The Trouble With Being Me

All I could think about was that grisly execution scene as it played out on the gym floor, that burly bastard bearing down and blasting Chancellor Imholte’s brains across the podium. Cold blooded, heartless bastards, all of them, and my bigger, faster, stronger brother was one of them!

If only I had gotten a clear shot at that creep who executed Imholte, to draw attention from him to me! Of course, then, instead of only Raoul, I would have the whole lot of terrorist freaks tracking me, and I would most likely be dead in the gym now, instead of somewhat safe for the moment outside! No, I did good… Malcolm was gone now, and that left me alone with the rest of his Communist compatriots. I needed to gain an advantage, something that would offer me leverage in negotiations for the lives of the hostages.
I knew I couldn’t out-gun the multitude of malcontents; but maybe I could out-think them, out-maneuver them, beat them to that Egg they were after. I knew the layout of the campus better than they did, and I had that section of map to lead me. What I didn’t know was just how these creeps would react now that they knew that someone had escaped them. Had I just gone too far, crashing the Camaro into the lobby, killing Malcolm and Raoul, and effectively cutting off one of the main avenues of approach to the gym? How would the sleazy escapees handle the loss of 2 of their agents? They had already illustrated a blatant disregard for human life with the public impromptu execution of Chancellor Imholte. What would their next move be? I couldn’t just sit back wondering about all the unanswered questions as they floated around inside my head; I had to MAKE something happen myself!

From the PE Center to the main administrative offices in Behmler Hall, I crept, staying in the shadows as much as possible. The whole campus was dark and quiet. Of course, most of the students and faculty either lived off-campus or had finished their Finals and moved away for the Summer, or had been caught up in the siege in the gymnasium. So, the eerie silence was somewhat justified. Still, a lonely chill shivered through my cold, aching body as I stalked toward Behmler. Well, at least it wasn’t quiet for long…

Oh solitude! Where are thy charms…?

ELEVEN

"Jesus… Jesus, there has been an explosion… Jesus, report!"
Hey Zeus? Huh? Who’s Zeus?! Or did he say Jesus--- sounds like Hay-soos, spelled like Jesus… Jesus! The voice on the walkie-talkie was distorted and faint, but was enough to startle me and stop me cold in my tracks. I ducked into the entrance alcove of the Food Services building and paused, to get my bearings and listen in on the radio-chatter that resulted from my crashing the Camaro. My heart pounded as I listened intently, nearly leaping into my throat at what I heard next.

"Yo, Chief!" came the obviously American response. "No dice here! No disk!! We’re just finishing up! Over!" After a moment, the ‘Chief’ snapped back.

"Maintain radio silence from this point on, Jesus!" his Hispanic accent had nearly been forgotten at that moment as well, and I began to wonder exactly what the heck was going on… Jesus and Chief… Man, these guys weren’t very original at all, when it came to choosing call-signs or nicknames! Not the best secret identities for a couple of Communist terrorist bastards, I must admit. Why, I knew 2 guys on this very campus who went by practically those very nicknames! Unless, of course, Jesus and Chief WERE those 2 guys; Matt ‘Second Coming’ Hess and Teddy ‘Chief’ Henderson!!

Oh no… they couldn’t be, could they? Was that scene in the gym actually staged to thin Matt Hess from the pack of hostages, and to distract the Chancellor long enough to execute him for his insubordination? And, what of the ‘disk’ Jesus had reported? The mysterious Egg?? And if they hadn’t found it yet, maybe I still had a chance! I had to learn more…

"Raoul…" the Chief’s accent returned with his next summons. "Raoul, report…" After a few long minutes of silence, I decided that Jesus was complying with the ‘Chief’s orders, and I knew Raoul wouldn’t be responding any time soon, so I relaxed, and began to shiver from the chill in the air. I had to get moving again; Behmler Hall was straight ahead, one building away, I was almost to the bottom of this whole nightmare!

I clicked off the radio then, using the Chief’s order to inspire me to ‘maintain radio silence’ to offer myself the best chances for stealth. I couldn’t risk getting involved in a heated gun battle over something so foolish as my unchecked radio, not that there was ever a good time to be caught in a gun-fight… so I abandoned the hope of hearing more insightful messages from the terrorists and made my way from the dark alcove of the cafeteria entrance. I didn’t know who or what awaited me in the dark recesses of Behmler Hall, but I did know where the campus main-frame and Administrative Computer Center was located--- in the basement of Behmler Hall! That seemed a perfect place to start my search.

As I neared the door which led into the basement computer center, I found myself once more wringing with nervous tension. I was burning up, in fact! Maybe the heat of the last eon of moments, combined with the cold chill of the night air had stricken me with fever, but, for whatever reason, I was suddenly drenched in sweat, just as I had been when hanging on for dear life to the girder. In the heat of that earlier moment when Malcolm and I raced to our house to find Beth or Teddy or Matt, when we came up empty in our search, we changed clothes quickly and raced to the campus. I foolishly assumed it would be chilly at night, so I layered up, and now regretted that foresight, as I sloshed to Behmler Hall. Quickly, I shed the stinky scorched sweatshirt and the tight, torn turtleneck, groaning painfully as the last shirt tore away with bits of my seared flesh still attached. Apparently, a few of those rounds struck so close to me on the steel girder that sparks from the blasts and ricochets set the nylon fabric of my top-shirts ablaze. Whew! Another few inches and I would have surely fallen victim to the dead-eye aim of the Commie pukes!

Luckily there was only holes in my shirts, including the fish-net T-shirt in which I now stood, freezing in the breeze and drizzle, as I came to the stark realization once again that this was Life and Death stuff… these guys weren’t kidding around like Malcolm and the Slacker Squad. This wasn’t just some softball game--- getting taken out now would mean getting taken out permanent!

In that moment, I worked myself into too much of a frenzy to think about my wounds, concentrating on only one thing: finding proof or a bargaining chip against these scum, escaping this nightmare and calling in the cavalry, the police, or even the FBI--- or the National Guard! I had to get help, to save Katy and the others, had to find out why I had to be involved in any of this!! To that end, I tossed my mangled garments into the bushes outside Behmler Hall, and stepped to the door.

The skin on the nape of my neck tingled with excitement, and goose-pimples straightened the hairs on my arms when I tugged on the door to Behmler Hall. My prayers were answered as the door swung open, and I heaved a sigh of relief at being able to continue my quest for salvation. Strangely though, I was struck by the quiet that enveloped me, and the tingle on my neck that wouldn’t go away; as if someone was watching me close-by in the night, or something… I looked back into the cold night outside straining against the dark and drizzle-dampened air, straining to see any sign of anybody… Teddy…Matt maybe… Again I quaked in my boots, chilled to the bone from the heavy mist on the cool night breeze. It was all making sense, sort of; if Malcolm had been involved in all of this nightmare, then it would logically follow that a few of his fellow students had also been bought, bribed or betrayed into a life of terrorism, most likely friends of Malcolm himself…

Of course! I couldn’t quite believe it though I had seen it for myself; all my ‘friends’ were Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastards! The cold, heartless, unfeeling truth enveloped me like the fog, suffocating me as I stepped in from the cold. How much more of this could I be expected to take? One man alone against an army of his so-called friends, who were now hunting him down like a dog? This was insanity! And I was trapped in the middle of it all!! AUGH!

Once the door swung shut behind me, I felt somewhat more at ease, though still on edge, as I moved into the basement of Behmler. Hopefully, the Egg, or disk, the terrorist goons were searching for would be found in the main computer center, and would get me that much closer to the end of this whole mess! And, what a mess it was!! The door to the Computer Center was half-open, the door knob and lock assembly missing from their place on the steel barrier, a charred blackened ring of melted metal indicating where a blow torch or -gulp!- explosives had been used to gain entry into the room. Those Communists scum had beaten me! All that was left was to hope they had come up empty in their search and had moved on, and would not be beating me again any time soon… at least, this time, I was batting .500…

From the looks of the place, the searching insurgents didn’t miss much! Computer keyboards, monitors, disk drives and printers lay in shambles amongst broken chairs and over-turned tables. File cabinets and storage shelves had been ransacked and destroyed, their contents strewn all about the room. The entire Public Section of the Computer Center was in ruins! Here again, I hoped that my knowledge of the layout of the place exceeded the intelligence of the terrorists. I knew that the back room of the Computer Center housed the mainframe and the main office and computer files for the campus, and was off-limits to the general public. I only hoped the terrorists didn’t know that little tidbit, and I struck out for the back room… where I Struck Out once more!!

The door to the back room was in tact, and was closed, which I took as positive signs. I tested the knob gingerly; it was unlocked! What luck… I eased the door open cautiously, war of any signs of life. I was enlightened to my plummeting batting average even as the dim light from within the room washed over me, and I was faced once again with the end of my life, as dealt from Raoul, or Malcolm, Manuel or…

"Jesus??" Who’s Zeus?! Jesus! The crackling voice over the walkie-talkie made me jump with shock; I know I turned my radio off! The light in my brain clicked on as the room itself was fully-illuminated as I stood there in the doorway and realized: Jesus or Jesus, Hispanic accent or not, the pronunciation didn’t matter; no matter how I said it, I was convinced that J E S U S spelled Matt… Matt Hess was undoubtedly the Second Coming of a Communist Terrorist Scum-Sucking Bastard!!

"We’re on it, Chief!" hay-head Jesus barked into his radio… Chief was in on it too! Teddy Henderson and Matt Hess, working together with Malcolm and the rest of the Communist cohorts! And now, Jesus Hess was raising the Uzi 9mm submachine gun against me as I stood, fully-exposed in the door way! Of course, I remained in that doorway only an instant upon seeing the Uzi, knowing there was no need to make an easy target for the Son of God. In that crucial instant, I was able to make a revelation or two about my assailants; first of all, Jesus, the Uzi-toting goon was not Matt Hess at all, though from the moment I saw him before my attention was diverted to the Uzi, he DID seem familiar to me. Secondly, he was not alone, a discovery which made me move twice, no three-times as fast, considering there were 3 other goons to worry about! Something seemed vaguely familiar about all of them as they prepared to annihilate me, but I had no time to place their ghoulish faces before… =BBBBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!=

The blast of 9mm auto-fire ricocheted across the door as I leaped away. Definitely not the time to reflect upon past acquaintances, especially when they are heavily armed and gunning for me! Speaking of arms, my injured-but-healing left arm definitely crunched under my full weight as I executed a not-so-pretty combat roll directly over my injured arm, and regained my footing unsteadily. Now it struck me why I was happy to be unconscious that day at Home Plate; having your arm broken hurts like Hell!! AUUUGH! Apparently, my well-timed but poorly-executed leap was successful, in that I was not struck by the shredding spray of bullets that pelted the reinforced wooden door which offered access to the rear room, and offered me protection as I dove and sprawled behind it. My pained pleasure over not being plastered against the plastered walls turned to powerful panic as I came to the last of my revelations about this current situation. For one thing, I was still only one, and they were four… in other words…

"You’re dead, Dick-head!" the terrorist promised prophetically, poetically, as he stepped from the room and slipped around the door, to where I leaned. The last revelation I would make lay in the identity of the creep; I hadn’t heard such sweet verse as his since Jesse the Juggernaut’s retort: ‘Later Alligator!’ Of course! Deja vu justified! This Communist terrorist bastard was none other than the original bastard himself, Angela Williams’s hulking…

"Lover-boy??" the beast belched, as shocked over the recognition of my identity as I was by him. There I lay, wheezing against the open storage room door, staring Death in the face in the form of…

"Jesus…Jesse… old buddy, old pal…" I smiled weakly from my position, easing myself up onto my elbows as Jesse towered over me and lowered the Uzi aim upon me once more.

"Problemo terminado…" Jesus snapped with a cold accent into his radio; and, even with my limited understanding of the Spanish language, I got the point--- as well as the blunt end of the cold steel when Jesse jabbed the muzzle of his weapon against my forehead… I was dead meat!

Think, Slick! Think! I could just pop the smoke grenade and run my ass off. But, run where? If these guys had that precious disk, then I had no leverage at all, and they could hunt me down and kill me at their discretion without seriously altering their master plan, whatever that might be! I had to come up with something solid, some way to find out more about what was going on! First priority was to not get my brains blasted across the room! I would only get one chance at this; I couldn’t afford to be hasty, but I had only a millisecond to move… what would Malcolm do?

In this situation, Malcolm would probably rebel and die a violent death; as violent as being run-down or blown up by his own vehicle, I imagined. Of course, Malcolm would never be caught in this particular situation, not only because he was dead already, but because these guys were his pals! And, any friends of Malcolm’s…. F-ck ‘em all! I took on his attitude, and was suddenly inspired by it! Malcolm had died a violent death after all, just as he would have wanted to go, fighting for what he believed in, even if it was totally against everything the I believed in! Just like always, Malcolm was on one side of Life, and I was on the other! Only this time, Malcolm’s beliefs had cost him his life!
Poetic justice, I guess you might call it. But, I sure could have used that arrogant, self-serving Communist-loving bastard’s help just once more. Malcolm could use psychology and reverse logic on Jesse and the others, and could convince them to let me go. I’d seen him do stuff like that several times; Psychology was Malcolm’s major, and Logic his minor, and he was in the major leagues when it came to mind games. Of course, he never used his skills to help anyone but himself, except for the few times he’d convinced Teddy not to pound Matt’s head through the wall after the years of being room mates together began to wear a bit thin and raw. I always admired Malcolm’s grace and tact under pressure, often dreaming of the day when I could emulate his mastery.

That day had arrived much too soon for me! I was an English major, with no real understanding even of my naïve tongue, let alone how to twist the words and their meanings around in such a way as to confound any and all listeners. Still, I had to give it a shot, or wind up on the receiving end of a final shot myself! I had to appeal to Jesse’s sense of justice, his sense of arrogance, his sense of…manhood?!

"Just do it already, you pansy Commie f-ck!" my mouth barked once again before my brain had thought enough to censor my cry. I had to push Jesse to the edge, but not too far beyond, had to reach him somehow, on some primal level. I had to reach out…

Slowly, deliberately, while Jesse paused to process my ripping defiance, I extended my right hand…

The last time I had done such a foolish thing, Jesse had accepted my offer, and I had ended up regretting it! Recalling that experience sent swirls of that Deja vu feeling throughout my body again, and I fought the urge to just end my life on my own terms, lunging for Jesse and being decisively gunned down. Apparently, my actions hadn’t spoken as loud as my words, though the end effect was equally acceptable.

"Pansy??" Jesse gushed, apparently oblivious to the more biting terms I had used, unless he considered all but the on the truth?! "Pansy?! Oh, Lover-Boy, you just don’t know when to quit!" Thankfully (??) he lowered the assault rifle and clutched my outstretched and as-yet uninjured hand. Once again, regret was the foremost thought on my mind… Ooops!

Regrets aside, my psychological ploy seemed to be working. I just hoped my studies of physics were equally as adequate! From my crouched position, I had found some of the leverage I was looking for to get me through this whole mess, and I clamped down on Jesse’s forearm. With little thought and less grace, I tugged to big boy back with me, performing a half-cocked reverse somersault while jolting Jesse forcefully forward, face-first into the open storage room door. The door slammed shut as Jesse flopped into it, temporarily sealing his three comrades in the back room. Jesse dropped the Uzi in his stumble, and the weapon was now within my reach. As I saw it, I had only one course of action…

I reached for the unmanned assault rifle, only to be met by a forceful backhand from Jesse, who was hardly phased by the blow to the head… go figure! A second later, the storage room door was forced open from inside, with enough force to send Jesse flopping into me. In turn, as I collapsed under Jesse’s mass, the Uzi skittered from my grasp, sliding across the tiled-floor. Again, only one word could describe the situation… Ooops!

So far, in my effort to avoid a sudden, violent death, I had managed to do little more than piss off 4 Communist terrorist scum-suckers. Maybe a bullet to the brain would have been a better bet! If only I had that Uzi now… Alas, the only unmanned assault rifle of the 4 weapons in the room was now across the room, near the exit, at least 15 feet from my fallen form! The other 3 weapons were all charged and readied, and locked on me!

"Oh no…" Jesse huffed as he righted himself, thumbing away the blood that smudged his lips, from the gash he’d received when his face mashed the door. He shrugged off his fellow fiends from locking me on-target, commanding, "He’s all mine!"

"Come on Jesse—uh, Jesus!" one of the ghoulish goons slipped up, "We’ve gotta find the disk…" a nudge to the ribs silenced the creep before he could reveal any more than I already knew. None of those tough guy comments from the encounter in my dorm room came to mind just then. I was utterly speechless; my psychological ploy had worked too well it seemed! Now, rather than dying a quick, violent, pain-free death, I would die a slow, painful torturous death at the hands of my greatest enemy. Egging Jesse on now would only please the fiend, and extend my agony, I presumed, while he pummeled me into oblivion…

"Hell no, it aint over! It aint over by a long-shot!" had been neatly discarded from my mind, replaced by:

[i]"Turn out the lights, the party’s over…"[\i]

Then, miraculously, the lights went out!

"Slick! Get down!" My Deja vu returned as I was once again plunged into darkness, and I recalled that voice from the void.

"Malcolm?!" I thought, ducking and rolling in compliance with the order from the doorway, as a burst of machine-gun fire blasted across the room. The answering volley from the storage room was wildly off-target and was all-too-brief. One of the stray marks obviously found its mark though, and I cringed at the whimper of agony from near-by, as, somewhere in the darkness a body fell to the floor.

"Malcolm?!" I repeated, scrambling along the floor toward the door, flailing my arms wildly in search of my fallen brother. A follow-up burst of fire from near the exit preceded further enlightenment as the lights were once again turned on.

"Malcolm!" I sobbed, near tears, set aback by the sight of my surroundings. There he stood, my older, stronger, faster brother in all his glory; the smoking Uzi on his hip as he leaned just inside the door, cocky smirk permanently etched across his lips. Jesse’s 3 creeps had been easy targets; they had barely made it from the storage room, and stood in a tight grouping, easily cut down in the opening volley. Jesse had been standing away from the others, closer to me, and his gushing gut wound could not be explained.

"That wasn’t me!" Malcolm confessed. "Must have been the cross-fire!" Poetic justice! To be gunned down by your own men, whether by accident or by intent, was truly ironic and poetic; almost as twisted as having to run down or blow up one’s own brother, who happened to be a Communist terrorist who had invaded my school.

But Malcolm had not been blown up after all; he was alive and well, and I was alive and well because of him! My life had been saved by my ‘dead’ brother! Talk about irony! Malcolm had come back for me! How? And Why?

"How?" I babbled. "Why?"

"I used the rope to rappel from the gym roof to the lobby roof." Malcolm explained. "I was working my way from the lobby roof to join you when you drove up… after you crashed, I followed---" he suddenly stopped, realizing a seemingly important tangent. "You destroyed my car, you prick!" his grip on the Uzi tightened, and his mind must have snapped from the stress because he raised the weapon against me once more!

"Here we go again!" my raced and I dove away from Malcolm, crawling for cover as gunfire raged overhead. Either Malcolm was a lousy shot in full-light, or being shot by a firing squad was painless, because I didn’t feel a single one of the streaming volley of bullets tear into my flesh. I did, however, hear--- and feel—the heavy thud of another body collapsing near by. The roller-coaster of emotions I’d been riding since this night began was apparently beginning another go-round within my battle-worn body. Was Malcolm dead again, or was it me? Was he a Communist scum-sucking bastard, or was he just unleashing some pent-up frustration? Had he killed himself because of the inner turmoil deep within his psyche which told him that terrorism in any form was bad, therefore he was ultimately bad, and he could not deal with the revelation? What was happening to me, was I losing my mind?!

I immediately came to the conclusion that Malcolm must have faltered, perhaps having second thoughts about slaying me. Or maybe he had been ambushed by more of Jesse’s goons who didn’t recognize Malcolm as one of their own. Strangely, I seemed to recall feeling the body fall behind me, away from where Malcolm had been standing, back somewhere inside the computer center. My confusion was sated when I opened my eyes and surveyed my surroundings.

One of Jesse’s monkeys had apparently survived his initial wounds. Using the disheveled mess of over-turned tables and cabinets as cover while Malcolm and I were distracted in our reunion, the creep crawled into position. Only once he had staggered to his feet did Malcolm spot him beyond the wreckage of the room and gun him down once more--- after scaring the life out of his younger brother again, of course. Still, I was grateful again. With a sigh of relief over surviving yet another highly-explosive encounter with my bigger, faster, stronger brother as a catalyst, I helped myself up and over to Jesse’s jumbled mass.

"Now it’s over…Lover-Boy!" I snorted smoothly, spitting over Jesse’s body before stomping back to my big brother. It was inconceivable that Malcolm was one of them--- there should have never been a doubt in my mind to begin with; now there was no doubt! After all, he had saved my life twice in the span of 2 minutes, even after realizing that I had destroyed his prized Camaro! We were back, together again, like one big happy family; just Malcolm and me, Beth and Katy--- oh crap! It hit me like a lightning bolt: Beth and Katy were still held hostage in the gym!

"The gym…" I rambled. "…the disk…" Torn, I looked to Malcolm, who donned his infamous expression.

"Huh?" he quacked.

"I told you…" I retorted. "These guys, whoever they are, are searching for an Egg, a disk of some sort! I heard them talking!" I unclipped the radio from my hip and tossed it to Malcolm, and turned my attention back to Jesse. A quick frisk turned up 3 more magazines of 9mm ammunition for the Uzi, and Jesse’s own radio, but no computer disk. Jesse’s goons each had a heavier weapon--- and M-16--- and a few magazines of ammo, but no disk either. They didn’t have it, which meant I still had a chance at bargaining with whoever was left running the show from the gym! So, we had to move out, once more…

Malcolm and I chose the Uzi--- it was lighter and could be managed with one-hand, whereas the heavier M-16 required 2-hands for precision use. Actually, Malcolm kept the Uzi, leaving me the larger, bulky, harder to manage M-16; being the gullible stooge I often was at the mercy of my bigger faster stronger brother, I relented, offering up the extra magazines of 9mm rounds as well. For an instant I was uneasy about giving my brother the means to eliminate me once my back was turned; for the past 20 minutes or so, there had been the strongest possibility that Malcolm was a Communist insurgent! And now, thanks to me, he was armed and dangerous! Well, I still had the M-16 and bandoleer of bullets, and the grenades, so I was quite an arsenal myself! But, as I said, the M-16 was a bit larger, and required 2 hands to properly aim, and me with my bum arm and all… Of course, Malcolm showed his usual concern for my welfare.

"What about Beth? Did you see her at all?"

I sighed in resignation over Malcolm’s concern for the ‘American female’ even though he seemed oblivious to my obvious problems with the bulky weapon at my disposal. "She and the others were being held in the gym… well, that’s how I left them before I crashed and ran…"

"$hit!" Malcolm snapped, then calmed. "I guess they should be all right down below… The Lobby is gone, mostly… they’d be trapped inside, but safe, I think…"

"Yeah…" I agreed though I wasn’t certain I followed Malcolm’s logic. " At least until Jesse and the goons return with the disk…" We both looked over the carnage spread across the Computer Center, realizing that we were running out of time… if Jesse and his band of freaks didn’t return, the manhunt would escalate and the ‘Chief’ would no doubt begin taking out his frustrations on the hostages.

"$hit!" Malcolm snapped again. "I better go check the gym!"

"But…" I babbled as he broke away from the bodies, "What about the disk?" Malcolm stopped at the door, leaned and turned with that ever-present smirk.

"It’s not here…" he stated the obvious oh so well. "Where else could it be?" The question came off sounding nearly sarcastic. Malcolm knew the campus as well as I did, if not better; he knew full well that if a computer disk was not in the Behmler Computer Center, there was only one other obvious place to look…

"The Science and Computer Building?" I replied with a question, hoping I’d guessed the answer correctly.

"Good!" Malcolm smiled, "No charge for that consult, Slick! Find that disk!" he turned away then, slipping into the hallway cautiously.

"But.." I repeated.

"Go!" Malcolm barked harshly. "I’ll meet you there in 5 minutes!" he promised, then he was gone. Five minutes… what could possibly happen to me in five minutes? Well, in five minutes, the terrorists could track down the disk and start executing hostages just for the sick Communist-terrorist-bastard thrill of it! They already knew that the disk wasn’t in Behmler Hall, if I had translated ‘Jesus’ Jesse’s ‘no dice’ message correctly. So, that meant the disk HAD to be in the Science and Computers Building!

The Science Building Computer Center was actually the larger of the 2 computer bays on campus. The school mainframe was housed in Behmler Hall though, which ranked that facility as the ‘main’ computer center. When it came right down to it, every computer on campus was linked directly into that mainframe, so in truth, every person on-campus had their fingertips on the pulse of the world; the mainframe itself was linked in one way or another, to nearly any other computer system in the world—the Information Super-Highway, I believe is the term being thrown around by the bookish computer nerds these days. That fact made any computer in the college a powerful tool, a lethal weapon even. A properly trained and motivated operator could conceivably become a bazillionaire computer whiz… or a high-tech terror!

Computers were fast-becoming the wave of the future, spawning an ever-increasing populace of freaks known as cyber-punks; those nerds who specialized in computers and related highly technical subjects.
Whatever was on that mysterious disk was pretty important to these terrorist punks, and could most likely wreak a certain amount of havoc on part, most, or all of the world! Unless somebody could stop them, these Communist terrorist freaks would rule the world! I wonder how much Malcolm would charge for the use of his services to aid in ridding the world of new age cyber-punk terrorists? Probably a bit more than a quarter! Maybe a quarter of a million dollars or so… just a bit more than I could afford, I’m afraid! So, that left just one person standing in the way of total terrorist domination of the entire world…

TWELVE

"You??" the fuzz-head fed fawned. "What could you possibly do?? No! Never mind…" he approached me quickly, a determined scowl crossing his face. "Tell me the rest down-town!" he forcefully ushered me toward a waiting patrol car, but I shrugged him off and jerked away sharply.

"No way!" I resisted. "I’m not going anywhere in one of those!" Noticing the Fed’s flustered expression, I explained. "Remember Manuel de Salazar?" The agent’s eyes flashed with recognition, and he smiled.

"Ah yes… Manuel…" he recalled, "One of our best agents…"

"He… He was one of YOURS?" I gasped, shocked. Of course! The local news crew must have done some digging before doing their story on the crash; they must have known about Manuel’s ties to the FBI, and that explains why they reported the loss of 2 law enforcement officers. Manuel was a Fed?

Well, I’ve got some bad news for you boys…

The last time Manuel de Salazar was seen alive--- the last place he’d been seen at all in fact, since his body was never recovered from the wreckage of the crashed police cruiser--- was at the Science building.
It all seemed so long ago; Manuel’s arrest, the crash… All of it just happened a few short hours ago. Isn’t it funny how life seems to run in circles, spiraling back on themselves repeatedly, endlessly. Now, just a few hours after leaving the place and beginning an awesome adventure, something had brought me back to the Science and Computer Center. Call it Fate… Call it Destiny… Call it---

"Beth’s book-bag?" I noticed the blue denim satchel on the floor almost immediately upon entering the computer lab. Beth should have found it as easily, when I dropped her out front earlier. Unless she never made it into the building at that time! Maybe she never intended to go there at all; perhaps Beth Cooper was a Communist scum-sucking terrorist bastage!!

Sure, it all made sense to me now! Beth was the ring leader of the entire terrorist band, leading the fiends right to the disk and the gymnasium full of hostages! Her book-bag had nothing to do with her reason for being dropped off on-campus that afternoon… she was a woman, and was the ultimate Evil! In all likelihood, her book-bag was full of Communist terrorist manuals, maybe some vodka, fat Cuban cigars, a German Luger, a 7-11 Slurpee coupon booklet, a turban, and… a computer disk… a computer disk?? The computer disk!

That’s odd. Beth and her compatriots---uh, comrades--- should already have the disk in their possession! If she really was a slimy Commie puke leader, she would have kept the disk close to her, in her purse on pocket or something, so as to not lose it to the likes of the police, or the Feds… or to me!

Yet, there it was, a hard-disk, complete with the United States Presidential seal, and ‘Confidential--- Eyes Only’ labels. It definitely looked important enough to me to be kept more secure than it was, stuffed amongst Beth’s personal disks and notebooks. It was hardly hidden or secured, its jet black casing stood out against the blue, pink and yellow diskettes from Beth’s personal collection. My eyes and fingers locked on to the curiously labeled diskette and I wondered: Why was it here, unprotected…undefended… unwanted?? And, if the terrorists weren’t really here after this disk, then WHY WERE THEY HERE AT ALL?! And, why weren’t they here, chasing me?? I was the witness who had escaped them, was I not?! What’s going on here?!

"What’s going on here?!" the police sergeant returned to the scene, facing off against the flustered Fed. "Who the hell are you?"

"I’m with the FBI, and I’m in charge of this investigation…" the Fed explained coldly. "Who the hell are you?"

"I’m with the Morris Police Department, and I’m in charge of this investigation!!" Somebody better take charge of this situation and finish telling this story… OOO! OOO! ME! ME!

"You?" a strongly-accented voice bellowed from behind me as I crouched to collect the computer diskette. I had just slipped the disk safely away, and sealed the 6-disk carrying case when the mystery man arrived. If I had been in possession of Raoul’s M-16 I might have just blown the surprise guest away before I even recognized him. But, as I stood from my crouch near Beth’s desk, the M-16 lay across a desk at the front of the row, where I had absent-mindedly set the weapon upon discovering Beth’s book-bag. I hadn’t expected to be lingering in the room long enough to entertain guests, especially not guests bearing gifts… and the gifts this particular party-crasher brought nearly blew me away!

"Get up slowly, Mister King…" the man’s smooth American drawl and delivery combined with his Hispanic accent sounded so cool, and seductive, and distracted me from the fact that he knew me by name… until I realized he was---

"Manuel??" I babbled, taking a step toward the pistol-packing party-crasher. "But, you… you’re dead!

"Ah, yes…" the reincarnated Romeo reeled in glee, inadvertently shifting the aim of his .38-caliber pistol away from me. "You mean the comically inept charade involving the car-crash…" Manuel’s mirth shifted to stone-cold sobriety and he recaptured his focus. Once again locked the pistol’s aim on my chest, insisting with a flick of his wrist that I take a seat in Beth’s desk, as he continued calmly.

"The ‘accident’ was brilliantly staged, strictly for your benefit, Mister King, by those who hold an interest in claiming a certain item which I have--- or HAD--- in my possession."

"You??" I remembered that little scene in the study group when Manuel had access to Beth’s book-bag and her disks, before the police arrived. "But, you were arrested…" I feigned ignorance, a talent which I had come to master. This time, the all-important disk was involved, and lives were at stake, so I played stupid to the extreme. "So, why did you leave the disk…" Ooops!

"So, you know about the disk…" Manuel snarled, and I gulped at my foolish slip. " Unfortunate, but not insurmountable…" he gripped the .38 tensely, and charged the weapon with his left hand, chambering a round and drawing a bead on my breast. "This is too complex a matter to be of interest to a simple small-town college boy…"

"Oh really, Socrates!" I cracked, "Try me!" I must have touched something in the slick Student Teacher because he smirked slightly, and sighed.

"If you must know, that disk contains information vital to national security. Unfortunately, our people lost track of the disk, and were forced to scramble to track it down. Via our black-market sources, we traced the disk to an underground agency in the area, then infiltrated this college to uncover the whole operation, and recover the disk…

"The plan was for me to intercept the disk, then be arrested, removed from the situation, only to ‘die’ in an ‘accident’, witnessed by reliable ‘secondary victims’, and allowed to return to my role as ‘mole.’" I smiled stupidly with the realization that Beth and I had fulfilled our end of the deal perfectly… and Manuel continued.

"Unfortunately, once I had acquired the disk, I could no longer be certain who I could trust…The espionage game can be pretty confusing at even the best of times. There are agents and counter-agents everywhere… These Scorpions, for instance… a very tricky group! They are everywhere!"

"You’re telling me!" I piped in, though I had only the most vague idea what Manuel was referring to. Somehow, my cutting through the tension, and Manuel relaxed his aim once again. 3 more steps to the M-16, I thought… 3 steps…

"But, now my head is clear, you see…" Manuel snapped his full attention to me once again. "And I have come to claim the property for my people!" he reached his free hand toward the book-bag, realigning his aim, not on my chest, but on my head!

"Taking the disk back to ‘your people’, huh, Manny?" my gaze locked on Manuel’s right hand, but not necessarily on the .38-caliber pistol that would spell my doom; just past the gun, wrapped around Manuel’s wrist, was a gold-and-diamond studded wristwatch--- a bauble that seemed quite out-of-place on the person of a mole, someone who was supposed to be a low-class scum, a mole sent to infiltrate the under-belly of the black market weapons’ trade… "In Washington??" I wondered.

"What do you think?" he answered my question with a question; typical Fed tactic… typical Communist terrorist tactic too, I presumed. I should have had enough foresight and integrity and determination to question the cool creep further… was he a Federal agent or a counter-agent working for Them, the Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastards? I should have made him tell me more, but I decided that his .38 spoke loud and clear without him having to pull the trigger.

So, without a second thought, I relinquished Beth’s book-bag, counting on the fact that Manuel was in more of a hurry to leave this little party than I had been, so he wouldn’t have time to recover the disk and execute any potential witnesses, especially not just some simple small-town college kid! Besides, I knew something that Manuel the macho Mexican mystery agent didn’t know…

"Where’s the disk?" Manuel halted half-way out of the room. He had grabbed the denim satchel and bolted for the door, just as I had hoped. Enroute to the exit, he even holstered the .38. Then, he began rummaging through the book-bag!! He found the plastic disk carrier, and took a quick inventory. I winced at the thought of what was surely about to happen, but I masked my fear, simply shrugging.

"What disk?" I was quite sure I would soon be dead and would therefore be unable to regret my stupid sarcasm; so, quite innocently, I gawked at Manuel. "Simple college boy not know nothing about disk! Ugh!"

"Where… is… it!??!" enraged, Manuel turned on me before I could stand up. He dropped the cumbersome book-bag at my feet reclaiming the pistol from its shoulder-holster. Before I could say ‘Just Kidding!’ the barrel of the pistol was planted against my forehead, hammer cocked and ready to blow.

"Oh…" I gulped, slipping the disk from its ‘safe place’ in my back pocket. "You mean THIS disk? Hee-hee…" I could taste blood gurgling deep in my throat, hoping it would stay there, deep, deep, deep, in my throat! Sheepishly, I offered the ominous black disk to Manuel.

"Thank you…" he received the disk cordially enough, calmly reaching back into his polyester suit-coat and holstering the .38.
-WHEW!- He was a Fed after all; he wouldn’t kill an innocent pawn. I extended my hand, hoping to seal the deal with a firm friendly handshake. To my chagrin, Manuel was rudely chatting into a tiny radio which he must have also kept holstered in his coat. Neato!
The only parts of his covert conversation I heard were bits and pieces about the disk… the witness… the accident… However, the response to his communiqué I heard quite clearly, and in semi-stereo in fact! From my hip, as well as Manuel’s own radio, the reply crackled.

"Operation Snakebite engaged… Eliminate the witness and return the Egg to the Pit… King Cobra, out!" Don’t that just beat all! Out of countless thousands of frequencies used across the whole wide world, the Feds were using the same one as the Communist terrorist bastards! Inconceiva— whoa! Rewind! Did he say ‘eliminate the witness’?? -gulp!-
That’s ME!

OK, Slick, think quick! Where in Hell was Malcolm?! Five minutes had to have passed by now! Of all nights, of all times to be tardy… I’m sure he was busily concocting another brilliantly mind-boggling excuse, but no excuse would suffice if his delay cost me my life! No! I could no longer count on my bigger, faster, stronger, tardy brother--- or anyone else!--- to rescue me; I had to make something happen for myself, by myself! And fast!
-BANG!-
(uhh, a LITTLE faster!)

Fortunately, I HAD been just a little quicker on the draw-string than Manuel was on his hair-trigger. As he tucked the radio back inside his coat, and once again withdrew the .38 from its holster, I reached for the only weapon at my disposal. By the time the bridge of my nose was once more aligned in the cross-hairs of the small-caliber pistol, I had a firm grasp on my attack plan, and waited impatiently for the life-time of milliseconds to pass, and for Manuel to walk right into my trap…

As the traitor for Tijuana tugged the trigger, I heaved the heavy book-bag upward from the floor, directly beneath Manuel’s extended Rolex-decked arm.
-BANG!-

The bullet chipped through the plaster and lodged itself in the ceiling, a far cry better than chipping through my skull-plate and lodging in my skull, I must admit! Quickly, allowing momentum and surprise to work for me, I swung the bulky backpack down over Manuel’s head, and he collapsed to his knees, the pistol skittering from his slimy mitts. OOF! Lastly, the packed pouch proceeded to pendulum away and back across the stunned Spaniard’s wet-back and red-neck! -Ugh!- Manuel was down, battered and bruised, but hardly incapacitated… now what?

In Basic Training in Fort Benning, I had learned some very basic hand-to-hand combat techniques; not nearly 1,001 ways to kill a man with one finger--- not even close to 997 ways Malcolm joked about--- just a few simple striking blows, throws, defenses and counter-moves. Of course, the bottom line in hand-to-hand training--- as with most any other military training--- was KILL! Train to Kill! Motivated, motivated, Trained to Kill, Drill Sergeant! Hoo-Yah! Follow through, gain the advantage, then finish the enemy off, with no remorse, and no mercy! Kill! Kill! Kill!

All of that rhetoric and drama was great for morale and for testosterone-pumping during training exercises; but, as with most anything learned in a classroom environment, when it came to the practical use of such skills in the real world, the student was most often left with the feeling that they would never have a REAL use for the skills they had been taught… I was a National Guard trainee troop, not a Green Beret or Special Forces no-neck; I was highly motivated and trained to defend the public library from book-burning mobs, or defending Dillards downtown from stampeding masses of gray-haired old ladies… but to actually kill another human being, even one who had so obviously found it easy to comply with orders to eliminate me… How could I bring myself to his level? I’m no cold-blooded killer! Raoul’s death had been little more than an accident, a mistake, one I most likely would not have followed through with, if I had stayed in the Camaro a moment longer than I did. And, with Jesse and his merry band of Monkey-men, I didn’t even fire a single shot while I was anxiously searching for an escape--- Malcolm had done all that dirty work, and Malcolm’s blood-lust and near-lunacy was well-documented! But, as I had spent many long years reminding myself, even as dozens and hundreds of his happy followers also reminded me, I was NOT Malcolm!

For the first time in my life, I was left to face such a monumental decision, and I was on my own; no brother to egg me on to ‘sign my life away’; none of his beer-swilling beefy buddies to insult me and incite me into the usual line of foolishness; no smattering of female fans cheering me and my team on to victory; this one was all me… and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, do it! Even as my head screamed: ‘Just Do It! Mash his brains into the tile!’ I recognized Malcolm’s nastiness in that voice, and shook it off, as my heart just wasn’t in it. If this was where ‘team spirit’ got me, then I wanted no part of that team… I couldn’t kill a helpless human being!

Then again, I couldn’t have him following me, or reporting back to ‘his people’ about me. I had to find some way to incapacitate him…

"Aha!" the police sergeant cheered, suddenly awash with recognition. "That explains the half-naked Hispanic fellow we found floundering on the floor of the lab, tied up in his own clothes, and gagged with a strap of blue-denim… HA!" I nodded.
"Excuse me?!" the flustered Fed fumed. "You mean to tell me… you expect me to believe, that you, a simple college kid, beat one of our top agents, with nothing more than a book-bag?!"

"What can I say?" Again I nodded, with a sly smirk. "Beth really enjoyed heavy reading!"

"So, you stripped him, of his dignity, and of his clothing, tied him up and gagged him, and left?!"

"Hey now!" I defended myself gracefully. "A little humiliation never killed anyone! He was a bad seed, Sir! And, besides, I didn’t have time to color him happy with the Magic Markers I found… he got lucky, got off easy! I was interrupted, and inspired, by none-other-than Manuel’s people…"

"Inspired?? How?" the questioning continued.

"I was just getting to that part!" I explained impatiently, "Just listen…"

"…and listen good, Rattler, because I’m only going to say this once! Operation Snakebite is nearly complete… Once Mamba returns the Egg to the Pit, Viper is authorized to initiate Operation Pitfall. Then, and ONLY then, will you be permitted to seek your vengeance… Do not blow this by acting in haste, Rattler! King Cobra, Out!"

King Cobra? Rattler?? Operation Snakebite??? What was this? Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom? I was only out of radio contact for a few short minutes while I dealt with Manuel, tying him up and securing the disk, so I didn’t think I’d missed much, but… Aha! Manuel was Mamba, and the disk was the Egg… these guys had laid out a very complex plot, switching call-signs and accents and languages as the thing progressed, to throw off any accidental listeners or passers-by, I suppose… now as the night drew on, things got nasty, switching for the innocuous Espanol surnames and slurs, to the deadly, venomous villainy of reptilian references… It was all coming together, and I was counting myself fortunate that I had not been an accidental listener, that I had been involved in this little radio drama from the start, so I could at least keep up with it all! I wished now more than ever, that I had that larger section of the campus map, and could piece together more of the master-plan; I needed more information, something to help me sift through all the call-signs, code-names, and catch-phrases, to get to the main goal of this Operation Snake-Fall or whatever it was. I was inspired by King Cobra’s brazen demands against his own troops, and I positioned myself to make a few demands of my own… Eat your heart out, Bruce Willis!

"Pretty powerful words there, KC…" I barked defiantly into my radio---well, Manuel’s radio, which I had eloquently ‘acquired in a hostile take-over’. "I’m just sorry I’m going to have to rain on your little parade!"

"Who is this?" the voice was defiant, defensive, and concerned… and afraid??

"This is Ric…" I thought again before revealing myself. "You know the story of Ricki-Ticki-Tavi? Well, I’m the little mongoose whose raising Hell in the Snake-Pit!" a second thought struck me, swirled in from my earlier inspiration to begin this little tirade, and I concluded. "You can call me Bruce!"

"Well, well…" the King Cobra’s voice seemed suddenly confident, and even cocky. "It seems you are the second unwelcomed guest we have encountered this evening, Mister Bruce, the Mongoose…"

The second?! Who was the first?! I hate always being considered #2, dammit!! Especially coming in behind my bigger, faster, stronger brother! If he’s gone and gotten himself killed before I can get killed myself… oh shit! "No matter!" King Cobra continued. "You will be dealt with, along with the rest… You can not interfere with us…"

"Oh yeah?!" I found inspiration in Cobra’s defiant tone, "That’s what Mamba thought!" A long moment of silence followed and I began to worry that perhaps I had tipped my hand, and all I was holding was that missing deuce and a few sluff-cards…

"What is it that you want, Mister Mongoose?" the impatience had returned to his Eminence, though he was trying to maintain some illusion of calm.

"You know the story, about Tavi’s fascination with the Cobra Egg??" I riddled.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" the agitation and impatience became obvious, as King Cobra raged, and I couldn’t help but smile sickly, hoping he wouldn’t do anything rash before reacquiring his precious disk.

"Well, Kingee…" I mused, "I believe Moses said it best when he said: ‘Let my people go!’ "

"Give me my disk you little rodent, or, so help me not even your God will have miracles enough to save you!!" He was irate, and very serious I feared. And, he was right; I was going to need a miracle or 2 to get through this night alive and in tact! If only I knew more about their operation; their numbers, armaments, plans, their names—their REAL names!—King Cobra?! What a joke! Of course, just knowing all the details would do me little good; I had to report the details to the proper authorities. Unfortunately, after the earlier encounter with the city cops who arrested Manuel, only to allow him to fake his own death and return to the scene of the crime to threaten the life of me, the only witness to the whole charade, I was at a loss over exactly who to trust! Manuel was right; the espionage game is so complicated! I HAD to get help though--- the bastards had claimed another hostage, an outsider, maybe even Malcolm! I had to call in the cavalry… or the National Guard!!

Of course!! The large, bulky version of the military radio I had left with Manuel in the computer lab was remarkably adaptable, with electronic junction ports that could be hard-wired into portable antenna arrays to boost their effective transmission range. As it was, the radio was only good for close-quarters communication, ranging up to a mile or less, and was far too bulky for me to consider lugging around after finding Manuel with his compact hand-held radio. In a hasty heart-beat though I returned from the hall outside the computer bay, to the lab to recover the large radio. If I could get to the on-campus radio station antenna and Jerry-rig a connection, I might be able to get a signal to the out-of-town, uncorrupted officials, or maybe even the State Police. The radio station, KUMM, was based out of the Student Center beneath the campus library; just a hop, skip and a jump from the Science and Computer Center, so it would not be a problem for me to get there. Unless King Cobra had sent some goons to track me…

"There!!" one of the bastards saw me as I exited the computer lab and slipped into the dim hallway once more. Of course, King Cobra knew where Mamba Manuel was going to be, and when I smugly mentioned Mamba in my rant against the machinations of this twisted terrorist team, the scum knew immediately where to come looking… Ooops! "He’s going for the stairwell! MOVE!" -Brrrr-RRAPPP!-
I rounded a corner and slammed through the swinging door to the stairwell, as bullets once again flew in my general direction… -whew!-

Up or Down…Up or Down… Why do they always choose to run UP the stairs in all those movies?! I recalled having a similar conversation with Malcolm one time, during a particularly cheesy B-Action flick on cable one night. "Because, fool… Down leads to a dead-end in the basement!" seemed logical enough at the time, and I raced up the stairs, secure in the knowledge that Up leads to…
…a dead end on the roof!!

The cool breeze chilled my rain-dampened, sweat-soaked body, damping my spirits as well, and I shivered visibly shaken by my plight. The hop-skip-jump to the Library had now become a 75-foot drop straight down--- no hallucinatory exaggeration this time either!--- followed by that hop-skip-and-jump! Another deadly decent… It wouldn’t take the terrorists long to realize that I hadn’t stopped off on any of the 4 floors between ground-level and the roof. I probably had about 3 minutes or less to get myself off the roof before I would have to be carried off--- in a body bag!!

THIRTEEN

There it rose; the antenna stood atop the Library, about a hundred feet away, across the street which circled the central court-yard of the campus--- the Mall, as it was called by the coeds, because that’s where everyone liked to hang out. On the Mall were the Library, the Student Activities Center, the KUMM radio-station, and a wide-open plot of grass out front, for sunning and funning during the warmer months. Right now, my objective was the Library roof, from which the radio antenna rose some 30 feet. The library itself was 3-stories high, so, as I looked out across the Mall, I was nearly eye-to-eye with the small concave dish atop the antenna. In actuality, due to the gradually rising slope on which the Science Building sat, the antenna was probably as many as 15 to 20 feet lower than the roof-top of the Science Building. But, at such a great distance, the antenna was close enough--- or rather, far enough away--- to be considered ‘even’ and on the same level as me. In any case, I wasn’t concerned about gradual slopes and relative heights, or about optical illusions brought on by a night’s fog and over-abundance of adrenaline flowing through my tired body. Putting all of the physics and all of that behind me, the one thing that did concern me was the fact that I had only about 2 minutes of life remaining! I had to get off this damn roof!

Besides the earth 75-feet below, only one other thing connected the Science Building to the Library and other points around campus. An electric cable, or was it a radio or television cable--- a power line, none the less--- ran from an insulated post on the Science and Computer Center roof, to a switch box about 2/3 of the way up the antenna. Similar cables were strung all around campus, but this particular cable was my only concern at the moment! It might just be possible for a person to climb across the wire, if it the wire would support his weight, and if he was crazy---or desperate--- enough to attempt such a feat! My earlier plea blazed to the front of my cluttered mind.

"Let me go first…" I begged Malcolm on that other roof across-campus, "I’m heavier than you…heavier than you… I’m heavier…" Oh great! Where was Malcolm now? 5 minutes, he said! What could possibly happen in five minutes?

Never mind! I scanned the length of taut cable decisively, finally shrugging off the bandoleer. The shivering returned as I shook the contents from the cloth package. I no longer needed the 5 magazines of 5.56mm ammunition any more; I had left the M-16 in the Computer Center lab, after removing the firing pin, taking Manuel’s more-manageable .38 caliber pistol and the 2 boxes of bullets he’d kept neatly tucked away in the inside pocket of his suit-coat. What I did need was the bandoleer itself. Flashbacks to Basic Training washed over me like the cold night air, as I concocted an insane escape plot to match the insanity that raged around me…

The Slide For Life was a big thing, the Finale of Finales, which marked the completion or our cycle-ending Confidence Course in the waning days of Basic Training. The major components of the slide were a 300-foot deep gorge, through which ran a shallow stream--- except in the hottest Summer months when it was little more than a dry creek bed, over which a length of heavy rope was run. Attached to the rope was a large pulley with a set of handle bars crudely welded to it. The object was for each basic trainee to stride confidently to the edge of the chasm, grab onto the crude handle bars, and lunge head-long over a canyon, trusting upon his own physical strength and the laws of Physics, to carry him along the ever-so-slightly descending rope, until he reached safety on the opposite side of the gorge. A sure test of a soldier’s guts, a true confidence builder, the Slide for Life…

Except that in Basic Training, so many safety measures had to be adhered to in order to protect the individual soldiers, that the confidence of the individual had little to do with their successfully completing the terrifying slide. First, each soldier was taught how to tie Swiss seats, ‘seats’ of rope which were tied around the waist and upper thighs of the individual, as a sort of harness-support, typically used during rappelling. A steel safety cable was bolted to the pulley device, and was attached to each soldier’s Swiss-seat harness by a strong steel carabeener. As the Private in training stepped to the lip of the gorge, and locked on to the pulley, it was hardly a confidence-builder to realize that even, in a fit of sudden panic, the soldier released his grip on the handle-bars, he would not plummet into the ravine after all, thanks to the steel safety cable.

Lastly, a set of guide-line ropes were attached to the pulley, extending to both sides of the ravine; so that a truly trapped Private could be pulled back from the brink in either direction to be reprimanded by a raging Drill Sergeant for being so sad and pathetic and weak. Of course, the soldier would survive the harassment, to hopefully grow into a bigger, stronger, faster, better person for the trial, following the experience of the Slide For Life… so then, why was I still a sniveling, whining worthless wimp?

My recent situation was almost completely different from my Basic Training experience. This time, there would be no safety lines and no water to fall into, no drill sergeants or older brothers to push me to the brink or to pull me back to safety if I leaped in over my head again. This slide for life was truly that, a slide for LIFE… my life! It was a good thing I was so highly trained by the United States government that I didn’t require any of those redundant safety measures… HAHA! Besides, I didn’t have time to create a fail-safe environment for this experimental leap for life. Theoretically, very little could go wrong, unless the wire snapped under my weight or the bandoleer ripped or burned away mid-slide, or my grip slipped, or… Then again, theoretically, I should have died when I fell through that sheet-rock square covering the air duct into the gymnasium!

Hopefully, the rains had moistened the cable and bandoleer enough to reduce any serious friction between the two, and eliminate the possibility that the cloth sling would heat up and burn away as I slid. Hopefully, the wire would support my full weight as I slid. But, the wetness of the bandoleer and the cable could also work against me; if I lashed out with the cloth strap and caught the wet wire with my damp hands, thereby grounding the power line, all of the power surging through the line would be sent into the ground--- after surging through my body!! So, I would somehow have to drape the bandoleer over the wire without touching both the bandoleer and the roof top at once, then leap from the roof, grab the bandoleer and slide across to the antenna, being sure to release the bandoleer at just the proper instant as to be propelled forward just enough to cling to the antenna without being charred by the ample amps coursing through the line! Impossible!!

Even if I did manage to drape the bandoleer perfectly, leaving both ends dangling in the breeze on either side of the silver power cable; even if I did manage to leap perfectly and grab the perfectly placed cloth strap without free-falling to my death; even if the wire did support my full, free-fall weight as I dove for the bandoleer… there was no way I would avoid swinging backward from the momentum of my leap forward, once I did catch the bandoleer. I would inevitably pivot back, just as Beth’s backpack had found its momentum in the computer lab, crushing Manuel to the tile; I would swing backward, and could not avoid crashing into the side of the Science Building, if only for an instant. In that instant, I would effectively ground out the line, and be shocked, and left to drop to my death, a boring, lifeless charcoal briquette, fried to a crisp! YEOW!

"Yeow!" I echoed my thoughts aloud as I tested the stability of the aluminum ball which encased the inlet port for the power line on the corner off the roof.

The lightning ball was aptly named; it’s primary function was to act as an insulator for the power line, to attract any outside electricity such as, for instance, from a lightning strike, and to send that electricity down the small copper wire which ran down the building and into the ground. Judging by the searing burn which I had received upon touching the ball of tin, I’d guess it had performed it’s job perfectly! The ball was hot, as though it had only recently been struck by--- Of course! That brilliant and close flash of lightning and explosion of thunder that floored me on the PE Center roof! Lightning must have struck the Science Building, or so close by that some stray voltage found its way down the ground wire! Maybe the blast shorted out the whole campus! Well, there was light in the gym unfortunately, but that would explain those moments of initial darkness when I first crashed that little party… at the very least, I hoped the power to this cable was out, and the wire was dead… if not the wire, then I would soon be dead, I feared… -gulp!-

"There he is!!" went the warning cry which re-initiated my fears for my life; those 3 minutes sure passed quick! No time for thoughts or theories, safety briefings or second opinions! With no hesitation, I took my life into my own hands, and lashed out with the bandoleer, catching its soggy end as it loped round the cable and came back to me.

As I stepped to the brink, I chanced a glance back over my shoulder. I had heard that a sever jolt of electricity through a human body would burst one’s eyeballs almost immediately, so I was surprised to see anything at all in that moment; but what I did see certainly didn’t inspire any feelings of joy over my not being electrocuted…

4 bad-ass Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastards, bearing down on my position, Uzi’s at the ready! So, the wire was dead, and I wasn’t---- not yet!

"YYYYYYAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" I roared, slipping from the rooftop, praying that my luck---and the power-line--- would hold.

The bandoleer buzzed rhythmically as it slid across the wet wire, and my insane plot seemed to actually be paying off! Something must have been off in my calculations of the angle of declination between the antenna tower and the Science Building, because I seemed to be moving incredibly slow, too slow!! If I didn’t pick up the pace, the Communist pukes might just start---

-BANG!- BANG! -BRRRAaaaRRAPP!- Shit!

If I was Bruce Willis, I would hold tight and rely on the strength of my strong arm while fishing Manuel’s .38 from the waistband of my pants and firing back a few rounds to get the pigs to duck and cover. Of course, I’m NOT Bruce Willis, so the best I could do was swing my legs back and forth, building up more and more momentum, while mentally willing myself to become invisible and impervious to the bad guys’ bullets.

The good news: Apparently my psychic powers were greater than even I had known, because none of the bullets found a place to rest anywhere in my body. -WHEW!-

The bad news: While swinging my legs in a frantic effort to increase my rate of slide, I accidentally dislodged the pistol from its place tucked away under the waist band of my jeans! That’s why Bruce Willis would have collected the weapon mid-slide! Ooops!

"Get to the Library! Move! Undulai! Undulai!" My sentiments exactly! But, if that’s where they would be heading, and that’s where I was heading, then…

I was grateful that I reached the antenna first; Time had apparently slowed to a crawl again, but at least all things temporal were applied equally across the board, affecting the good, the bad, and the Communist terrorist bastards equally, for the goon squad was nowhere to be found as I landed. Deftly, I locked my legs through one of the steel Xs which crisscrossed their way into the shape of the massive antenna, and I steadied myself against the large tin control box in front of me. The panel was merely a steel plate about 2-feet square, hinged at the bottom with an indented handle at the top. As I repositioned myself slightly too on side of the panel, my gaze drifted down the antenna, across the Library roof, to the Mall, where I watched the Communist quartet make there way into the building below.

With a determined tug, I opened the panel and gazed in wonder at the components inside. Ignorantly, I toyed with the mess of wires and cables; red ones, blue ones, fat ones, skinny ones, none of which jumped out at me screaming ‘Use me! Use me! I’m the one for you!’ Again, my mind flashed to the many encounters with women I had experienced, and I nearly wept at the similarity of the situations, then and now. Again, I digress… male and female relations are so very complicated…

That’s it! I realized, fishing the large radio from its place securely clipped to my hip, and examining it closely. There, on one side of the bulky olive-green radio, was a generic 6-holed ‘female’ electrical port connector. And, if my hunch was correct, the 6-pronged ‘male’ end which was connected to a dummy port in the antenna box should fit snugly inside the female end of the radio!

Of course, with all those thoughts of my past failures with male-female relations fresh in mind, I began to have doubts… serious doubts! What if this didn’t work? What if I couldn’t make the call? What if—

What the Hell! I had to take a shot!
Fortunately for me and for all Man and Womankind, I made a connection! Not exactly a Love Connection, but close enough! Reach out, reach out and touch someone…

"Breaker, breaker…" I whined ecstatically, suddenly charged with adrenaline, almost aglow atop my perch. "This is an SOS! Terrorists have seized control of the University of Minnesota campus in Morris, and are holding at least 75 students hostage..." I was enthralled by the moment, embellishing heavily as I expanded on what little I knew about the whole situation. But, how could I be sure anyone even heard my call? How could I identify myself without giving myself up to the wicked and evil terrorist freaks who were trailing my every move, even as I shadowed their every move?! And how would any sane person believe me? Then, I had an idea…

"This is Mongoose 2: The Sequel…These terrorists are extremely well-armed, and really pissed! Local authorities may have been compromised! We need State Troopers or Federal Agents on-scene immediately, and maybe even the National Guard!" After a moment to rethink my transmission, I closed, including my creative call-sign and my social security number; in case anyone in law enforcement did intercept the call, they could track my identity, realize that I was indeed a student at UMM, and hopefully get the point that there was some serious trouble on the campus! My message had been quite thorough and well-spoken, but I wished I could have offered something more substantial in the way of proof, to insure----

Bullets pelted and dented the open steel cover which sprawled open beneath me. I was blocked from the line of fire for the moment, but was obviously a sitting duck on this tower. Trapped, like a rat in a maze… no, like a fish out of water… trapped like something who can’t think of something that’s really really trapped good, because I was so trapped, I panicked. C’mon Slick, you pussy! Think!

Aha! Like a cat up a tree, I was stuck, and the only firemen around were intent on firing upon me to bring me down, down the hard way! It never rains, but it pours… and I couldn’t even shoot back because I abandoned the M-16 in favor of the far more portable .38, only to lose the .38 during my haphazard and heroic slide for life! What a way to go; blown away, and left to splatter my remains at the feet of the Communist terrorist scum. Unless…

I still had the 2 fragmentation grenades hooked through my front belt loops; perhaps I wouldn’t be the one who was blown to bits after all!

-BANG!- BANG!-

The shots seemed to strike quite close, but not too close, seeming to corral me, to keep me cornered and in check, but not meant to do me any direct harm. The terrorists had moved into positions surrounding the tower base; there would be no way to avoid the volley that the fearsome foursome unleashed from those positions, I was certain to be killed! In a panic, I tugged at the grenade with my left hand, while steadying myself against the tower with my stronger right arm. My weak left hand could scarcely grip the grenade, and I couldn’t free the spoon from my belt loop. The grenade itself was hanging loose, but unless I could pull the pin and release the spoon, thereby arming the 3-second delay fuse, the grenade would be utterly useless. Since I couldn’t get the spoon untangled from my belt loop, I couldn’t take control of the device, and it remained just dead weight on my hip… And, speaking of the dead…

Just when I thought it was curtains for me, with no possible escape, I was given a reprieve as well as gaining a remarkable bit of insight into the minds of these terrorists.

"Don’t shoot him!" one of them shouted, and they lowered their weapons in response to his plea. "He’s got the disk!" Of course! If they shot me full of holes, they might just damage their precious disk! They couldn’t shoot me; they needed me alive, and in one piece until they had the computer disk--- then, I was dead meat! I guess these guys were smarter than I had first thought; but, was that a good thing or a bad thing?!

"Carlos, use your knife…" the smart one ordered. "Go! Bring back the disk!" No instructions to be gentle to the carrier of the disk, to treat him kindly and with respect, to ask him politely to please return the disk to the friendly neighborhood Communist terrorist scum?? This was bad, very bad! I needed an escape route.. now! Since I had no other weapon at my disposal, I focused all my efforts on the grenades; they were they key to my survival.

The key… the pin!! If I pulled the pin with the grenade in hand, the spoon-shaped ignition handle would kick away from the grenade and the grenade would be charged and armed for a 3-second delay before exploding. Since the spoon itself was horribly twisted and caught up in my belt loop, lodged firmly in place, the spoon itself would not kick away from the grenade; instead, the grenade would spring away from the spoon, and fall to the tar-blackened rooftop below. It could still work! The end result would be the same; the terrorists would either flee from the fallen grenade or be destroyed by its blast!

With renewed resolve, I tugged at the tin pin, working it gingerly and quickly from its tight position between the spoon and the grenade. -CLICK!- The spring-loaded spoon was freed, and the grenade fell free, plummeting ground-ward. ….3…2…1… the green grenade landed…

-KABOOOOOOOOOOOOM!-

Thousands of twisted metal shards erupted outward from the explosive device, strafing all those in the blast area; the 4 freaks were caught completely by surprise and didn’t stand a chance in the blast, and were shredded instantly. What I hadn’t considered was the fact that the blast radius of a typical frag-grenade was about 25 to 30 feet, and that the antenna rose, at most, 30 feet into the air! My legs were pelted by a few stinging shards and I cried out in agony. Though the pain was indeed excruciating, I soon discovered a second area of oversight on my part, which led to an even more pressing problem than a few flesh wounds. The shock of the explosion sent ripples of force jarring through the antenna, too much force for the antenna to sustain given the added burden of my weight on its foundation; therefore, the structural integrity of the tower was compromised… in plain English: the antenna tower was falling down!

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…" I screamed as the antenna buckled underneath me, my shifting weight pulling it down on top of me.
At least I wouldn’t be killed by blood-thirsty Communist terrorist creeps atop the Library; instead, I would be crushed by the collapsing radio tower atop the Library!

Or, maybe not… With steadily increasing velocity, the tower listed to one side, my body weight tugging it toward me. To my dismay, the tower and I fell backwards, over the edge of the Library roof. In the instant or two of free-falling terror which enveloped me, I looked out across the Mall, wishing I could conjure up Angela and her creamy crevasse to engulf me in my fall… instead, all I saw was the fast-approaching Student Center next to the Library suddenly zoom into view. I would not be crushed to death atop the Library after all, I would be crushed to death between the Library and the Student Center! It never rains, but it pours… this must be a damn hurricane!!

I had no choice again. If I was to have even a minuscule chance of survival, I would have to launch myself--- in mid-fall— from the collapsing tower, hoping against hope that I would free-fall far enough away from the Library roof to land atop the Student Center roof so near-by. I had only an instant to move before the Student Center roof would be racing past me and I would be left to meet the ground head-long, and that instant would prove to not be enough time…

I was lucky enough to push myself away from the tangled tower slightly, and I was indeed lucky to crash against the cold hard concrete and black-top rooftop of the Student Center. But, my right foot remained lodged in the crook of the X-crossed bars of the tower, so the tower collapsed and crumpled around my leg, crushing and pinching my already somewhat shredded extremities…

If I had remained conscious, I probably would have been wailing in uncontrolled panic and pain. Fortunately, all of the wind had been forced from my lungs upon impacting with the coarse tar-covered flat-roof. Darkness followed… Darkness mixed with a wild assortment of colored swirls: pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, green clovers, blue diamonds, and purple horseshoes… too bad there would be no lucky leprechaun on a magical red balloon floating in to save the day this time! I knew I should have started the day with a good breakfast! Oh well, it would take a heck of a lot more than a sugar rush to get me through this night! UGH!

I gasped and groaned groggily, not knowing how long I was lying there in that shocked and shaken state. As it turned out, the antenna was made up of several lengths of flimsy hollow aluminum tubing, bolted together in the crisscross pattern for moderate stability, with light-weight 7/16 nuts and bolts. When I fell, bringing the tower down with me, most of the cheap screws were sheared away in the crashing collapse, snapping clean off and letting the tin spindles clatter harmlessly to the ground and roof-top around me. My leg wasn’t so injured as I had feared, except in the place where the cross-bars came together and caved in, pinching a large chunk of my thigh inside. When I shot up from my stupor in a start, I pulled my leg free, tearing the pinched flesh as well as scraping my knee; not as serious as a broken leg or 2, but it still stung like a son-of-a-*****!! Still, for the most part, I was in tact. I could just get up off this roof, and---

"YYEEEOOOOOWWW! AAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!" Holy Shiite Muslim breath! My arm! Oh God! My arm was definitely not in one piece any more, I discovered as I tried to boost myself from under the antenna wreckage. The pain was intense, searing, ripping pain, pain so great that I fell back once more, shivering in a cold sweat, rolling away to my right side, babying my broken left arm, and sobbing in quiet agony. I couldn’t go on, this was way too much! A broken arm, battered and bruised ribs, scraped and scarred and shredded legs… constantly pursued by countless Communists terrorist scum-sucking bastards, turn-coat Feds, city cops, and crazed college students! Who could I turn to in my hour of need? Not even Malcolm, my bigger faster, stronger brother, could be trusted! What would happen to Beth and the others? And Katy? Poor Katy… the time for our date loomed ever-nearer, as did the appointed hour for my death, if I kept up this insanity! What a joke this night was becoming! And, as usual, when I needed one, there was no punch-line in sight… except: He’s Dead, Jim! Not funny!

I needed some serious help! I needed a bullet-proof vest and an M203 grenade-launching semi-automatic assault rifle… or an army of Commie-killing freedom fighters on my team! That’s what I needed! What I had was a box and a half of .38-caliber pistol rounds, but no gun to use them in, a single pineapple-shaped fragmentation grenade, the black-and-white smoke canister, and the disk. I couldn’t even make any more calls for help; the military radio was still connected to the antenna control box, and now lay smashed on the ground amidst the rest of the fallen tower between the Student Center and the Library.

Oh well, at least I still had my health! HA! And a killer sense of humor! I knew that the disk was the important element in all of this, and that I had maintained possession of that prize thus far; but my health ranked a close second! How could I hold out against the unknown masses of meanies if I wasn’t at my very best? Even at my best, I wasn’t much in the world of Communist terrorist hunter-killers, but I was the only chance Katy had to be freed from the gymnasium and go get dolled up before our date… I was delirious and rambling again… I needed immediate first aid… and I knew just where to go to get it!

FOURTEEN

I strongly suspected that King Cobra would be more than a bit perturbed over the loss of 4 more of his lackeys, not to mention the disk. He might even begin executing hostages at random until he got what he wanted from me. But, what I had going for me was the Unknown; he couldn’t know yet that I had successfully defended myself against the team of assassins he had sent to recover the Egg after I had so smoothly intercepted the disk from Manuel. As long as I maintained radio silence, not getting full of myself in my minor victory for the moment, the terrorist leader would be left to assume that his troops were having a time tracking me across the vast-expanse of campus.

And, I was in dire need of a respite, and some medical attention; I needed to ease my pains somehow. Since thoughts of Katy and out impending date with destiny no longer quelled the aches and pains which ravaged my body, I had to look for alternative means. As quickly and quietly as I could in my injured state, I slinked from the Student Center rooftop, via the handy-dandy rain drain gutter of course, and stole across the Mall. Ducking around my old dormitory, Clayton A Gay Hall, I crept in the shadows, toward my objective. On the west side of Gay Hall, the campus Health Services office stood; hopefully I could find everything I needed to return myself to my perfectly unfit self in that office.

After elbowing my way through the glass door and unlocking it, I slipped into the dark office and fumbled to the medicine cabinet in the examination room. Over the course of the next twenty minutes or so, I found fresh gauze wraps for my bruised ribs; I bandaged the gouges and scrapes on my legs, shedding the outside, most damaged, pair of jeans I had worn, pleased with myself for choosing to wear 2 pairs of pants earlier that chilly evening. Upon examining my arm, I discovered multiple fractures indeed--- in the plaster cast!! The cast had been mashed, smashed and mangled to the point of being ineffective, pieces of the plaster had poked through my tender pink flesh and cut deep, almost to the bone--- hence the searing, ripping tearing pains that shot through my arm with every jarring blow; but, amazingly, the bone was still set and secure, as I still had almost total range of motion and mobility in my fingertips and wrist. I was OK, if only in a general, not-completely disabled or permanently crippled sense!

To repair the damaged cast, I went to great lengths: 2, foot-long lengths, to be precise! Using a pair of ¼-inch thin, inch-wide heavy steel rulers, I constructed a make-shift splint over the remnants of the plaster cast, after clearing the debris from my cuts and cleaning the wounds. I wrapped more of the flimsy elastic gauze around the rulers to hold the splint firmly in place, wrapped as tightly as I could muster in my one-handed condition. I could only hope that the healing ulna would continue to stay set and secure throughout the rest of this night; there was still so much left to do, and the wounds---all of them individually, and my body as a whole, in fact!--- hurt like Hell! And, I was fast running out of steam…

Fortunately, there were a plethora of pain-killing and adrenaline-pumping drugs at my disposal in the office. After ingesting a few aspirins, I scanned the cabinets for something, anything that would help alleviate my pains without totally wrecking my evening; anything with Morphine or some derivative in the -phine family would suffice, I ignorantly assumed. Demerol… the name said everything I needed to know… ask for it by name! I pulled the glass vial from its secure slot in the case, and fumbled for a hypodermic needle in the tray on the desk. With a satisfactory sigh of relief, I loaded up one of the ample supply of hypos, and pricked my arm with the needle…

…in no time, I was feeling fine, better than fine, actually… I was down-right groovy man!

Far out! Way Far Out! I pocketed the vial of sweet stuff dazedly, not knowing how long the affects would sustain me, and unsure if I would be able to make a return trip to the Health Center if things heated up again. Whatever that stuff was, it sure did the trick; I was feeling absolutely no pain--- in fact, I was no longer feeling my lips or my fingertips, or my toes… or my legs! I stumbled and wobbled, finally collapsing into the nurse’s comfortable office chair, woozy and dazed.

Too cool, dude… Pink hearts, orange balloons… yellow-bellied leprechauns playing baseball on my brain… red, white and blues, jazz, pop, and rock’n’roll… where are the tunes, my brother? Where is my brother? In a complete daze, I fumbled with the nurses’-station radio, zoning out as I tried to tune the thing…

"There!" I smiled in cross-eyed delight, finding a station and collapsing into the seat once again.

"Groovy tunes, my brother…" I babbled, though the only sound coming from the small transistor’s speaker was a news teaser.

"…surprising news from the Sauke Center Correctional Facility…" the report passed through my clouded thoughts, as I drifted dreamily off. "…Only one escapee remains unaccounted for… and in sports, Frankie Vi says ‘Goodbye’… Weather-in-a-word: WET! Tune in to K-Q news in 45 minutes, for the complete forecast, and all the news… K-Q News at 10… See ya then!"

No more rhyme, you filthy slime! Last time I saw Jesse, it got messy! Forget Sauke, let’s hear some rock! Wait a second, buddy… did he say only 1 escapee?? Shit! I guess that means those escapees from Sauke Center really don’t have anything at all to do with this whole mess… I just wish I didn’t!! So many thoughts rolled round in my mind as I collapsed into the cushy and comfortable chair, fast-fading into a restful slumber… terror, terror everywhere! And so many thoughts to think!

‘I think, therefore I am…’ and I think that Descartes was one tired, old man! And I was feeling much the same way! After all the excitement of the past day, and the pain-killers to top it all off, I found myself just plain pooped. Not so much from the medication as from plain exhaustion, I drifted off to sleep…

‘To sleep, perchance, to dream;
Ay there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of Death what dreams may come…’

Ah, the Great One himself, Billy the Bard Shakespeare, led me into Dreamland. And, what a dream it was! My mind was fogged when I awoke. Where was I? The room was hot and steamy, wafts of smoke hung heavily all around. Where in the world was I? And, how did I end up here?

"Oh Julio, Julio, Julio…
Wherefore art thou, Julio?"

Katy? Wherefore art thou? I whirled around, trying to clear the fog from my head. And, who is this Julio? And, what’s with all of this Spanish crap?! I knew I should have taken a second language! Hoping to find a way out of the fog, I took a step forward. Actually, I took a half-step; my foot rose, and moved forward, but never actually came down on solid ground! Ooops!

-SPLASH!- I was in the drink, sucking sewer water through my nose, gagging, gasping, choking… I struggled in vain to swim to the surface, but was swallowed up by the muck. Which way was up?! I couldn’t move!! Somebody, anybody! Help me!!

-SLAM!- My splashing and thrashing awakened me from the nightmare, and I still found myself unable to move!! The cold chill of the night air sent shivers down my spine; the breeze wafted past my cheeks and I shook with the chill, sitting up with a start! Oh shit! I thought, patting myself down across my lap reflexively after such an aquatic nightmare. Soaked to the bone… not shit, but close enough!

"Oh, Rick… it is you…" that voice again; the one person I wished I could see just then, but the last person I hoped would catch me in my present less-than-presentable condition!

"Katy…" I looked sheepishly to the office door, and discovered that I wasn’t in the nurses office after all! Instead, the wall of a massive tower rose up beneath my cheek, the sewer-water moat running round my mid-section leaving me wet and soggy as I stood and shivered there in the dark. The fairest of all maidens, Katy Maclintock, peered somberly down upon me from within her prison high up the sheer stone wall. At least I hadn’t relieved myself upon awakening from the nightmare; it would appear I had yet to awaken!

"I shall save thee, my Princess!" I promised, gazing into my girl’s eyes with stark determination. If only I had a rope, or… As if on cue, a massive rope dropped from Katy’s window high-overhead. Hey! This dreaming stuff can be all right sometimes! Katy, here I---

"Come on Meat! Throw me that sorry assed shit again!" Whoa! What the--? One minute, I’m scaling the tower wall, clinging to a rope, climbing to save my Princess Katy from the black tower, and the next minute…

"Come on, Slick!" Malcolm cried from 3rd base. " Just bring me Home! I gotta get to bed!"

He really looked like shit over there, like he had been run over and blown up in a horrifying explosion or something, something far worse than even a bench-clearing softball brawl… except, no brawl even took place! I remember… I remember everything!

I recalled the events of that fateful day just in time, and stepped out of the batters’ box as the first pitch sailed in.

"Ball two! Lucky you!" Jesse Graham’s voice boomed from Bill Webber’s position behind the plate. In the mid-day dreamland sun, I could only make out geeky Webber’s gawking silhouette standing back behind the plate, which should have made me think twice before---

"Strike two! **** YOU!" I rhymed, clubbing the goofy goon forcefully upside the skull, hopefully altering Dreamland history.

"Strike three! **** Me!" I finished the cocky bastard off with a quick back-hand lashing, much to the obvious delight of the fans. The 80,000 fans rocked the small ball-park, waving and cheering uproariously. YEAH! KING! YEAH!

"Game Over!" I huffed, looking down at Jesse Graham’s crumpled body, "You lose…" I flipped up his umpire’s mask with the tip of the bat to see…. Katy’s crushed face staring up at me!!!
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

"I’ve killed her!!!" I cried, bolting from the nightmare so abruptly that I shook myself from the nurse’s chair and slumped to the floor. -OOF!-

"No, Slick…" Malcolm stepped into the room, and to my side, his outstretched hand extended to help me up. "You didn’t kill her, Ssssssssslick…" I looked up toward my brother, now noticing that his extended hand wasn’t empty after all; he held an Uzi submachine gun, and had trained the barrel on my chest. "I DID!"

"Who are you?!" I sobbed, desperately trying to make some sense out of this nightmarish turn of events, while trying to shrink back, away from my assault-rifle-wielding brother. As I watched in fascinated panic, Malcolm’s twitching arms receded, shrinking into his torso, the Uzi dropping to the carpet.

At the same time, Malcolm’s face contorted and contracted, twisting and bubbling grotesquely, his neck bulging and stretching from beneath his collar. An instant later, the hideous form of a giant, hooded cobra rose up from its coiled position before me, its hood flaring as it tensed before the strike.

"Sssssssilly, ssssssilly boy…" the vile creature slurred, in a voice I knew only too well. "I’m your worsssssst nightmare!"

"King Cobra!" I snapped, shifting spasmodically as I woke yet again!
I was alone again, and in the dark, shivering in the cool night, but comfortably reclining in the nurses office. A secondary chill shook me as I was struck with the gripping fear of the lingering nightmares; Malcolm was missing in action, and Katy was still in desperate trouble… could Malcolm be King Cobra, the Evil Mastermind behind this whole twisted nightmare? What was this whole twisted nightmare all about?? And, would I ever survive long enough to find all the answers?
Oh well, break’s over!

======================================

"Back to work ladies!" the gruff, manly voice huffed from somewhere behind the wall of rubble which was once the gymnasium lobby. I had awoke with a start from my delirium in the Health Services Center, and was immediately reminded of my mission. The radio was still blaring--- as it should have been, considering I was only out for maybe 15 minutes--- and the song brought everything back to me as I regained my bearings and composure… Inside my throbbing head, and throughout the tiny cramped nurses’ office, Paula Abdul pouted:

"Cold-hearted snake, look into his eyes
Oh oh, he’s been telling lies
He’s a lover-boy by trade
He don’t play by rules
Oh no, girl don’t play the fool…"

-Cold-hearted snake? -- King Cobra, obviously
--Lover-boy —Sergeant Jesse Graham, Angela’s apish boy-toy
--Lies and breaking rules ---this whole nightmarish night was based upon those two things…
--and the fool ---ME! For getting wrapped up in this mess to begin with!!

But, I was in too deep now to just walk away now! So was Malcolm’s Camaro, from the looks of the car, half-buried beneath the rubble of the lobby roof. The collapse had effectively sealed the main entrance and exit to the gym, so that was a plus. There were a total of 4 other exits from inside the complex as a whole, but the lobby exit provided the quickest access to the parking lot and the rest of campus. Of course, there were other ways of entering the gym rather than the doors, but I wasn’t about to attempt another free-fall down some dark air-shaft! No way!

Still, I had to get back inside the gym as quickly and quietly as possible, to rouse the least amount of suspicion while maximizing the opportunity to get more information from the unwary wetbacks and their fearless, frightening leader, King Cobra… I WAS the Mongoose with their precious Egg, and I WAS toying with these deadly snakes, knowing they had taken prisoners, including someone they thought I held dear! Was it Malcolm? Matt? Beth, or Katy? I had to know! I needed to find another way inside… to that end, I skulked from the Health Center, making a bee-line across the street and ducking against the crumpled and collapsed section of the lobby. There had to be some sort of opening in the rubble; maybe I could dig my way through and get back inside. If nothing else, I always had that last grenade; I could create a hole if I needed to!

"Do it yourself, creep!" a distinctively feminine and startlingly familiar voice barked back. Were there some hostages being forced to slave away at the rubble heaps from the inside? Probably, and with a Communist terrorist scum-sucker ogling them lustfully the whole time, with his gun in his hand, cocked and ready… and an assault rifle in the other hand, in case the resisted his charms! Female hostages as slaves, the sick bastards! Beth?

"Katy?" I whispered after hearing the muffled macho laughter dissipate. "Katy??" I crawled quickly to the top of the rubble. There was an opening through the broken chunks of roofing material, a hole roughly a foot in diameter. A somewhat tight squeeze for most no-neck Rock’n’Jock types on-campus, but not much of a problem for a 98-pound weakling stick-man like myself.

"Katy?" I repeated hopefully, pulling myself into the hole with my working right arm.

"YOU?!" the damsel in distress barked, seeing me slink awkwardly into the entry. My head was still reeling from the combination of drugs I had ingested earlier, but there was no mistaking that voice now, or that face, attached to that gloriously grotesque body…

"Angela…" Williams and 2 of her crone cronies, the Fat Hairy bitches I’d seen her palling around with throughout the year, like moons orbiting a massive planet. How ironic was this? Angela and her hags, the people whom I hated more than life and my older brother himself, hated second of all--- second only to the Communist terrorist puke bastards that held them hostage!--- these bitches were the hostages I would be face with rescuing first?! Another of those impossible moral dilemmas raged in my brain for a minute… How could I do this? How could I rescue Angela, only to tell her that her boyfriend was a Communist terrorist bastard and that I had been forced to kill him?! How could I save her? Why would I save her?? Let’s see… who, how, why… that just leaves…

"Juan!" Huh? Oh, I get it! Combining ‘what’ and ‘when’ to form ‘whan’… Pretty clever, Angie, for a fat, hairy--- whoa! Did she say---

"Juan!! It’s HIM! He’s here! Hurry!" Angela had a walkie-talkie! She wasn’t a hostage after all, she was one of Them; a Fat, Hairy, Communist, scum-sucking terrorist *****! Lucky for me, Angela and her crew of crones didn’t have a gun amongst them. I assumed though, that Juan and HIS cronies would not arrive unarmed, and that they’d undoubtedly be arriving very soon! I had only a few moments to make a move, and only 3 weak women to avoid… I was as good as gone!
I had the ways of escape--- the smoke grenade would conceal and confuse crones and Commie cronies alike--- as well as the means to prevent being followed--- the frag grenade could bring down the rest of the lobby roof behind me as I escaped deeper into the gymnasium. All I needed was the time, and there was no time like the present! With a clumsiness gained only after years of practice and dedication to the art, I half-rolled, half-flopped down the broken chunks of cement and tile, acquiring the tin smoke canister as I completed my flop to the floor.
-POP!-

Before Angela could react further, I tossed the smoking can at her feet, and watched the thick white fog consume her and her girl-fiends in moments. In seconds, the cramped space of what was once the gymnasium lobby entrance was filled with wafts of sulfurous smoke. Through the haze I crawled, fumbling for the second pineapple-shaped fragmentation grenade on my hip. I stopped crawling long enough to raise the grenade to my mouth, just like I had seen in so many great action-adventure and war movies. Only, as I did it, it was strictly out of necessity, not out of some perverse desire to look cool or macho for my men! My left hand was numb and tingly from the crushing, stabbing damage of the shattered cast, and not even I, with all my 3 years of military training and expertise, could pull the pin on a grenade with the same hand in which the bomb was held! So, I broke a major rule of handling such a highly-explosive and volatile thing as a fragmentation grenade, and raised it to my face, gripping the tin cotter pin between my teeth and clamping down hard… -CLICK!- POP!-

Only then, as the spoon flicked away and landed somewhere amidst the rubble and smoke, did I realize: I was nowhere near the exit, and could no longer even see the passage into the gym!! All I could do was make a mad scramble in the general direction of the doorway, and hope to escape the thick and nasty smoke, if only to be blasted by Juan and his pals… damned if I do, damned if I don’t… Out of the frying
pan, into the…

"FIRE!!" an angry roar greeted me as I broke from the smoke. There I was, on the concrete U-shaped causeway, on my hands and knees, coughing and gagging and only just catching my breath… back full-circle to the place I had only managed to escape less than an hour ago!

At least now, instead of 6 or more unknown terrorists bearing down on me, there was only Juan… well, Juan and one, makes two, and they were both converging on the collapsed lobby entrance at that very moment. I assume it was Juan who gave the order; I didn’t wait for his comrade to respond--- I was gone!

From the ground level of the PE Center, there was only one way to go: down. Thankful that there was one less choice I had to make--- thankful to even still be alive to not have to make the choice--- I crawled to my left and ducked round the corner, still on hands-and-knees, as…

-BBBBBbbbbbb-RRRRAAAPPPP-RRRAAaaaaPPPP-

Juan’s firing was drown out by the exploding grenade, an explosion that seemed to rock the foundations of the building beneath me, perhaps due to my close proximity to the blast. My weak and wobbly left arm gave out as I crawled quickly to the stairs, and I somersaulted down the first flight of cement steps -OOF!- Ugh!-
Then I rolled to my bruised and torn knees, righting myself and duck-walking to the second flight of descending steps. At the bottom of that second story of steps, I was again faced with a choice: I could continue down one last flight of stairs, to the basement boiler room, or I could hide-out somewhere on the gymnasium level. Hmmmm…

The choice this time was simple, really. If I was going to save Beth and Katy and the others, I would have to face the terrorists now, and take them out as quickly and quietly as possible. It would be easier to face-off against them one-by-one--- or at least, as few at a time as possible--- I decided, which meant singling them out in small groups, splitting them up and having them go crazy (crazier?) searching for me. It would be to my benefit to thin their numbers before Operation Snakebite became Operation Hunt-Rick-Down-and-Eliminate-Him--- if it hadn’t become that already! Boy, life’s a *****, and then you meet someone like Angela… there’s a REAL *****! Angela had been taken care of, once and for all, only I had to use up all of my real weapons in the process! So, unarmed, unwelcomed, unloved, and alone, I made my way from the stairwell to the door on the gymnasium level. I needed a weapon though, and a place to hide out. It wouldn’t take Juan and his scum-sucking friends long to track me down; I had to keep moving.

Beyond the door was the weight room, and all sorts of machines: the bench press, the leg-press, the sit-up machine, along with thousands of pounds of free weights, scattered around the cramped room. Many of the machines looked awkward and alien to me, and no amount of working out would help me at this point any way! The light weights could be used as projectiles, carried and hurled at anyone coming within range, but that would require precision accuracy and a lot of luck; and, with the way my luck was going thus far, I needed a better alternative! The heavier weights would be more trouble to lug around than they would be effective in battle. No…

"Nothing here, Sir…" the quiet whisper over the 10-foot partition separating the weight room from the next athletic department, alerted me to the presence of scum and villainy. "Moving on…" The real walls of the room, the concrete walls of the building, rose 25 feet, so the make-shift wooden walls which divided the whole level into Athletic Departments for the various sports activities on-campus seemed out-of-place and unnecessary. Maybe the cheap walls would keep out major distractions; the neighboring compartment was used for indoor softball and baseball practices, so bouncing bunts and errant tosses could really throw off a no-neck’s weight-lifting ritual… still, the noises, even a whisper, in the empty room, would carry over the flimsy partitions, into the---

"…last room…" the Commie scum-sucker said, surveying his surroundings as he sauntered in.
"No sign---"

"WAIT!" I roared. Actually, I said ‘Weight!’ but there’s no need to dwell on semantics! 45 pounds worth of weight to be precise, heaved from my position against the particle-board partition near the door. The large iron disk slammed forcefully into the unsuspecting scuzz-bucket’s chest. OOF! And he fell…

A few broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung, and a Hell of a bruise, to his body as well as his ego, were all this poor bastard would take from this world! With a last and final, fatal crushing blow to the base of his skull, the bad-ass would bellow no more…

"Maybe I should have said ‘Duck’??" I quipped cockily, hefting the heavy weight from the floor with my good arm, steadying it with the weaker left, and raising it high over my fallen foe’s head. I couldn’t lift the circular steel plate too high, but a crushing blow could still be accomplished at waist level, so all I really had to do was let go, and let gravity do the rest…

"Let go, Luke… Let go your conscious self…" Easy for you to say, Obi-Wan! You’re dead! Letting go of my conscious self meant relinquishing my hold upon reality, giving up the person I was struggling to become. Sure, I’m nothing special; I don’t play sports, I don’t lift weights, I don’t drink beer and swear at all the fine ladies, I don’t know too many fine ladies, and I don’t have a girlfriend, hardly any real friends at all to speak of… I’m a weird, goofy-looking outcast with no life, and I’m boring, shy, with no marketable skills… I should have been happy to give up this non-existence and turn to the Dark Side, and a life of murderous villainy. I should be honored to become a Communist scum-sucking sicko, psycho bastard!

But, I couldn’t do it. So far this night, I had seen so much death and carnage and hatred and betrayal from all sides, and had been left injured in so many ways at the hands of such Evil. Still, I couldn’t just end this poor bastard’s life as easily as he would end mine! This guy hadn’t actually fired upon me; but he was a Communist terrorist bastard, wasn’t he? He would have killed me without a second thought, wouldn’t he? So, why shouldn’t I show him the same decided lack of courtesy? I had already been a party to so much death this evening; Corporal Quisberg and Chancellor Imholte, Jesse and Angela, as well as their entourages, Raoul under the Lobby Roof, and the four freaks on top of the Library roof… and Malcolm…

Still, those deaths couldn’t actually be credited to me. The terrorists killed John Imholte, and most likely had killed Quisberg as well; Malcolm killed Jesse’s goons, and Jesse’s goons killed Jesse; the 4 freaks on the Library just happened to be caught in the blast of the frag grenade, just as Angela and her crones had been in the remnants of the Lobby; and Malcolm… Malcolm was a traitor, and he--- No! Not even Malcolm deserved to die! And, as it turns out, I guess he hadn’t!

There was nothing I could do about the deaths that had already happened. All I could do was try to prevent further carnage and loss of life. I wasn’t a loser, like these freaks or like the Call 911 creeps; I couldn’t just kill someone in cold blood, some helpless, hopeless, lost soul who happened to cross my path and interfere with my new life’s goals. After all, I had a date with the beautiful Katy Maclintock to prepare for, and she was held captive by these jerks! All I could do was drop the large disk to the carpet and sigh…

Though he wasn’t dead, my fallen foe would be incapacitated for quite awhile I was sure. He’d have no use for his M-16 or the 4 fully-loaded magazines, or his radio, which was crackling with chatter when I reached to claim it after stashing his body. Spanish! These guys were speaking Spanish again! Why did I have to be an English Major?!

"Silence!" and angry voice commanded in prefect English. "Silence on all channels, damn you! Once Viper and Adder are finished in the basement, nothing that puny Mongoose son-of-a-***** can do will matter! You idiots are going to blow everything! Maintain radio silence until Viper reports! Damn you all!"

"Ten-four…" I agreed with KC’s command, knowing that he had told me all I needed to know. Viper and Adder in the basement would signal the beginning of the end--- whatever that meant!--- unless I could stop him! But, if I went in alone, with gun a-blazing, with Viper amongst friends, I would most likely have one too many deaths on my hands--- my OWN death!! I needed a plan…

First thing, I turned off the walkie-talkie, remembering what happened at Behmler Hall with Jesse and the goons. No distractions would be tolerated this time! Next, I searched the place, looking for nothing in particular, just anything I could use as a weapon. I discovered earlier at Behmler, then again as I crossed campus to the Science and Computer Center, that lugging and aiming an M-16 with one good arm proved difficult for an un-athletic wimp such as myself. Besides, being in the midst of the terrorists when I started taking them out would require some level of stealth. I couldn’t just shoot one scum-bag and not expect the rest of them to come running! True, I needed a weapon, but I needed a silent weapon!

In the baseball room, I found everything I was looking for. I found the perfect place to stash the crumpled carcass of this latest party-crashing Commie, in the storage closet just inside the room from the weight room. The rest of the room was a strange sight to see indoors; batting cages were erected under huge, draping nets for batting practice without all the unnecessary exercise and strain of actually running and collecting the fly balls; a pitching lane was next to the batting cage, with a raised mound on one end of the row and a target board across the room. The rest of the room went from unnecessarily extravagant to completely unbelievable--- a sand-filled trough ran the length of the room, with rubber bases planted at either end. The purpose: sliding practice! Sliding practice, in an indoor baseball training facility, in a small-town college campus! THIS was the place I should have spent those weeks during Intramural Softball Season! Crap! This was ridiculous!

Still, in the midst of all that insanity and unnatural praise and consideration for the glory-hounds that all athletic achievers were in their exuberant collegiate careers, looking past all this extravagance, to the basic fundamentals of what was right there in front of me, beyond all the bullshit, I found the ideal weapon against this insanity… more than a weapon, it was a sign, a symbol… it was Destiny…

There, on a rack along with 5, regular, wooden tools, was my Destiny calling, beckoning me… in the form of an aluminum baseball bat! The metal club seemed to glow softly in the florescent lights of the practice room, speaking to me. I was never a big believer in Fate, that one event directly affects another, or that anything is ever connected to anything else in life. I was completely content to go with the flow, not rocking the boat, never getting in over my head, or considering that I would have any real impact on any REAL aspect of anyone’s lives… until that day on the softball field, when everything spiraled out of control, all around me, all because of me. It all came back to the bat! If I had held on to the bat during that wild swing, or had laid into the ball with the bat with just an ounce more of my gut, everything would have come down different! If only… I traded up the M-16, leaving the gun dangling from the wooden pegs that braced the bat against the wall; the gun would be here if I needed it, but for now, it was Game Time! Batter Up!

FIFTEEN

"Here Viper, Viper, Viper…" I cooed softly, clutching the bat to my chest as I nudged my way into the dank and dreary boiler room. The atmosphere in the room was thick and hot, steam hissing from cracks in some of the ancient pipe-work as the boiler worked to pump heat across the entire campus on this cool late-Spring eve. Through the dim haze, above the constant growl of the massive furnace, I could hear my prey tinkering atop a wooden step-ladder that was propped against the boiler tank… and, as I had feared, he was not alone!

"Here…" the misty meanie muttered, passing an unidentifiable object up to the top of the tank, where his companion waited. "Hmmmm, are we almost… almost done?" the ladder-bound bad-guy stammered, seemingly almost-afraid to ask the question, or afraid of the response.

"I’ll let you know when I’m finished with you!" the second scum-sucker snorted, "Just don’t press your luck!" With that, the groveling giant on the ladder quaked slightly, obviously frightened into silence.

"Relax, Ted…" the top-side terrorist continued commanding, as the bulky
baddie backed down submissively, retreating in reverse down the ladder.

Something about the large loser’s appearance struck me as odd, almost familiar. As he crouched at the bottom of the ladder, reaching into the large tin cooler-like crate and grunting under the strain of his own weight as much as from the stress of working in the heavy heat and humidity, I found myself smiling in recollection. As he rose from the crate, hands full of a few large bricks of some sort, the hefty helper hunched his back against the boiler tank, trying in vain to scrunch his sweat pants up. So many times I had seen this maneuver of vain insanity from Teddy Henderson, as he performed against the refrigerator door, with 2 hands full of plates of food or beverage of some sort. Only, Teddy hated to be called---

"Oh, Theodore!" the tank-topped terrorist atop the tank tooted. "Move your fat ass, or lose it… if you get my meaning!" Only Teddy’s closest friends ever dared call him Theodore, and only in supreme jest, or when seized by maniacal fits of angry insanity---or when Teddy himself was out of the room, FAR out of the room! Theodore ‘Teddy’ Henderson was, at least, upset and at most, insulted to the point of rage over being called by the snobbish ‘grown-up’ name, even though he was almost 25 and well on his way to being an adult. He was still a kid at heart, and was struggling as I was, to find his place in life. At the moment, it seemed to me that all Teddy Henderson had found in life was trouble!

I couldn’t believe it; Teddy was a Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastard! In a lot of ways, it made perfect sense, and Teddy had a perfect cover, as a Humanities Major. He was studying the American way of life, if only to find loopholes and chinks in the armor of our democracy, things he and his insidious band could use or twist and exploit to their advantage after the take-over. He had plenty of contact with Chancellor Imholte, who also served as an instructor for a few of the higher-level Humanities courses; whatever this evening’s agenda was about, however it included John Imholte’s assassination, it was now obvious that it also involved Teddy Henderson! But, who the Hell was this other guy then? Could it be -gulp!- Malcolm?!

"That’s it!!" the unseen meanie shouted, ducking back up out of sight under the massive exhaust hood as Teddy handed him the last bundle of bricks. That’s it all right; that’s my cue!

"YYYYYYAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"
I roared, charging down the steamy corridor, flailing wildly with the bat. The bat connected with a crunch against the weak wooden leg of the ladder, and the step-stool gave way. From his position half-way up the ladder, Teddy Henderson toppled. Before he could recover, I pounced on the collapsed Communist Chippewa, jabbing the business-end of the bat snugly against his Adam’s apple.

"You?" I stuttered, still shocked by my discovery. "Teddy? You… You’re Viper?" I couldn’t believe it! First Malcolm, who was most obvious as a terrorist-follower---or even a terrorist leader!--- then Beth, then NOT Malcolm, not Beth, then Jesse and Angela, back to Malcolm again… and now Teddy?! How deep did this campus-conspiracy go? Who’s next?

"Slick!" Teddy slurred hoarsely, "It’s not what you think! I’m not Viper!" From his prone position, Chief arched up slightly, and I tensed my grip against his throat. The big Indian’s hands went to the waistband of his sweats and I prepared myself to whack him is he pulled a gun on me.

"Don’t!" I warned, drawing the bat back from Teddy’s chin, preparing to pound him furiously if I saw even a glint of cold steel. Teddy continued, slowly, deliberately, nervously tugging up his tattered UMM work-out jersey, revealing the unflattering bulge of his mammoth stomach, tucked awkwardly inside a black girdle of some sort. Huge rolls of his brown flesh oozed through gaps in the girdle though I noticed, and an array of grotesque veins, arteries and capillaries coursed blood through his gut; red, blue, green and orange veins crisscrossed his massive mushy gut--- WHAT?! Those aren’t veins, those are wires! That’s not Teddy’s gut in a girdle, that’s—

"C-4!" I read the labels on the scattered sheets of brown wrapping paper on top of which Teddy lay cowering. For some ungodly reason, Teddy, Communist Chippewa terrorist scum-sucker, was wired to the gills with plastic explosive! But then, who the Hell was—

"Viper reporting…" another in the horrifically long list of familiar voices spoke up from behind me. "Almost set… Just one final glitch to take care of…" Shit! I had momentarily forgotten about Teddy’s back-up Communist scum-sucking bastage! If ‘Viper’ was behind me, that could only mean that Teddy was, in fact, telling the truth; he was not Viper, he was Adder! As if code-names meant anything at this point

"Just set the timer and return to the locker-room, Viper! No slip ups now! Our little insurance policy might—" -CLICK!- I spun around toward the sound, my eyes coming to immediately focus upon the barrel of an Uzi submachine-gun!

"No need to rush this…" Viper hissed through the haze, tossing the radio aside smugly as he approached. In that moment, the boiler’s raucous rumble died, the steam ceased shooting from the seams in the piping, and all became blissfully quiet as the heater shut down, and I was face-to-face with Viper. "We should take this time to get reacquainted, huh, Slick?"

"No way!" I gushed, looking past the barrel of the semi-automatic rifle pointed in my face, looking to Viper himself. "Webber…" Bill Webber was Viper?!

"Get up, Coach!" Webber commanded, ignoring my ignorant babble, shifting the Uzi’s aim to Teddy. Groggily, Teddy stumbled to hi feet, his eyes suddenly bulging with utter terror, as he watched Bill pull something from his hip with his free hand.

"It’s time for a demonstration, I think…" Bill barked. "This is what happens when the wrong people mess with a well-conceived plan, King… Scorpions rule, and Scorpions always strike to protect and to kill! You shouldn’t have gotten involved! Somebody’s gotta pay! Scorpions rule!" he raised the fist in which he held the small black box, exposing the back of his hand for Teddy and I to see. Etched across much of the flesh on the back of his hand, Webber now sported a relatively fresh tattoo, a scorpion! What that meant, I had no clue, but something about this chain of events sent Teddy into hysterics.

"SSSSSHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!" Teddy roared as Bill flipped a switch on the small black box he held in his weapon-free hand. As a red light came aglow on the small control in Webber’s grip, a similar light flashed on Teddy’s girdled gut, and I knew immediately what was about to happen. Bill Webber was once again controlling our Fates, holding Teddy’s life in his hands; and my interference had apparently just cost Teddy everything! I had watched Teddy trot--- in what was thought to be his best speed --- around the bases during softball season, and that was nothing compared to the way he moved in this particular instance! If not for the fact that things seemed to be moving in extreme slow-motion, I’d swear Teddy was a virtual blur of motion as he scrambled in vain down the dark corridor, struggling to get somewhere… anywhere but here! If Webber held a remote control device that would arm and detonate the explosives on Teddy’s chest, I had serious doubts that Teddy could remove himself from the effective range of the remote detonator; and my doubts would prove well-founded… Teddy rounded the corner at the far end of the boiler room, out of sight, but hardly out of mind, and definitely not out of range!

The low quick creak of metal grating concrete alerted Bill to the fact that Teddy had reached the storage room door, just as a similar sound might have alerted him to my entry from the stairwell. At the time, I thought, as Teddy must have thought, that all was well and good, that I was safe and sound and unseen; that I had survived, when really…

As Viper Webber pressed the blinking button on the little black remote control, Teddy and I both came to realize that survival was out of the question…

The muffled explosion lit up the far end of the room, a grotesque flood of blood and gore washing down the floor from round the corner, and a sick slopping splash turned my stomach -UGH!- Even as I slumped over the sick sights and sounds of my rotund room-mate’s extermination, I was spurred back to action, inspired once more by the gleam of silver that flashed in my eyes from the ground below. The bat! I still held on to the bat, though Webber’s view was partially blocked by my body as I stood before him. The bat was resting loosely in my grip then, at the ready in case things got out of control… well, things had definitely gotten out of control!!

Redemption is a funny thing. I had always wondered about that day on the softball field, what might have happened if I had connected with Bill Webber’s block head when the bat slipped from my grasp. The game would have ended, and the Last of the Mohicans would have lost, but we lost any way, so… Maybe the entire game would have been replayed later, and we might have won. Still, just the pleasure of crushing that cocky ump Webber’s skull would have made the loss worth losing. He cost us the game; and now, worse than that, he cost Chief his life! How much more could I be expected to take?

Now, it seemed the game WAS being replayed, and Webber had made the final fatal call once more, to decide my Fate… only, I couldn’t let him do it! Once more, I held the bat in my hand, strong and true in my grasp this time; only now, my desire was for vengeance rather than simple victory; because of Webber and his apish friends, I was losing my few friends, along with any shred of sanity I had left… how many more innocents would die at the hands of these maniacs? Well, if I had anything to say about it…

"Batter up!" I roared pivoting quickly, swinging the bat as I spun. It was time for the innocent to stop suffering and dying, time for the Evils to pay… pay-backs are a *****!

"FOUL!" I cried, connecting with the Uzi, knocking the gun from Webber’s grasp. "Stee--rike One!"

"Strike Two!" I back-lashed boldly, bashing Bill upside his squared-jaw. The poor bastard’s cheek collapsed around the bat, his teeth spewing from the gash, and from his bloodied lips.

"Aha!" I was inspired by the insipid One-One Rule… "BALL!" I stepped back, and lined up a quick shot like the golf-pro I wasn’t, before sending Bill Webber’s gonads forcibly into his throat! -OOOF!- so, 2 busted balls, plus the One-One Rule… 3 balls, and 2 Strikes against him, left Bill Webber standing before me, facing the ultimate pay-off…

"Steeeeeee-rike Three!" Bill was a mess, all hunched-over, hacking on his own blood and bile, gasping for any air he could still collect through his cracked and broken china-doll pretty-boy face. Mercifully, I laid into him one last time, across his hunched-back, crashing him to the floor in a blood heap.

"You’re outta there!!" I touted cockily as Bill ‘Viper’ Webber collapsed. Oh, what a rush! To finally face off against the self-righteous, self-centered egotistical son-of-a—

-BLECH!- I vomited involuntarily at the mess I had created. Luckily I hadn’t had any solid food in almost 24 hours, so it was essentially a dry heave, but it tore at my throat even as the carnage before me ravaged my harried brain. It was truly sickening; as worthless and hopeless and completely Nothing as I had always thought I was, now I was worse… I was becoming one of Them; I was becoming no better than a Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastard!!

"Yeah, but this is different, son…" The concerned city cop consoled.

"He’s right…" the frazzled Fed furthered. "You are an American, and an American scum-sucking bastard easily towers over any Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastard!"

"Exactly!" the police chief cheered.
Finally, unbelievably, after hours of bickering and haggling over the minute and unimportant details of my tale, the blue-collared blue-coat from the Morris PD had actually come to agree with the stuffed-shirt, polyester-blend suit-and-tie type from DC… Whoa! Patriotism packs quite a punch, I guess! Like a baseball bat upside the skull, chalk one up for Our Side!

"No slip-ups this time, Ump!" I smirked smugly, dropping the bloodied bat next to Bill’s battered body. OK… what was that King Cobra had said about a timer?? Hmmmm… I stepped over Bill’s body, and examined the silver crate. Beneath torn sheets of plain brown wrap marked C4-HE, I found what looked like blue-prints of some sort: blue-prints to a bomb! Schematic drawings showed how to assemble and properly wire C-4 explosives to a timer/detonator assembly--- a box much like that one I’d seen attached to Teddy’s gut-girdle.

But, as I had calculated earlier, Teddy’s body could not have been caked with that much explosives; it wouldn’t take more than a few ounces of the stuff Malcolm described to completely decimate a single human body, and there were at least 20 or 30 sheets of the plain brown wrap scattered about the floor, maybe as many as 100… 2 pound bricks, 100 papers… 200 pounds of C-4! 2clbC4… it DID all fit!! I recalled Malcolm’s explanation of the explosive power of C-4 and winced.

"…with a hundred pounds, you could level a small building. 200 pounds of this stuff could---"

I no longer had to wonder what 200 pounds of C-4 could be utilized for; I had a pretty good idea. Still, I had to be sure! So, after a quick bit of improvisational construction, using the tin cooler as a support for the broken side of the ladder, I righted the 8-step ladder against the boiler tank, and climbed cautiously up

"Whoa!" I gasped, nearly toppling the ladder beneath me as I reached the top of the tank. What I saw sent shivers of panic throughout my bruised and battle-weary body, and the rickety ladder trembled right along with my shaky spirits. Above the still steamy boiler tank, plastered all along the massive support beams of the ceiling--- above which was the gymnasium floor--- were the hundred or so bricks of gray-brown clay explosive! An intricate system of wires ran between each brick, just like the wires I had seen crisscrossing Teddy’s torso; and, all of the wires converged near the ladder, coming to connect at a black box, much like the control box that was tucked in the front pocket of Chief’s chunk-busting girdle. So many wires, so many colors, and me, without a clue about any of it! I did know one thing; without an expert’s guidance--- and even with such an expert!--- it might take hours to properly defuse such a device.

Hopefully, Malcolm’s comments about the stability of the stuff were true and accurate… Unless, of course, all Malcolm’s comments were his subtle twisted way to manipulate me into doing something stupid like what I was thinking about right now: if I just pulled ALL the wires out of the central black box, wouldn’t that cut the explosive power to the whole bomb and save everyone? Of course, with so many wires converging at so many points on all sides of the ominous black square, it would be nearly impossible to pull all the wires at once, so it would take a miracle, an act of—oh my God! My brother! Malcolm could cut through this nightmare I saw before me, if only I could find Malcolm!

I had to find Malcolm and enlist his assistance in dismantling this hellacious dooms-day device, but first, I had to at least do something to disable the thing without blowing myself up and bringing the building down on top of me! But what could I do?! The answer came to me in a flash: a flash of red, in fact! All of the hundreds of tiny wires came together at the little black box, just as illustrated in the schematics. The blueprints didn’t show the second box, the flashing box, which stood out against the spider-web woven power-supply. That second box was obviously a timer of some sort; and from the repeatedly flashing ‘0000’… ‘0000’… ‘0000’ I could tell the timer had not yet been set.

"Just set the timer and return to the locker-room, Viper! No slip ups now!" King Cobra ordered. It made some sense that their plot revolved around a timed-detonation, even if that meant the sacrifice of the hostages in the gym… perhaps even especially if it included such a sacrifice! Once the terrorists had what they were looking for—the disk, and John Imholte’s death--- they would use the massive explosion and extreme loss of life on-campus as a smoke-screen, a diversion in which they would escape into the night with the goods. It would take weeks, months even for any officials to put together the whole plot, if such a thing as even possible in the small town, with such limited resources, and following the elimination of any and all witnesses to the terror. To accomplish such wide-spread and certain destruction, while insuring their every possibility of escape, they would use a time-delay. By the time any part of this whole twisted conspiracy had been pieced together by baffled law-enforcement and terrorist experts, these Communist freaks would be safe and sound, back behind the wall in Germany, or Russia, or Libya, or Cuba! Cuban terrorists would undoubtedly speak Spanish, wouldn’t they? Yes, yes, yes!

"No!" I decided. Although the plan---at least by my Everyman, ordinary citizen, sane, reckoning--- was quite solid, deviously brilliant, really, from a scum-sucking Communist terrorist perspective, I couldn’t see it succeeding. Even though, as far as King Cobra and his followers knew, Viper Webber had completed his mission and the timer as now set; even if all the bases had been covered, and all contingencies planned for well in advance; even if they numbered in the dozens, or hundreds, the terrorists had over-looked one thing…. ME!

All I had to do was pull the plug on the timer, and for the moment, the enemy’s evil plot would once again be brought to a stand-still, all at my hand! If they did get past me, kill me and recover the disk, they would not be able to follow through with the final stages of their plot! I wouldn’t allow them to sacrifice hundreds of innocent lives simply over a flimsy piece of plastic and some computer code, whatever the information was! Not even Matt Hess or Angela Williams deserved to be blown to bits as unsuspecting and unwilling participants in this little drama--- although, I guess Angela DID get blown to bits, Matt maybe too, and they did in fact bring it on themselves…

Still, no more! 1 death at my hands was enough, I couldn’t stand for any more… and if there would be more death and dismemberment that night, it would happen now, and end it all, at my hand, on my terms, as I pulled what I saw as the timer free from what I hoped was the battery-fuse assembly. With hopeful resolve toward finally ending this nightmare once and for all, I grasped the ominously blinking black box gently, but firmly, and tugged, with more than a single prayer going up to Whomever might be listening in at that particular moment…

"**** it!" I took on my best Malcolm-impersonation and pulled the timer free, and –CLICK!-- the ominous blinking 0000 display faded as the clock was separated from its power source! Malcolm would be so proud, if in fact he wasn’t the Communist mastermind behind this whole plot! It would take someone of Malcolm’s caliber of expertise in the field of explosives, and of Malcolm’s twisted nature in general, to plot the destruction of those he considered his peers simply as a diversion while he made his escape. Still, something was left puzzling around in my brain about Malcolm… some of the things King Cobra had let slip in his anger and frustration didn’t connect up to Malcolm being involved in this any deeper than I was involved…

The ‘unwelcomed guest’ KC had spoke of, and the ‘insurance policy’ he had only just reminded Webber about, as well as King Cobra’s general state of frustration itself, all seemed so very Malcolm… at least so very brought on by Malcolm, but not so-very-Malcolm himself… this was all at least one level of insanity beyond what Malcolm was capable of! Unbelievable! I was only just beginning to see some ‘good’ in my bigger, faster, stronger brother; on a night of pure Hell, with my world falling apart in bits and pieces around me, there was only Malcolm, standing out in my mind as the one person I could turn to who might appreciate what I was doing, and why I was doing it. In that moment of sudden calm as the blinking 0000s died, as I reveled in some profound familial bond, I was consumed by the silence.

‘Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves….’ There atop the boiler tank, the greatest of all things was fashioned inside my heart; new hope for the future, and for the futures of my fellow schoolmates upstairs. I was no Communist puke bastard; we would not die at the hands of these terrorist freaks! Maybe it was still the medication talking, but I felt invincible! Not willing to tempt Fate further, I opted not to mess with the massive array of wires and connections and the remaining black box attached to the bomb. I had found my way to the top of the world just then, and nothing would bring me down…

Nothing except the weak and wobbly ladder which chose my moment of supreme revelation and self-discovery to give way beneath me!! How typical! Just when I come to terms with myself and my brother, just when I decide how unbeatable I am, how tough, how smart, and how little assistance I need to overcome this whole Communist terrorist plot, I’m brought crashing back to reality by an inanimate object! So much for luck being on my side, I guess! Ooops! With a crash and a clatter, I fell and the timer flew from my grasp. A moment later, my reverie turned sour as the fragile piece of plastic struck the cement floor and cracked open. Bits and pieces of micro-computer technology spilled out from the box, and the tiny red-tinted faceplate was let cracked and scratched.

"Cheap Commie clockworks!" I mused over the mess, now supremely satisfied that the terrorists could no longer use the device to cause myself or anyone else any degree of time-delayed harm. Of course, the leverage factor of the whole timer device was now a moot point as well, unless… I had a quick brainstorm and scooped up the disassembled device, scooping out the inner workings and snapping the empty outer shell back together as best I could. It would pass, I hoped, noting how it almost fit back to perfect shape. As I scooped the bits of computer guts from the floor, I couldn’t help but think of…

"Teddy?!" a voice seemed to call out from the Beyond… "Teddy, is that you??" Slipping quickly back into stealth mode, I slinked to Bill Webber’s body, checked quick to make sure he was not breathing… or talking!… and recovered the blood-stained bat from his side.

It would seem we were heading into extra innings in this little game of cat-and-mouse, and I was the mongoose with all the Eggs! Something got lost in that analogy, but I can’t exactly tell you what or where! I hushed the voices in my head and concentrated on the Voice From Beyond… it was muffled and quiet, but still carried quiet well in the ever-silent boiler room haze, and had pointedly summoned ‘Teddy’ not ‘Theodore’ or Juan or Miguel, or Viper, or any manner of nonsensical call-sign. Teddy… whoever it was a-calling, it was no Communist terrorist bastard! Another hostage packed to the gills with explosives, perhaps, or an escapee from the madness, on the run from the scum. Or, maybe even…

"Malcolm?!" my shock and disbelief got the better of me, as I noticed a subtle tell-tale inflection and delivery, even in the harsh-whisper of the voice, as it called out to Teddy from behind the storage room door. Malcolm could have disarmed Teddy’s explosive vest, so finding Malcolm held behind the door would explain a lot about why Teddy had chosen to run that way instead of toward the exit stairwell on the opposite end of the boiler room. The door to the room was closed tight, not blown off its hinges at I might have assumed it would be following Teddy’s disgusting disintegration. Remnants of my friend saturated the floor and the door as I stepped around the corner, slipping gingerly across the gore and filth, my guts churning once more as I passed. The stench was unimaginable! Burning flesh and bubbling innards assaulted my delicate nasal passages far worse than any sweaty gym shoes Teddy had ever brought home! Poor, poor…

"Chief!" the fearful tone of the crier’s voice was the least familiar-sounding thing about Malcolm’s voice, but it was unmistakably Malcolm! Forgetting about the carnage in the moment, twisted the filth-coated doorknob and shoved against the door harshly… but the door did not budge! Locked! Of course a storage room containing caustic cleaning chemicals would be kept off-limits to the general public on-campus, so that was not surprising. Except, I had heard the creaking grind of a door being opened only minutes earlier… who the hell was that then? Adder, escaping the boiler room to report to King Cobra? Oh shit!! I was in trouble!

"Chief, I’m in trouble!" Malcolm’s muffled cry kept me from bolting after Adder or whoever it was who had fled from the creaky door I had used to make my entrance to the boiler room. "They’ve got Matt, and Beth, and probably Slick too!" Oh ye of little faith! With newfound resolve, I raised the bat, and smashed the doorknob with one, then 2 hearty whacks. Once the metal knob fell free from the door, the lock latching mechanism clicked free, and the door swung inward. Immediately, I lunged through the half-open door, bat-flailing and connecting multiple times against the solid mass of those who corralled my brother, before I paused to survey the damages…

Caught so completely off-guard, the storage shelves in the supply closet never knew what hit ‘em! Soap flakes and kerosene flew from the shelves, cardboard crumbled under my onslaught, mop handles snapped, and replacement light bulbs shattered as I got my revenge on the inanimate objects—cousins no doubt of the diabolical step-ladder outside—but not a drop of blood was spilled… there was no one else in the room! What the… or should I say Where the…?

"They’ve got me tied up, up here in the Locker Room!" Malcolm’s whispers were desperate with fear. Even through the ventilation duct in the ceiling, I could sense the panic and despair in his troubled voice. "Hurry Chief please! I need help!"

I wondered how much Malcolm would wail for help if he’d known it was me on the other end of the duct… well, we were about to find out! My bigger, faster, stronger brother was alive, and he needed my help to stay that way! These terrorists were playing hardball, and playing for keeps! They had obviously discovered that the disk was nowhere to be found on campus, and had concluded that someone else must have it. I had confirmed those suspicions with my half-cocked banter to incite King Cobra’s wrath against me instead of the other hostages! And, now, they had my brother, and would no doubt be torturing him to get what they needed from me.

Malcolm must have gotten too close, too deeply involved in his search for Beth, maybe gotten caught working his way through the rubble in the lobby, which inspired the Fat Hairy Bitches to retrace his steps and dig their way out… If Malcolm had cracked, they already would know about me, and I would be revealed for the lackluster loser I am, and the nightmare against me would really heat up! Even if they hadn’t tortured Malcolm to the breaking point, Adder, the second assailant in the boiler room, had escaped, and would undoubtedly be reporting back to his commander. If Adder reported that I was in fact, a threat after all, a manhunt would most likely ensue, and would spell disaster for our little rescue mission. If I didn’t get to Malcolm to regain his support soon, we would both be in deep trouble! Hold on, bro! I’m coming for ya!

SIXTEEN

Everything was falling into place all of a sudden, in my mind, in my heart, and in my life that night. Katy, my Date with Destiny, the fateful errors on the softball field, the few skills and training techniques I had acquired in the National Guard, and my relationship with my bigger, faster, stronger brother and his friends; it was all coming together, or falling apart, in a strange and twisted collage of death and destruction, of terror and terrorists, of poisonous snakes and the harmless helpful rodents who were their mortal enemies. Fate had found it necessary to place me in the middle of a raging whirlpool of intrigue, espionage and emotional upheaval on that one wild night, and I had somehow found the strength and passion within me to rise above it all, and to persevere, and to survive… and through it all, I was most definitely not bored or boring, a mere observer as Life rolled on around me. I was making things happen, I was in as much control of this horrifying night as were the terrorists who were bent on achieving some insidious goal.

And, I was not alone; I had Katy, and the fantasy of our forthcoming date to drive me, and I had Malcolm, my bigger, faster, stronger brother to inspire me, and I had made special friends and enemies amongst the terrorists to incite me toward my goals… one by one, these 3 individual driving forces would have to be dealt with in order for me to regain the simple semblance of normalcy in my life, from which this nightmare was spawned.

First things first… Malcolm, held in the locker room directly above my position in the boiler room. Apparently he was unguarded, as he was permitted to whisper through the vent to me, so I took that as a very good sign. What, or who, all stood between myself and Malcolm was as yet unknown, but I had to find out; not even Malcolm with all his athletic skills could do a bare-handed free-climb 15 feet up a thin air-conditioning ventilation shaft… I would have to take the long way around, skulking through the halls of the gymnasium level, ever wary of Communist terrorist sentries in the halls.

"I’m coming for you, bro…" I whispered, mostly to myself, for fear that Malcolm might panic and lose all hope if he knew it was ME on the far-side of the vent, and not the person he was counting on, since Teddy had been executed so violently. I returned to Viper Webber’s corpse, scooping up the Uzi and leaving the bat behind, opting for heavy fire-power over silent-but-deadly rage for this particular rescue mission. Then, I was gone…

Across the boiler room, and up the stairs I crept, ever-cautious. Around a corner and down the dimly lit, but as-yet empty halls, I stalked, slowly, and silently, approaching the Mens’ Locker Room. About 15 feet from the door, I heard footsteps fast approaching from up ahead. Adder? I wondered, and the voices, female voices chattering at a subdued volume, seemed to connect to Adder being connected to the Fat Hairy Bitches.

"You check on him…" one of them commanded, "I’ll stay put out here…" Hmmmm… knowing there was a vent that led directly into the Ladies Locker Rooms would have come in quite handy had I made that discovery earlier in my Freshman Year on campus! Darn the luck! I ducked out of sight behind one of the large trophy and picture cases that lined the walls all along the Athletic Department hallway, while the pair of terrorist bitches stopped outside the Ladies Locker Room down the hall. If they were pissed off over losing Angela and the others in the lobby, Malcolm was probably in a world of hurt right now, but I couldn’t risk assaulting the look-out if only to have the second scum-sucking ***** surprise me, or worse, kill Malcolm out of spite… they obviously were using Malcolm as bait, to draw me out, keeping the roving sentries at arm’s length, giving me ample time to walk right into their clutches…

Not this time! I decided, ducking silently into the Mens’ Locker Room while the women explored the Ladies’ Room, waiting an eternal few minutes until I heard their voices and footsteps pass by and dissipate down the hall. There really was something to be said for stealth over strength sometimes! After carefully scanning the hallway in both directions, checking for the sounds of voices or footsteps, I tip-toed from the Mens’ Locker Room swiftly and silently down the hall to the Ladies Room, and ducked inside…

"Malcolm?" I called out quietly, cautiously moving into the room, Uzi charged and ready for anything. Past the few rows of lockers at the front of the room, resting comfortably on a form-fitting fiberglass chair, battered, bruised and bloodied, was my brother. At his feet, fully packed and ready to go, was an OD green backpack from the National Guard, complete with the Casper the Ghost figurine still clipped to the front cargo pocket! Malcolm WAS a Communist terrorist bastard, and he was readying himself to move! So, what was he doing here?!

"What are you doing here?!" I held the gun on him as I stepped up, wondering why I had been allowed to get this close to solving this whole twisted mystery. He should have gunned me down immediately! Unless this was all just another part of the set-up!

"Malcolm?" I repeated, and I jumped, slightly surprised as Malcolm stirred and opened his bruised and puffy eyes. Even more surprising was the fact that he didn’t jump up immediately and wrest the weapon from my grasp, while pummeling me repeatedly about the head and neck, into submission so he could make his escape with Beth and the rest of the Fat Hairy Bitches! All this he might well have done, if he was the King Cobra, the head-cheese behind this whole affair… and, if he had not been tied securely to the chair!! Still, I stepped away and held my bigger, faster, stronger brother at bay with the Uzi, surprised again by the amount of damage that was evident all across Malcolm’s body/his temple, and especially his precious face. His face was battered and bruised, cheeks and eyes swollen from a beating, and blood matted his hair and trickled down his neck, from someplace on the back of his skull.

"Sllikkkkkkkkk…" Malcolm gurgled through his swollen cheeks. "I saw… Ahhddd…" I could barely make out his blundering babble. "Fatthhh, harrrrhhh---- bisssssches!"

"Don’t worry, bro…" I soothed once I understood, moving behind Malcolm and loosening his bounds. "I got the bitches back! Angela is out of our lives---permanently!"

"Whatthhh?" Malcolm gagged, "Buttthh, thhhhaahhhh’s…How?"

"There’s no time to explain!" I hushed his rambling, "They are on to us, I think… this whole thing is a set-up of some sort!" I shouldered the Uzi and hefted my bigger, weaker, slower brother from the chair, which flipped backward from the momentum, its legs tipping the backpack forward as it toppled "We have to get moving!" I demanded. Mysteriously, voices from the backpack seemed to be agreeing with me!

"My sentiments exactly, Mister King…" another radio had been clipped securely to the back-side of the backpack, and was left on Open Matt setting, monitoring everything that went on in the room; I WAS set-up! "Oh, forgive me…" King Cobra continued, while I panicked. "Mister Bruce the Mongoose!

"We really must be moving on with our plans this evening. Unfortunately, you and yours have completed your requirements for this training session, and won’t be permitted to continue the boorish ineptitude of your lives!" I had walked right into their trap! Malcolm was being set-up to take the fall for this whole plot, and I had stepped right in and volunteered to go down with him! Isn’t it ironic?! I supposed that Adder had discovered me, and retreated to the Locker Room to punish Malcolm for alerting me to his capture, then called the rest of the Fat Hairy Bitches to start a surveillance and scouting patrol, to seek me out.

In moments, I fully expected the Fat Hairy Sentries to bust down the door and crush Malcolm and I, and I was almost at the point where I was READY to give it all up; how foolish was I?! Not THAT foolish, after all! I quickly turned the corner back toward defiant and resilient and confident, swiping the radio from the pack and barking angrily into it.

"Listen up, you slimy bastard! I’ve got your precious disk, so if I was you, I wouldn’t suggest anything as nasty as wild gunfire in my general direction! Comprende, senor Shit-Face?!"

In my panic, I shot a glance from my battered broken brother to the Exit, and back. I was fully expecting either one or the other of them--- or both!--- to suddenly give way, and overwhelm me in a surprise assault. Malcolm was not a threat though, especially not in his condition! He was stumbling sorely around the room, shaking his head and rubbing the wound on the back of his skull, where he was obviously struck from behind. So, it was left to me to get us the hell out of there before we were set-upon by the sentries… I moved to the exit door, and locked it securely. We would have to leave here, but not through the main Exit, since the Fat Hairy Bitches were roaming the halls… we’d have to find another way, or fight it out from inside this room!

"You needn’t fear for your safety…" King Cobra lied, "Not just yet any way…" I knelt to explore what options might be contained in the backpack left to incriminate Malcolm, and the Uzi barrel -CLANK-ed against the steel ventilation grate, and sent my mind whirring with an escape plan! I shoved the backpack away, and unslung the Uzi from my shoulder, handing Malcolm the radio while King Cobra raved on…

"As for the safety of others whom you may hold dear, I am afraid I can offer no such guarantees…" I leaned in a gripped the metal grate with all 10 of my fingertips, then leaned back and pulled with my full weight as my leverage… -UGH!- the grate gave way, offering us access to the 15-foot-deep shaft into the boiler room.

"After you!" I had to insist my battered bruised brother go first, and I would cover his escape. Malcolm shrugged, and sighed weakly, then sat, and slipped into the shaft. Malcolm clattered and thudded noisily down the shaft, crashing onto the table below, in the storage closet of the Boiler Room, where he landed with a THUD, and a groan. Safe and sound, I assumed, and only slightly more battered and bruised.
Before I too took the plunge, I was struck with an inspiration… I righted the chair and moved the backpack back into position in front of the grate. Then, fearing I had but moments before the Bitches busted through the barricaded door, I took up the length of rope which had been used to tie my bothersome brother down, and looped it through the central slats of the metal grate. As I slipped myself into the gaping shaft, I slid the grate near the hole, and lowered the rope down the shaft. Then I checked to make sure Malcolm had vacated my drop-zone, and slipped into the void…

"Ooof!" I groaned as I landed on the soft-wood table below, and crouched to absorb the impact of the flop. I tugged the rope as it dangled from above, and jerked the grate back into position over head, masking our route of escape, ever-hopeful that we would remain one-step ahead of the Communist terrorist bastards!

I couldn’t believe the warped nature of the scenario that played itself out around me, and that I had begun to take an active role in. I had reached a point where I no longer relied upon my bigger, faster stronger brother to guide me, to lead me through the paces of my ordinary, subservient existence. In fact, we were now almost equals in this event; as I had rescued Malcolm from the brink; only now, as the situation teetered on the edge of hopelessness, when I couldn’t possibly take even a moment out to revel in personal satisfaction, did I stand on even footing with the Great One, my brother, and…

"Bethbbbhhhh!" Malcolm was sobbing, shaking me from my soliloquy. "Thhhhhey gotthh Bethhhh!" He was kneeling against the closet door, sobbing as I stepped down from the table, clutching my radio from my hip and flicking it on again.

"What is her NAME?!" King Cobra was demanding.

"I don’t know…" a second frightened male voice squeaked, "I only know Beth! Honest… Honest Injun!" Oh great! Matt Hess had come to use that racial slur often around Teddy, as a sort of stupid joke that only Matt found funny… only now, Matt wasn’t laughing, nor were Malcolm or I… or King Cobra!!

"Thank you, Mister Hess…" the King’s voice boomed again. "You have been so very helpful…"-BANG!-

Matt had given up Beth to the terrorists! And had most likely paid for his service with his life!! The gunshot rang out loudly and crisply throughout the cramped closet, stinging my ears to my very soul. In frustration and anger, I flung the radio to the floor, and it shattered against the concrete, dead… as dead as Matt and Teddy… I gave up some of the equality I shared with Malcolm then, and stepped to his side, to listen with him, on the radio he held.

"Katy…" a third voice offered strongly, clearly, under no duress whatsoever. "Her name is Katy."

"Beth?" I gasped, hearing the obvious feminine qualities and tone of voice, and jumping to conclusions, knowing that Beth was one of the few people who knew anything of my relationship with Katy.

"NO!" Malcolm denied knowingly. "Thhhhatt ainthhh Beth’s voicccccccshe… thhaattthhs a FathhhHhhhaiheeeBissssch… gotta be…."

"But, Angela’s dead and buried!" I explained.

"Well, her palths justhth killlth Matt thhhen!" even in his slobbering stupor, Malcolm managed to sound magnanimous, as he continued his ranting rave. "And Beth maybe nexxcsstthh! So letttths move our asshshthess, huh?!" It was a bit strange how, after firmly establishing that Malcolm was definitely, most-likely probably not King Cobra, he sounded more like the sneaky snaky bastard than ever!

"I don’t know her last name… just Katy…" that revelation from the radio sparked at least some shred of hope in my heart. "But…" the confessor continued, "There are only a few possibilities…"

Nine to be exact! I thought, recalling my frantic search for My Katy in the Student Directory, hearing the -CLICK!- as the transmission was cut off from King Cobra’s end. 9 possible Katy’s to round up from the crowd in the gym… not a lot, but enough, I hoped!

With 9 girls to round up and interrogate (assassinate??) I figured the bad guys would be a bit busy for at least a little while; at least long enough to get Malcolm back on his feet. Hopefully enough time to clear our heads and come up with some sort of plan to take these creeps down!

"Demerol, Slick?!" Malcolm sobered up as I handed him the vial of meds and jabbed him in the arm with the hypodermic needle. "Don’t you know what this shit can do to you?!"

"Uhhh, YEAH!" I snapped, not-so-happily showing off my many visible injuries, as well as my lack of any noticeable pain.

"Obviously, you DON’T! Even I would have to be hit over the head from behind, knocked unconscious and abducted by fat, hairy freaks before I would submit to using this shit to recover some level of my former glory!" Malcolm lashed back. "De-Moral of the story is: JUST SAY NO! Take a Health Class, huh?!" he was babbling again, almost back to his regular self already, either that or he as spaced-out from the junk mere moments after it had been injected, which seemed wacky, even to me, the ‘unejukated wun…’ Malcolm flung the half-full vial to the floor, shattering the tiny glass jar, wasting the last of our medical supplies. Then, he flexed and shook his syringe-stuck arm, dancing around the cramped closet to speed the medicine through his veins… twisted logic, as always with my bigger, faster, stronger brother… Before I could question this little turn of Logic, I was distracted once again…

"Viper… Please respond… Have you taken care of the problem in the Pit? Are all the preparations made? Viper, please respond!" Oh great! I knew it would be only a matter of time before King Cobra would check back in on ‘the glitch’ Webber had reported. The smug son-of-a-***** obviously assumed that Viper would easily correct the problem and move on to the next phase of the operation. Strange though, that Adder had not yet reported back to King Cobra about my being that glitch Viper warned about. Something was not right, not going entirely according to plan, I guessed, and it was more than just my interference. Still, I had to wonder what all the King’s men would do if they found Viper Webber with his head smashed in by my baseball bat, and the timer missing from their smoke-screen sabotage. What to do, what to do? While Malcolm recovered in the storage closet, I bolted to the door and into the boiler room again, ranting into the radio the whole time.

"What an interesting array of code-names you’ve come up with!" I sassed smugly, hoping to distract King cobra from receiving Viper’s report that would never come… "Raoul, the Rattler… Adder and Viper, and King Cock-Sucker… Interesting indeed!" I wondered if mentioning Adder would start up a whole new firestorm in King Cobra’s mind, but that was beside the point at the moment.

"You chose your name well, Mister Bruce, the Mongoose…" King Cobra snapped back. "Befitting the nuisance that you are! I had so hoped you would be dead by now, Mister King! Your strength is surprising, really…You are proving quite resilient… In another place, in another time, I could use a fighter like you. But, as it stands, I will enjoy immensely the opportunity of crushing the life from you with my bare hands!"

I let the King’s creepy Communist propaganda drone on while I moved to Webber’s fallen form, shouldered the Uzi, and began to drag the skin-head subversive toward the storage room.

"Need a hand, huh?" Holy Shiite Muslim Breath!! Malcolm scared the life out of me as I neared the corner toward the storage room. "Holy Shiite Muslim Breath!" he echoed one of our favorite faux-curses as he noticed, "That’s Bill the Knob Webber!!"

"No Shiite!" I snapped, noting how Malcolm had still managed to not lift a finger to help me move the muscle-bound meat-head. In response, Malcolm scooped the Uzi sling from my shoulder, and tugged the gun from my arm. "What the---??" I stopped sliding the body and stared at Malcolm, waiting and watching him closely, half-expecting him to hiss and sprout fangs and a hood moments before he would pounce.

"I’ve got to go check on Beth!" Malcolm demanded, without even consulting me. Wow! He was feeling better! But, still…

"What about me?!" I wondered.