you have no choice but to stoop down to their level. (Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll actually start believing it.)  

            Lance whips out his syringe of truth serum and says, “Hold her down, Boom Boom.” 

            Pocahontas’ eyes widen in horror at the sight of the syringe. I leap on top of her before she can roll off the bed, and shove her shoulders down into the mattress. 

            As she thrashes around in my arms, wildly kicking her feet and moaning like crazy, I say, “Pocahontas, please stop resisting. This will all be over soon.” 

            I turn toward Lance and snap, “Hurry up. I don’t know how much longer I can hold her.” 

            Lance leans toward Pocahontas’ neck. “Hang on, I need to find a vein.” 

            Lance pushes Pocahontas’ head to the side as he looks for a good spot to inject the serum. After what feels like forever, he finally says, “Got it.” 

            In one rapid movement, Lance firmly grabs ahold of Pocahontas’ neck and shoves the syringe’s needle into her vein. Pocahontas lets out a little cry as Lance empties the entire syringe. He then steps back and exhales a sigh of relief. 

            Flashing me a little smile, he says, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

            Expecting the serum to start working immediately, I loosen my grip on Pocahontas’ shoulders. That turns out to be a stupid move, however, because she rolls over and knocks me off the bed. She then starts running toward the door again. 

            “I got her!” Lance shouts, tackling her from behind and slamming her face-first into the carpet. 

            Pocahontas goes back to flailing around like a fish out of water. Lance grabs her left ankle and tries dragging her back to the bed. 

            “Damn, she’s incredibly strong for how little she is,” Lance says as his face turns bright red and sweat trickles down his cheeks. 

            “I thought the serum was supposed to work right away,” I say, grabbing her other ankle. “Isn’t it supposed to make people all drowsy?” 

            “Supposed to, yeah,” Lance says as he and I pull Pocahontas back onto the bed. “Maybe… maybe we didn’t give her enough.” 

            I narrow my eyes and growl, “Or maybe Jack screwed us over again.” 

            Lance grits his teeth. “If he did, I’m going to put a bullet in his forehead.” 

            I’m taken aback by Lance’s violent rhetoric. His newfound propensity for violence is really starting to freak me out.  

            Lance whips out the vial of truth serum and empties the rest of it into his syringe. “Before we start panicking, let’s inject her with the rest of it.” 

            “But I thought you said if we used too much, it might kill her,” I say nervously. 

            Pocahontas starts moaning even louder. 

            Lance gives an irritable sigh. “Yeah, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. It took us months to find Pocahontas. She’s our best link to Blackbird. We are not leaving until she gives him up.” 

            Lance is just about to jab the needle into Pocahontas’ vein, but I grab his wrist and firmly say, “No. Not yet. Let’s see if she gives up the information willingly.” 

            Lance rolls his eyes. “You know she won’t, Boom Boom. And even if she did tell us where he is, how will we know she’s not lying? The truth serum will make sure she tells us the truth.” 

            “Yeah, I kind of figured that’s what it would do, since it is called truth serum. Just chill out and let me try this.” 

            “Fine, suit yourself,” Lance mumbles. “But I’d think twice before removing her gag if I were you. The first thing she’s going to do is scream for help.” 

            I turn toward Pocahontas and hold up my hands.  

            “Look Pocahontas, I really don’t want to hurt you. We just need to find out where your father is. I promise we won’t hurt him. We just need him to tell us where Angela Klaxton is. You… you wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?” 

            Still cowering against her headboard, Pocahontas gives a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head. 

            I inch even closer. “Okay, I figured as much. What about your father? Do you know where he is?” 

            Pocahontas starts to shake her head again, but then she stops.

            “Do you… do you know where Blackbird is hiding?” I ask in an excited voice. I’m usually good at controlling my emotions, but we’ve worked so hard trying to secure Blackbird’s location that I can’t help but feel elated to know we’re so very close to the end of our journey. Well, the first part of our journey.

            With tears streaming down her cheeks, Pocahontas nods her head.

            I turn to Lance and grin. Lance stares at Pocahontas suspiciously, then turns to me and shrugs.

            “I guess we can hear what she has to say,” he says somewhat hesitantly.

            I inch my hands closer to the tape and quietly say, “If I remove this, do you promise not to scream?”

            Pocahontas nods her head again, this time a bit more fervently. 

            I give Pocahontas a comforting smile. “Okay. I’ll pull the tape off slowly so it doesn’t hurt.” 

            Pocahontas nods again and allows me to touch the tape. I gently pull it back from  the left side of her mouth. Pocahontas squirms in discomfort, but she doesn’t make a sound. Once the tape is halfway off, she opens her mouth and inhales a deep breath of air.  

            “Almost got it,” I say as I pull the rest of the tape off her lips. 

            Pocahontas licks her lips and stares at me for several intense, awkward seconds, her eyes focused on mine. The rage and fear in her eyes is so intense that I’m tempted to look away, but I do not. I must show strength if I’m going to get any information out of her. 

            “Okay, so spill the beans. Where is your father?” 

            Pocahontas stares at me for a few more seconds, then opens her mouth and whispers something unintelligible.  

            Lance and I both lean forward. 

“Yes?” I say.

Pocahontas opens her mouth again, then kicks us both in our faces.          

“Son of a bitch!” Lance curses as we both stagger back, clutching our noses. Pocahontas leaps off the bed and runs into the hallway, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Help!! Somebody help!! I’m being attacked!! HELP!!”

            “Goddman it, Boom Boom, I told you!” Lance growls as he stumbles to his feet. 

            “Oh yeah, this is all my fault,” I snap as I run after Pocahontas. 

            Lance and I needn’t have worried about her escaping. Krystal cuts Pocahontas off and slugs her square in the face. Pocahontas falls backwards and smacks the back of her head against a small table, toppling a vase of flowers. Thankfully the vase falls into the carpet and doesn’t shatter. The last thing we need is even more commotion. 

            I rush over to Pocahontas and quickly go back to slapping duct tape over her bleeding mouth.  

            “Thanks Krystal, you’re a life saver,” I say. 

            “I know, I told you all I’m the brains and brawns of this operation,” Krystal says, massaging the hand she used to punch Pocahontas. “Now will you two hurry the hell up? I’m tired as fuck and want to go home and get some sleep.”     

            Krystal heads over to the couch and goes back to stuffing her face with chips and wine while Monique and Shanaynay fight over their baby’s daddy, or whatever the hell is happening on the stupid TV show.   

            Lance kneels down beside me. “You ready to let me handle this?” 

            “Whatever. Just make it quick. And try not to kill her.” 

            Lance jabs the needle into Pocahontas’ neck before I get a chance to change my mind. 

            Lance and I watch Pocahontas for the next several minutes, hoping like mad that the serum starts to work. Our hopes are dashed when Pocahontas starts sobbing. 

            I can see the white-hate rage in Lance’s face when it becomes apparent Jake gave us a bad batch of serum. I grab his shoulder and try to calm him down, but he just shrugs me away. 

             “I’m going to strangle Jake the next time I see the low-life sack of shit,” Lance growls. 

            “So what do we do now?” I ask. “Give her the knock-out serum and leave? We know that serum works, we used it on that dude we interrogated in Sanctuary 28, the one who told us where to find Pocahontas. It obviously erased his memory because he didn’t give Pocahontas a heads up that we were on our way.” 

            Lance is silent for a moment or so, rolling his tongue around inside his mouth while he closes his eyes and thinks. The silence is interrupted only by Pocahontas’ quiet sobs and the sound of Krystal laughing in the other room. 

            Lance finally opens his eyes. “No. We’re not leaving until she gives us Blackbird’s location.” 

            I cock my head to the side. “Ooookaaay, and how do you propose we get her to talk?” 

            Lance holds up his gloved hand. I lean back when tiny sparks of blue electricity crackle along his fingertips. 

            In a deadly serious voice that sends chills cascading down my spine, Lance says, “We do it the old fashioned way.” 

            Before I can stop him, Lance jabs Pocahontas in the neck with his index finger. Blue electricity spirals across Pocahontas’ neck, causing her to moan and writhe around on the ground in agony. 

            “Lance, stop it!” I smack his hand away and lean over Pocahontas, cradling her head in my hands. 

            “Pocahontas, are you okay?” 

            Pocahontas looks up at me with tear-filled eyes, silently pleading for me to help her out of this mess. 

            Lance shoves me out of the way. “Let me handle this, Boom Boom. I don’t like it any more than you do, but you know deep in your heart this is a necessary evil. Blackbird knows where Klaxton is, and Pocahontas knows where Blackbird is. In order to find the former, we must find the latter.” 

            Lance holds up his glowing index finger and starts to lower it back toward Pocahontas’ neck. I grab his wrist just before his crackling finger touches her skin. 

            “Goddamn it, Lance, stop it!” I shout so loud that even Krystal pokes her head around the doorway to see what’s going on. “We are not torturing anyone!” 

            “You’re right, we’re not. But I am.” 

            Lance rips his hand out of my grasp and touches Pocahontas again. This time the voltage is so intense that Pocahontas jumps into the air and crashes back to the ground, like a lobster thrown into a pot of boiling water. 

            Pocahontas starts to sob uncontrollably. I gasp at the sight of her bright red skin. I’m so sickened by what I’m witnessing that I actually start to cry as well. 

            Blinking back tears, I whisper, “Lance, for the love of God, what’s happened to you? This is not the way we operate.” 

            “It’s not?” Lance asks coldly. “How many people have we killed over the years, Boom Boom? How is torture any worse that shooting someone in the head?” 

            “But that… that’s different,” I say in between sobs. “That was in self-defense. We were killing bad people. But Pocahontas, she isn’t bad. She’s just… she’s just…” 

            “She’s what, Boom Boom?” Lance says curtly. “She’s just a pawn in this sick game of chess that Klaxton and the Chinese Empress have been playing all these years? Well I have news for you, Firecracker, we’re all pawns. Sometimes we have to do despicable things in order to win the game. And contrary to what you may believe, Pocahontas isn’t all that innocent. She’s covering up for her father, a billionaire tycoon who’s helped Klaxton cling to power all these years. All the people who helped keep Klaxton in the White House have just as much blood on their hands as she does. People like Pocahontas’ dad. People like Pocahontas. There are millions of innocent people out there, Boom Boom, but your little friend here sure as hell ain’t one of em.” 

            Before I can protest, Lance grabs Pocahontas by her neck and unleashes another wave of crackling electricity. Pocahontas writhes around in excruciating pain, moaning and groaning as her entire upper body is bathed in blue light. The light reflects back into Lance’s face, causing him to look like some sort of deformed, ghostly monster. I stare into his face… into his eyes… and am stunned when I do not see the slightest hint of remorse or mercy. Lance’s plummet into darkness has been more dramatic than I’d ever imagined.  

            I grab Lance’s wrist and shout, “Lance, stop it! You’re killing her! Stop it!! STOP IT!!”     

            But Lance doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even stop long enough to see if she wants to talk. He’s too focused unleashing all the pent-up pain and rage in his heart onto others… onto Pocahontas. I have to stop this before he does something he’s going to regret. 

            I grab one of the stun guns hanging from Lance’s utility belt and whisper, “I’m sorry, Lance, but you’ve given me no choice.” 

            I then jam the stun gun into Lance’s neck and press the trigger. There’s a sickening crackle of electricity, followed by Lance falling backwards and spasming on the ground. I press the stun gun against his neck for a full three seconds, so he understands the pain he is causing Pocahontas. Finally, after I feel Lance has suffered enough, I pull the stun gun away.  

            Lance stops writhing around, but he continues to groan in agony.  

            I lean over Lance and rub the hair out of his eyes. In between sobs, I say, “I’m sorry, Lance, but I had to stop you. You were about to kill her.” 

            Lance looks back up at me with teary eyes of his own and whispers, “I know. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

            Krystal rushes in and says, “What the hell are you all doing in here?!” 

            I help Lance to his feet and say, “What the fuck does it look like we’re doing? We’re trying to get information out of Pocahontas.” 

            Krystal crosses her arms and smugly says, “And it’s obvious you two are doing a shitty-ass job.” 

            Lance rubs the back of his head and says, “Oh yeah? You think you can do better?”

            “Uh, yeah. Watch.” 

            Krystal grabs Pocahontas by her hair and pulls her kicking and screaming into the living room. Lance and I stumble after her. We both gasp as Krystal tosses Pocahontas into the pond behind the couch. 

            “Krystal, she’s going to drown!” I shout. 

            “Are you kidding me?” Krystal says incredulously, climbing into the pond. “The water is barely a foot deep.” 

            Krystal proceeds to drag Pocahontas over to the waterfall in the back and shoves her head under the gushing water. 

            I lunge toward Krystal and shout, “What are you doing?!” 

            Krystal shoves me away and says, “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m waterboarding this stupid bitch.” 

            Krystal yanks Pocahontas’ head out of the waterfall. Pocahontas starts coughing and gasping for air, made all the more difficult from the tape covering her mouth. 

            Krystal shakes Pocahontas like a rag doll. “You ready to talk yet, you dumb bimbo?” 

            Pocahontas nods her head like crazy. Krystal tears the tape off her mouth and says, “Well don’t just sit there, start talking! Where’s your low-life father?” 

            Pocahontas takes a deep breath of air, then screams, “Help!! Somebody help!! I’m being attacked!! Hel---GLUBBBB!!!” 

            Krystal shoves Pocahontas back under the waterfall. Pocahontas thrashes around like crazy, kicking her feet and shaking her head. 

            “Krystal, stop!” I shout, lunging toward her again. 

            Lance holds me back. “Calm down, Firecracker. Let Krystal do her thing.” 

I watch in horror as Krystal keeps Pocahontas’ head submerged under the gushing torrent of water.        

Krystal yawns as if she’s bored. “You gonna scream again if I pull you out? Because I ain’t got no qualms drowning your ass. We’re trying to stop a nuclear war here. Don’t think your life ain’t expendable.”

            I’m just about to elbow Lance in the groin and rush over to intervene when Krystal finally pulls Pocahontas out of the waterfall. Pocahontas gags and spits up an almost unfathomable amount of water. I’m not an expert on waterboarding, but I’m almost positive Krystal isn’t doing it right.

            Krystal pulls Pocahontas up to her face and barks, “Well you dumb bitch? Where is he?”

            In between sobs, Pocahontas sputters, “My… my father is in Africa!”

            Krystal narrows her beady little eyes, almost as if she’s trying to read her mind.

            “Are you sure?” Krystal growls. “Are you telling the truth? Because if we go to Africa and your pappy ain’t there, I’m coming back here and drowning you personally.”

            Pocahontas hesitates, then says, “I mean… I… he’s… maybe he’s not in Africa. Maybe…”

            Krystal shoves Pocahontas back under the waterfall before she can finish her incoherent statement. Pocahontas goes back to kicking her feet. Krystal turns her head to watch her show.

            “What the hell, Krystal?!” I shout, still squirming around in Lance’s arms. (I’m somewhat alarmed by how bony he feels, but that’s a problem for another time.)

            Krystal turns toward me and says, “What do you mean what the hell?” 

            “She just told us where he’s at!”  

            Krystal scoffs. “Please, you actually believed that shit? I’m not as naïve and gullible as you, Boom Boom. You like to believe everyone’s telling the truth. I, on the other hand, live in the real world. I can tell a lie a mile away. And that bullshit she just said about her dad being in Africa would have made Pinnochio’s nose shoot out halfway around the world. For starters, no one lives in Africa! The entire continent is a massive desert. Secondly, your buddy here didn’t make eye contact with me, and then she started squirming and sounding doubtful. I’ll bet you my left ball sac that Blackbird ain’t nowhere near Africa.”

            Lance sticks out his tongue and gags. “Nice visual, Krystal.”

            Krystal eventually pulls Pocahontas back out of the waterfall. After she vomits all the water she ingested, she blubbers, “He’s in China!”

            “Wrong answer, bitch.”

            Before Pocahontas can say another word, she goes back under the waterfall.

            “What, did she not make eye contact again?” I ask.

            “Nope, wasn’t that,” Krystal says all matter-of-factly as she turns her head to once again check up on the progress of her trashy TV show. “It was her stupid-ass answer. Like Blackbird would ever go within a thousand miles of China. If he got caught by the Empress’ goons, he would be strung up from a light post in Tiananmen Square. I know Blackbird didn’t become a billionaire being stupid!”

            As much as I despise Krystal’s tactics, I have to admit she’s making some good points. I just wish Pocahontas would cut the crap and tell us what we need to know. I absolutely abhor torture, but since we’re already this deep into it, we might as well get what we came for.

            Krystal pulls Pocahontas back out, and after she throws up even more water, she blurts out, “Okay, he’s in Antarctica!”

            “Mmmhmm, keep this up and you’re gonna start growing gills,” Krystal says imperturbably as she thrusts Pocahontas back under the waterfall.

            I notice Lance tensing up. I turn my head and quietly ask, “What?”

            Lance whispers back, “I think that’s it.”

            I raise my eyebrows and say, “Really? Antarctica?”

            Lance nods and calls over to Krystal, “Bring her back up for air.”

            Krystal turns back from her TV show and snarkily replies, “She ain’t been under there for more than ten seconds. What, you starting to get all soft like Boom Boom?” 

            “No, I think she’s telling the truth,” Lance says, finally releasing his hold on me as he marches over to our sadistic partner. 

            Krystal scoffs. “Are you kidding me, Lance? Why would Blackbird be in Antarctica? Yeah, I know all the ice is melting, but it’s still colder than a witch’s tit down there. He’s probably hiding out in some Mexican oasis or something.” 

            Lance ignores Krystal’s blabbering and jumps into the pond. He then grabs Pocahontas and yanks her head out from under the water. 

            Pocahontas spits water all over Lance and cries, “I… I’m telling the truth! He’s in Antarctica! Just… please, don’t put me back under the water! I can’t take it anymore! Please!”

            My heart cleaves in two at the sight of Pocahontas begging for mercy. I can tell her desperate words have pierced Lance’s heart as well. 

            In a somewhat shaky voice (probably because he’s starting to realize what a barbaric act this is), Lance says, “Okay, we won’t hurt you anymore… under one condition: you tell us where your father is, right now. No games, no lies, tell us where he is… or else.”

            Lance gestures toward Krystal, who is cracking her knuckles and scowling. 

            “Okay, I promise, I’ll tell you everything, just don’t hurt me anymore,” Pocahontas sobs. 

            Lance gently pushes Pocahontas toward me. I grab her by her shoulders and lead her back into the bedroom, where she collapses onto her bed, crying softly.  Lance comes in after us and tosses me a towel, which I use to gently mop up the water on Pocahontas’ wet face.  

            In as kind and soothing a voice I can muster, I say, “Please Pocahontas, tell us what we want to know and I promise this will all be over. You won’t remember a thing by tomorrow morning.” 

            Pocahontas chokes back a sob and says, in a quivering voice, “I told you, my father is in… he’s in…” 

            Pocahontas looks up at me fearfully and bites her lip, as if she’s seriously considering defying us again. But she promptly changes her mind when Krystal hovers over my shoulder and holds up her fist.

            “He’s off the coast of Antarctica, on some sort of boat,” Pocahontas blurts out, cowering at the sight of Krystal. 

            “What kind of ship? And what part of Antarctica?” Lance asks, kneeling down beside Pocahontas. 

            Pocahontas scoots away from Lance, almost as afraid of him as she is of Krystal. “I… I don’t know….” 

            “Wrong answer, girlie,” Krystal growls, reaching for her. “I guess you want to go back into the pond.” 

            Pocahontas scoots all the way back to the headboard and pulls her knees up to her naked chest. “No, please, leave me alone! I’ve told you everything I know!” 

            “Are you sure about that?” Lance asks, stepping aside so Krystal has a clear path to Pocahontas. “Because my partner here seems to think you’re withholding some vital information.” 

            “I think he’s near the western ice shelf,” Pocahontas says nervously, tears streaming down her already moist cheeks. “He’s on some cruise ship, with a bunch of pirates and mobsters.” 

            Lance clearly seems taken aback by this new information. “Pirates? Mobsters?” 

            Pocahontas glances at Lance for a brief second before locking eyes with me. I can’t help but look away.

            “Yes, my father has been known to work with unsavory individuals,” Pocahontas says coldly. “After all, he is good friends with the president.” 

            “The former president,” Krystal says. “Thanks to us.” 

            Pocahontas glances at Krystal and gasps. “Wait, I thought you and the blond boy looked familiar. You’re… you’re Lance and Krystal!” 

            Pocahontas almost seems excited that she recognizes them. After all, the three of us are quasi-celebrities, especially after we unraveled Klaxton’s grand conspiracy to initiate a new Cold War. But Pocahontas’ excitement rapidly fades away when she realizes that those so-called ‘celebrities’ are the same ones who have been torturing her. 

            In an icy voice, Pocahontas says, “I used to look up to you guys. Not anymore… not if this is how you’re doing business nowadays.” 

            “Bitch, we don’t give a rat’s ass if you don’t like us,” Krystal says all belligerently. “All we care about at the moment is finding your scumbag daddy.” 

            Pocahontas gazes at me and her face turns ghostly pale. 

            “My god, that means you… you’re…. you’re Boom Boom!! I didn’t notice you without your fiery red hair!” 

            I grimace and reluctantly say, “Er, yes… yes I am.” 

            This time the tears pour from Pocahontas’ eyes like water from a faucet. 

            “But… I looked up to you most of all,” Pocahontas cries, as if her entire world has been shattered. “You’re so badass. Every young girl looks up to you… or I should say looked up to you. We could all relate to you. You were rescued from a life on the streets and grew up to be the world’s most famous teenage bounty hunter. You were an inspiration… you were my hero. But now… after learning this is how you do things, toying with people’s emotions and torturing them for information… now I know you’re no hero. You’re a monster, just like everyone else in this cold, dark world.” 

            In a shaky voice I say, “I’m sorry, Pocahontas, I truly am. I… we normally don’t do things like this. It’s just I… we…” 

            “Are you freaking kidding me?” Krystal exclaims. “Why in the blue hell are you trying to explain yourself to this bimbo? We’re on an important mission here, Boom Boom, so I would appreciate it if you would get it together!” 

            I lower my head and mutter, “You’re right. Sorry.” 

            Lance turns his attention back to Pocahontas. “So what is your dad doing in Antarctica?” 

            “What the hell do you think he’s doing?” Pocahontas retorts, as if Lance asked the stupidest question in the history of the world. “He’s on the run from assholes like you. He knows if government agents get ahold of him he’s going to be mercilessly tortured for Klaxton’s whereabouts and then executed. He hooked up with some criminal friends of his who do business on the black market. They’re down in Antarctica drilling for oil, natural gas, and precious metals underneath the thawing Antarctic ice sheet.” 

            “Oil?” Krystal says as she pats the wig on the top of her head. “Why the fuck are they drilling for oil? We stopped using that shit for fuel almost 100 years ago.”

            Pocahontas rolls her watery eyes and clicks her tongue in disgust. “Didn’t they teach you anything in school? Petroleum isn’t just used for fuel. It’s used to make plastics, fertilizer, polyester, even laundry detergent. My dad has made a good chunk of his billions from selling petroleum on the black market.” 

            Krystal puts her hands on her thick hips and says, “Well excuse me for not being a nerd!” 

            Lance puts his hand up so Krystal shuts up (it doesn’t work, but she does lower the volume of her voice) and says, “One last thing, Pocahontas. This ship your father is on… are there a bunch of men with him? And are they armed?” 

            A wicked smile creeps across Pocahontas’ tear-streaked face. “Oh yes. The ship houses hundreds upon hundreds of the vilest scum this side of the Prime Meridian. And they are armed to the hilt. I hope you do go after my father so his minions can riddle your bodies with hot lead.” 

            Lance and I exchange unsettling looks. We had hoped Blackbird would be in some remote hideout all by himself, or perhaps with a handful of loyal bodyguards. We certainly hadn’t planned on storming a cruise ship off the coast of the coldest place on Earth, engaging in a shootout with hundreds of armed pirates. Why can’t anything we do ever be easy?   

Lance heaves a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Pocahontas. You’ve been most helpful.”

            He then lunges toward Pocahontas and jabs another needle into her neck. Pocahontas yelps, but Lance is quick to clamp his hand over her mouth. Lance grimaces and groans as blood starts leaking through his fingers. Pocahontas must be biting him.

            “I should have used my gloved hand,” Lance grunts through gritted teeth.

            Pocahontas thrashes around for a few seconds, but then her eyes start fluttering and she stops moving. Her head soon slumps to the side. The knock-out serum is now in full effect.

            Lance pulls his hand back and curses as blood continues trickling down his arm. I toss him the towel I used to dry off Pocahontas. Lance snatches it out of midair and wraps it around his blood-soaked hand.

            “Are you okay?” I ask, eying the grievous injury.

            “I’ll be fine,” Lance says, still gnashing his teeth together. “Although I may need to get a Tetanus shot.”

            Krystal stretches and says, “Can we finally leave now? I wanna go home and get some beauty sleep. How else do you think I stay this sexy?”

            “I thought it was dark magic,” Lance cracks, prompting Krystal to punch him in the shoulder.

            I wave my partners off and say, “You guys go wait for me in the car. I’ll be there in a sec.”

            Krystal immediately heads for the balcony. Lance lingers for a moment, then he, too, leaves me alone with the girl I stabbed in the heart.

            I lean over Pocahontas’ unconscious body. Her bare chest slowly heaves up and down as she breathes in and out. She looks so peaceful… so different from the terrified young girl I watched being tortured. Is this what has become of us? Is this what has become of me? Have things gotten so bad that I’ve been forced to relinquish my humanity in order to save the world from nuclear Armageddon? Is saving the world even worth it if in order to do so I must embrace the Devil’s playbook?

            I lean toward Pocahontas and kiss her on her cheek.

            “I’m so sorry I betrayed you like this,” I whisper, blinking back tears. I turn her over so I can uncuff her wrists. I then turn her onto her side and cover her up with a blanket. At least I can take solace in the fact that our knock-out serum will prevent this undoubtedly traumatic experience from becoming a nightmarish memory. Pocahontas will wake up in about twelve hours and have no recollection of what transpired this evening. She will never know that she gave up her elusive father’s whereabouts, even when she receives the news that he’s been captured. More importantly, she will never remember being tortured by our hands… she will never remember that I used our fleeting romance to betray her. She will continue to look up to me, to think of me as a badass bounty hunter who helped topple a corrupt president from power. Hopefully she will never know that I have fallen from grace… that I have become what I always hated. 

            I brush Pocahontas’ hair out of her eyes and give her one last pat on the head before twirling around and heading out to the balcony. I make sure to close the balcony window shut behind me, then I hop into the back of our hovering Stratosphere XL. 

            “About damn time,” Krystal says grudgingly as she steps on the accelerator and we zoom through the air at nearly 100 miles per hour. The top of the car is still down, so the cool, gusting wind slams into my face and causes my hair to whip around like crazy.  

            None of us talk again for a long, long while. Krystal is too busy cutting off other flying cars and flashing one-finger salutes. And Lance sits silently up in the front passenger seat, occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

It takes us about half an hour to get through one of Sanctuary 41’s many security checkpoints. Once we’ve cleared the sanctuary’s heavily fortified walls, we whoosh over the Canadian countryside, headed for our home in Sanctuary 7.  

Once we’re about 30 miles outside Sanctuary 41, Lance turns around in his seat and finally breaks the eerie silence.  

“Are you still mad at me, Boom Boom?”       

I glare at Lance and scowl. “Of course I’m pissed at you. What you did back there was sick and immoral.”

            Lance throws up his hands and says, “Why are you hollering at me? Krystal is the one who was waterboarding her!”

            “Oh okay, so I’m the bad guy,” Krystal shouts. “If I recall correctly, you two were the ones who suggested we come to Sanctuary 41 in the first place. I was just fine with staying home and watching my show.”

            I ignore Krystal and continue glaring a burning hole through Lance’s skull. “I’m not taking about what Krystal did, even though it was just as despicable. I’m talking about when you tried to electrocute her with your damn glove!”

            “I wasn’t going to electrocute her,” Lance says. “We had to make her afraid of us if we were ever going to get her to talk.”

            “Yeah, well you could have killed her.”

            “I wasn’t going to kill her, Firecracker. I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

            “Yeah? Well I don’t think you do. And I also think you’re an asshole.”

            Lance narrows his eyes and holds up his gloved hand. My eyes widen at the sight of bluish tendrils of electricity dancing across his fingertips.

            I whip out a dagger and point it at Lance’s face. “Really? You’re going to threaten me?! If you ever even think of using that damn glove on me, I will cut out your heart and show it to you while it’s still beating.”

            Krystal chuckles. “That would be an awesome way to kill someone. I’ll have to try that sometime.”

            Lance and I ignore Krystal as we continue our stare-down.

            Lance is the first one to blink. He lowers his glowing hand and gazes downward. In a quiet, regret-filled voice, he says, “I would never hurt you, Boom Boom. You know that.”

            Still clutching my dagger, I respond, “I don’t know what you’re capable of anymore, Lance. You’ve changed.”

            Lance looks back up and defiantly replies, “Well so have you! And so has Krystal. We’ve all changed. After everything that went down in Alaska, how could any of us have remained the same? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Firecracker, but it’s a fucked up world out there. And it’s getting more fucked up with each passing day. We can’t operate like we used to, with a code of honor. If we attempt to show compassion and mercy, we’re as good as dead. All this stuff we’re doing… all the missions we’ve gone on over the years… we’re done it for the kids… for Harpoon and Blade… to keep them safe. And all that will have been for naught if this world erupts in flames. We’re fighting for a better future for them. We’re fighting for a better future for all the world’s children. Remember that, Firecracker.”

            As much as I hate to admit it, there is a kernel of truth to Lance’s bloviating. Still, I can’t help but miss the old Lance, the one who would never have even considered resorting to torture to wheedle information out of an otherwise harmless target.  

            Lance must sense my inner turmoil because he reaches back to gently squeeze my hand. I involuntarily recoil at his touch. Lance notices and quickly pulls his hand back. I can tell my revulsion at his touch has hurt him more than my words ever could.

            In a quiet whisper, Lance says, “I’m not the monster you’re making me out to be, Firecracker. I’m just a realist who realizes we may need to do some… unsavory things… in order to locate Klaxton and bring an end to this global standoff. Sometimes you have to be ruthless in order to get results. Dagger taught us that.”

            “Your uncle also taught us to show mercy,” I point out. 

“Yeah, well Dagger is dead, so being merciful didn’t exactly work out for him, did it? The bastard went and got himself killed, and now we’re all on our own,” Lance says in uncharacteristically blunt fashion. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak of his uncle in this way. Lance always adored the man.     

“Lance, I don’t know what’s going on in that screwed up brain of yours, but one thing is becoming increasingly apparent. You are not the same boy I once knew and loved. You have become someone else entirely.”

            “You’re right, Boom Boom, I’m not that guy anymore,” Lance says. “That guy died back in Alaska, when his girlfriend was shot out of a plane by the president of the United States. You know, the same president who was responsible for the death of your jackass lover, Arrow.”

            Lance’s words pierce my heart like a dagger. He spins around in his seat and goes back to watching the electricity flicker across his fingertips. I turn and watch the Canadian wilderness whisk past us at breakneck speed, creating the illusion of an emerald blur. The rest of our ride back to Sanctuary 7 is endured in stony, icy silence.              

Chapter Two: Lance

            Once the elevator reaches the 120th floor of our sky-rise apartment complex, I hop out and hurry down the hallway with my bags of groceries. I consider myself a pretty fit guy, but I would challenge anyone to hang onto an overflowing bag of produce while riding an elevator 1,700 feet into the sky. Times like this I really wish we chose to live in a smaller skyscraper (or at least on a much lower floor). But Boom Boom and Krystal love being able to go up through the skylight and chill on the roof. Hell, what am I talking about, I love doing that, too. I definitely enjoy lounging around on my beach chair up on the roof late at night and gazing up at the stars. Am I a hopeless romantic or what? 

            I just barely make my way past Ms. Madison’s apartment when her door swings open and she thrusts her head out into the hallway. I turn around and struggle not to smirk at the sight of her trademark star-emblazoned nightgown and all the curlers hanging limply from her gray hair. Ms. Madison is the personification of the stereotypical grandmother.

            Ms. Madison squints at me through her bifocals. “Lance, is that you?!”

            I shuffle the bags uncomfortably in my arms and reply, “Er, yes, Ms. Madison. It’s your favorite bounty hunting neighbor.”

            Ms. Madison cackles and says, “That’s bullshit and you know it! You know I like Krystal best of all. However, I must admit you are quite cute. Hell, if I was 50 years younger, I’d mount you in a heartbeat!”

            My cheeks flush as I stammer, “Ms. Madison, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like that before.”

            “I may be in my 70s but I ain’t dead!” she hollers for the whole world to hear.

            I force an awkward chuckle. I guess I should be flattered she apparently wants to “mount” me, but the thought of Ms. Madison’s wrinkly boobs falling out of her nightgown makes me want to vomit. Who knows, though; maybe when I’m in my 70s the sight of wrinkly boobs will turn me on.

            Ms. Madison adjusts her steamy bifocals and thankfully changes the subject. “Anyway, I’m glad it was you I heard shuffling past my doorway. For a second there I was afraid you were one of those damn brats from the 70th floor. They like to come up here in the middle of the night and bang on my fucking door.”

            “Yeah, they tried that one time with us,” I say, still shuffling the bags around in my arms. “You should have seen the looks on their faces when Krystal ran out in the hallway in her bra and panties, clutching a machine gun. They haven’t knocked on our door since.”

            Ms. Madison rubs her stubbly chin and says, “Hmmm… a machine gun you say?”

            “Don’t forget the bra and panties,” I add. In fact, I’m pretty sure all Ms. Madison would have to do is to run out into the hallway butt-naked. I sure as hell would never come back up here.

            Ms. Madison clenches her wrinkly fist and bellows, “I keep telling their parents they need to whoop their little asses. That would get them in line lickety-split. One thing’s for sure, those little shit-heads from the 70th floor aren’t adorable little angels like your cousins. In fact, Blade and Harpoon are the most adorable twin 13-year olds I’ve ever known!”

            “I’m pretty sure they’re the only 13-year old twins you know,” I point out.

            Ms. Madison starts eyeing my bags. “Say, what you got in there?”

            I make a showing of peeking inside the bag (even though I obviously know what I just bought) and casually reply, “Oh you know, the usual… some salmon, vegetables, Italian bread, ice cream…. Boom Boom is making dinner tonight.”

            I look up and notice drool trickling down Ms. Madison’s stubbly face.

            “Er, I could bring you a plate later if you’re hungry,” I propose.

            Ms. Madison waves me off. “Oh no, don’t worry about little ole me. I’m sure I’ll find a spare can of cat food in my cabinet.”

            Almost on cue, Ms. Madison’s elderly cat, Bonnie, peeks her gray head out the doorway and meows.

            “No need for you to eat Bonnie’s cat food,” I say, backing away toward my door. “Trust me, it’s no bother. It’s the least we can do, what with you always watching the kids while we’re away and all.”

            Ms. Madison shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, it is the least you can do. Especially since I’m supposed to watch them again tomorrow night.”

            Ms. Madison squints at me again and says, “You know, I thought after that fiasco in Alaska that you and the girls would stop your crazy bounty hunting shenanigans. But in the past two months I think you’ve gone on more missions than you did all of last year!”

            Continuing to back toward my apartment, I say, “Yeah, we’ve been pretty busy as of late. But I have a feeling things will start slowing down here soon. So anyway, I’ll bring you a plate later.”

            Ms. Madison smiles, revealing her crooked false teeth, which look like they’re on the verge of spilling out of her mouth. “Okay, Bonnie will be happy we’re not sharing another can of her food again.”

            Bonnie meows in response before they both retreat back into their apartment and shut the door.

            I shake my head in mild amusement and use my foot to bang on the front door to my apartment. While I wait for someone to open up, I think about how lucky we are to have Ms. Madison so readily available to watch the kids. We need her help now more than ever, especially since Krystal’s poor grandmother passed way last month. We used to always rely on her to watch the kids while we were out, but last month she succumbed to the illness that had been plaguing her for the better part of a decade. The Reaper finally came calling, and when he does, there’s nowhere to hide. I especially feel bad for Krystal. She’s been trying to act tough these past few weeks, but I know the loss of her last remaining family member has been weighing heavily on her mind. I know how I felt when my uncle died. It was like a suffocating cloud of darkness had descended upon my soul. It took a long, long time for me to adjust to the fact that I no longer had a “grownup” to run to whenever my problems spiraled out of control. I had to grow up fast. I’m about to turn 19 here in a few months, but it feels like I’ve lived several lifetimes. Hopefully if we find Klaxton… when we find Klaxton… me, the kids, and the girls can start living a normal, peaceful life... a life that will seem almost boring in comparison. That’s the ultimate dream.   

            After what feels like forever, the front door swings open. Harpoon looks up at me from the doorway and grins.

            “About damn time! I’m starving!”

            I chuckle and step inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind me.

            Harpoon grabs one of the bags out of my arms and takes it into the kitchen, where Boom Boom is already hard at work slicing tomatoes and whatever else we had in our fridge. (We didn’t have much, hence the reason I went to the store.) I notice that her hair is back to its original fiery red color. She must have washed out the black dye she used on our mission. I can’t say that I’m not happy about it. I love Boom Boom’s red hair, and I hate when she has to dye it in order to cloak her famous identity.

I watch as Harpoon plops the bag of groceries onto the counter and skips back over to the couch to play one of her violent, holographic video games with Blade and Krystal. Harpoon is rapidly becoming a beautiful young woman, and she’s starting to attract horny boys like flowers attract bees. (Whenever I see a boy staring at her longingly, I discreetly flash a handgun. That usually sends the boys running for their lives.) I’m already dreading the day she goes on her first date. I’m going to have to have a long, threatening talk with whoever manages to catch her eye.

            Blade is also starting to draw the attention of a lot of the young girls in our apartment complex. If you compare pictures of me when I was his age, we could pass as twins. He might as well be my son for all of our physical similarities. At least with Blade I won’t have to worry about who he dates. I’m more concerned about him drawing the ire and wrath of the fathers of the girls he goes out with. I seriously can’t believe I have to start dealing with this crap. Like I mentioned before, when all the adults in your life die, you’re forced to grow up incredibly fast.

            I turn my attention back to Boom Boom, who has just finished slicing the tomatoes and has now moved on to the onions. Her knife is moving up and down so quickly that all I can make out is a blur. I know Boom Boom is still pissed about what went down with Blackbird’s daughter, so I make a mental note not to aggravate her too much. I definitely don’t want her hurling that dagger at my forehead.

            “It’s starting to smell good in here,” I say in a feeble attempt at extending an olive branch.

            Without looking up, Boom Boom snaps, “I haven’t even started cooking anything yet, dumbass. I’ve been waiting on you to bring home the groceries.”

             I set down the bag I’m holding and scoot it across the counter. “Sorry for the delay. There was a long line. Here’s the stuff.”

            Boom Boom glances at the bag, then ever-so-briefly looks up at me before glaring back down at her onion. The knife is moving faster than ever.

            I sigh heavily and say, “Boom Boom, you’ve barely spoken two words to me since we got back from Sanctuary 41. Can we at least talk?”

            Boom Boom’s cheeks flush red with anger. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

            I reach out and grab Boom Boom’s wrist. She drops the knife and looks up at me, her eyes blazing with white-hot rage.

            “Get the fuck off of me,” Boom Boom roars, tearing her wrist from my grasp.

            Krystal and the kids stop talking and turn around.

            “Is everything okay?” Harpoon asks.

            Krystal flaps her wrist. “Don’t pay them any attention. They’re both uptight because neither of them have gotten laid in a while.”

            “Why don’t you guys just have sex with each other, like you used to?” Blade suggests.

            I spin around and say, “Krystal, you’re not helping. Please shut up. And you two…”

            I point my finger at Blade and Harpoon in case there’s any confusion as to who I’m talking to.

            “… if you don’t want to be grounded, go back to your game and pipe down!”

            “What an asshole,” Blade mutters under his breath as he turns around. Krystal and Harpoon do their best not to burst out laughing. I have to admit, I sort of have trouble as well.

            When I turn back to Boom Boom, however, all feelings of levity quickly dissipate. Boom Boom appears angrier than I’ve seen her in a long-ass time. Her entire face is bright red and the knife she dropped is back in her hand.

            I hold up both of my hands and back away. “Whoa Boom Boom, put the knife down. No need to get violent.”

            Boom Boom points the knife at me and shouts, “I’m not just pissed about your interrogation methods, Lance. I’m also pissed off about this!”

            Boom Boom opens a drawer and pulls out a plastic bag filled with some of my discarded needles.

            I gulp and say, “Er, you found those, huh?”

            “Yes I found them, you idiot! They were in the trash can!”

            I rub my head and mutter to myself, “Damn, I thought I took that bag of trash out to the dumpster.”

            “Damn it, Lance, this isn’t a joke!” Boom Boom explodes, causing Krystal and the kids to turn around again. This time they’re smart enough not to interject.

            Waving the bag of needles in front of my face, Boom Boom rattles on, “I tolerated your excessive use of marijuana and your propensity to drink booze at all hours of the night, but heroin? Cocaine? Why are you doing all this shit, Lance? Just a few months ago you were riding my ass because I was addicted to pain pills. I managed to get over my addiction, but yours has gotten worse!”

            I throw up my hands and shout, “I told you I’m trying to wean myself off of the hard stuff! But I go into these crazy withdrawals when I try and quit cold turkey. I need a little kick every now and then in order to function. Otherwise I’m completely useless to you guys. We don’t have time for me to go to rehab, Boom Boom. We’re trying to find Klaxton and stop a damn war, in case you’ve forgotten.”

            “No I haven’t forgotten!” Boom Boom shrieks, her entire body trembling in fury. “I’m reminded of it every goddamn day! It’s like our entire lives are now devoted to finding that lunatic! Even in sleep I can’t get a reprieve. Every night I dream about what went down in Alaska! I see Rasputin electrocuting Arrow. I see Klaxton blowing Dorothy out of a helicopter with a machine gun. I see Machete’s face, contorted in hate, as she blames us for Arrow’s death at his own funeral. And when I wake up every morning, I’m reminded of Klaxton… I’m reminded that we’re on the verge of a full-blown nuclear war… because that’s all they fucking talk about on the news. And I’m reminded when we go on our insane missions to track down scumbags who might have any sort of lead on Klaxton’s whereabouts. Every second of every single day and every second of every single night I’m reminded of this shit, Lance. I don’t need you constantly throwing it back into my face!”

            I immediately feel like the world’s biggest jerk. Boom Boom’s struggling to deal with everything like I am. The last thing she needs is me compounding her issues.

            I rub my throbbing temple with my fingers (it’s been a while since I shot up and I’m starting to feel the effects) and say, “Look Firecracker, I… I’m sorry. I know you’re going through some shit. We all are. What we’re trying to do… it’s crazy! Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it… if we shouldn’t just leave it up to someone else. Sometimes I’m… well, I’m afraid. And I lash out at the wrong people. I lash out at the ones I love.”

            Boom Boom wipes away the tears building up in her eyes and says, “It’s okay, Lance, I get it. I feel the same way. I just… I wish you weren’t taking all these drugs. I know I used to give you hell for smoking pot, but to be honest I’d be thrilled if that was all you did nowadays. Why did you get into all this hard shit?”

            Deciding to be completely honest, I reply, “For the same reason you got addicted to pain pills. To numb the pain… mental and physical. It’s a coping mechanism, to help me keep my sanity… especially after what went down a few months ago. That really messed me up. I think it messed all of us up.”

            Boom Boom scoffs. “That’s understatement of the century.”

            Boom Boom then does something she hasn’t done in a few weeks. She walks over and gives me a hug. I’m initially surprised, but I quickly hug her back. Boom Boom and I have had our fair share of arguments and disagreements, but I love her dearly. I’m always at my happiest when we’re on the “on” part of our complicated “on-again, off-again” relationship.

            Still hugging me tight, Boom Boom quietly says, “I managed to get through my addiction, Lance, and you can, too. I want you to at least try. You’re setting a bad example for the kids, injecting and ingesting those toxins every night.”

            Blade clears his throat and says, “To be fair, Boom Boom, all three of you are setting a bad example. After all, we do see you guys on the news every night, shooting people in their foreheads.”

            I start cracking up. Boom Boom slips out of our hug and admonishingly says to Blade, “We do not shoot people in their foreheads. At least, I don’t.”

            I hold up my gloved hand and say, “I prefer to electrocute them.”

            Krystal holds up her glock and blurts out, “I shoot em’ in their foreheads!”

            Blade and Harpoon giggle. The laughter quickly dies down, however, and Blade gets all serious.

            “I just don’t understand why you guys have to go off on another mission tomorrow. It’s going to be Christmas Eve! We always spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning together. No offense to Ms. Madison, but we don’t want to spend the holidays with her and her creepy old cat!”

            Boom Boom rushes over and hugs Blade to her chest. I notice Blade smiling as he nestles his face into Boom Boom’s bosom. That sly dog.

            Unaware that Blade is enjoying Boom Boom’s embrace a little too much, she rubs his back and soothingly says, “I’m sorry, Blade. Trust me, we wouldn’t be leaving you guys if we had a choice. But if we’re to have any chance of nabbing Geronimo Blackbird, we’ve got to do it tomorrow night.”

            I plop down on the couch and wrap my arm around Harpoon, who seems just as distraught as her brother. “Blackbird is notorious for throwing extravagant, booze-filled Christmas Eve parties. It’s one of the things he’s most famous for. Well, besides being one of the richest people in the world.”

            “We’re assuming Blackbird will be throwing another one of those ‘extravagant’ parties tomorrow night off the coast of Antarctica,” Boom Boom elaborates. “On any other night it would be a suicide mission to invade Blackbird’s ship. But if we do it during the wee hours of Christmas Morning, all of his bodyguards and criminal associates will be shit-faced drunk and passed out in their rooms. We should be able to sneak onto the ship and nab Blackbird without firing a single shot.”

            “Then we can turn Blackbird over to President LeBeau’s security forces, they can interrogate him and hopefully find Klaxton’s location, then we can hunt her ass down and hand her carcass over to the Chinese, stopping Armageddon in its tracks,” I say casually. “Bada-boom, bada-bing!”

            Harpoon looks up and says, “Then you guys will finally stop going on all these crazy bounty hunting missions?”

            I grin and say, “Exactly! President LeBeau has already assured us that Klaxton’s $100 million bounty is ours for the taking. With that much money we’ll be able to afford a swank penthouse suite in Sanctuary 41. We’ll live the rest of our days like royalty.”

            Harpoon’s eyes glaze over and her lips curl into a greedy smile. “I’ve always wanted to live like a queen.”

            Blade finally lifts his head off of Boom Boom’s bosom (for a second I thought he was going to stay there all night) and says, “How come Harpoon and I can’t come with you guys? We can help you get Blackbird!”

            Harpoon turns toward Krystal and excitedly says, “Ohh, that would be so much fun! Krystal and I can take turns flying the car!”

            “Sounds good to me,” Krystal says with a mouthful of popcorn while she mindlessly continues playing Blade and Harpoon’s video game. I don’t think she has the slightest clue what we’re talking about.

            Boom Boom snaps, “No, absolutely not! You guys are way too young to come on a bounty hunting mission, especially one this dangerous.

            “But you just said it was going to be easy,” Blade says in a whiny voice. “You said all of Blackbird’s goons are going to be shit-faced drunk!”

            “Blade, don’t say shit,” Boom Boom chastises. “I seriously have no idea where you learned to cuss like that.”

            Blade looks at me and says, “Is she serious? Has she not heard how you guys talk to each other?”

            I snort while Boom Boom crosses her arms and scowls.

            In an attempt to keep the peace and make everyone happy, I theatrically wave my hands and say, “How about this? One of these days we’ll take you guys out on one of our bounty hunting runs. You know, against some small-time crook, someone who’s not all that dangerous. You kids are getting older now. Maybe it’ll do some good to show you guys the ‘family’ business.” 

            By the way Boom Boom freaks out you would think I proposed they join me on a drug binge.

            “Lance, are you out of your fucking mind?! I thought we came to an agreement years ago! Blade and Harpoon are NOT going to follow in our footsteps and become bounty hunters! They are going to stay in school and make something of themselves. They’re going to become doctors or lawyers or, hell, they can live out on the streets and be panhandlers for all I care. But I refuse to stand by and watch them risk their lives just to pay the rent like we’ve been doing.”

            I wave Boom Boom off. “Why are you freaking out on me? We can’t shield Blade and Harpoon forever. They need to learn to defend themselves. It wouldn’t hurt for them to tag along on one our missions, learn how we take care of business.”

            Blade and Harpoon exchange excited grins.

            “Yeah Boom Boom, you should let us come with you guys one day,” Blade interjects. “I want to follow in my dad’s footsteps. I want to go after bad guys like he did.”

            “Your father would roll over in his grave if he heard you talking like that,” Boom Boom says, starting to get as angry as she was moments ago, when she was shouting my ear off about my drug use. “Dagger went on all those bounty hunting missions over the years so he could give you guys a safe, comfortable place to live, and so you could get an education. He never wanted you to have to do what he did… what Lance and I are doing. Bounty hunting may sound glamorous, but it’s not. It’s nothing but complete and utter hell. And if you let your guard down, it’ll get you killed.”

            Boom Boom doesn’t come right out and say it, but it’s implied. If you let your guard down, you’ll get killed like Dagger did.

            Boom Boom goes back to wagging her finger in Blade and Harpoon’s faces, like an overprotective mother who’s afraid to let her kids experience the outside world. “You two are going to keep on going to school and make something of yourselves. And that’s final.”

            Normally I would side with Boom Boom when it comes to the kids’ education, but something inside me doesn’t appreciate the way she keeps demeaning our profession. It also doesn’t help that I’m dying to snort a line of coke.

            Unable to bite my tongue any longer, I derisively say, “It’s going to be awfully hard for the kids to make something of themselves if they get burnt to a radioactive crisp. We’re on the verge of a world war for Christ sake, and you’re worried about them doing their homework?”

            Boom Boom grits her teeth, marches over to me, and punches me in my nose… hard.

            I slide off the couch and clutch my nose as blood pours from my nostrils.

            “Son of a bitch!” I shout in a nasally voice.

            Blade and Harpoon gasp. Krystal looks up from her video game and blurts out, “Holy shit, did Boom Boom just sucker-punch you??”

            Boom Boom glares down at me and snarls, “If I hear you utter one more word about how the kids should follow in our footsteps, I’m sending you to the hospital.”

            Boom Boom storms off to her room, slamming the door so hard that the pictures on the wall rattle.  

            Blade and Harpoon stare at me in stunned silence, their mouths agape and their faces as white as linen sheets. I stagger to my feet and lower my hand from my busted nose. My fingers are covered in blood.

            Harpoon jumps up and quietly says, “Do you want an ice pack, Lance?” 

            I shake my head and mutter, “No, I’m fine, kiddo. I’m, uh, gonna go up on the roof for some fresh air. Stay in here and finish your game.”

            Before the kids can say another word, I pull down the foldaway stairs hanging from the ceiling, climb up to the skylight, push open the glass window, and hop out onto the roof. A gust of wind slams into me, nearly sending me tumbling back into the apartment, but I manage to force my way through Mother Nature’s version of a block and make my way to the ledge overlooking the city. I pull out a joint and light up while I gaze down at the city street nearly 2,000 feet below. I’m so high up that all the people walking around on the streets look like itty bitty ants. Off in the distance thousands of flying cars whiz past one another, honking their horns and flashing their lights. Hundreds of brightly lit sky-rise apartments and office buildings spread out before me, stretching all the way up to the giant, heavily fortified concrete wall encircling our sanctuary. I look up at the few visible stars twinkling in the heavens. I prefer the night sky out in the country, away from the city lights, where the sky becomes ablaze with starlight, but this will have to do. A handful of stars is better than no stars at all.

            I close my eyes and inhale deeply as a calming wave of relaxation washes over me. Whenever I’m uptight and on edge, a joint brings me back down to Earth. It used to be that marijuana was the only drug I ever needed. Nowadays, however, when I’m feeling really bad, I craze the harder stuff. I started dabbling with heroin, acid, and cocaine right after Dorothy died. I never intended to become addicted to the shit. I was just trying to take some stuff to numb all my emotional and physical pain. But I did become addicted. As soon as we find Klaxton I fully intend to get clean. But until then, I’m just trying to get through each day the best I can.

            I’ve been fighting off my cravings all day, but now it’s starting to make me feel a little crazy. I glance around to make sure Boom Boom isn’t about to come up and catch me in the act. Once I see that the coast is clear, I withdraw a needle and inject it into my arm. Within a matter of seconds a feeling of euphoria washes over me, driving away all the pain wracking my mind and body. I can’t help but smile as my entire being is flooded with immense pleasure. I suddenly feel like a million bucks. No, a billion bucks. I feel like I can take on the entire world.

            I flick away my old joint and pull out a new one. After I spend a few minutes blowing smoke rings into the night sky, I plop down on the gravel-covered roof and stare at my gloved right hand. Crackling spirals of blue electricity hop from fingertip to fingertip. I may hate Mikhail Rasputin, but I am starting to understand him. Or I should say, I’m starting to understand why he loved this robotic glove so damn much. To have so much power in the palm of your hand… it almost makes you feel invincible… that you can take on an entire army. With this glove I’m able to take out dozens of gangsters in a matter of seconds. I already proved that a few times already. But I bet I could take out even more people. Maybe I’ll head out to some crime-riddled area after everyone goes to sleep and start a little trouble. Just to see how many people I can take out all by my lonesome. I bet I could take out hundreds.

            I suddenly shake my head and rub my eyes. What the hell am I thinking? Going out and starting trouble just to see how many people I can hurt? How many people I can kill? Maybe Boom Boom is right… maybe there is something wrong with me.

            Is this how it happens, I wonder? Is this how good people become evil? I can feel a cloud of darkness descending upon me… smothering me… coming at me from all directions. I want to lash out all the time now, even over the stupidest things. Just the other day I was on the way to pick up some ammunition at a gun shop when a guy cut me off in his flying convertible. Normally I would just lay into the horn and spit out a string of profanity that would make an inebriated pirate blush. But this time I actually grabbed my gun and pointed it at the guy’s head. I came within a nano-second of blowing the dude’s brains out before I was able to stop myself. Boom Boom’s right, I probably need to go see a doctor. Or a shrink.

            I put my head in my hands and groan. There’s just so much going on. I feel like my brain is about to explode. Why do Boom Boom, Krystal and I put ourselves through all this? It’s not our responsibility to find Klaxton and save the world. Why don’t we just act like the immature kids we are? All I know is I could really use Dagger right about now. He always knew what to say to make things right. I feel so confused at the moment… and so very alone. I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. Tears begin to trickle down my cheeks. What the fuck is wrong with me?

            The sound of approaching footsteps snaps me out of my bout of self-pity. What alarms me the most is that I don’t hear just one set of footsteps; I hear many.

            My entire body tenses. I clench my gloved fist, causing it to glow electric blue. I then spin around and hold out my hand, causing electricity to flicker from my fingertips. The sight that awaits me is even worse than I could have ever imagined. Surrounding me in a semi-circle, clutching machine guns, swords, and metal baseball bats, are nearly two dozen Neo-Nazi Ku Klux Klansmen. The Klansmen are garbed in their trademark white cloaks and hoods. Three flying cars hover above the roof, filled with even more Nazis. They must have just flown up here within the last ten seconds or so.

            One of the hooded men steps toward me, pointing a gun toward my chest. A gleaming, golden necklace dangles from his neck, with the words Grand Wizard hanging from the end of it. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised this is happening. During our odyssey to Alaska a few months ago, we ran into a bunch of Klansmen and took out their Grand Wizard. This jackass must be their replacement. How they found us, though, I have no idea.

            The Grand Wizard cackles and says, “Well well well, if it ain’t the world famous bounty hunter, Lance Harley. We’ve been looking for your little pipsqueak ass for a long time. What, you thought you and your friends could sneak into Dresden, assassinate our Grand Wizard, and live the rest of your days in peace? You thought we wouldn’t come seeking vengeance?”

            Against my better judgment, I shrug and say, “I had hoped.”

            The rest of the Klansmen growl and mutter to one another. The Grand Wizard remains remarkably calm.

            “You had hoped?” he chuckled, still pointing his gun at my chest. “Well you hoped wrong, boy. For you see, it’s not just us Dresden folk who want your head on a pike. We actually got orders from the Fuhrer in Bavaria to come after your ass. How’s that make you feel, boy? To know that Fuhrer Coulter cares enough about you to want your ass dead? You gotta be someone of considerable stature to catch the Fuhrer’s attention.”

            Throwing caution to the wind, I smirk and say, “Oh yeah? Well tell your Furher that she can suck my dick.”

            From the shouts of outrage that follow, you would think that I insulted every religious figure in Christianity, Islam, and Judaism combined. Several of the Klansmen actually attempt to lunge toward me, but their fellow Aryan brethren manage to hold them back.

            The Grand Wizard holds up his hand and says, in a shaky voice that betrays how irate he is, “Now now, boys, he’s just trying to get us all worked up. He’s trolling us, is all.”

            The Grand Wizard cocks his head to the side as he inches ever closer to me, his gun still aimed directly at my rapidly beating heart. “You know, boy, it’s a shame you decided to pick this fight with us. I mean, with your blond hair and white complexion, you are the physical personification of everything we stand for. You are the poster child of the Aryan race. Why you have chosen this path, I will never know. In a minute here I’m going to shoot you with this here tranquilizer dart. Then me and my boys are going to go down into your apartment and have our way with your friends Krystal, Boom Boom, and those little cousins of yours, Blade and Harpoon.”

            The rest of the Klansmen cackle gleefully. It takes every iota of self-restraint I possess not to send thousands of volts of electricity surging through every last one of the Nazi bastards.

            “Then, after we’ve had our fun, we’re going to kill your cousins, then take you and your bounty hunting female friends over to Bavaria, where you will be burned alive in front of the Fuhrer and millions of her closest friends. It’s a fitting fate for the sons of bitches that killed our beloved Grand Wizard.”

            Realizing I need to buy myself some time, I say, “Would it help if I apologized?”

            The rest of the Klansmen chuckle. The Grand Wizard shrugs and says, “Sure you can apologize… while you’re burning!”

            That causes the Klansmen to laugh even more uproariously than before.

            I consider hurling a bolt of lightning into the new Grand Wizard’s face, but instead I make another feeble attempt to buy a little more time. I need to be in complete control of my emotions to pull off what I’m about to do, and right now I’m still on the verge of freaking the fuck out. I need to calm down, and fast.

            Doing my best to keep my voice from quaking, I ask, “So how exactly did you jerk-offs get inside Sanctuary 7 anyway? I know quite a few of the security guards manning the wall, and they wouldn’t allow a bunch of Neo-Nazi terrorist assholes to just barge inside without putting up some resistance.”

            The Nazi Klansmen start muttering again about how big of a dick I am, but the Grand Wizard keeps his cool. He chuckles and says, “You’re right, normally we would have had a helluva time getting to you. That’s why we asked your mayor to sneak us in. He was more than happy to comply with our demands.”

            I can feel my face turn white. The Neo-Nazis must notice because a bunch of them point and laugh.

            The Grand Wizard cocks his hooded face and gleefully says, “What’s wrong, boy? You look a little pale. What’s the matter? You thought you and the mayor were a bit tighter than you actually are?”

            Somewhat regaining my composure, I reply, “Yes, actually. I considered the mayor a friend. Apparently I was wrong.”

            The Grand Wizard chortles as he slowly swings his gun back and forth. I can’t help but follow the barrel of the gleaming pistol with my eyes.

            “Sorry to burst your bubble, boy, but let this be a valuable lesson for ya. Everyone has their price. Everyone. We offered your old pal Mayor Tomlinson a bribe of $1 million to let us inside. We threw in an extra $250,000 if he promised to keep the police on a tight leash while we took care of business. The last thing we want is a shootout with Sanctuary 7’s finest. We want this to be quick and easy. Of course, I have a nagging feeling that the money was only part of the reason your buddy Tomlinson agreed to assist us. For you see, we also promised not to slaughter his family. That got his compliance lickety-split.”

            The Grand Wizard and his fellow Klansman burst out with another round of hysterical laughter. I take it they’re easily amused.

            Krystal suddenly shouts up through the skylight, “Lance, what the hell is all that racket? Is someone up there with you?”

            Krystal’s voice causes crashing waves of fear to cascade all over my body. It’s one thing for these Klansmen to threaten my life. I don’t give a rat’s ass about myself. But it’s another thing entirely when they start threatening my friends and family. If I’m going to make my move, I’m going to need to do it now.

            “I’ll be down in a second!” I shout frantically. “Don’t come up!”

            My warning comes too little, too late. Krystal pops her head through the skylight and hollers, “Don’t tell me what to do. I know I hear voices up here! I may be crazy, but I ain’t that cra… what the fuck?!?”

            It’s almost comical to see Krystal’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at the sight of all the hooded, heavily-armed Klansmen. Almost.

            Several of the Klansmen spin around and point their rifles at Krystal’s shell-shocked face. That’s when I decide to act.

            “Krystal, get down!”

            Krystal’s head disappears a split-second before dozens of bullets fly past the skylight opening. The Grand Wizard turns his attention back to me and aims his gun at my chest. Before he can press down on the trigger, I duck down, thrust out my glowing right hand, and unleash a blinding bolt of lightning. The lightning bolt explodes into the Grand Wizard’s chest, bathing him in an intense, electric-blue light. The Grand Wizard shrieks in incomprehensible agony as his body is cooked from the inside out. His robes ignite on fire and smoke billows from his sizzling head. The Grand Wizard flies up into the air and plummets over the side of the roof, free-falling toward his timely death.

            Before the rest of the Wizard’s racist brethren get a chance to retaliate, I dash toward the skylight, firing off dozens of bolts of electricity along the way. The Klansmen do their best to scatter and avoid the crackling, spiraling electricity bolts, but at least eight of them get blasted off their feet. I fire several bolts at one of the hovering cars, causing the front of it to catch on fire. Six Klansmen scramble out of the car before it short-circuits and plummets out of view. When it lands it’s going to cause one hell of an explosion. I just hope no innocent bystanders get hurt or killed.

            By now the Klansmen are starting to regroup. Several of them begin firing at me. Tranquilizer darts narrowly whiz past my head and arms. And a bunch of them nick the ground around my feet. This reminds me that the Klansmen don’t want me dead… not yet, at least. That gives me the advantage, since I obviously have no qualms killing them.

            I hold up my glowing hand and fire off several lightning bolts over my shoulder. Someone cries out in agony, indicating I hit at least one target. I take a running leap toward the skylight and dive through the open window. I crash into the stairs and tumble all the way down into my apartment, finally landing in a heap on the floor. At first I’m surprised at my lack of pain, but then I realize all the adrenaline gushing through my veins is probably doing a good job of blunting the worst of it. All I know is that I’m going to be hurting in the morning. If I make it to the morning.

            “Lance, what the hell is going on?!” Blade cries.

            I push myself off the floor and look up at the twins, who are huddled in front of the couch, a combination of fear and excitement on their faces. All their lives Blade and Harpoon have fantasized about joining us on one of our crazy, death-defying missions. And today their fantasy is becoming a reality, whether they’re ready for it or not.

            I hobble over to the twins and push them toward the door. Speaking in a raspy voice, I shout, “We’ve got to go, guys! Let’s move!”

            I glance over at Krystal, who is running toward me with a machine gun, gasping for air. Judging by all the sweat pouring down her ebony face, you’d think she just ran a marathon.

            Krystal opens her mouth to say something, but all I hear is KA-BLOOM!!

            Krystal, the twins and I fall to the floor as all the windows in our apartment shatter. The entire building shakes, almost like there’s an earthquake. I’m going to take an educated guess and assume that was the car I blasted out of the sky. It must have just hit the street and exploded.

            With my ears ringing, I shout, “We have to go, guys! We have to---”

            I’m interrupted by three Klansmen jumping through our skylight and landing inside our apartment. One of the Klansmen aims his tranquilizer gun toward my chest and hollers, “Remember men, take them down alive! The Fuhrer wants to see these brats suffer!”

            Krystal responds by riddling the Klansmen with bullets. I grab the kids and we all jump behind the couch, narrowly avoiding some of the bullets flying through the Klansmen’s bodies. Blood gushes out of the Klansmen’s countless wounds as they collapse onto the ground and start convulsing. Some of the blood seeps under the couch and puddles around my knees. Blade and Harpoon stick out their tongues in disgust.

            Krystal finally stops firing and blows the smoke billowing out of her gun.

            “Killing white racist people is fun!” Krystal cackles. That girl seriously has some mental issues.

            Four more Klansmen leap down and punch Krystal in the face. Krystal tumbles backwards, her machine gun clattering into the kitchen.     

            “Krystal, no!” I shout, hurling two lightning bolts into two of the nearest Klansmen. The bolts send the Klansmen flying out our shattered windows. Their screams pierce the night air as they plummet nearly 2,000 feet to their deaths.

            I’m just about to dispatch the other two Klansmen when Blade whips out a dagger strapped to his leg and growls, “Don’t worry, Lance, we got this.”

            Harpoon whips out a blade as well and they both charge toward the two remaining shell-shocked Klansmen. I watch in a combination of shock, horror, and awe as the twins stab the Klansmen in their legs and stomachs. The Klansmen shriek in agony and collapse to the ground. The twins ignore their desperate pleas and continue stabbing away at their faces and upper chests. I always make sure the twins have blades on their persons at all times, just in case someone tries to mess with them when I’m not around to protect them. It would appear I have nothing to worry about. I’m actually a bit appalled at how ruthlessly and effortlessly the kids are murdering two full-grown men. This has to be the first time either one of them has killed someone, unless they’ve been sneaking off in the middle of the night to stab people in back alleys somewhere. (Seeing how good they are at butchering the Klansmen, I can’t exactly discount that theory.) The kids seem so unfazed by the violence they are perpetrating that I can’t help but feel a little sick to my stomach. I immediately shake my head, clearing my mind of any and all revulsion. We’re all going to have to do things that are immoral in order to survive this Neo-Nazi onslaught.

            While the kids continue stabbing their victims in the foreheads, I glance up at the skylight. Seven Nazis are staring down at us, aiming their rifles. I fire off several lightning bolts, striking one Nazi in the face (causing him to fall through the skylight and crash through a table) while the rest of the Klansmen jerk their heads out of sight.

            Krystal clambers to her feet and picks up her still-smoking machine gun. She then spins around and fires several shots through the skylight.

            “You assholes have picked the wrong people to fuck with!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs. I notice Krystal’s wig is all lopsided, but decline to comment on it. I definitely don’t want her taking a shot at me.

            Boom Boom barges out of her bedroom in her purple see-through nightgown (revealing her black bra and panties) and shouts, “What in the blue hell is going on out here! Can’t a girl get some sle… holy shit!!”

            Boom Boom’s eyes grow wide at the sight of all the dead, profusely bleeding Klansmen sprawled out in our living room. She jumps back when her bare feet step into a puddle of blood.

            Boom Boom rubs her eyes and mumbles, “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”

            I run over and clutch Boom Boom’s arms, snapping her back to reality.

            “Boom Boom, the Neo-Nazis from Dresden have found us! They want to take us to Bavaria for execution! We have to go, NOW!”

            Boom Boom stares at me for the briefest of seconds, confused by what I just said. Then her stunned face hardens as the reality of my words wash over her. Boom Boom instantly transforms back into the gritty, kick-ass bounty hunter who’s helped keep me alive all these years. Boom Boom dashes over to our armory at the end of the hall, grabs a handful of grenades and a machine gun, then races back over to me, her nightgown billowing behind her like an erotic superhero’s cape.

            Boom Boom shouts at the twins, “Quick, get to the elevator!”

            I kick open our door and peek out into the hallway, making sure there are no Nazis standing outside waiting to ambush us. I then grab Blade and Harpoon by their arms (doing my best to ignore the blood splattered all over their clothes) and shove them into the hall. Krystal fires off several more shots through the skylight before hustling after them, still sweating up a storm and gasping like a winded buffalo. I’m just about to exit the apartment as well when I notice Boom Boom still standing by the couch, fiddling with one of the hi-tech computerized grenades she grabbed from the armory.

            “Boom Boom, we have to--”

            “I know, Lance, just give me a second,” Boom Boom snaps, implying she’s still pissed off about our little fight. The world could be ending and Boom Boom will still hold a grudge against someone she perceives to have ‘wronged’ her.

            “Got it,” Boom Boom says before tossing the ticking grenade up through the skylight. She shoves me out the door and barks, “Move, move, MOVE!!”

            We both tumble out into the hallway a split-second before the grenade detonates up on the roof. The concussive force of the blast knocks us both to the ground. I groggily push myself up and turn around just in time to see the ceiling of our apartment completely cave in. Black, acrid smoke billows out of the doorway, causing me to cough and gag. In the time it takes me to blink, our home is vaporized. So many memories, gone in a flash. That’s the story of my life, I suppose.  

            “Get your lazy ass off the floor and let’s go!” Boom Boom shrieks, pulling me up by my arm. I stagger to my feet and we both hobble down the hall, grimacing as we go. The explosion appears to have left us both the worse for wear.

            I just rush past Ms. Madison’s apartment when her door flies open. Ms. Madison staggers out into the hallway in her nightgown, clutching a glock in one hand and a martini in the other.

            “What the hell is going on out here?” Ms. Madison shrieks. “Did those bastards from the 70th floor come back up her and let off another stink bomb?!”

            Ms. Madison’s question is answered a split-second later when three Klansmen stumble out of the smoking remains of our apartment. The Klansmen’s’ robes are covered in blood and black soot. One of the Klansmen is missing his hood, and his left hand looks to be badly mangled from the explosion. The hoodless Klansmen is bald with piercings all over his ears, nose, and mouth. His eyes appear to be bloodshot, probably from smoking a bit too much pot before his big mission Basically he’s the personification of the stereotypical Neo-Nazi asshole.

            I glance behind me to see where everyone’s at. Krystal is furiously jabbing at the button to the elevator, oblivious to the Nazis. Blade and Harpoon are cowering behind her, their eyes wide with fear. Boom Boom is standing by my side, her machine gun already aimed at our assailants. And Ms. Madison is still standing out in the hall, the contents of her martini glass sloshing over the side and spilling onto the floor as she drunkenly teeters back and forth.

            Several people down the hall pop their heads out of their doors to see what’s going on. I wave my arms at them and shout, “Get back inside! Now!”

            Most of my neighbors heed my command (although a couple of them continue to peek around their door frames).

            With my neighbors out of harm’s way (for the most part, at least), I spin back around and generate a ball of lighting in the palm of my hand. I then pull back my arm and hurl the crackling ball of electricity straight toward the hoodless Klansman, just as he’s about to fire his tranquilizer gun. The ball of lightning explodes into the Klansman’s chest, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall. The Klansmen screams in excruciating agony as his entire body crackles with electricity. The electricity quickly dissipates, and the Klansman’s scorched body collapses to the ground in an unmoving, smoldering heap.

            The other two Klansmen stare at their newly deceased buddy in horror. Boom Boom takes that opportunity to riddle both Klansmen with bullets. Blood pours from their various wounds as they fall backwards, flailing their arms and legs and moaning in pain. Another Klansman emerges from the rubble of our demolished apartment, stumbling over his slain friends. Ms. Madison takes care of this new Klansman with a quick gunshot to the forehead.  

            I grin and give Ms. Madison an appraising thumbs up. “Nice shot!”

            Ms. Madison returns the smirk and blows the end of her smoking gun. “I don’t know why you seem so surprised. I didn’t live this long being a pussy!”

            The elevator door finally opens and Krystal shoves Blade and Harpoon inside.

            “Guys, hurry the fuck up!” Krystal hollers as she holds the elevator doors open.

            Boom Boom rushes over to the elevator and jumps inside. Krystal continues to wave me over.

            I turn to Ms. Madison and say, “Go back inside your apartment and hide, Ms. Madison. These Neo-Nazis are after us, not you. There’s no reason for you to get caught up in this mess.”

            Before Ms. Madison can respond, three more Nazis leap out of my apartment and dash toward us.

            Ms. Madison shoves me toward the elevator and barks, “Don’t worry about me. Just make sure you get those kids to safety. I’ll hold these bastards off for as long as I can!”

            “But Ms. Madison, you can’t…”

            Ms. Madison points her gun at my forehead and shrieks, “Go, you dumb son of a bitch! Get out of here, NOW!!”

            Ms. Madison spins around on her heels and fires several shots at the approaching Nazis, hitting one square in the chest. The Nazi cries out and falls flat on his back.

            Harpoon sticks her head out of the elevator and screams, “Lance, come on!!”

            Harpoon’s voice is the catalyst that causes me to retreat. I fire several bolts of lightning over my shoulder as I dash toward the elevator. I jump inside and glance through the doors just as they start to slide shut.

            “Eat shit and die, Nazi bastards!” Ms. Madison cackles like a lunatic as she empties her glock into the army of Nazis that have begun spilling out of our apartment. “I’m Jewish, so this is especially gratifying!”

            The Nazis respond by mowing Ms. Madison down with their machine guns. Ms. Madison flies backwards and lands in a bloody heap right in front of the closing elevator door.

            “Ms. Madison, NOOO!!!” I scream, lunging toward the door.

            Boom Boom and Krystal yank me back and hold me up against the wall, just as the doors slam shut.

            I shove Boom Boom and Krystal off of me and start banging on the steel doors with my fists. 

            “Ms. Madison!! Goddamn it, nooo!!”

            Boom Boom yanks on my hair and slams me back up against the wall. She clutches my face with her hands and says, “Lance, please calm down! Ms. Madison sacrificed herself so we could get out of here alive. She sacrificed herself so the kids could get out alive. Please calm down. We need you. I need you.” 

            Boom Boom’s emerald eyes are filled with tears, but her voice is filled with resolve. I blink back my own tears and glance at Blade and Harpoon, who are huddled in the back of the elevator, their hands covered in blood from their first stabbing victim, tears spilling down their ashen cheeks. Yeah, Ms. Madison was a pain in the kids’ asses, but she was one of the few people on this Earth who loved them like a mother. She loved all of us like a mother. And now she’s gone, just like practically everyone else I’ve ever known and loved.

            I clench my glowing right hand and growl, “Those Nazis are going to pay. They’re all going to pay.” 

            Still cupping my face in her hands, Boom Boom says, “We can exact vengeance later, but we need to keep our priorities in order. We have to go after Blackbird by tomorrow night, or everything we’ve done up until this point will have been for nothing.” 

            I take a deep, calming breath and exhale. Boom Boom’s absolutely right, like always. As much as I hate to admit it, Ms. Madison’s death will have to be avenged some other time. Blackbird’s apprehension precedes all other missions. And the best shot we’ll ever have at nabbing his ass is Christmas Eve. 

            I glance at the floor numbers flashing along the top of the elevator. 87… 86… 85…. Down and down we go, spiraling toward an uncertain fate. I look over at Krystal and notice she has her thumb pressed on the button for the 10th floor. That’s a universal trick cops and firefighters use, continually pressing the button for their desired destination so they don’t have to stop at other floors for waiting passengers.

            I tap Krystal on her shoulder and ask, “Why are we stopping at the 10th floor?” 

            Krystal rolls her eyes and sighs, implying that I just asked the stupidest question in the history of the world. “Because those Ku Klux Klan motherfuckers are probably waiting for us in the lobby, fool! If we’re still standing in this elevator when it reaches the bottom floor, we’re gonna be riddled with tranquilizer darts and hauled off to Bavaria to be barbequed alive. I sure as hell ain’t about to let that happen!” 

            I shrug and say, “Makes sense to me. The 10th floor it is.” 

            Boom Boom whips out a hi-tech, computerized visor and slides it over her eyes. The visor glows red as Boom Boom telepathically navigates cyber space. 

            “Er, are you…?” I start to ask.

            “Yes, I’m pulling the car up right now,” Boom Boom replies in a robotic fashion.  

            I gaze back up at the flashing floor numbers. 58… 57… 56…. In a couple minutes we’ll be back at war with an army of Nazis. Even if we get off at the 10th floor and manage to escape in our flying car, I highly doubt we’re going to make it outside the Sanctuary walls without being spotted. We’re going to have to fight our way out, just like we always do. It seems we’re always a target for somebody. 

            I lean against the back of the elevator car and close my eyes. What I wouldn’t give to have a normal, peaceful life, where I can lay in my bed at night and not have to worry about crime lords and assassins trying to kill me in my sleep. I know I sound like a bitch complaining like this, but it’s what I desperately desire… to be left alone. To be at peace. To not be bombarded with a perpetual onslaught of pain, anguish, fear, and death. 

            Blade clears his throat and says, “Sooo… why exactly are we being chased by a bunch of Nazis?” 

            I open my eyes and turn toward my cousin. He’s doing his best to maintain a brave face, but I detect a slight quiver in his voice. I also notice the fear in his eyes. I’ve seen it countless times before. Boom Boom and I have done our best to shield my cousins from the harsh realities of the outside world, but that proverbial ‘shield’ just shattered into a million pieces. Our world is now theirs. 

            “It’s a long story, but in a nutshell, Boom Boom, Krystal and I stumbled into Dresden a few months ago when we were hunting down Rasputin.” 

            Harpoon places her head in her hands and groans. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

            Blade glances at Harpoon before turning back toward me. Blade is an exceptionally smart kid, but he isn’t as well educated in history or current events as his sister. Hell, none of us are. Harpoon is a certifiable genius who makes the rest of us look like nincompoops. (Well, except for Boom Boom, who can hold her own against Harpoon on almost any topic.) But Blade still hates it when Harpoon comes off as more intelligent, so he likes to act like he knows everything when she’s around.  

            “Right… that sucks,” Blade says hesitantly, a clear giveaway that he doesn’t know much about Dresden’s morbid reputation.

            I extend Blade a lifeline and explain what Dresden is all about so he doesn’t have to ask. 

            “Dresden is a white supremacist settlement way out in the western wilderness of Canada. The Neo-Nazis that run that bastion of hatred and intolerance have close ties with all the Nazi scumbags who have taken over Europe… or Bavaria, as they like to call it now. We had a little shootout in Dresden and we, er, accidentally killed the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.”

            Krystal snorts and says, “A little shootout?! Your memory must not be working properly, because I seem to recall we had a MAJOR shootout! Tons of explosions, blood and guts flying everywhere. And I also seem to remember you made a point to shoot the Grand Wizard. That wasn’t no damn accident!”

            I give Krystal a dirty look and mutter, “Thanks, Krystal. So anyway, yeah, the Nazis are a little pissed off at us.”

            “And you just killed the new Grand Wizard, too,” Harpoon reminds me. “So now they’re super-duper pissed.” 

            I sigh and reply, “Yeah, well they can join the club. It seems everyone is pissed at us nowadays.”

            “But I don’t understand,” Blade says, leaning against the elevator door and rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Why does the U.S. put up with cities like Dresden? Why don’t they just go blow the city up?” 

            I snort, doing my best not to laugh at Blade’s simplistic view of the world. Blade gives me a dirty look, prompting me to clear my throat and elaborate on why his proposed solution wouldn’t exactly work. 

            “As I’m sure you remember from all those history assignments you had to do a couple weeks ago, shortly after the Great Climate Change War, a bunch of Neo-Nazi militants took over Europe and renamed it Bavaria. They ushered in a Fourth Reich and committed genocide against hundreds of millions of Africans, Muslims, Jews, basically anyone who wasn’t of ‘Aryan’ blood. The entire European continent is now a ‘whites only’ zone built in Adolf Hitler’s image. You know, the psychopath from the 20th century who started World War 2. Unfortunately, Neo-Nazis aren’t confined solely to Bavaria. There are a bunch of them living here in America, too, and they’ve set up a bunch of ‘Aryan-only’ communities. The largest of those communities is Dresden. The U.S. government puts up with cities like Dresden because it does not have the resources to go to war with hundreds of thousands of Nazi sympathizers, not when it’s so focused on China. Yeah it’s a screwed-up situation, and I agree that cities like Dresden should be burned to the ground, but that’s the way the world works at the moment.”

            Blade puts his head in his hands and groans. “You just made my brain hurt. No more history lessons, please.” 

            That gets even Boom Boom to chuckle. 

            Harpoon leans against the rear of the elevator car and grumbles, “So much for the sanctuary being a safe place to live.” 

            Harpoon has every right to be demoralized. The sanctuaries are supposed to be safe havens, where you’re protected from the horrors of the outside world. That’s why we pay tens of thousands of dollars every month to live behind Sanctuary 7’s 1,000-foot high, heavily fortified concrete walls. But the Neo-Nazis just shattered that apparent illusion. I’ve just learned the hard way that there are no safe havens anymore. Everywhere is dangerous now. 

            Boom Boom suddenly says, “Everyone get ready.” 

            We all tense up and clutch our weapons. Our little respite is about to come to a resounding conclusion.

            The elevator slows to a stop and the doors open at the tenth floor. Boom Boom and I are the first ones to jump out. Boom Boom swings her machine gun toward the left while I point my glowing gloved hand toward the right. Much to our pleasant surprise, the coast is clear in both directions.

            Krystal and the kids hop out next. Boom Boom thrusts her right hand in between the closing elevator doors, prompting them to slide back open.  

            “What are you doing?” I whisper. 

            Boom Boom whips out one of the grenades she brought along and says, “Giving our friends down in the lobby a little parting gift.”

            Boom Boom activates the timer on the grenade and sets it to go off in ten seconds. She then rolls the ticking time bomb into the rear of the elevator just as the doors firmly slide shut. 

            Without wasting another precious second, the five of us haul ass to the end of the hallway, where a giant plate glass window is overlooking the city street below. Our brand new Stratosphere XV is already hovering outside, waiting for us to climb inside. 

            Boom Boom slams the butt of her machine gun against the glass, creating a monstrous crack that runs all the way up to the ceiling. She hits the glass twice more, causing the entire sheet to shatter. 

            “Third time’s the charm,” I say with a smirk as I leap onto the windowsill. I proceed to walk across the car’s left wing like a pirate walking the plank. Once I’m in the back of the car, I reach out my arm and help Blade and Harpoon walk across the wing. Krystal hustles across and hops into the driver’s seat while Boom Boom jumps into the front passenger side.   

            We just barely get into the car when a deafening explosion rips through the lobby of the skyscraper. I glance down and watch as five Ku Klux Klansmen dash out of the building, their robes on fire. I take it they don’t appreciate our ‘parting gift’.  

            I look up to find two Nazis emerging from another elevator. The Nazis raise their tranquilizer guns and aim them directly at us.  

            Before they get a chance to take a shot, I unfurl a crackling ball of electricity back inside the building. The ball bounces a couple times before slamming into one of the Nazis. The Nazi flies high into the air and slams into the ceiling before collapsing back to the ground in a smoldering heap. I fire off another bolt of lightning at the other Nazi, but he leaps back inside the elevator. Then three more Nazis hop out of another elevator, followed by five Nazis that emerge from the stairwell. 

            I grip the back of Krystal’s chair and shout, “Floor it!” 

            “You ain’t gotta tell me twice!” Krystal hollers as she slams her foot onto the accelerator. We take off at close to 200 miles per hour, causing all of us to fly back into our seats. The gusting wind slams into our faces, making our eyes water like crazy. Boom Boom is the only one with any sort of protection on her face, what with her wearing her computerized visor. The rest of us are forced to bear the elements in our flying convertible. The wind is whipping around so fiercely that my hair flaps around in a frenzy. The wind is so strong, in fact, that it nearly rips Krystal’s wig off of her head. It’s a good thing she invests in high-quality glue.  

            Blade glances behind us, then spins around and thrusts his fists into the air. 

            “Woo! We made it, guys!” 

            “Don’t get cocky yet, kid,” I say as Boom Boom hands me a gun. “Those Nazi bastards aren’t gonna let us go without a fight.” 

            “You’re right, look!” 

            My eyes follow Harpoon’s outstretched finger. Sure enough, five flying cars are riding our ass. The open-convertible vehicles are cram-packed with heavily-armed Klansmen. 

            Two more cars zoom off of the roofs of nearby skyscrapers and fly alongside us.  

            “This is great, just great,” Krystal growls. She wildly jerks from left to right, causing the cars flying beside us to back away.  

            The Nazis behind us begin firing off a volley of tranquilizer darts. Several of the darts narrowly whiz past my head and imbed into the back of Boom Boom and Krystal’s chairs. A bunch more clatter against the dashboard and the back of the front windshield. 

            I grab Harpoon and Blade and shove them to the floorboard before falling on top of them. Out of my peripheral vision I notice Boom Boom ducking as well. Krystal takes us into a dive, causing me and the kids to slam into the back of Krystal’s chair. I turn around and watch as seven cars dive after us.          

Krystal pulls the car up out of her death-defying dive at the last possible nano-second, just barely avoiding crashing into the street. She immediately shoots back up into the sky, sending me and the kids crashing back into our seats (and quite possibly giving me whiplash in the process). A deafening BOOM implies that at least one of the cars following us didn’t pull up in time.  

            Harpoon peers at our pursuers over the top of the backseat and hysterically cries, “What the hell are we gonna do?! There too many of them!” 

            Krystal bursts out laughing and says, “Child, please! This ain’t nothing! We’ve had shoot-outs with way more assholes than this before!” 

            Almost on cue, three more cars zoom up behind us. Now there are nine carloads of mass-murdering Nazis chasing after us. 

            Krystal gulps and says, “Okay, now’s the time to panic.” 

            “We’re not panicking,” Boom Boom growls, cocking her machine gun and aiming it overtop my head. I duck back down to the ground as she unloads a steady stream of ammunition at our attackers. Hot bullet casings cascade down over my head, burning my skin. Blade and Harpoon scoot all the way to the other side of the car.  

            Boom Boom crouches back down behind her seat when another bombardment of tranquilizer darts whiz into our car. Krystal curses as one of the darts imbeds into her shoulder. Thankfully she’s wearing her Kevlar vest. (She never takes that damn thing off, even when we’re chilling at home.) But maybe Krystal is on to something, constantly wearing her armor. At least she’s always protected. The kids and I are wearing sweaters and sweatpants. And Boom Boom is wearing a freaking nightgown!

            Once the last of the tranquilizer darts harmlessly clatters against our seats and dashboard (they’re starting to pile up on the bottom of the car), Boom Boom jumps back up and fires off several more shots. 

            “Don’t just sit there and look pretty!” Boom Boom snaps at me, her face glowing orange from the steady flashes emanating from her smoking gun. “Sit up and shoot!” 

            I glance down at the gun in my left hand and the electric glove encasing my right one. Unable to decide which weapon I should utilize first, I decide to use both. 

            I jump up on the backseat and unfurl a blinding ball of electricity into the front windshield of the nearest car. The Nazis in the front seat scream as the electricity crackles all over their flailing bodies. I then fire off several shots with my handgun, hitting the driver right in the center of his forehead. If he wasn’t dead from my lightning strike, he’s sure as hell dead now. The car instantly goes into a tail-spin, disappearing into the darkness.  

            Boom Boom riddles another car with bullets, causing that one to drop like a rock. I thrust out my glowing hand and fire multiple lightning strikes, taking out three cars in a row. They drop out of sight as well, leaving only four. 

            Blade peeks overtop the backseat and exclaims, “Holy crap, you guys are kicking their asses! This is almost too easy!” 

            “It’s not easy,” I say, unfurling yet another ball of electricity that just narrowly misses one of the last remaining cars. “It’s… oh, who am I kidding, it is easy!”

            “Lance, don’t glorify the violence we’re perpetrating!” Boom Boom chastises, emptying an entire cartridge of ammunition into the front of the car I happened to miss. Once that car spirals toward its untimely demise, Boom Boom pops in another ammunition cartridge and starts firing at the remaining three vehicles. Those cars wisely back away and disappear behind nearby skyscrapers. 

            Boom Boom finally stops firing her machine gun (giving my throbbing eardrums a momentary respite from the thundering gunshots) and lifts her glowing visor up onto her head. Her shimmering green eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and a rare smile spreads across her normally dour lips.  

            “Maybe that was easy,” she quips. 

            Krystal turns her head and hollers, “I think y’all spoke a little too soon. Look!” 

            We all turn our necks and curse at the sight of six flying cars appearing out of seemingly nowhere. These cars appear to be way more heavily armored than the other ones. They almost look like giant flying tanks. And inside the cars are an army of Nazis garbed in gleaming, ruby-red exoskeletons. The exoskeletons are going to make our firearms useless. Thankfully we have one ace up our sleeves… or rather, on my hand; my electric glove. 

            “Eat lightning and die, assholes!” I holler, hurling a blinding ball of electricity toward the nearest flying tank. The electricity explodes across the tank’s front windshield. Unfortunately most of the electricity appears to be deflected, leaving the tank’s unsavory occupants unharmed.

            The armored Nazi asshole in the front passenger seat thrusts his upper body out of his open window and aims what appears to be a flamethrower directly at us. I curse and duck down as a raging fireball whooshes over top my head. Boom Boom ducks down as well, literally at the last possible second. If she had been a split-second slower, she would have been a goner. The stream of fire is so hot and intense that it feels like my face is about to melt off. Krystal takes us into another death-defying dive, allowing us to just narrowly avoid being burnt to a crisp. 

            “I thought they weren’t trying to kill us!” Boom Boom cries as we continue our downward plummet. The kids and I slam into the back of the front seats, groaning from the unnatural G-forces battering our bodies.  

            “It would appear their plans have changed!” I scream over the roaring wind whipping past my distraught ears.  

            Krystal jerks us back into the air. The kids and I curse and holler as we fly into the back of our seats. Harpoon nearly topples out of the car, but Blade and I are able to grab ahold of her ankles. 

            “Damn it, Krystal, can you not fly so recklessly?!” I holler. 

            Krystal glares at me in her cracked rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, am I going too fast for you?! Why don’t I slow down so you can enjoy being barbequed alive??” 

            “Will you both shut up?!” Boom Boom roars, popping her head back up and aiming her machine gun out of the back of the car. Boom Boom proceeds to fire another steady stream of bullets, nicking the front windshield of the same armored tank that tried incinerating us with a flamethrower.  

            One of the armored tanks suddenly zooms alongside us, nearly ripping off our left wing in the process. An armored Nazi thug hops out of the car and somehow miraculously lands on our wing. The gusting wind nearly topples him over, but the thug swings his arms around, maintaining his balance. If I had to guess, I’d say his armored boots have suction cups on the soles, which would prevent him from being blown away. The thug proceeds to run along the entire length of our wing. The son of a bitch then leaps inside our car, nearly crushing Harpoon with his metallic suit. 

            “Guys, get back!” I shout, grabbing my cousins by the back of their shirts and shoving them behind me. I raise my glowing hand, but before I can unfurl a bolt of lightning, the Nazi kicks me in the face with his metallic boot. An excruciating wave of pain washes over my body. Stars flash across my eyes, and I topple backwards like a tree being felled by a lumberjack.  

            “Lance!!” Boom Boom screams. I struggle to lift my head and open my eyes, but the sharp stabbing pains permeating my skull are almost too excruciating to bear. 

            I hear a bunch of gunshots and screaming, and hot bullet casings once again rain down on top of my face. I force my eyes open just in time to see the armored Nazi thug smacking Boom Boom in the face with the back of his hand. He then raises his monstrous foot and begins lowering it ontop of me. I roll out of the way just before his foot slams into the floorboard. I spin back around and fire off a bolt of electricity directly into the Nazi’s face. There’s a blinding flash of blue light, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The Nazi staggers back to the left side of the car, forcing Blade and Harpoon to once again jump out of the way. The car is cramped enough as it is. With a nearly seven-foot tall, 300-pound cyborg Nazi thrown into the mix, there’s hardly any room to maneuver. But we make do with what little space we have. 

            Blade and Harpoon whip out their bloodied knives and start hacking at the Nazi’s armored legs. Unsurprisingly, their feeble blades have no effect on the Nazi’s impenetrable metallic exoskeleton. The Nazi thankfully ignores my cousins and instead focuses his wrath, not so thankfully, on Boom Boom. 

            The Nazi thug swats away Boom Boom’s machine gun, sending it clattering to the floorboard. He then thrusts out his gleaming, metallic arm and grabs Boom Boom by her slender neck. Boom Boom gags and flails her arms and legs as the Nazi lifts her a good two feet into the air.  

            “Boom Boom!” Krystal screams, glancing back at the ginormous Nazi. She points a gun at the Nazi, but one of the flying armored tanks slams into the back of our car, causing us to all lurch forward and Krystal to drop her weapon into the back. Blade quickly snatches it up, unbeknownst to the Nazi, who has just turned his freaky robotic head toward me.   

            The Nazi cocks his head and snarls, in a robotic-sounding voice, “Surrender now or the red-headed bitch dies. The Fuhrer will understand if only a few of you are brought back to Bavaria alive.”    

            Before I can respond, Blade raises his gun and shouts, “No, you die, asshole!” 

            He then fires off several shots. One of the bullets ricochets off of the Nazi’s armor and narrowly whizzes past Blade’s left ear. The Nazi turns around, still choking Boom Boom with his right hand, and swats Blade in the face with his left one. Blade cries out and flies into the back seat, nearly toppling over the edge. Harpoon screams and lunges toward the Nazi, ferociously stabbing at his abdomen with her blade. Krystal curses as she weaves our car in and out of oncoming traffic, while simultaneously avoiding tranquilizer darts coming at us from all sides. Several of the darts bounce off the Nazi’s exoskeleton. Another one of the Nazis’ armored tanks slams into the back of our car, nearly flipping it upside down. I and grab ahold of the front seat so I don’t flip out onto the front windshield.   

            Krystal stabilizes our car long enough to spin around in her seat and fire several shots at the Nazi’s head. The Nazi’s head snaps back from the force of the gunshots, but other than that the bullets seem to have no effect. I glance up and notice the Nazi’s entire body is encased in armor except for a small patch of exposed skin where his helmet and armored chest plate meet. I think I just found the proverbial chink in the Nazi’s armor.  

            I whip out a blade strapped to my own leg and thrust that bad-boy into the Nazi’s exposed neck. The Nazi releases Boom Boom, causing her to collapse onto the front floorboard. The Nazi clutches his throat as blood gushes out of the gaping wound. I run toward the Nazi bastard and shove him as hard as I can. The Nazi staggers back, nearly toppling over the side. Blade and Harpoon quickly join me and the three of us push the 300-plus pound armored douchebag as hard as we can. Krystal helps us out by tilting the car to the left. Finally, after what feels like forever, the Nazi asshole flips out of the car and plummets over a thousand feet to his death, screaming the entire way. His screams grow fainter and fainter until he disappears into the darkness. The kids are covered in the Nazi’s blood, but thankfully they’re not freaking out about it. Then again, it’s kind of hard to be freaked out about something like that when dozens of people are still trying to blast you out of the sky. 

I just barely get a chance to catch my breath when another armored Nazi douchebag leaps out of his flying tank and lands on our left wing. The jackass is so heavy that our car starts to tilt onto its side. The Nazi thug methodically marches his way across the wing, erratically swinging an electric sword. Spirals of blue electricity crackle all over the gleaming saber. It would be quite an intimidating sight for most people. I, however, have encountered far worse.  

            I whip out a small blade strapped to my other leg and press one of the buttons on the handle. A 3-foot long saber slides out of the handle, shining luminously under the moonlight. I press another button, causing my sword to become electrified. The Nazis aren’t the only ones with aces up their sleeves (or in this case, strapped to their legs).  

            I hold the crackling sword in front of my face and growl, “You want to tango, asshole? Then let’s tango!” 

            I run up onto the left wing and jab my electric sword toward the Nazi. The Nazi deflects my attack with his armored left arm and swings his sword directly toward me neck. I crouch down as the sizzling blade narrowly whooshes past the top of my head. I nearly lose my balance, but I swing my arms and stand back up. Once I regain my footing, I swing my sword yet again. This time the blade connects with the Nazi’s helmet. There’s a flash of blue light, followed by the sizzle of electricity, but the Nazi keeps his balance and takes another swing at me.  

            “Lance, get back in the damn car!” Boom Boom screams from the front passenger seat. Her screams are quickly drowned out by the sound of her machine gun emptying a full cartridge of bullets into a nearby tank. 

The Nazi and I proceed to have an old-fashioned electric sword fight. Our swords clang together and emit electric sparks, creating what I imagine to be an entertaining light show to anyone watching from afar. It’s kind of hard for me to enjoy it, however, since I am fighting for my freaking life.  

Even over the howling wind and the zapping sound caused by our swords constantly colliding, I can hear Blade and Harpoon cheering me on. I just start to get the upper hand in my impromptu sword fight when one of the Nazi’s flying tanks slams into our back bumper for the umpteenth time. I nearly lose my footing, as does my armored opponent. We both flap our arms like crazy in a desperate attempt to defy gravity. 

The Nazi douchebag regains his balance before I do and thrusts his sword toward my face. I fall backwards, avoiding the tip of the blade by mere inches and somehow, someway landing flat on my back on the wobbly left wing. I could have just as easily slipped off. I’ve had a lot of bad luck throughout my chaotic life, but instances like this remind me that I’ve been blessed with a ton of good luck, too.

The Nazi raises his ginormous armored foot and prepares to bring it crashing down on top of my face. I take that opportunity to hit the third button on my blade handle, the one that heats my sword into a red-hot saber capable of slicing through metal. I then proceed to swing my sword through the Nazi’s raised foot. The heated blade easily severs the Nazi’s foot from his ankle. Blood shoots out of the Nazi’s hacked off leg and splatters all over my face and chest.  

The Nazi howls in excruciating agony as he hops around on the wing with one foot. I push myself up, hold my red-hot sword over my head, and swing it directly toward the Nazi’s neck. His helmeted head flies off and plummets out of view. The Nazi’s headless body instantly collapses and topples off of the wing, flipping around as it plummets toward the Earth.  

I press a button on the handle of my sword, causing the bloodied blade to retract. I then leap back into the rear of our car with my shell-shocked cousins. Both of them stare at me in wide-eyed wonder and horror, simultaneously impressed with how easily I dispatched a highly formidable foe while also feeling understandably queasy at watching a man get his fucking head lopped off.  

Continuing to release an unrelenting stream of bullets toward our multiple pursuers, Boom Boom glares at me over the top of her visor and says, “Way to traumatize the children, Lance.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure they weren’t already traumatized by all the Nazis you’ve been blasting in the head,” I snap, a bit annoyed at Boom Boom’s blatant hypocrisy. I mean, seriously, how is chopping off someone’s head any worse than blowing their brains out?  

I spin around and fire off several bolts of lightning, taking out one of the armored vehicles and inadvertently sending it crashing into a skyscraper apartment complex. This results in yet another thunderous explosion that rattles my eardrums. I sure hope we’re not killing a bunch of civilians during our brutal sky-rise firefight, but I have a sinking feeling that’s exactly what’s happening. 

I’m just about to unleash another bombardment of electricity when a blinding spotlight blasts me in the face, temporarily blinding me. I hold my hands over my eyes until the light swings out of my retinas. It’s now illuminating one of the Nazi tanks. 

I peer up into the sky and feel my heart jump at the sight of a police helicopter flying overhead. Speaking through a microphone, the pilot of the chopper shouts, “You are all under arrest! Surrender now or face lethal retaliation!”

One of the Nazis responds by thrusting his flamethrower out of his tank’s window and pointing it up at the helicopter. A scorching barrage of fire is ejected from the flamethrower and completely engulfs the helicopter. I cringe at the piercing, agonizing screams emanating from the pilot’s microphone. The chopper spirals out of control and crashes into another skyscraper, exploding in a blinding fireball. The resulting concussive blast jangles our car and pretty much every vehicle and building for miles.

“Fucking useless po-po,” Krystal mutters under her breath as she continues weaving us through a crossfire of tranquilizer darts and streams of fire intended to contain us in one isolated spot.

By now we’ve entered a heavy aerial traffic stream. Cars are zooming past us like crazy, trying to avoid us and the phalanx of Nazis attempting to blow us out of the sky. Three flashing police cruisers pull up behind the Nazis. Several police officers lean out of their windows and fire at the back of the Nazis’ tanks. The Nazis respond in kind, firing machine guns (NOT filled with tranquilizer darts) and flamethrowers. All three police cars plummet to the ground, consumed by flames and riddled with bullets.

“Damn, good thing those racist crackers want us alive,” Krystal remarks, watching the carnage behind us in her rearview mirror. I would have to agree with her; if the Nazis wanted us dead, we already would have been.

Two more police helicopters appear, along with several more flashing cruisers. I begin to feel confident that we’re actually going to escape (I mean, seriously, are the Nazis going to kill all the cops in Sanctuary 7?) when an officer bellows into his microphone, “The mayor has ordered us to stand down! I repeat, all units are to stand down!”

            I groan as the remaining cruisers and helicopters follow orders and abort their short-lived chase.

            “Are you flipping kidding me?!” Boom Boom screams in outrage, her face glowing orange from the muzzle flashes generated by her machine gun.

            Six armored Nazi tanks continue barreling after us as Krystal astonishingly continues to effortlessly weave in and out of heavy traffic streams. While Krystal is actually trying to avoid from crashing into other cars, the Nazis have no such qualms. Their armored tanks plow through flying convertibles and sports cars like they’re made out of paper mache. Dozens of innocent people are thrown from their crumpled cars and hurtle toward their deaths, screaming the entire way. Far too many innocent people have died today. We need to end this sky-rise massacre, now.

            “We’re going to have to fly over the wall,” I shout over the rat-a-tat-a-tat of Boom Boom’s machine gun.

            Boom Boom stops firing long enough to scream at me, “What?! Are you crazy?! No one’s ever gotten over the wall without being blown to smithereens! In case you’ve forgotten, the walls are covered with laser canons and machine gun nests! They fire indiscriminately, incinerating anyone who attempts to fly over the barrier! We’d be better off fighting an army of Nazis. At least then we have a small chance for survival. If we fly over the wall, we have none!”

            Boom Boom’s right, of course. Well, mostly right. The only way in and out of Sanctuary 7 is through the few select tunnels that connect us to the outside world. But the tunnels always have a backlog of traffic. It would probably take us close to an hour to get through, which obviously ain’t gonna fly if we have dozens of Nazis chasing after us. And even if the tunnels were free of traffic, the mayor probably ordered the guards to detain us if we attempted to leave. That’s why my radical proposal is our only chance. While it is true dozens of laser cannons and machine gun nests will be firing at us, I have faith in Krystal’s abilities as a pilot to evade the crossfire. And we’re not the only ones the ‘wall’ will be attempting to bring down. The Nazis will be right behind us. And since they are much bigger targets, the laser cannons and machine guns will be focused almost exclusively on them, allowing us to slip away undetected. At least, in theory. There is a chance that the machine gun nests will obliterate all of us. But I don’t like to get all hung up on technicalities.

            I quickly rehash my rationale behind flying over the Sanctuary 7 wall with Boom Boom and Krystal. Boom Boom continues hollering about how it’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever come up with, which is saying a lot. (Her words, not mine.) Krystal, however, grins at me in the rearview mirror and says, “Great idea, Lance. Let’s do it!”

            “Wait, do what?!” Boom Boom shrieks.

            Krystal responds by slamming on the accelerator, causing us all to lurch back in our seats. We rocket about another thousand feet into the air, until we’re hovering well above the 1,000-foot high concrete wall encircling the sanctuary. Then, after taking a deep breath and whispering a quiet prayer, Krystal zooms overtop the heavily-fortified wall.

END OF EXCERPT 