The Trouble With Being Me

"Wait here!" Malcolm ordered, though he was hardly in any position to make such demands of me. After all, I had just rescued him, and had not yet even thrown that fact back in his face! He would not let me get that word in either! "I’ll be right back! If I’m not back in 5 minutes, I’ll meet you upstairs in the Locker Room… if I can’t get back THERE in an hour, get out of here and get to the cops!"

"But… the cops---" he wasn’t listening; he was Malcolm, and he was feeling no pain, he was back to being his unfeeling self again, thanks to modern chemistry, and he didn’t know the city cops had been compromised. Such a fool, my bigger, faster, dumber brother… no way he was the brains of this terrorist operation…

Five minutes; what could possibly happen in 5 minutes? And please don’t remind me of that earlier fiasco at the Science and Computer Center! Think positive, Slick! OK… I was positive in five minutes I would be as cold and dead as The Knob here… -sigh-

A few minutes later, I had safely secured Viper Webber’s busted and bulky body in the closet.

"Whew! You’re one heavy mother, Flat-Top!" I laughed to myself. "One slim, hairless, four-eyed Communist terrorist bastard… any fatter or hairier, and I might have mistaken you for---"

"Anaconda…" uhh, actually, I was thinking of Angela… but she was blown to bits or buried upstairs in the twice-collapsed lobby, so forget about her! Then again, I had survived the encounter in the lobby, so whose to say--- Wait! Who said that?! Malcolm? Bill?? Or…

"Anaconda, report…" the radio on the table in the closet repeated, even as I heard its faint stereo echo from the hall outside in the boiler room. Slowly but surely, trying not to breath, I inched the closet door closed behind me, careful to avoid the loud dragging creak which had tipped mine and Teddy’s hand earlier…

"No sign of Viper…" the answer was crisper, clearer, as though in a whisper, but a whisper that was spoken from the next room--- and she was! Obviously, some of the Fat Hairy B!tches were thriving and surviving, and were picking up the pieces where Viper had fallen behind!

"Just a sec…" her voice receded back down the hall before the transmission ceased. I had to see what she was up to! With as much caution as I could muster, I eased the door open slowly and slipped to me hands and knees, crawling across the gore-caked floor to the corner of the walk-way. Down the hazy passage, I watched as Anaconda mounted the ladder which she had set in place on the crate against the boiler tank. Her sub-machine gun dangled from her maroon-and-gold shrouded shoulder, ever ready to gun me down if I made the slightest misstep.

Oops! I cursed my foolish haste; in my rush to dispose of Webber’s body, I had forgotten to collect the aluminum bat! There lay the club, just out of Anaconda’s direct line of sight, lodged beneath the boiler tank base, just opposite the laddered lass. To defeat the well-armed woman, I would need a weapon; but, to acquire the weapon I would have to get past the well-armed woman! Where was Bruce Willis when I needed him?!

"He appears to have everything set…" the b!tch barked into her open-Mattd radio, backing down the ladder and unslinging her weapon once again. Whew! She hadn’t noticed the missing timer mechanism; apparently all the Communist terrorists weren’t so highly trained in explosives and didn’t have the details of the entire scheme. "I’m not certain, but it looks like---" -CLANK!-

I inadvertently dropped my wrapped left arm to the concrete, in preparation to lunge at the unsuspecting wench as she finished her report. I had forgotten about the metal rulers I had used to splint my arm; the CLANK! reminded me, as quickly as it alerted Anaconda to my presence!

"It’s HIM!" the beefy bovine bellowed. "King is here!"

I had moved to my knees, ready to make my lunge, even taking a half-a-step toward her, but was still some distance from her when she raised the rifle. Ooops! I retraced my half-step clumsily, pivoting and stumbling back toward the storage room. As I turned, something unbelievable, and potentially quite unhealthy for me, occurred. Whether from the layer of slick filth that coated the floor or my own raging ineptitude compounded by a drug-induced stupor, it made no difference. No matter the cause, the effect was the same: I slipped and fell to the floor! -UGH!- just as the gunfire began….

They say ‘Fortune favors the bold.’ Well, somebody said that. But, what about the clumsy? I’d consider myself very fortunate by the fact that I was relatively unharmed following that initial close-range barrage of 9mm ammunition. It was, in fact, a blessing that the fat, hairy ***** behind me was such an expert assassin; she had taken aim at the sure-fire kill zone, my upper torso and head. So, by quickly collapsing to the floor as I had, I narrowly avoided the rapid-fire rounds. A quick, half-assed low-crawl later and I was once again safely tucked away behind the storage room door.

Thinking quickly, I propped Bill Webber’s dead body against the unrestricted door, then toppled the half-empty, broken shelves on top of his corpse, barricading myself inside and, hopefully, keeping the b!tch—and especially the bullets—out!! Once again, I was stuck behind a jock and a head-case! Once again, I was wishing time would either stand still or suddenly jump ahead, just 5 minutes! 5 minutes… What could happen in 5 minutes? F-ck!

=BbbbbRrrrrrrrAaappRrraaapp!= bullets pelted the thick steel door, but did not penetrate. I was safe again, for the moment; which was about as long as I planned to stay put!

"He’s barricaded himself inside the storage room… I think I’ve got him!" the transmission ended, and I feared my life would soon follow. The door knob turned, the catch sprung open, and…

Bill Webber’s bodily barricade held!! YES! I cheered silently from the shelves beneath the air duct, as Anaconda cursed… The air shaft! I could use the rope that dangled from the grate in the Ladies Locker Room, and climb to safety through the shaft! I had accomplished everything necessary in the boiler room, by concealing Viper’s body, and making sure the terrorists continued to think all was well and good with their evil plot; now, I had to reconnect with Malcolm and …

"Forget that little pain in the ass!" King Cobra commanded. "Mister Mongoose’s goose is cooked! Char-broiled, in fact!"

"But--" Anaconda’s please were cut short by King Cobra’s even shorter fuse.

"But NOTHING!" he sounded impatient and angry. "Return to me now, my dear… we still have much to do…" After a long pause, filled with a few choice under-her-breath curses directed toward King Cobra, most of which I picked up clearly over her unnoticed open-Matt, Anaconda retreated, still muttering.

"Later Alligator…" sure, babe! Bite me! Whoa! What did she say?! ‘Later, Alligator…’ That was Jesse the Juggernaut’s rhyme-line!! That could only mean…

"That’s right, Mister King!" King Cobra seemed to corroborate my fears, even though he couldn’t possibly have known my thought, and though what I was thinking couldn’t possibly be true… "I’ve got you now, right where I want you… by the balls!"

"All Agents Alert: Operation Pitfall, Engaged!" he paused, greeting Anaconda, as heard over her still-stuck-open mic. "Ahh, my dear… Come to me…" a sharp crack and an agonized whimper, as from a woman who had just been slapped, rang out, though I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for Anaconda. Maybe, if the sicko psycho Communist bastards had now turned against the remnants of the Fat Hairy B!tches, I could play them off against each other… and they would destroy themselves!

"Curse me, will you?" another slap followed by a quick sob. "Disobey me, will you?"

-SMACK!- "The next time you cross me, my dear, be sure to first check your radio setting!"

"Wait!" Anaconda screamed through her tears, obviously stalling before yet another slap. "My report… I haven’t given my report, Sir… and you, you said you have some news??"

"Well, my dear…" King Cobra’s voice relaxed, soothing, " That’s better… please, report…"

-CLICK!- the Matt was finally closed, and I shimmied quickly up the rope and back into the locker room. 5 minutes and counting… 5 minutes… what could possibly happen in 5 minutes… HA!

SEVENTEEN

Since I had 4 minutes to kill, and—at least for the moment—no terrorists to kill, I used the time to rummage through Malcolm’s pre-arranged backpack. I had to be sure of my theory, that Malcolm and I were pawns, being set-up by these Communist terrorist goons, to take the fall for this whole night of terror. From what I found, I could only assume my theory was sound; no weapons or any truly incriminating evidence, just a few Battle-Dress-Uniforms, some casual civilian clothes, a few fake Identification documents, an odd document titled The SCORPION Manifesto, a passport… and cash! Lots of cash! Packed in the OD green pack, it made it clear that this was a terrorist’s vacation package, which made it equally as clear---if only circumstantial at best--- that Malcolm or myself were deeply connected to some highly organized terrorist organization! The Scorpions? Who were these people? King Cobra and his snakes and Scorpions working together toward some common goal? What was this all about??

I was so caught up suddenly fantasizing about everything I could do with the stash of cash, I hardly noticed when the lights went out! A moment later, I was pulled to my feet and cinched in a vice-like strangle-hold, which was choking the life from me! Kkkkkkinnnng… Cobra?! I gurgled, recalling KC’s vow of vengeance earlier; I was caught… and I was dead-meat!

"Die bastage!" the whisper warned me how wrong I was, and how wrong he was to be crushing me so.

"Myy… Bro! Nooo!" I hissed as my eyeballs bulged. Unless Malcolm WAS King Cobra after all, I was surely dead! Again, fate and fortune were on my side, as the lights in the room flashed back on, blinding me and my assailant for a moment as a third party charged into the room with a yell.

"Drop my brother, or I drop you, ****er!" Malcolm demanded from safely behind the rows of lockers across the room. But, if Malcolm was across the room, who the hell was it who was strangling the life from me?!

"Charley?!" Malcolm gasped in disbelief, stepping forth from the shadows and lowering the weapon from its target. "What the **** are you doing up here, huh?!"
Thankfully, the death-grip was released, and my assailant responded in shocked surprise. "Malcolm?! And Slick?! What the ****?! Are you guys involved in this whole thing?!" It WAS Charley Andrews, in all his clueless-Slacker glory!

"We came here to save Beth!" Malcolm explained. "We saw your car, so we hoped we could track you down and get your help… What do you know about all this? And, why the **** did you leave me at the armory, huh?!"

"Hey! That wasn’t my fault!" Charley’s story began. "I went to gas up, and heard the radio report about something going down on campus, so I cruised back here to see what the **** was up!" Something about Charley’s story rang true, but something else left me wondering which part was his usual bullshit… his follow-up inquiry turned the tables on my suspicions, and got Malcolm’s head back in the game as well.

"What about Beth? I saw her earlier on campus too…" Charley wondered. "What does this have to do with her?"

"Nothing that we know of…" Malcolm continued. "They only took her to get to me!"

"Uhh, that’s not entirely true, bro…" I countered, gagging in a harsh whisper, glad to still have use of my vocal chords at all. I quickly explained Beth’s book-bag connection to the whole disk debacle, and once more, Charley was flabbergasted.

"Holy Shit!" Charley stammered, "So this disk was in Beth’s book-bag the whole time! In the computer lab, not back at the house! In the computer lab, just sitting waiting for anyone to discover…"
I nodded, barely able to follow Charley’s wild ranting. Charley sulked, suddenly realizing something profound and unnerving.

"And, I… I could have killed you, thinking you were one of Them… you stupid son-of-a-*****!!" Somehow, once again, this was all turned around on ME!

"I… I’m OK…" I gasped, coughing and breathing heavily, enjoying the fact that my throat still worked. Then, I turned my attention to Malcolm. "Now, what the Hell are YOU doing here?! After all, it’s only been 3 minutes…" Malcolm knew as well as I did, he was NEVER early for ANYTHING!

"They got Beth!" Malcolm explained, "I was watching them from the concourse, they weeded her out of the group with a few other girls… I didn’t want to lead them straight to you in the boiler room, so I came here to get the shaft!" OK… Operation Pitfall, the Egg, the girls, the set-up… what did it all mean? And…

"What next?" Charley wondered aloud, inviting Malcolm’s undoubtedly ingenious, if half-cocked and dangerous, plan for a rescue. They obviously out-numbered and out-gunned us, though we were now 3-men strong. "I should bring Carlson in on this… We could use the extra fire-power…" Charley had a valid point; we could use the help evening the odds a bit, and Justin Carlson was at least as competent with an assault rifle as he was confident when shooting off his mouth.

"We should stay together!" I insisted. "The shit always hits the fan whenever we spilt!"

"Five minutes!" Charley demanded. "Justin is close, and we will blow this place together in five minutes!"

"GO!" Malcolm ordered, essentially forgetting everything that could and did happen in those ‘five-minute’ spans of insanity earlier this evening. Charley whacked my gruffly on the back, shook Malcolm’s hand, then skulked as stealthily as his pear-shaped, beer-bellied body would allow.

A strange sense of deja vu swept over me in those few moments as Charley made his way from the weight room; that out-of-body experience sensation washed over me, and I knew something was off about some part of this whole scene, but I couldn’t think what it was. Maybe I was truly overwhelmed by the chance that we might actually survive this nightmare. As always, when the Slacker squad teamed up, there was apparently nothing that could hold them back! Even these terrorists tonight would be shaking in their boots now! Sure, they had a plan, including contingencies for nearly everything we had done to thwart them, and they had hostages.

Unfortunately, or not, the plan was interrupted and altered by our interference. Still, something was suddenly bothering me, and not in a good way! I knew we had little to go on, though things were beginning to look up. We basically had nothing, in fact! Nothing except…

"Brothers King!!" that summation of our assets came not from either of us, but from the radio I had clipped back to my hip. "If you have not already been rejoined, as I suspect you have, you soon will be reunited… in Hell!" Well, at least Malcolm could now be completely ruled out as King Cobra, even as the King condemned both of us to death. We both reached for the radio on my hip at the same time, intent on sassing the good King into a total fluster to once again distract him from his insidious plot. Before either of us could claim the device, King Cobra threw out the chaser. "But first, to the ladies…" =BANG!=

The gunshot was followed by an assortment of frantic, fearful screams, one of which echoed loudly when the others had subsided slightly. "MALCOLM!!"

"Beth?!" Malcolm forced the radio from my hip, shoving my hand away and seething. "You bastards!!" If he kept it up, Malcolm might have just killed Beth and the other girls, maybe including Katy! Luckily for the ladies, Malcolm took a breath, and common sense and logic took control of his emotions, and he suppressed his well-meant but weakly-supported threats and curses. "What do you want?!"

"I want my disk!" that answer was obvious, "And the timer which was acquired so eloquently by Mister Bruce the Mongoose in the boiler room!"

Shit! He knew about the timer; Anacondrea must have been thorough enough in her report to mention the bomb, and when pressed about whatever time the timer was set for, she was at a loss… I still found some consolation with the thought that the Leader of the Fat, Hairy Bitches might have been sacrificed by the Leader of the Communist Terrorist Bastards for her incompetence and insolence.

"As you now know, I have Ms. Cooper, and a few of her friends, each of whom call themselves ‘Katy’… I will execute one of these lovelies every minute, until I have what you have taken from me! Or until all the ladies are dead, in which case you two trouble-makers will be hunted down and cut to pieces!

"In either case, I will recover what is mine, and you will have been dealt with!" The great and powerful voice of King Cobra suddenly shifted into less-demanding, matter-of-fact sigh of sheer confidence, as he concluded his ultimatum. "You have one minute, from… NOW!" -BLIP!-
The transmission ended and the clock was ticking…

One minute minimum… Ten minutes at most… that was all the time we had left! We couldn’t afford to wait out the 5 minutes for Charley and Justin to sneak back into the fray; we had to get moving again!

"What is all this?!" Malcolm’s burning rage had turned to panicky confusion. "What about this timer? And, where is this disk?! What’s going on here, Slick!? Huh?!"

"There’s no time!" I reasoned, as calmly as I could. "The timer is useless… there is only the disk!" I pulled the disk from my pocket, and fished the broken timer from where it was tucked beneath my waistband at the small of my back.

"But, if we don’t hand over the disk and the timer, then Beth is dead!" Malcolm was nearly gone berserk, understandably, though he did somehow find some sense of compassion enough to remember his girl, at least… "And Katy too!" he remembered MY girl as well!

"They’re probably dead any way…" I didn’t want to bring such horrifying images into the already morbid and sanguine surroundings, but it was time we both faced the inevitable truth. "If not already, then soon…" Unless something could be put together and pulled off immediately, both of our women would be killed at the hands of the Communist terrorist bastards! WE had only 30 seconds or less to reconstruct the demolished timer mechanism and track down King Cobra and his goons to make the trade before…

I couldn’t bring myself to think of the consequences again. Somebody had to keep it together! If I kept thinking the worst, kept thinking of failing I would never be anything but a sorry loser! I could not afford to lose, not this time!

"NO!" I denied my earlier sentiments, though the thoughts still haunted me. It was time to stop doubting myself, time to take charge of this whole nightmare… time to kick ass! There was no possible way to reconstruct the shattered timer, but I still had hopes that the hollow shell would pass off as a reasonable distraction in exchange for Katy, Beth and the other hostages. It HAD to work! With renewed spirits and an undeveloped ploy forming in my head, I handed the worthless black box to Malcolm, also allowing him to keep the Uzi, thinking it would be best to split the bounty between us to make it that much more difficult for the terrorists to collect everything all at once.

"Let’s go get these bastards!" I commanded. Malcolm must have caught the gleam of hope and staunch determination burning behind my eyes, because he stopped ranting, and charged the Uzi confidently, tucked the timer in the pocket of his sagging, baggy, nylon parachute pants, and followed me to the door…

"Finally!" the puzzled police chief cried, wringing his hands in anxious exasperation. "Now we’re starting to make some sense out of this crazy story! The SCORPION Manifesto ties in perfectly with what we have discovered in our investigation. Student Citizens Organized to Reform Politics In Our Nation, SCORPION is the group we have infiltrated and monitored, tracking the sale and transport of the stolen disk… You found out about the Scorpion link to this terrorism, and that’s when you rushed outside and found a phone and called us in, right??"

"Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!" I couldn’t believe the idiotic incompetence and impatience of the fat-cat city cop. "The Scorpions were still in the shadows! I can’t believe you cops! Listen up, huh!"

"OK, OK… Calm, down Mister King…" the mellow-fellow Federal agent eased my troubled mind.

"Calm down, and continue…"

"Wait…" I exhaled heavily, trying to relax. Actually, I’d said ‘weight’ again, but…

The weight room was a way-point on the trail to the terrorists. Actually, the equipment rack from which dangled a few wooden bats and a left-over weapon of massive destruction was my goal. I needed a weapon, and an aluminum bat wouldn’t swing it now! I want my M-16! Malcolm had no idea where I was headed, and made his feelings known with a harsh whisper.

"Why don’t we just bust into the gym and waste these ****ers, huh?!" Because fool! I thought about snapping, I am unarmed!! So much for Malcolm’s logic-minded genius! I decided to just not respond to his concern, knowing that all would be revealed very soon…

"Time’s up!" King Cobra’s voice startled both of us, as we approached the Baseball Room. The volume seemed inappropriately loud, and Malcolm moved to adjust it, as I tugged open the door to the Baseball Training Center. -BANG!- the gunshot crackled over the small radio, followed once more by terrorized screams… he had killed one of the girls!

"Bastard!" Malcolm huffed, shaking with indecision a moment before bolting away, even as I tugged open the door to the Baseball room. Shit! Shit! Shit! I couldn’t let Malcolm run amok half-cocked and get himself and the rest of the hostages killed; but I couldn’t do much without a weapon either! First things first, I decided, stepping into the room, knowing I could catch up to Malcolm before he got--

-WHACK!!- the sharp blow from about 7 inches of shoe-leather clobbered me upside my right cheek with such violent force as to send me sprawling to the floor. Through tear-filled eyes which spun like the wheels in a slot machine, I stared up from my prone-position. The sight of my assailant would have definitely floored me, had I not already been down, and I gasped, now knowing what I had only feared…

"Angela…" I sputtered, recognizing Her Royal Rotundness and recalling her maroon-and-gold Danceline practice uniform from the boiler room encounter earlier, noting that the forearm sleeves were still gray and dingy and caked with soot and dust from the boiler.. Angela Williams WAS Anaconda, she was alive, she was pissed, and she was kicking my ass!!

"You killed him!" she raged. "You bastard!!" She drove into me with her foot again, as I struggled to rise from the floor. Hopefully, Malcolm had heard the struggle, or would come to his senses and realize we should stay together. Maybe if I could get to the door again and yell…

No such luck though. Angela’s next kick struck me under my sprawled right arm, just against my breast plate. The blow sent me rolling, into the door, sealing it like so much dead-weight from Bill Webber’s corpse had sealed the boiler room storage closet. I had to move, had to stand, had to…

"DIE!" Angela demanded, marching to the bat rack and claiming a wooden bat. She was going to kill me, and kill me slow and painful-like! I was a bastard, for killing her monkey-man Jesse, but she had no qualms about becoming a second-rate bastardess for killing me!! Twisted *****…

"Wait!" I gasped. That time, I really did say ‘Wait!’ only because I didn’t have any weights at hand! I flinched in fear as Angela towered over me, and I sobbed.

"Jesse didn’t beg you for HIS life!" Angela snapped, and she was right; Jesse didn’t have a chance to beg, considering all the lead that passed through and around his body in that instant that the lights went out in the Computer Center! Apparently, Angela wasn’t about to wait to hear me reveal how her muscle-head man had been gunned down by his own followers. She already knew so much about the encounter in the Behmler basement, she probably didn’t need to know the details. Enraged, Angela raised the bat overhead, fully prepared to crush my skull!

"Nooooo!" I roared, rolling quickly to my right, lashing out with my useless left arm -CLANK!-

The heavy wooden bat met with the thin tin rulers beneath the gauze on my arm, and the blow was misdirected. I had hoped to possibly trip Angela up with my quick maneuver, but the nimble nymph bounced boldly over my flopping form. Still, I’d rolled clear of the door, also managing to cheat Death once again! So, once more, my thoughts turned to…

"Malcolm!" my cry was little more than a strangled, barely audible whine, but I still shot a quick, expectant glance to the door. Angela flinched a moment, casting an anxious glance and stepping toward the door herself. She turned on me, smiling spitefully as the door remained closed, once more raising the bat overhead. Death loomed ever-near as---

-SLAM!-

The sick sound of steel squishing flesh resonated through your ears, filling my head with horrific images, disgusting displays of filth and gore, turning my stomach as…

… the massive steel door erupted inward, slamming into Angela who tumbled gracefully away, though the bat was jarred from her grasp. The past 2 years as captain of the UMM Cougarettes Danceline paid off for the Obese One, I noticed, as she recovered from the tumble with a graceful cartwheel. I laughed heartily, knowing that not even a shapely, sexy, scantily-clad spandex-and-speedo suited decathlete could out-run or out-tumble the rapid-fire volley of 9mm semi-automatic machine gun fire which Malcolm would undoubtedly unleash. Die, Angie baby! Die!!

Malcolm’s entrance was less graceful than mine had been; he flopped gruffly into and through the swinging door, his arms flailing wildly, as though he had been shoved… and he no longer held the Uzi!

"Die!" Angela smiled, not even winded after her acrobatic flips. Actually, upon reflection, I believe she had said ‘Di’, as in… "Dianna! Good work!" Following my bigger, dumber, clumsier brother into the room, in full control of the Uzi which he’d once held, was Dianna--- one of the 2 other girls I’d seen with Angela in the lobby earlier!! Oh of course! My cries to ‘Katy’ as I crawled into the lobby were heard by these 2 Fat, Hairy Bitches! They had obviously found their way clear of the lobby just as I had, before the frag-grenade brought more of the roof down; they knew about my interest in ‘Katy’ and they had brought that information to King Cobra! Good work, indeed! Bitches!

"I caught this one trying to slip in to the gym!" Dianna explained. "And he had this…" she indicated the Uzi, being careful to keep its aim trained on Malcolm’s fallen form. "…and this…" she tapped the radio clipped to her hip. "…and, last, but not least… THIS!" she fished her free hand under all her rolls and folds of flesh, into her fanny-pack, and recovered the hollow-black shell I recognized as the timer!

"Sorry, Slick…" Malcolm sighed, shrugging sheepishly from the floor nearby.

"We were going to return that in exchange for Beth!" I bluffed, hoping to keep Angela’s interest distracted from reclaiming the bat. "We don’t need it! We don’t want it! We don’t want to be involved in this! We just want to LIVE!!" That part was the truth at least; we did want to live, to survive this madness, no matter what it took!

So what if the Communist terrorist bastards succeeded in their plot to take over the world, starting with this small-town college campus. Big Deal! James bond or MacGyver would rise up sooner or later and stop them, wouldn’t they? There’d be no need for them to kill any more innocent pawns! I don’t want to die! And, I’m not going to die!! There was the bat, so close that I could almost reach out and grab it… yet, so far away with Dianna and the Uzi another ten-feet away…

Angela was examining the timer mechanism closely, too closely, and she noticed the hairline crack between its top- and bottom-halves. As she curiously shook the busted box, I made my move, ever so slowly toward the bat. Angela’s attention had been drawn away from my actions for the moment, but that might not have been long enough! Especially once Angela found out…

"This thing is broken!! It’s useless!!" she realized, pulling the cracked shell of computer components apart in her empty hands. "This is a sham! Dianna, the radio!" Shit! She’d seen through our little ruse; perhaps it was indeed too late!

"NO!" Malcolm and I rebelled in stereo. I sat up quickly, and reclaimed my destiny, thrusting the wooden bat into Angela’s massive midsection, even as Malcolm leaped to life. From his position, Malcolm shot up and in on Dianna, performing a perfect single-leg take-down, and Dianna dropped the radio from her hip.

-BBBbbRrrRrrRRRrrrrAaaaaAAAppPAPPAaapapaPAAP!-

Fortunately, Dianna’s aim was thrown off more than her balance had been, and the burst harmlessly pelted the pitching target across the room. Being the agile wrestler that he was, Malcolm quickly mounted Dianna, and took control of her arm, and the struggle for the weapon raged. I, of course, had my own concerns. Angela had seen the radio fall, and had immediately made plans to claim the communicator for herself, to blow the whistle on our little ruse, and seal the fates of our female friends. My forceful thrust into her mid-section became the catalyst for a brilliantly executed back-flip away from me. Her next leap would be for the radio, I knew, unless I could stop her! How do you stop a 300-pound Heifer from charging? Take away it’s credit cards! HA! The punch-lines came now, of all times, though the time for humor had long since passed! What to do?

A wise man once said: "Give me the biggest, baddest guy you can find, take out his knees, he’ll drop like a stone…" Of course, that wise man was Patrick Swayze in some movie; but, this was real life! And, Angela was no big, bad-ass guy, she was a Fat, Hairy *****! But, the principal was the same. I leaped to my feet, swinging the bat low and lethal-like toward Angela’s lower legs -CRUNCH!-

She did falter, she did stumble, fumble, and finally… after back-stepping and stuttering, sputtering in agony, wobbling gingerly, almost daintily even atop her shattered kneecaps, finally Angela succumbed to the forces of Physics and gravity. As she toppled backward, twisting and twirling, trying to regain some bit of control, Angela failed to notice the barricade behind her, crashing into the short-wall, with her full weight, toppling the partition, and tumbling into the weight room. I had hoped that the fall would kill her, snapping her neck as she tripped over some bizarre bit of equipment, or decapitating her in some horrific and gruesome way. But, no… Instead of reacting like a topsy-turvy turtle or a beached whale O’Williams, Angela wouldn’t just thrash sickly for a moment then die! Even though the Princess of Poundage, the Duchess of Dunkin’ Donuts, the Queen of Calories, the Sultana of Cellulite had fallen, the fact was that she would not stay down!

With an incredibly graceful backward somersault and a quick bunny-hop, Ms. Bulky was back! Only this time, I was ready for her, or so I thought! It never occurred to me that Angela would stoop to using the very item which had caused her downfall as a platform to launch her assault against me; but, that’s exactly what she did! Two quick, ballerina-type hops along the teetering, tottering fallen wall partition, followed by a powerful vault, and Angela was airborne!!! I’d look around for something heavy to grab onto, but here one such something came, head-on!! Last time I’d seen something that huge leave the ground, it was attached to a solid-fuel rocket and 3 boosters! Whoa!

With all the agility and dexterity of a deer--- albeit a very large deer, a moose, maybe--- Angela performed an unbelievable flying drop-kick which connected with my good arm and the bat. As if that wasn’t enough, to add injury to injury, the ***** managed to lash out with her other foot simultaneously, smacking me under the chin, snapping my head back hard. To her surprise, as much as my own, I didn’t fall to the ground following her attack. Her own injuries must have taken some of the bite out of her fight, as her monkey-faced freak, Jesse Graham might have said… her hit aint shit! Though it did sting just a bit!

There I stood, toe-to-hoof with my adversary, snarling, growling, hissing… drooling?? No, it wasn’t drool, it was blood, from the gash which Angela’s drop-kick had torn inside my cheek! I noticed Angela’s crimson-colored knuckles following a lightning-quick flurry of punches to my face, and immediately surmised that all was not going well for the Home Team! Even through the heavy mask of anesthetic from the Demerol, my head was suddenly ringing, my ear drums popping…

Wait! That wasn’t my ears!

-That blast came from the Death Star! That thing’s operational! What the—??

Too many quotes spoil the broth… and too many violent blows to the head really mess with a guy’s mind! Apparently, Angela had a compassionate streak in her, because she stopped bashing in my brains--- just long enough to step in and drive a forceful knee into my groin! Balls…two… -OOF!-

From my new position, back on the floor on hands and knees, gasping for air, I was hit by a revelation of profound significance--- a welcomed idea, seeing as I had been hit with just about everything else thus far!!

"Two can play at that game!" I decided, driving forward blindly with my head, charging like a rhino, hooking Angela’s ample legs with both arms as best I could, and pulling her back against myself hard! Like the mighty oak---or the oak-tree-with-arms, Jesse Graham--- the beastly ***** came down once more…

Once we were again on even terms, flat on the ground, I figured I could move quickly and take the upper hand. The plan was to leap on Angela and pummel her profusely with both fists, returning the favor as such, allowing gravity to do most of the work for my weak and mostly-useless left fist. Unfortunately, the Fat Hairy Nimble Little ***** had another idea! Before I could say ‘Ooops!’ Angela pulled a 5-inch blade from somewhere under the many folds of flesh and cloth which made up her tremendous torso. I had just begun to mount her, climbing up Angela’s prone body, to begin my flurry when she pulled the blade. With little more than a full-body-quake, Angela rolled me off of her, then oozed over me, enveloping me with all of her mass! Since she too was predominantly right-handed, that meant her attack would come down heavily on the left side of my body; my injured, weak left arm could never hold her off, not even for a second! The best I could do was flail wildly with my left arm, as the razor rose in her clenched fist; at least I would block my face and throat from any direct harm, and maybe she would get frustrated by my defiance and back off… no, that wasn’t going to happen! Instead, she attacked, stabbing and slashing viciously, ferociously, maniacally…painlessly?

Perhaps now, after being shot at, blown-up, blown-down, punched, pummeled, kicked, tagged-out, and beaten-up, being stabbed by a 5-inch blade hardly registered in my brain, a pin-prick to a sword-swallower. Or, maybe I was finally, truly, totally dead, and no longer capable of feeling any pain… Cool! Only, if the latter were the case, then how do you explain the kilo-ton of weight which aggravated the searing pains in my lower mid-section?? Did she miss me altogether? Not possible, considering her distance and position. Then, how? What?

Suddenly, the weight was lifted from my abdomen and the pain in my groin subsided somewhat. Oh no! I WAS dead, or dying, and was only now leaving the mortal realm, fading fast! Oh, Malcolm -cough!- Oh, Katy… =agck!= Go on without me… be tough, soldier!… -gurgle-glug!- Oh, the shame, the shame of it all! I was so young, just starting out in life really… so vital, so full of life, so full of spirit… so…

So completely full of shit! I wasn’t dead! I could still look around, still see Malcolm struggling, bat in hand, driving Dianna back with 4 forceful whacks, back, back way back, to the weight room wall, to the stereo system which boomed to life even as Dianna collapsed against the machine, in death… I could see my weak and useless left arm, draped lazily across my chest, the broken knife blade protruding partly from the tan gauze wrap. Of course! The metal rulers beneath the gauze had protected my injured arm! The knife had broken off when Angela drove it into the steel, and twisted, in an effort to tear open my arteries and bleed me slowly to death! And, I could hear the screams over the radio, the live-broadcast of the hostage terror, since King Cobra had just killed another girl! Angela also could hear the confident-though-frustrated cries of her commander, and was reminded of her mission.

"Bring me my disk and timer, NOW!" I heard King Cobra curse, and Angela leaped away from me to resume the task of reporting to King Cobra. As Angela claimed the radio, and Malcolm crushed Dianna against the stereo, I heard the unmistakable sound of a splash SPLASH-ing over the walkie-talkie. The blasting volume of the stereo shattered Angela’s concentration, even as Dianna’s skull was shattered.

"Bang your head!" Quiet Riot roared through the 8 speakers around the room. "Metal Health will drive you mad!" Heavy Metal rules!

Angela saw me stand, but she backed away, raising the radio to her lips. She saw my panic as she began to speak, and I cast a quick half-glance to Malcolm, who was also approaching anxiously. Angela was too focused, and hadn’t noticed Malcolm collect a single 2 ½-pound weight. At least, I hadn’t thought she noticed him, until =whhhhhhiiizzzz!= the weight was flung, and Angela ducked away, avoiding the projectile proudly. With a smug Gotchya-glare, a gaze which easily matched Malcolm’s best snub-stare, Angela continued with her transmission…

"YYYYYAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!"

I roared, more to drown out Angela’s radio-call but also because such a thing as walking is impossibly painful with one’s testicles wrapped snugly around his spinal column!

Blinded by rage as much as pain, I engulfed Angela as best I could. In my charge across the room, I had built up enough momentum to drive the mountain of meat and hair spray to the teeter-tottered and shattered section of wall, tripping her up slightly as she back-stepped over the rubble. In vain, I chopped weakly at her arm, hoping to free the radio from her grasp. I had to keep her from making the transmission, but how? My goal shifted slightly, from the radio to Angela, as she struggled to break away. How could I silence Angela herself? I wondered wearily, barely managing to stay focused on anything besides the ripping pains which ravaged my body anew. It’s about as hard to think as it is to walk, with your nuts wrapped round your tonsils… and breathing aint no picnic either! Hmmmm…

I blocked a few wild swings from Angela’s free-hand fist, then shifted my leg between hers, kicking her hard in the shins, knocking her off-balance, and easing down behind her. Without letting her fall completely, which was a feat in itself considering her stature as the Fattest and Hairiest of All Bitches, I draped my useless left arm over her shoulder and around her neck, then clutched my left wrist firmly with my strong right hand, tightening the noose around the Queen B’s neck!

Why didn’t I just let Malcolm bash in her brains with the baseball bat? Why didn’t I toss her aside, and shoot her with the Uzi I could easily reclaim? She meant nothing to me; she was a low-down, dirty, fat, hairy, Communist, scum-sucking *****! Still, after everything I had been put through as a result of my acquaintance with the beast, Angela Williams, I couldn’t bring myself to kill her. Why? Was she not, after all, supposed to have been blown to bits by the grenade tossed by my own hand in the lobby earlier that evening? Then why, when her death would have come so easily, could I not apply some simple forward pressure and surely snap her neck like a twig? Even as she struggled against my weak hold, which I was surprised she could not break, Angela still fought back. In apparent though weak defiance, she bashed my head repeatedly with the hand-held radio. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to finish her off! Hell, I couldn’t even bear to watch her pass out! I released my hold on her quickly, pushing her away, disgusted by my own pathetic performance more than by Angela’s actions.

I fully expected another acrobatic assault to cripple and c
confound me then and there, and was prepared to pay for my foolish chivalry. But, no such luck… I would not die at the hands---or feet!--- of the Diva of Dance; it appeared, instead, that she had died at MY hand! More precisely, my forearm should take most of the credit, since that’s where the broken shard of blade from Angela’s own knife protruded from the torn gauze. The silver sliver of steel pierced Angela’s flesh when I cinched up the choke-hold, gouging her throat deep, severing her jugular vein, and I hadn’t noticed. Not until she fell away once my grip was loosened, and the flood of blood washed over my arms, did I realize what I had done… Angela Williams was dead, but it truly wasn’t my fault!

It was similar to the earlier events in the Computer Center at Behmler Hall, with Angela’s main monkey-man, Jesse Graham. Angela had basically killed herself; it was her own blade, jabbed into my arm and twisted with the intent to kill me, broken off by her own twisted machinations, which had sliced her throat wide open, killing her. I was defending myself to the best of my ability, and doing none too great a job at it, I might add; I had no intention to actually kill the girl, unless, of course, she continued to pose a threat to my existence or that of my friends and family. I was no murderer! I was no Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastard!

The song which now boomed from the 4-foot speakers in the corners of the room was a fitting send-off for the Fattest, Hairiest *****. The Eagles Desperado was Angela’s favorite song, and the song was just winding down as Angela’s life drained out of her…

"Don’t ya draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy
She’ll beat you if she’s able;
You know, the Queen of Hearts, she’s always
Your best bet…
And, though it seems to me some fine things
Have been laid upon your table,
You only want the ones that you can’t get…
Desperado…"

"Queen of Diamonds!" Malcolm cheered, shaking his head in disgust while Angela’s body shook slightly before going limp on the carpeted floor, awash in a pool of her own blood.

"Definitely!!" I recalled the story from earlier, how Sergeant Graham had bragged about his Sweetheart being his Queen of Hearts, his good luck charm in all those Buck Euchre victories. Ha! Guess I’ll be dealing you 2 lover-birds out, for the rest of MY Life!! Shit! Time was a-wasting! I quickly recovered the walkie-talkie from the carpet, and continued my mission, recovering the broken shell of a timer from near Angela’s collapsed corpse. Everything that was coming together was suddenly music to my ears… and that gave me an idea!

"Slick, what are you doing, huh?" Malcolm choked, confused as he watched me step to the stereo system rather than to reclaim the Uzi or even the baseball bat. "I thought you were looking for a weapon?!"

"I’ve got an idea, bro! Check this out!" Malcolm scooped up the M-16 and strutted to the stereo, as I explained what I had in mind, also cluing Malcolm in to everything I had learned during the last fatal minutes of my struggle with Angela. It all ended in a -SPLASH!-

"They must be in the pool!" Malcolm’s steel-trap mind clamped down hard on the obvious observation. Together at last, Malcolm and I fiddled with the stereo equipment, intent on a specific goal: to arrange our own sort of time-delay system, to distract and disarm the terrorist creeps long enough to grab the girls and make a break for it! Normally, the time-delay was used to time the length that the music blasted on, so anyone who was working out could plan a timed-workout; after an hour, when the music stopped, the workout was over. What we wondered was if the reverse was also true--- if the timer could be used to turn the music ON after a certain amount of time had passed. We both knew that the weight room sound system was also piped into the pool area with the simple flick of a switch, and after rewiring a few Input-Output sockets, we were at least partially convinced the Time-Delay was in effect.

"It’s time…" Malcolm decided defiantly.

"Time to die!" the voice from behind was gurgling and hoarse, almost a whisper. We turned to face Angela, who stood once again, holding her gouged throat with one hand, and the broken knife in the other. The Fat Hairy B!tch was unstoppable!! She stumbled forward, allowing momentum to build as she raged toward Malcolm and I; she couldn’t possibly hope to take us both out, but she would surely die trying! Malcolm had set the M-16 down to help rewire the sound-system, so at the moment, we were both vulnerable. As I backed away from her approach, I inadvertently tripped over the free-weight barbell and fell to the floor, leaving Malcolm to fend for himself as I became the proverbial and literal sitting duck…

"DIE!!" the word came off sounding more as a direct order than anything else, and was louder, stronger, and more masculine then anything I had ever heard from Angela. -BBbbbbrrrrRRrrrAAaapp!-
From across the room, Charley Andrews stepped in and fired, shredding Angela’s spinal column and tearing her to pieces.

"Sorry I took so long, guys…" Charley apologized, probably for the first time in his life. "It was all my fault…" Whoa! He stepped toward me, extending his hand graciously to help me stand. The deja-vu, out-of-body weirdness suddenly became sharply focused, and I KNEW what it was I was seeing without seeing it…Holy—"

"Horse shit!" Justin piped in strutting smoothly into the room behind Charley. "We had to do some serious stealth maneuvers to get here! Those terrorist freaks are everywhere!"

"There’s no time for this!" I cried, happy to have added yet another to our numbers, but anxious and afraid for so many other reasons, least of which were the lives that still hung in the balance in the pool!
"Malcolm and I HAVE to go to the pool! You two cover the exits, and be ready to clear out!"

I could see the confusion etched on Malcolm’s face; wasn’t I the one to say it wouldn’t be wise to split up? Shouldn’t we band together to face however many of the Communist terrorist bastards remained? There was no time for me to explain myself, but, for once, I knew exactly what I was doing; my reasoning was sound and valid, my thoughts were complete and justified, my beliefs were righteous and confirmed, and I was never more sure of myself then I was at that moment.

"We’ve got less than 3 minutes!" I explained, then demanded, "Let’s move it, huh?!" I used Malcolm’s own logic and tone against him, then turned those charms toward the rest of the Slackers. Confidently, I slipped the disk from my pocket and handed it to Charley, commanding calmly.

"This is what they came for! Take it! If Malcolm and I don’t get out of the pool in 5 minutes, get out of here and get to the police!" Still, shaken, Malcolm nodded to Charley and Justin, then reclaimed the M-16 from the floor, leaving me Dianna’s Uzi. Charley claimed the blank, black diskette with a shrug and a smirk, tucking it in the front cargo pocket of the camouflage-patterned BDU pants he wore. Then, he and Justin slinked back into the hall cautiously.

More than 3 minutes had already passed; Malcolm and I were set to make our move in 3 more minutes… that left 4 minutes; 4 girls left alive, waiting to be saved. Chances were slim that we’d find either one or both of our girls safe and sound in the pool area, but we had to make sure! We had to have faith! We had to…

"PRAY!" the noise boomed in the pool area earlier than we’d expected. Malcolm and I had only gotten as far as the hallway outside the lifeguard viewing station next to the pool. "We’ve got to pray just to make it today!" MC Hammer rocked, "I say, Pray…" the tune died down, just as Malcolm slipped into the Viewing Room, making sure to stay low and quiet. I was on his heels, on the floor, easing the tinted-glass door closed behind me. The walls of the room were nothing more than thick plates of sound-proof plexi-glass which allowed easy viewing and access to the pool through a sliding glass door similar to the one that led into the hall. Malcolm and I would have been sitting ducks behind the transparent walls, but we were cleverly concealed from prying eyes in the pool area by a large desk, and 2 3-drawer filing cabinets.

Chancing a glance from behind the desk, Malcolm and I saw the group of frightened girls huddled together across the pool, flanked by a couple of armed assaultresses; more of Angela’s dancer bitches, judging by their maroon-and-gold costume-disguises. I thought I counted 5 hostages still alive, but I couldn’t chance a long enough look to pick out Katy, or…

"Beth!" Malcolm whispered, taking an extra second longer to scan the group of girls--- too long a look, in fact, just to verify… ‘She’s still alive!!" now would be a good time for some of that prayer Hammer mentioned…

"Well, well, well…" a male voice boomed from very close by. "Prayers won’t do much good any more, I’m afraid…" -GULP!-

"Nope!" the voice continued casually, not threatening in the least. "Frankie Viola’s officially OUT as a Minnesota Twin, but was picked up by the New York Mets, yea! More on Sports, after our Top Story…"

Oh great! Some diversion this turned out to be! I was hoping that the hard-rocking American heavy-metal music would blast the Communist terrorist bastards into submission, or at least force them to act in haste while checking out the trouble. What possible damage could the news do to them? Bore them to death? Oh well, Malcolm and I were stuck now, so…
"It seems that the officials at the Sauke Center Facility for the Rehabilitation of the Criminally Disturbed have now accounted for all but 2 of the 6 presumed escapees… Officials discovered the bodies of 3 of the 6 men in a utility shed just outside the grounds of the facility. The 3 men had been strangled, along with a fourth man, who had apparently survived the assault and crawled back to the facility for aid. Of the 2 missing men, the alleged strangler and Mastermind behind the escape, one Raoul Sanchez Ortega, fled the facility following the assault, and is still at large. Ortega was serving a 7 year sentence at the facility for his connections to the Scorpion Triad, an activist group from Chicago that has only recently begun branching out into the surrounding area. Ortega is to be considered armed and dangerous, and may in fact be holding the last escapee hostage against his will…

"According to sources, the remaining escapee is a male, in his early- to mid-40s, and was thought by witnesses to have been seen commandeering a military vehicle, a 2.5-tom truck licensed to the Morris, Minnesota National Guard unit, A Company 1 of the 136th Infantry Battalion… Authorities are asking for any information K-Q listeners have on the truck, license number KTS-D14U, or the man—"

What?! Who?! The stereo suddenly stopped transmitting into the pool area, and our distraction was interrupted! What was that about Raoul? The Scorpion Triad? Even as the stereo died, my hip-clipped radio chattered with life.

"…we have acquired the Egg! Copperhead and I have secured the Egg and await further instruction…"

"No way!" Malcolm moaned, upset over the fact that Charley and Justin were most likely dead.

"Bastards got to Charley and Justin! Son of a *****! They won’t have any more use for the hostages!" Before I could explain how Charley and Justin’s lives were the least of our worries, Malcolm stood up from the floor, fully exposing himself to the Fat Hairy hostage-holders across the pool.

"There he is!" one of the Fat Hairy Bitches yelled, spotting Malcolm’s muscular silhouette. Before I could pull Malcolm back, or rise up and offer my assistance, by assuming a good kneeling, supported firing position, the ***** raised her semi-automatic rifle and drew a bead on the nearest quivering hostage. I gasped in horror as peered between the desk and file cabinet, through the small splinter of glass which exposed the pool area to my view. In shocked horror, I recognized the chosen victim: Katy! My Katy! KTS-D14U, Katy! Katy Maclintock!

"Get your ass out here, or the ***** dies!" *****? Which *****? Katy? SHE should talk! Maybe she was King Cobra, this Fat Hairy Unknown *****--- Queen Cobra! Her voice was deeper than the average woman’s voice by an octave or 2, and she was built like a Mack truck! Of course, weighing in at 250+ pounds was a basic requirement for the Fat, Hairy Bitches, as well as the UMM Danceline, I think! And, she was wearing the distinctive maroon-and-gold sweat-shirt and pants of the Cougarettes uniform. Hmmmm… Oh well, no time to ponder the gender of the tubby terrorist squad; Malcolm had to obey. I did still have one advantage over these wenches: so far, they hadn’t seen me! So far, their only target was…

"Malcolm?!" I heard Beth’s cry from the group, then saw her, pouting and trembling in their midst. Malcolm tensed just then, but shrugged his moment of indecision off sternly, covering by smiling weakly to Beth as he whispered harshly to me.

"Stay put, bro! I’ll check things out! Be ready, Slick…" Malcolm commanded with a wink, raising his hands and backing away from the desk.

"Copperhead, secure transport… Adder, converge on the Secondary Target Area…" King Cobra’s commands over the radio startled me, and I moved to disable the device, as Malcolm stepped away from me, through the sliding glass door and onto the concrete pool deck. "Contain the Mongoose and prepare for Operation Pit-Fall…" -CLICK!-

I had to be cautious and quiet, so I turned off my walkie-talkie once again. There wouldn’t be a second chance to spare the lives of the remaining hostages, especially since the Bitches had singled out both Beth and Katy at this point! Adder and Copperhead would be making their way to box Malcolm and I in, so we didn’t have much time!

"Hi, Hun…" I heard Malcolm sigh sheepishly, as he hoped to quell Beth’s troubled trembling, to little effect.

"Mister Mongoose!" the voice was unmistakably male, unmistakably evil… unmistakably King Cobra! King Cobra blared from the speakers in the pool area, instead of the blasting radio which had failed miserably as a diversionary tactic, as our rescue effort began to unravel.

"I… I’ve got your timer…" Malcolm babbled, suddenly nervous. He fumbled for the awkward plastic casing, finally freeing it from under the waist band at the small of his back, holding it high, in plain sight, though King Cobra was not to be seen anywhere close by--- even though Malcolm wouldn’t know King Cobra if he was looking right at him!

"Forget it King…" King Cobra declined, "Deal’s off! You failed to hold up your end!"

"What do you mean?" Malcolm huffed. "I have the timer!!" he shook the flimsy plastic shell violently, dancing anxiously for everyone to see… the damn broken piece of crap fell apart in his hands, its pieces dropping into the pool!!

"And, I’ve got the disk!" Malcolm’s story turned to a complete and utter lie, as he grasped at anything to save his life and the lives of the girls across the pool. Everything was falling apart then, it seemed, so I should not have been surprised to be grabbed by the shoulder and tugged from under the desk the next instant!

"Slick!" Charley cried, releasing his grip on my shoulder and crouching suddenly, apparently aware that he could be spotted by the Fat Hairy Bitches. "What the **** is going on! We secured the exits, let’s move out!" I eased away from the desk, kneeling, and Charley forcefully pulled the Uzi from my fingertips, apparently to cover me while I moved, as King Cobra continued his rant.

"Disk or no disk, you have over-stayed your welcome, and out-lived your usefulness, Mister Bruce the Mongoose. And, you’ve caused quite enough trouble for one night…" the evil Leader continued. "In truth, the disk was merely a means to an end for me, a catapult to bigger and better things, a building block for my future, and a way out of this ****ing boring state! Though it will indeed fetch a fair price from other interested parties, that disk has brought me more trouble than it is worth, including bringing me YOU, Mister Mongoose…" he was really losing it!

"The reason I brought you here in this way, Mister King, is quite simple, quite poetic, you might say… Good-bye, Mister King…"
As Charley charged the Uzi, and rose slightly, tensing as we prepared to move, I noticed that same out-of-place-but-familiar article that had sounded warning bells in my brain earlier. On the back of his right hand, the hand which shook Malcolm’s hand in the locker room, there was a tattoo: A Scorpion! Hello…

"Adder…" the radio resounded, even though I had only just turned mine off. "End this! "

The glass window behind me, between Malcolm in the pool and Adder and I in the office, erupted as a spray of bullets whistled explosively through. I knew something of Charley’s story was bullshit; there was no real news about the campus siege earlier, there couldn’t have been, because I hadn’t made the effort to make the thing public with my SOS radio call until much later in the night! Charley HAD to be involved, to know so much! The tattoo confirmed his involvement, though I didn’t piece it all together until I saw it up-close when he and Justin arrived and assisted us in the weight room! Charley Andrews and Justin Carlson were both Scorpions! Instinctively, I dove into Charley Adder-son, deflecting his aim, high and away from Malcolm’s backside. Gun-fire raged across the pool just then, from both sides, pelting the pool surface as well as the dry pool-deck and walls. The Fat, Hairy bitches used that initial volley to unleash their fury, as I tackled Charley hard. Charley shoved me away as the clip in the Uzi was expended into the ceiling. I collapsed to the tiled floor before him, while Charley stood over me angrily.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Slick…" Charley huffed, then pulled the trigger, sealing my fate. Fortunately, at the moment, Charley was out of ammo! Instead, he was forced to ‘End This!" as ordered, with a…
"GRENADE!!" I roared as Charley dropped the pineapple-shaped orb before crashing through the sliding glass door, making his escape. The wooden chair behind the large desk suddenly smashed through the bullet-riddled plexi-glass window, followed immediately by me, in all my unathletic glory!

"Get down!!" I roared, leaping from the window ledge with none of the form or style of the Gold Medal Olympian Diver Malcolm would claim to be. Malcolm had already dove for the water when the gun-fire initially rang out, and I met him there momentarily, splashing heavily into the pool, as---

=KAAAAAAAAABBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!!=
A volley of fire sprayed the office area following the explosion, then all gunfire ceased. Eerie silence followed, and I struggled to stay afloat, treading water as best I could with one arm, and battered, weak legs, until I reached the pool edge near the Viewing Room. Thick white smoke billowed from the charred and shattered window, floating ominously over the pool surface, like the London fog on an August morn--- although I’d never been to London in August or at any other time, so I can’t really say--- it was like something out of a dream… a nightmare! MY nightmare! The drug-induced dreams I had had were not mere dreams after all, but premonitions of the whole night! And, how was it that all those nightmares ended? -gulp!-

"Riiccckkkkk…." Frightened, gurgling gasps from the clouded water beckoned me. I fully-expected to be pulled from the ledge at the edge of the pool then, dragged under water into the 12-foot-depth of murky blue, and drowned by Queen Cobra. Or, to have the life crushed from my body, as King Cobra had threatened earlier. Still, all was still and quiet, except the voice of the angel who spoke to me. "Rick…help… help me…"

"Katy?" I turned from the wall, torn for a moment, searching the heavy haze across the blood-and-ash stained waters. When our eyes met through the thick fog of smoke, all my pain and doubt and fear washed away, and I was once again invincible, lost in her pained-and-panicked gaze. Nothing else mattered in the moment, nothing else existed; no longer did my bigger, faster, Evil brother vex me from the deep dark recesses of my mind; none of this mystery mattered any more, only…

"KATY!" I pushed away from the wall with all the strength in my good right arm, doing my best imitation of a rock as ?I struggled through the putrid purplish pool. I needed a buoy, something—anything! To keep me afloat in the 8-foot depths. As a last resort, I reached out and latched on to the only thing I could find: the dead or dying body of one of the unfortunate victims of that final fatal fire-fight. Though her features were masked behind a mop of matted hair, I recognized the maroon-and-gold uniform of the Fat Hairy ***** who had held Katy at gun-point not 1 minute ago! Oh, the incredible irony continues…

That the woman who would have killed my Katy was now, in essence, saving my life, was nearly incomprehensible to me. Still, I held on to my buoyant, bubbly body, kicking with all my might, until I reached my target. After clinching Katy for what seemed like Forever, only shorter, after drawing untold strength from her warm and tender embrace, I kicked off again, free of the floating corpse, buoyed only by my love for the living lady in my arms. Once we’d reached the ledge once more, I climbed from the pool and helped Katy from the water, rubbing her goose-pimpled bare arms briskly. Awestruck, we surveyed the damages in and around the crimson-colored, chlorinated cell. 3 bodies bobbed just beneath the surface of the pool, including that of the Fat Hairy Buoy, along with a second maroon-and-gold-clad corpse, and a 3rd girl.

"Kathy Johannson…" Katy sobbed, shivering anew. Still another girl lay, unmoving and bleeding on the tiles across the pool, her arm dangling lifelessly into the water, blood spewing al around her. Another pair of girls helped a 3rd survivor from the murky depths, and near the shallow end, Malcolm cradled the last girl in his arms, hovering over her lovingly…. Beth…

She wasn’t moving at all as she floated in Malcolm’s arms, but Malcolm’s body blocked most of my view. I did notice the wake of red which trailed Beth into the shallows, and blinked back the tears which built behind my eyes. King Cobra Malcolm had killed the love of his life! Only now, did he realize the foolish folly of his Communist terrorist plot; only now, that Beth had paid with her life, did Malcolm find some regret and remorse… the sick bastard! He killed Beth!

"NOO!" I cried, leaping from the edge of the pool, nearly toppling back into the water before Katy stepped to my side and supported me. Quickly, Katy and I sloshed to the shallow side of the deck, to confirm what I was already certain of. The passionate embrace and the deep, longing, soulful goodbye kiss from Malcolm to his beloved Beth would have been touching, if I had not just become convinced of the Ultimate Evil that was my bigger, faster, stronger brother. "Son-of-a-*****!" I snapped. "You make me---"

"Slick…" Beth gasped, looking up from the lip-lock lazily. Unbelievable! I would never hear the end of this, how Malcolm’s kiss had brought Beth back from the brink of death! "Malcolm…" she seemed delirious. "Charley… it was Charley!"
"She’s in trouble, Slick…" Malcolm sighed. "She’s delirious!"
"She’s not! She’s right! It WAS Charley!" I silenced his concerned cries.
"What the Hell happened in there?!" Malcolm demanded.
"Charley happened!" I explained. " We were set-up from the start! That bastard moved in behind you, from the hall! I knew there was something up, so I took care of it! But, the son-of-a-***** got away!"
"I… I…" Malcolm didn’t know what to say; I had saved his ass, and he was speechless.
"Charley…" Beth moaned again, seeming to regain some of her composure as she lay wrapped in the loving tenderness of Malcolm’s arms. "He was acting weird all afternoon… I saw him at the Computer Center, just after you dropped me off… he asked me what was bothering me, and we talked about the crash and everything as he walked me to the gym… Then I remembered my book-bag, he offered to go get it…"
"When I met up with him at the house this afternoon, Charley mentioned something about the book-bag…" Malcolm corroborated. " I thought nothing of it… I was too caught up in my own little mystery involving Quisberg’s missing paper-work…"
"This whole night has gotten WAY out of control!!" Malcolm decided then and there, at least 4 hours late, by my reckoning! The whole day had been an E-Ticket ride so far, and the night was still young! So much was left unexplained… so much remained to be resolved… so many people were so deeply involved…
Only then did I remember the remaining Fat, Hairy Bitches across the way…

EIGHTEEN

"No killing…" one of the surviving members of Angela’s goon squad sobbed. "She never said anything about killing anybody! We… we were just supposed to make sure Beth brought her book-bag to the ceremony… Angela and Jesse said that Beth had something they wanted…" Ahh, maybe that is truly when the entire plot fell apart…

"Who gave the orders?!" I grabbed the shaken, shivering student, shaking her further until she broke down in a fit of tears. "Who gave the orders, you… you *****!"

"Mister Ortega… Raoul… and Manuel… and Juan… The Scorpions! Jesse and Charley gave us the guns… But, no one was supposed to get hurt! We were just told to keep everyone together in the gym until— " her sobs became uncontrollable, her speech unintelligible.

"Until WHAT?!" I demanded, drawing back to slap the defenseless girl silly, suddenly aware that King Cobra was invading MY psyche now!

"No, Slick…" Malcolm’s hand gripped mine, and he held me fast. "There’s been enough suffering." He spoke solemnly, smoothly, soothingly. And, once again, Malcolm was right! I relaxed my cocked arm, reaching out to embrace my enemy, the last of the Fat, Hairy Bitches. Amazingly, she returned the embrace warmly, tenderly, still quivering with fright—and she wasn’t a half-bad hugger either! True, she and her cellulite-saddled crones-cronies had corralled and kidnapped Beth and the Katies, and were accomplices in all of the many heinous acts which had transpired over the course of this long night; so she was ruled out as potential dating material, but still… Any way, at the moment I had Katy to consider; her safety was the foremost thing on my mind.

"We’ve got to get you girls out of here!" I decided, leading the lone lost-girl and the other Katies, along with Malcolm, with Beth under his arm, and My Katy at my side, to the door. As we passed into the hallway, Malcolm paused, ducking through the shattered glass office door, leaning, then rising quickly, Uzi in his free hand. A split-second of terror shot through me as I pictured King Malcolm mowing us all down as we crowded into the cramped hallway. Effortlessly, emotionlessly, with the weight of Beth’s weak and helpless wounded body under one arm, and the Uzi tucked in the crook of the other, and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Malcolm rose. Turning quickly down the hallway, he strode forth, assuming the lead position. Not to be outdone, I ducked into the disheveled remains of the office, searching for the M-16 Malcolm had left behind. I knew of course that the extent of my injuries would keep me from utilizing the weapon to its fullest potential, but felt naked and less than the man my bigger, faster, stronger was without a weapon in MY hands. My strength would come from Katy, safe and sound and at my side. To my dismay, the M-16 was not to be found, most likely buried under the large chunks of the ceiling which had collapsed in on the room. So, I moved on, Katy’s trust empowering me, but no weapon at my disposal, while I secured the rear.

The only way out of the gymnasium was through one of the 4 alternate exits on the upper concourse, the ground level, one floor above us. After our last encounter, I had my doubts whether King Cobra would consider us much of a threat, or if he was even still intent on any part of the total and complete failure his mission must have become. Hopefully, he had stopped considering us at all once the grenade exploded and the bullets raged around the room. Still, Malcolm and I remained ever vigilant…

"Stay alert, stay alive!" an old Army adage professed. And, I’ll never forget about that time in Basic Training when I fell asleep during fire-guard one night…

Whoa! No time for a flashback now!

We had reached the main corridor of the lower-level, where I tried desperately to get my brother’s attention quietly. I didn’t think we should retreat via the same route on which we had began our assault; the trail back through the Baseball Room and Weight Room was littered with carnage and death, including the corpses of Angela and Dianna. I wasn’t convinced that the Last of the Fattest in our group would be able to maintain her composure hen forced face-to-face with the head-witch-***** with her throat slit… I wasn’t sure I could get away without gagging over THAT sight again! Since Malcolm himself had had a bit of a difficult experience in those rooms, it didn’t take much more than a quick finger-point and a shake of my head, followed by a quick grunt and nod, and we were in agreement.

Quickly, quietly, we slipped down the corridor…

Quickly, quietly, up the stairs, through the door, and down another hall to the nearest Exit… no problem, right?

WRONG! Up the steps, quickly and quietly enough, so far so good. Open the door, yes… See the guard posted in his sentry position, pacing the concourse in front of the door, M-16 at the ready under one arm… pacing, turning, looking, checking the ajar door once more…

=BbBbBbBBBbbbRRRrrrrRrRrRRRRrRrRAAAaaaAaPPpPPP!=

Malcolm, being the first in line at the door, dropped to one knee upon seeing the Commie creep, dropping the creep as he swung to shoot at us! What I had said about the one-armed M-16 shot had proved true; the Communist terrorist bastard never got a clean shot at Malcolm, and he never would! After he fired, Malcolm crouch-stepped into the hall, pivoting and scanning for any other activity, as Beth and the other girls stumbled onto the concourse. The bullet-riddled bad guy dropped the bulky M-16 as he back-pedaled from the barrage of bullets. The poor sap bucked and wobbled, backed against the steel barrier that lined the inner edge of the concourse, finally flopping backward against the rail, toppling in a reverse-swan-dive back-flip, crashing to the gymnasium floor below.

"Move! Move! Move!" I commanded, ushering the ladies onto the concourse, past Malcolm’s penetrating pensive perch. "No, not that way!" I blocked passage into the most completely collapsed lobby, catching a glimpse of the remains of that 3rd victim from my grand grenadier entrance earlier. "Go down there!" I pointed down the leg of the U-shaped concourse, and the ladies raced away, squealing in terror and panic. A third exit emptied down the opposite leg of the U, and the 4th exit emptied out of the seldom-used rear-lobby, just past the alternate stairwell, basically opposite the main-lobby which sat collapsed behind me.

Too late, I noticed another Communist terrorist creep, then another, each in front of the Exits at the end of each leg of the U; too late I say, because the ladies had all run, screaming past me, at my hasty instruction, and now stood between Malcolm and I and the terrorist!

"Malcolm!" I warned, stepping to him and shoving the M-16 in his face. Apparently, the guard was confused by the swarm of females flocking toward him, unsure whether to shoot them up or drop his pants and praise God and Brut for his great fortune, because he paused… Malcolm, fortunately, had no such misguided or confused notions—or was insulted by the cocky creep’s bravado, or by the way the ladies stormed away from Malcolm himself—and he took the M-16 and sighted it in on the Communist creep, exhaling deeply, and firing…

The Communist creep fell to the floor and the ladies flooded over him, blasting past him squeamishly, and rushing through the Exit door, outside, to freedom!

"Great shooting, bro!" I congratulated, relieved to finally have unmitigated proof of his allegiance! Not normally one to shrug off or reject praise and admiration from his followers, I was a bit set aback and shocked by Malcolm’s response. Then again considering that there were still at least a few more Communist terrorist bastards intent on eliminating us, I suppose the phrase, "Move your ass, Slick, huh?!" was tactfully acceptable.

Once we reached the Exit, I paused just long enough to examine the brain-blasted body of the terrorist Malcolm had dropped with such precision, noting, "Hey! This is the bastard with the bazooka!"
Well, not for long! Now, I was the bastard with the Light, Anti-Tank Weapon! Just my luck! I finally get a serious piece of fire-power in my hands, and where are we? At the Exit door, in the way out of this whole heinous nightmare! Man, this Hero crap really sucks sometimes! Just for good measure, I slung the LAW over my back and scooped up the creep’s M-16 and bandoleer, then bolted through the door, and into the crisp night air… Finally safe in the parking lot, we continued to move, ducking and dodging behind row after row of cars, before finally stopping to rest.

"Now…what?" Katy wondered breathlessly. She had a point; we were safe for the most part, but Beth was hurt, and the others were shaken, if not stirred, as well, and would offer no further help against the rest of the terrorists. And, I wasn’t yet ready to trust the remaining Fat Hairy Bitches to help rather than hurt me! The best thing would be for the girls to find a safe house… OUR house! Our house was only 2 blocks from campus, easily within walking distance, even for a group of battered, tattered and torn students.

"Here…" I fished the keys to ‘my car’ from my pocket, handing them to Katy. "Take Beth, take the girls and get to our house… Beth can guide you! Go get help! And DO NOT come back to the campus for ANY reason!!" Even Malcolm agreed with my plan, so how could it go wrong?! My bigger, faster, stronger softy of a brother kissed Beth tenderly once more before entrusting her to the care of the Katies and the other girls. I turned my attentions once more to Katy, MY Katy, the one for me…

"What about you?" Katy cried. The answer was obvious, but it was one Katy didn’t really want to hear. Still, she asked, hoping that we would all be going to the Police department together, but knowing in her heart, and seeing in my eyes, that Malcolm and I had other plans… No team spirit? my Mohicans team mates had wondered. BAH! That’s the whole thing about team-spirit: the TEAM is the thing! I should never have been expected to take the whole game into my hands! I should have had more team-spirit, should have allowed the team to rally around my terrific triple, should have let Matt Hess bring me home and win the game for us! I get it now; now that most off my team was dead, at the hands of the Communist terrorist bastards—or were, in fact, members of the Communists terrorist bastards themselves! Finally, I was One with them! Get it? Got it? Good! Now…

"Go…" I begged, closing Katy’s hand around the keys, then closing my hands over hers, and squeezing her tenderly. "And hurry… We’ve got some plans to make…"

"We’ve got plans to make too…" Malcolm confessed, though I didn’t quite know what he could be referring to. Beth nodded though, and kissed Malcolm again, before she and the girls hobbled away…

"Vengeance is mine! I will repay… Vengeance is mine!" Malcolm was rambling some sort of Biblical nonsense when I tapped him curiously.

"Let’s go…" I offered calmly. I knew where Malcolm’s heart was in that moment--- the same place as mine: with the girls, hoping they would find some help somewhere in the dark of night. I couldn’t be too sure where his head was though, after everything we’d been through.
Revenge is a funny thing; it can present itself in many ways, some subtle and unobtrusive, and others violent and over-stated. Both Malcolm and I had been through so much this night already, brought right to the brink of our very sanity, and Beth’s injuries might have pushed him over that edge. He wanted revenge on the bastards who’d hurt Beth, once-friends, fellow Slackers, and I was right there with him. But, I took it cool, calming him, trying to reach him with my warped logic.

"Be rational here, bro… those bastards shot Beth trying to get at us! They don’t care---" That was as far as Logic would get me before Malcolm’s somber slouch stiffened, and he sprang from the fender of the car on which we had been leaning. His mind was set on revenge, and there was no reasoning with my brother once his mind was set. All I could do was follow, and…

"Get Down!!" We had made our way cautiously back to the blown-down lobby before Malcolm noticed as armed ape circling the gym from the concourse exits.

Malcolm and I made like chunks of rubble, lying in the heap, staying as still as the damp, rugged costumes on the damp, rugged stones in the damp, rugged air… I was just so damp, and so… so rugged… and I was shaking like a virgin on the night before his first date with a beautiful brunette babe with dimples to die-for… But, I digress…

The good news was that the Communist bastard headed straight for the parking lot so we were safe. The bad news? The grenade I’d dropped earlier HAD in fact dropped more of the roof in upon itself! Even if it hadn’t been effective in taking out Angela or Dianna, the grenade had effectively sealed our easy-access to the gym. The other exits were, in fact, just that---Exits only, accessible from the inside, with no levers or handles or knobs to allow then to be opened from the outside. During school events, the best way to control free-loaders and cheapskates from freely viewing sports events was to keep the Exits sealed and monitor entrance fees at the lobby entrances; only allowing patrons to leave through the one-way Exits at the conclusion of the event. Quite an effective means of crowd-control really--- and quite the pain in the ass on this particular night! Unless…

"The rear lobby!" Down the rubble, around the corner, to the back of the building we crept swiftly, until…

"HOLD IT!" a somehow familiar, but strangely sharper, clearer voice bellow from around the corner to the rear lobby up ahead. Before we’d moved half-way along the wall toward the rear-lobby entrance, another Communist scum-sucking bastard had found us, and now faced us, a silver-plated .45-caliber pistol in hand, and an evil, even insane, gleam in his eye. "That’s far enough!"

"King Cobra!" I recognized the voice I had only heard through the radio speakers until that moment, though the man’s features were still hidden in the shadows.

"Sir…" Malcolm babbled, "It’s me, Copperhead…" Malcolm stepped forward, babbling. "The others are dead, sir… Quisberg, Anaconda, Viper, Rattler… It’s down to just you and me, Sir…" he was taking cautious deliberate steps toward King Cobra.

"Malcolm?? NO!" my mind reeled with disbelief, and I raised the M-16. It couldn’t be true; Malcolm WAS one of Them! Copperhead was ordered to secure transportation for the fleeing felons; Malcolm was supposed to be arranging their get-away! Or, was he playing some sort of twisted mind game with the king of head games, King Cobra himself, who was still mostly-hidden in the shadows ahead? Whoever King Cobra was, and whatever Malcolm was doing, one thing was for certain--- he was blocking my shot!!

King Cobra seemed curious for a moment, and he paused. Only when Malcolm took too-hasty a step and stumbled from the shadows did the evil lord realize. "What? King?! You’re not Copperhead!" The .45 was raised and poised, ready to fire, but so was I! "Good-bye, Ghost…" King Cobra snarled sadistically.

I didn’t have a clear kill-shot, but I had to take it regardless… -RAT-Tat-Ta-Tat-

The blast ricocheted off the brick wall, nowhere near King Cobra or Malcolm, but close enough to startle the King, and force his retreat around the corner once more.

"You bastards!" I heard the insidious serpent screech. "King! You’re dead! Both of you are as good as dead!!" -Rata-Tat-Tat-Tat-Tat!- I let loose with another volley to keep the ranting lunatic pinned down… Malcolm and I were as good as gone, back to the rubble bounding up the remnants of the roof.

As I followed my brother’s lead up the rubble to the safety and shadows offered by the heights and hiding places on the roof, I was struck by the strangeness of that first and last encounter with King Cobra.

"What the Hell was that Copperhead shit?!" I snapped, hoping to catch Malcolm off-guard enough to actually get at least a half-truth from him.

"Psychological manipulation, Slickster…" Malcolm quipped, hardly offering a REAL answer; who was being manipulated, King Cobra or Me?? AUGH! I hate it when he does that! But, that was all he had to offer, the smug, slick son-of-a-*****!

Once atop the 12-foot fringes of the lobby roof, there was only one way to go: Up, one more story, up to the top of the Center, the roof over swimming pool area, which rose another 15-feet higher than the roof over the gym, because of the lay of the hill on which the PE Center stood. We could have stayed on the gymnasium roof, but I felt strangely superstitious about that roof, given the way I had been shafted earlier; and, besides my personal dislike for that rooftop, one other factor drove Malcolm and I onward and upward…

-BANG!- King Cobra’s shots blazed by from below, striking the wall and the steel rain trough that ran down from the higher rooftop. Malcolm fired back, pausing only long enough to order:

"Move your ass, Slick! I’ll cover you!" Oh great! Me first again! What if the damn tin support rungs snapped again, or the trough breaks away, and you’re not up there to catch my ‘moving ass,’ bro? What then, huh?

-BANG!- -ziiingg!-

Right! Right! Then I’m a dead man; just like I’d be if I stuck around down here too much longer! I dropped the M-16 at Malcolm’s feet, knowing that I’d have a tough enough time trying to climb with all my various injuries, and also knowing the Uzi had to be running low on ammo at this point. Without waiting for the ‘Thank You’ that I knew would never come, I grabbed the Uzi, reloaded it, and set it at Malcolm’s feet while he retrieved the M-16, and I stepped to the tin trough. 12 feet or so… How long could it possibly take to climb 12 feet? 3.54 seconds, perhaps? What could possibly happen to me in--- forget the thought! I climbed so hard, so fast I almost forgot to stop at the top! Thank God for gravity! -OOF!-

Malcolm was rockin’ and rollin’ with the M-16 on Full Auto down below, roaring vengefully and cursing, until… -Click!-

In one fluid motion, Malcolm chucked the rifle away, scooped up the Uzi in one hand, and reached for the rain trough with the other, all the while keeping his eyes scanning across the jagged rubble which represented the enemies only easy-access to the rooftop where we stood.

Swiftly, smartly, unsafely, Malcolm climbed, turning away from the weak trellis to fire upon the band of approaching Communist pukes, who returned fire without pause.

-BBBbbbRRPrrrrAAaaaaPPPpppp!-

Two of the remaining terrorist sentries fell…

-BANG!-

Malcolm was next to fall, falling into my arms, limp and gasping as he reached the rooftop. His arms drooped under the weight of the Uzi, which slipped from his grasp, as the life slipped from his body. I heard the gun as it clattered and fell, but was more concerned with my fallen friend, my brother. Malcolm lay in my arms on the cold, damp roof, high above the small college campus, an unmoving unfeeling mass of meat. I just wish I could say the same about the 200+ pounds of flesh which was bounding up the rubble, heading my way! No doubt about it, Malcolm and I were in really deep shit! Only Malcolm was already dead!

"Slick…" I could almost hear Malcolm calling down to me from Heaven. "Slick…" only the voice was coming from -gulp!- down below! Oh, Malcolm! I didn’t ever really mean it all those times I told you to go to Hell! It was a joke!

Amazing! There I was, about to be slaughtered by the band of maniacal meat-heads, and I was having a conversation with my dead brother! It was almost as if Malcolm was still alive, and was right here with me, gasping, gurgling--- pulling something from the brightly-colored pouch on his hip. Yes! Malcolm lives! I hefted him to his knees, wondering.

"Are you OK, bro?" I was concerned, and could see by the way Malcolm jumped when I patted his blood-soaked back that he was, in fact, not OK. Still, he was well-enough, or NOT well-enough, to chance a glance at the on-coming terrorists below, watching as 3 of them approached the trough.

"Get out of here, Slick!" Malcolm choked, fumbling with the object he’d pulled from the sack. It was a chunk of that C-4, wrapped around a grenade of some sort… as weird a device as I had seen, and I had seen A LOT that night! I also knew there was only room enough for 1 such grenade in that small pouch, so Malcolm could not have used the grenade in the office earlier; he had not been hiding any deep insidious secrets. He was my brother, no Communist terrorist bastard! And he had a grenade! Only this grenade had an LED read-out, and a push-button key-pad which Malcolm was punching away at feverishly.

Then Malcolm stuffed the grenade against the metal trough, and shoved away from the edge of the roof rapidly.

"Move it, Slick!" he coughed shoving my hands away as I stepped up to help him. With all my might, ignoring Malcolm’s adamant demands, I hefted Malcolm to his feet and hauled him across the roof. So what if he was a Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastard! He was my brother, damn it! I couldn’t let him blow himself to bits along with the other Commie freaks--- I wanted to deal with him my own way, the bastard!

But, I had to keep him alive at least until it was safe enough to kill him myself! So, without knowing exactly where I was hoping to run, I ran, hefting my bigger, fatter, heavier brother over my strong right shoulder…

=KAAAABBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!=

The blast was louder and more violent than I had expected; that really was no normal grenade! The massive shock wave ripped through the building, and sent me soaring; or, perhaps, in my blind rush to get clear of the blast radius, I had just forgotten to stop again. Whatever the case, I was temporarily airborne, soaring over the back side of the high flat roof. Oooohhhhhhh nnooooooooo…. My mind reeled. Malcolm!

Malcolm slipped from my shoulder and collapsed to the roof as I vaulted in free-fall and the blast wave hit. Where was he? Where was I? Were we both blown to bits? It would serve me right, for not seeing through the bastard’s plot earlier--- except that I had seen through Malcolm’s evil scheme; I just refused to believe it! =Ooof!= the truth really hurts! Like slamming into a brick wall, I was snapped back into reality, after… well, after slamming into a brick wall!

Somewhere deep inside my subconscious mind, my will to survive must have driven me in the particular direction I chose to run. At some point in my far-too-short term on the tiny campus, I must have walked around the back side of the Phy-Ed Center. Perhaps while attending one of Teddy’s home football games; the football field was just down the hill from the rear lobby entrance. At one time or another in my journeys around the building, I must have taken mental note of the massive brick smoke stack that rose up from ground-level, extending from the boiler room underground, which in turn, was connected to the Heating Plant building just outside the gymnasium. I must have somehow retained the knowledge of the whereabouts of the smokestack in my subconscious mind…

Then, one stormy summer night, as I charged across the rain-slickened, tar-coated rooftop over the gym, my subconscious mind relayed the information to my tired body and rubbery legs… Or perhaps it was just one more incident of totally blind luck, working in my favor, that led me to leap from the roof at that particular corner, at just the perfect height and just the proper angle. However it had come to pass, whatever the reason or explanation for my actions, I can honestly say I have never been more grateful to slam into a cold, solid, stone wall then I was on that night, on the gym roo—

"Ooof!" my chin split open on the rough rim of the smoke stack. My chest burned with pain upon slamming with all the force of my legs, compounded with the force of the explosion, into the chimney. I could scarcely catch my breath, gasping and wheezing all the while trying to find a hand- or foot-hold. I had to hold on, had to keep going, keep the faith, continue the fight… I had to get on top of the chimney, or plunge to my death! Come on arm, don’t fail me now! This would be so much easier if there was a—

Aha! I reached my hand as far into the dark chimney stack as I could, searching for, and finding the cold steel bar which was firmly imbedded into the bricks. I latched on to the built-in utility ladder within the chimney and pulled myself up and onto, then INTO the stack; slowly, painfully, I shimmied my way inside the tight smoke-stack, until I was fully engulfed by the heady thick blackness. The utility ladder was constructed in conjunction with the chimney, to permit cleaning and maintenance of the stack. The gargantuan furnace had been shut down for the summer cleaning, but the task of cleaning the smoke stack had not actually begun, I realized, much to my chagrin. A thick layer of sticky black pitch coated with dry, stale soot covered the inside wall, as well as the ladder! By the time I had reached the small platform near the base of the tar-tainted tower, I myself was enveloped in the blackness--- literally! The foul substance was bitter on my lips and burned my eyes; and didn’t do much for the rest of my body either! It’s a good thing black is my color!

"Damn!" I coughed, pushing open the thin tin access panel, crawling back into the dank, dusty, dark boiler room. "How could anybody stand to clean that filth?!" I wondered. "This place is a damn pit!" Ohhh… a pit! Operation Pitfall… Pit-Fall… Pit FALL?! Oh shit!

I had completely forgotten about the explosives which were wired to the entire base of the gym! The Commie terrorists were clearing out slowly but steadily, still intent on completing their mission, or at least, of escaping and masking their efforts; they were going to sacrifice the hostages and bring the gym crashing down, and take me and all the hostages with it! Shit! Shit! Shit! Where’s the cavalry when you need them?!

Holy Shit!!!

jawdrop

It's fan-f.ucking-tastic Slick! clap

NINETEEN

"Mongoose… Mongoose, do you read me?" a thin, distant summons crackled through heavy interference over the walkie-talkie on my hip. "Mongoose… this is Bearcat 1, responding to SOS emergency… Mongoose, please respond…" I jerked the radio from my hip and yelled hoarsely into it.

"Transmission broken, Mongoose…" came the reply. "...please repeat…" I wasn’t getting through to them, whoever they were; probably due to the thick layer of soot and pitch which caked the microphone as well as the rest of the radio.

"The college is under siege!" I repeated loudly, clearly, and slowly, moving through the boiler room to the Exit door. Maybe once I was back outside, there would be less interference and the transmission would get through. "the University of Minnesota, Morris campus is under siege by an unknown number of hostile agents… hostages have been sacrificed… send immediate aid to the campus… before it’s too late… Over!"

"Copy, mongoose… College under siege… unknown number of hostages slain… Helicopters are enroute… we are National Guard… we will be over the campus in 4 minutes…"

"Roger, Bearcat 1…" I replied in a huff, knowing that the caller had received enough of my transmission to get the general idea, even though he had missed a great many of the details. At least the choppers could find us… almost!

"Hostages in gymnasium!" I added, inspired by the EXIT sign I spotted near the stairwell from the boiler room. "Be aware, Do NOT approach the gym! Booby-trapped to cause diversion for hostile escape… Do not---" In my excited haste to reach safety, I tripped up the steps, skinning my badly scarred and bruised legs, and dropping the radio!

Static greeted my ear upon recovering my footing and the cracked communicator; whining, crackling static…Ooops!

"Roger, Mongoose…" came an increasingly weak response, even as I heard he distant copter’s approach from outside. "Hostages in gymnasium…" I was glad they had heard me warn them off, so glad, I was barely listening to the rest of their response. "On final approach to campus now… Will be alert for booby-traps… Preparing for roof-top extraction from gymnasium… will await diversionary tactics, Mongoose… Bearcat 1, Out!" NO! They had misunderstood my message!! They would be hovering over the gymnasium as it exploded beneath them, awaiting my diversionary tactics!! Damn it!! They would be destroyed waiting for me to enlighten them!!

"Bearcat, NO!" I roared into the crackling mic, breaking into as much of a run as I could, up the rest of the steps and onto the gymnasium level. I had to get the hostages out of the building, but I also had to warn of the incoming helicopters before they approached! They were National Guard troops from the area, and didn’t deserve to---- WHOA! Bearcat 1? The Alpha Company Bearcats?! A Company, 1st of the 136th Infantry Division? The Morris Bearcats were the only ‘local unit’ in the area; those were MY men up there! And, from what I knew of training with these troops over the past year, Bearcat 1 was the call-sign of none other than Cadet James Sorenson himself! My unit, my platoon, enroute to rescue me, or be destroyed on the roof of the UMM Phy-Ed Center!

"Cadet Sorenson, NO!" I cried again, in vain. The government-issue squawky-talkie was just like everything else in the government: cheaply-constructed, poorly-maintained, guaranteed no-fail, but a failure none-the-less… a piece of garbage! I was on my own again!

I had to clear the building, starting with any left-over Communist terrorist bastards who might have lingered as martyrs to their cause, holding the hostages at bay inside the building while the place exploded and collapsed on top of them. By my calculations, there should have been at least 4 such martyrs left behind; one at each concourse exit--- one of those had already been taken care of during our preliminary escape earlier--- one near the rear lobby exit, possibly still King Cobra himself, and…

=SLAM!=

…one on the basketball court, guarding the exit leading from the gym to the locker-room corridor and stairs. With one forceful thrust of the door, the poor bastard on the other side was catapulted forward, into the mob of frightened, anxious and angry student-hostages. It took but a moment for the Humanitarian students to incapacitate the fumbling fiend, quickly and quietly subduing the saboteur. I took up his M-16, but had to be careful. I couldn’t just start firing wildly or I would risk the lives of the students I was trying desperately to save! Then, on second thought, we were all going to die if that helicopter got into position and started spewing out rescue-troops so the Communist commander had the place leveled, so…

=RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!=

"Move!" I commanded forcefully, blasting away at the guard near the far concourse. "Get to the bleachers! Pull out the bleachers!" For the retirement roast and festivities, the rows of bleachers which lined the walls beneath the wings of the concourse were pushed back into their stacked positions. The gym floor was converted to a banquet hall, with long tables set up and arranged for the post-roast dinner, and a couple hundred chairs were arranged between the tables at the rear and the speaker’s podium across the gym.

Following the siege, the tables had been over-turned or removed and most of the chairs had been strewn about in an effort to keep the hostages as uncomfortable as possible. Still, with all the mess, there was still enough room to extend at least one row of bleachers. When fully extended, the bleachers would act as a huge stairwell leading up to the concourse… and the Exits!

"Over there!" I pointed to my left, toward the concourse leg where the guard still stood, figuring he would have an easier shot at students’ backs if they went to the far-side, rather than if they stormed the grounds directly in his face! "Pull ‘em out!!" I fired a strafing burst toward the Communist freak, keeping him at bay for the moment, as the students struggled with the bleacher.

=Brrraaapp!=Brrraapp!=rrappp!=RRRraaaappp!= the rear lobby guard came into play, but managed to remain well out of view, tucked safely behind the ¼-inch steel plate guard-rail. Students were being slain left and right, and there was very little I could do about it! Scratch that; there was nothing more I could do… I was out of ammunition!

"Ah, to Hell with you!" I roared, remembering the secret weapon I had slung across my back. The LAW rocket launcher would be quite effective in eliminating the competition, I knew. It was a one-shot deal, but one shot was all I would need! The launch instructions for this powerful weapon were simple enough; they were written in yellow stencil right along the top-face of the weapon!

"Extend…" I complied, pulling the 2 sections of the collapsed launcher away from one another, locking the tin tube into launch configuration.

"Shoulder…" Easy enough, I slipped the light-weight tube onto my strong, steady right shoulder.

"Aim…" I peered through the pop-up plastic sights, and…

"FIRE!"

-VVVVVAAAWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSHHHHHHHH!-
the rocket shot from the cannon, streaking across the gym, exploding brilliantly off-target against the wall behind the Communist terrorist bastard on the causeway.

Even though the rocket missed its intended target, the resulting explosion managed to complete the dirty deed. The wall behind the Communist creep crumbled, even as the creep was immolated in the explosion of gases and chemicals from the fiery rocket blast! Enlightened by the blast of cool night air which wafted through the jagged tear in the gymnasium wall, the shocked students scrambled up the extended bleacher steps, to safety!

"NOOOO!" a frustrated cry echoed through the night from somewhere within or beyond the crowd of fleeing panicked students. I had crossed the gym quickly, following the flow of frightened hostages through the massive tear in the concrete wall. I was screaming and ranting, waving my soot-blackened hands in vain, my body blacked out against the dark night haze; the chopper pilot couldn’t see me!!

"No! No!" I cried, waving frantically, to no avail. I had to alert the helicopter somehow, to warn them off about the explosives in the boiler room! They had obviously taken the LAW rocket explosion to be the ‘diversionary tactics’ I would offer, because the helicopter moved above the gymnasium even as the hostages came streaming out in droves. But, with out a working radio, it was hopeless; I couldn’t---

Of course! The Communist scum-sucker I had just toasted would undoubtedly have a working radio! I ducked back inside the gym, stumbled to the rubble, and sifted through to the corpse below, claiming the radio and crying hoarsely into it. "No! No! NO!" I repeated emphatically, "Bearcat 1, from Mongoose 2, the Sequel! Do NOT land on the roof! The whole gymnasium is wired to blow!!" Oh crap! I was still standing IN the gymnasium death-trap!! Ohhhh---

"NOOOO!" that’s when the howl went up from the crowd. I withdrew myself from the gaping gash in the gym wall, just as the guardsmen in the copter were retracting their rappelling lines, a bold thumbs-up flashing from the rigging crew in the open cargo-bay door, before the chopper spun and whirled away… Once more, the crazed cry rang out. "You bastards! Land on the roof! Damn you! Noooo!"

=BANG!=

A single shot rang out, frightening the crowd anew, dispersing the students in all directions. As I looked in the direction of the maniacal hollering, I had a sudden stark realization; it had come down to this--- The Yin vs the Yang, or the Yin-Yang vs the King Gang, The Ultimate Evil vs… well, vs ME! Us vs Them had boiled down to Me vs Him… It was just me and King Cobra!

Much to my surprise, something about King Cobra seemed strangely familiar to me as he stormed toward me now, fully-exposed in the soft shimmer of faint moonlight which penetrated the heady post-storm haze.

"First Sergeant Walters?!" I recognized the screeching soldier from the picture I had seen in the armory, although there were a few subtle changes in his visage since the photo that I couldn’t quite place. It was Top, First Sergeant Vernon Walters, and he was in bad shape. His mind and his body were all in a bizarre state of flux, confused, warped beyond repair after weeks, maybe months of inner turmoil. In his hand, Walters held the silver-plated .45-caliber pistol, the same sort of weapon from the legendary story that had sealed his fate, perhaps the very same gun! The frazzled First Sergeant seemed almost intoxicated again, by insanity maybe, as he stumbled from the thinning crowd, the gun pointed strictly skyward, firing upon the retreating airship. It was undoubtedly the same weapon which had been brandished toward Malcolm and myself a short time earlier, from the shadows near the rear lobby entrance. Top was King Cobra, and he was taking pot-shots at the approaching military airship!

=BANG!=

"This can’t be happening!!" Walters voiced a thought which had plagued my mind throughout this entire evening, firing again toward the hovering helicopter. "It was so completely arranged, and so brilliant! Corporal Quisberg handled the deuce… Sergeant Graham did his part… Anaconda, Viper, Copperhead and Adder… it was the perfect military operation… Right down to setting-up the Scorpions to take the fall for the whole thing!"

=BANG!=

"Then, you King boys came along, and almost wreck everything! But, instead, you played into it perfectly!" he managed to laugh in my general direction, finding immense pleasure in my participation as a patsy. " That radio message was supposed to be sent by Agent Salazar, to his friends in the Bureau, who would have called in the National Guard… but, your call was oh so much more effective!"

=BANG!=

"Cadet Sorenson was supposed to die on the roof, along with the rest of them!"
=BANG!=

"They were all supposed to die! They were all supposed to suffer, as I have suffered…"

=BANG!=

"Their families would suffer, as MY family has suffered… Their friends…" his sentence broke off into sobbing fragments, each ending in a gunshot toward the helicopter, which now hovered safely over the football field at the bottom of the hill behind the building.

"Now, Mister Mongoose, only you will suffer…." He stuttered, lowering the pistol’s aim until I stood staring down its barrel, at point-blank range. Then, he pulled the trigger…

-click!-

No more bullets! Yes! Unless… was that an extra clip in his hand?! YES?! NO!

I didn’t wait around to find out! I ran in the only direction that offered any sort of concealment from the imminent assault; back inside the gymnasium! All I had to do was stall Sergeant Walters until Cadet Sorenson and the rest of the troops could land and storm the hill. No problem, right? All I had to do was avoid 14 more .45-caliber slugs, fired at near-point-blank range, unless King Cobra had a few more spare clips! Surviving this night was becoming increasingly more unlikely, even as the rescue effort was in full-swing just outside these walls! I could only hope that my boys from the National Guard would haul-ass up the hill and storm this place, and take the slimy, no-good, Communist creep down before He took me down!! It wouldn’t take any more than 5 minutes maximum to get everything set, and retake the school, could it? And, of course, we all know what can happen in 5 minutes!! I was as good as dead!

-BANG!-ziinnnngg!- a shot ricocheted off the wall, inches over my head as I stumbled over the rubble onto the concourse, tripping to my knees. I watched First Sergeant Walters approach, drawing a bead on me with the pistol, while fishing for something on his hip with his free hand. Ironically, Top was decked out in full battle-dress, camouflage-patterned uniform, complete with polished-brass insignias over clean, sharply pressed drab-brown T-shirt. Even his black combat boots shone with the brilliant spit-shine of a professional job. He would pass any military inspection with flying colors for such attention to detail, no doubt; the glazed look in his eye and the sinister smile which parted his lips might even be passed off as exuberance over such praise and admiration. Unfortunately, the firing of a handgun, with blatant disregard for human life, was a definite gig on the military record; a fact which I was only too eager to remind the raving lunatic, since it was MY life on the line at this moment!

"Uhh, now, Top…" I babbled, acting as if I’d known the Old Man all my life. "Let’s be reasonable here… Don’t do anything stupid---"

"Stupid??" Walters wailed. "Are you calling me ‘Stupid’ Private?! That’s insubordination, soldier! And I’m afraid that’s punishable by Death!" I noticed that Sergeant Walters now had his hands full, the pistol in his right, and a small, black box in his left--- a remote control similar to the one I had taken from Bill Webber’s dead body!

"What now, Mister Mongoose?" Top laughed, twitching the detonator and pistol in his hands to some warped rhythm that only he heard. "Nothing clever to say?" He towered over me then, waving the pistol in my face dauntingly. "You can run, but you can’t hide… but you CAN die!"
I could attempt to make a break past him to the hole in the wall, to make a mad dash across the open plain away from him, while he took 14 pot-shots at my back-side; or I could dive deeper into the gym, slithering through the bleacher-access gate in the guard-rail where I would wait for King Cobra to either blow me down with the .45 or blow me up with the remote detonator! Oh, there were plenty of witty ways to say it: Damned if you do, damned if you don’t… Out of the frying pan, into the---

No! Don’t fire! Please! Don’t! Oh, brother…

Speaking of brothers, how would Malcolm get out of this one? Let’s try to think about this logically.

"Can’t we talk about this?" I stretched my luck, "Like 2 rational human beings?" Oh yeah, there I was, talking about rationality to a man who called himself King Cobra, who had recently escaped from a mental institution after firing wildly at one of his ex-troops upon losing a card game! Now I’d gone and done it…

=BANG!=

…looked before I leaped again, as always! Well, I didn’t really need to look--- I knew exactly where I was leaping this time! The leap wasn’t really the problem; it was the landing that might suck! I sprang from the base of the rubble. slamming into the swinging steel-plate gate and flopping onto and over the bleachers. The shot bounced harmlessly off the steel gate as I dodged away and collapsed against the wooden steps of bleachers If I had dove at any more steep an angle into the gym, I would have toppled completely past the edge of the bleacher, crashing the 30 feet to the gym floor below, so I was grateful to only be a bit more bruised for my efforts. Unfortunately, there were still 13 more rounds to this little bout; 13 more bullets left in the clip, in the gun in the hand of the man in command.

"Goodbye, Mister King…" King Cobra cackled, stepping to the gate and bringing the pistol to bear on me once more. "Perhaps you will take comfort in knowing that you won’t be going alone… I can’t go back to that institution… those people are all CRAZY!

"No…" he seemed at a loss, almost remorseful, downright pained and pitiful. "The Army was my life. They no longer want me… Without the Army, without my life, I am nothing…" he lowered the gun with a sigh and a sob, raising the detonator in his other hand, flicking a switch… -BLIP!- From what I recall, there were 2 switches ‘ARM-DISARM’ and ‘FIRE’… the explosives were now armed, which left only one thing…
Since I had but one last moment to live, I decided not to take this lying down; I had fought to survive, clawing scratching kicking screaming and shooting my way through this endless onslaught, I wasn’t about to give it all up now! Like a cat, a badly damaged cat who had been run over and shot a few times, I sprung to my hands and knees, then vaulted up the bleachers, slamming head-long into the steel-plate gate, knocking Top back away from the bleacher, and he stumbled over the rubble pile behind him. I crawled through the gate and crouched, intent on tackling the shaken sergeant, keeping his fingers free of the FIRE button on the remote.

"YYYYYYAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Strangely, my cry was echoed from outside, just beyond the gap in the wall. As First Sergeant Walters stomped down the rubble toward me, and I leaped toward him, a blur of motion glided gracefully in from behind him. Something slammed harshly into Sergeant Walters’s back, then bounced mysteriously clear of the gap in the wall, though I had precious little time to consider the turn of events. I had another pressing concern at the moment; 300 pounds of pressing concern, stumbling awkwardly toward me, as the out-of-control Communist commander collapsed over me, possibly clicking the switch and bringing the entire gymnasium down with him!

All I could do was stay ducked and covered, crouching as he charged, praying to be rendered unconscious by his suffocating mass before the building caved in on top of us, surely killing the both of us. Strangely though, when King Cobra crashed into me and over me, I felt nothing; almost as if Walters was weightless… Impossible! Then why hadn’t I felt any of the crushing, life-starving pain of his girth engulfing me? Was I -gulp!- dead…again??!

Fortunately, I was not yet dead. It seemed, though, that I was partially correct in my appraisal of the situation as it occurred over my crouched form. First Sergeant Walters had indeed become lighter than air, at least momentarily; after stumbling down the rubble, than tripping over my hunched husk, the slippery snake left his feet, becoming an Airborne Ranger for an instant, soaring just over the steel barrier, just to the left of the gate…

Somehow, Top had managed to catch himself, preventing the immediate crash into the depths of the gymnasium, as he flipped just a few feet short of the bleacher-seat ledge, hooking his pistol-packing arm over the barrier as he fell, stopping himself fast--- too fast, it would seem, as his bulging body slammed heavily into the inward side of the barrier.

=BANG!=

He reflexively fired the pistol into the barrier harmlessly, then released his hold on the pistol if only to fortify his grip on the guard-rail. Still, his fingertips slipped slowly from the beam as he dangled, and was left with a choice.

"Give me your hand!" I demanded, stretching over the barrier, begging the bad guy to abandon the detonator and offer up his left hand that I might help him regain his footing. I watched him struggle and kick and he clambered against the smooth stone wall of the gymnasium, so I knew King Cobra had gone completely over the edge… "I can help you, but you’ve gotta give it up!"

Like that old Kenny Rogers song says:

"You’ve gotta know when to hold ‘em…" King Cobra had done so wrong, holding so many innocents hostage for some twisted vendetta against his ex-Army unit, but had done some good, in stopping himself from crashing to his death, by catching the edge, to be hauled back into custody

"…know when to fold ‘em…" If King Cobra wanted to survive, he would have to fold up his evil scheme, give it up, give up the remote detonator, and give me his hand…

"…know when to walk away…" I’d gotten quite lucky this time, thanks in part to my mysterious savior outside; I would be walking away from this night soon…

"…and know when to run…" For instance, when you see a sadistic and suicidal, slobbering scum-sucking sleaze with nothing left to lose but his life, raise a remote detonator in one last measure of defiance, then press the blinking button, smiling slyly the whole time he watches as you panic! That would be the perfect time to—

"Run, fool!" I roared at the shadowy specter—my guardian angel—who now stood in the gap in the wall, apparently waiting to guide my dumb, clumsy ass to the Great Beyond. Yeah, right, like a guardian angel really needed to worry about being blown to Hell or something! Maybe not, but I sure did! I shoved the figure through the hole and raced wildly away from the gym, as Sergeant Walters’s arm gave out and he slipped from the guard-rail. I thought I’d heard peals of laughter, insidious evil laughter inside the gymnasium in that final instant before all hell broke loose, but I was in too much of a rush to care! Another thought tickled the back of my mind as I raced away: How in the world could I possibly push the ghostly guise of my guardian angel from the gap in the wall? The whole idea behind the concept of an angel was that they were transparent, ethereal beings from beyond the plane of Man; but I had touched this angel?! Whoa! Unless King Cobra HAD pressed the button and blown me to smithereens, along with himself and the rest of the gymnasium. Maybe I as a lost soul, trapped out of my body, but confused and disoriented enough to think that I was still alive, with some unfinished business on Earth. Again, thoughts of a Patrick Swayze movie haunted me, but only for a moment, as…

=KKKKKKAAAAAAAABBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!=

TWENTY

"So, that pretty much explains everything…" the bedazzled Federal agent sighed. "The softball game, the disk, the cars, the Health Service and Computer Center break-ins, the hostages, the explosion, and all the deaths, tied-in with the Scorpions, the missing, stolen deuce-and-a-half and the National Guard unit here in town… We have received preliminary verification that the remains buried in the lobby were indeed those of Raoul Sanchez Ortega, reputed activist from Chicago, founder of the SCORPION Revolutionary Front, so that does check out…"

"Are you sure you haven’t left anything out?" the city cop corroborated coercing me tersely. "You have told us absolutely everything? End of story?"

"End of story?!" I cried. "End of story?!! No! Not yet, you fools! I haven’t told you who saved my ass at the gap…"

"Never mind about that, King…" the Fed fumed impatiently, "We’ve already heard quite enough about THAT story from---"

"Slick, what’s up?" Malcolm coughed, sauntering smoothly over from his interrogation near-by, his shirt torn off and wrapped like a bandage around his bloody and blasted shoulder. "Aren’t these guys finished with you yet, huh?! We’ve got to get to the hospital!"

"I was just explaining to them how you saved me in the gym…" I commended my brother whole-heartedly. The tale was incredible, and I’m sure it became doubly so to hear Malcolm explain it, with his own brand of embellishment incorporated throughout. When the C-4 grenade exploded and rocked the building, Malcolm had fallen from my grasp, disappearing into the black night even as I disappeared into the black chimney. What I didn’t see was Malcolm clinging to the rain trough that encircled the rooftop; as I climbed down to the hot boiler room in the dark dirty chimney, Malcolm climbed up to the roof once more, in the cold crisp night, making his way back to the air shaft where we had begun our assault. Though bleeding profusely from the gun-shot wound in his shoulder, Malcolm managed to collect and coil the wax-coated rope which lay near the shaft. By the time he recovered the rope, and paused a few minutes to regain his strength, I had reached the gymnasium floor, and had come to acquire the LAW rocket launcher.

Malcolm witnessed the explosion from his perch on the rooftop; he watched as hoards of frightened hostages fled, and watched the complete and total disintegration of First Sergeant Walters’s mental state. Only after Walters had forced me back into the gymnasium death-pit did Malcolm see his chance to swoop into action without being gunned down again himself. Quite deftly, he tied the rope to the sturdy steel trough support rods imbedded in the building frame, double-checking his series of knots to make absolutely sure they would hold! Then…

"It was nothing, Slick…" Malcolm down-played the whole thing coyly, quite uncharacteristically.

"I owed First Sergeant Walters a good swift kick…" he smiled and shrugged. "I owed you too, bro…" he admitted, blushing and fidgeting slightly, although his comment could have easily meant he was going to kick my ass at some point for the damage I had done to his car and his body/ his temple because of our involvement in this terrifying night. However, I hardly considered THAT turn of his phrase! In fact, all I was thinking was: Brothers King! What a team!!

"OK you two…" the cop stepped up, "I believe you have a couple things for us?"

"Oh yeah!" I agreed, pulling the nickel-plated pistol from my waist-band, "King Cobra dropped this…"

"And…" I unslung the expended LAW rocket launcher tube from my shoulder, dropping it to the pavement.

"I think I want to keep this though…" Malcolm admitted, offering up the remote control device we’d taken from Bill Webber. "it’s kind of a souvenir of this nightmare… it’s harmless… I mean, the damage has already been done, right?" he began toying with the switches nonchalantly. -ARM-DISARM-ARM-

"Stop that! PLEASE!" the city cop cried cringing.

"Relax Chief…" the Fed smiled, "That type of device is keyed to a specific narrow-band frequency, and very few electronic devices are set-up on the exact same frequency. Like Mr. King explained, that remote’s damage has been done…

"Go ahead, son… Keep the souvenir… we should be able to gather plenty of evidence from he ruins to build a solid case."

"Cool!" I cheered, grabbing the blinking flashing device from Malcolm playfully, fully prepared for a few rough slugs to my battered shoulder until I relented and surrendered the toy to him again. When Malcolm didn’t unleash a painful though playful barrage of punches upon me, I assumed his days of one-upmanship were truly beyond him; he no longer lusted for things which only he could and should rightfully possess--- not even things which I had swiped from him! Amazing! I just wished that both of us had out-grown the idea of toying with people…

"Well…" I sighed, "That should about do it. I really had a blast here tonight. A couple of them actually, and I’m exhausted, so…"

"The disk!?!" the Fed reminded me, rather gruffly. "Your girlfriend didn’t mention anything about the disk when she arrived at the Police Station… I assume it’s still intact…"

"I don’t have the disk!" I reminded.

"You know, King," the city cop threatened, "it’s not too late to finish this up with strip-search downtown!" he took a menacing, meaningful step toward me. "That disk is evidence in the case against these terrorist hoodlums who have invaded our fair city…"

"That disk is the property of the United States government! It’s mine!" the Fed said.

"It was confiscated in my city, on my watch… it’s my case, my evidence, my disk!" the cop countered.

"I DON’T HAVE THE DISK!" I repeated myself boldly. "I gave it up to distract the Scorpion King Charley, to save the girls!! It’s probably buried with them at the bottom of the rubble that was the gymnasium!!"

"If this is true, King, if you let my disk fall into the wrong hands…" the angry agent accused.

"MY disk WILL be recovered from the rubble, if I have to call in the entire National Guard to dig all night!" the city cop countered.

Forget them both, I told myself. And forget the disk! Malcolm was right; we had to get to the hospital. Where was Katy, ‘my girlfriend’?? She had led the unmarked Federal agent-mobiles here to the campus, along with 3 city cop cars; all had arrived just about the time Malcolm and I were dusting ourselves off and greeting Cadet Sorenson and the other troops as they stormed up the hill from the football field-helicopter landing zone.

"A bit LATE, aren’t you, Cadet??" I smiled as the cock-sure Cadet approached, weapon charged and ready for action.

"Well, what do you know!" Sorenson smirked. "Ghost and Sequel! You 2 ****-ups in charge of this mess?! Unbe-****ing-lievable!!" he was right; it was pretty unbelievable! Even after recounting the whole sordid story to the local and Federal officials, I still had trouble believing it. And, speaking of trouble…

Cadet Sorenson approached again now, notebook in hand, and he seemed to be seething, as he stomped toward me. "… over a year’s work, documenting every little ****-up you 2 malcontents managed to pull off. And, now you go and pull something like THIS?!" Uh-oh… I had the feeling that a couple hundred push-ups or a low-crawl race would do little to resolve this monumental mistake in judgment. Pay-backs are—

"Damn fine work, men!!" Sorenson snapped, snapping us a sharp salute and smiling just as sharply, before tearing most of the pages from his notepad and shredding them into the cool night breeze. Our ‘dues’ to Cadet Sorenson had been paid in full, it seemed. Hot damn! I’m really beginning to like this hero stuff!

"Now, have either of you seen Andrews or Carlson around?" the cadet continued. "those 2 gents are in a heap of trouble…" he was flipping through the remainder of his notepad, shaking his head, almost disappointed at the loss of the Y-Files.

"No sir… " I answered, looking longingly around in the parking lot for Katy. "I haven’t seen her." =BANG!=

The lights from a vehicle flashed as a gunshot rang out from the same area toward the back of the South Parking Lot. Silence fell, followed by a distant scream over which roared the distinct din of a diesel engine revving.

"Rick! Ric----"

=RRROOOOOMM-VVVRRRROOOOOOOOM!=

Katy?!

I pulled away from Malcolm and Cadet Sorenson, weaving through the crowd that had gathered between the collapsed gymnasium and the parking lot. Katy was still in danger! Before I even got close, the diesel-powered deuce-and-a-half roared forth from the parking lot, crashing through the two police cars which now acted as a barricade at the entrance ramp of the lot. In the place where the truck once sat, now I saw only the crumpled form of a fallen body, quivering in the darkness. Katy?? No!

No, not Katy, I discovered, much to my relief. The body was that of the Federal agent, and he was still alive! The blood which soaked through the breast of his suit coat, seeping in a pool beneath his fallen form, indicated that he’d taken a slug to the chest. And, from the sound of his breathing and the ever-increasing size of the pool of blood, it was my guess that he wouldn’t last long.

"You’ll be all right…" I lied, Don’t worry, you’re going to be OK." OK, I had him convinced, but what about---

"The girl… Kkkkk…Kkkkkk---" I couldn’t tell if he was trying to say her name, or if he was just choking up on his own blood. Then, his body went limp in my arms, and it no longer mattered what he had to say; the poor Federal agent was dead, and Katy would be soon to follow, I feared, unless…

"Back to the bird, boys!" Cadet Sorenson shouted, and my fellow Guard troops charged one way, while Malcolm and I raced another. They were headed down the hill to the football field; Malcolm and I were headed to ‘my car’ in the parking lot near-by, where Katy had left it upon returning to the gymnasium against my direct wishes and specific orders!

As feared, Katy no longer remained at the wheel of the car, but the driver’s side door was left ajar… She wasn’t still waiting for me to be released from questioning by the law enforcement officials; she had been abducted by force!

"I told her not to come back…" I sobbed, cursing her for her foolishness as I slid into the driver’s seat. I peeled from the lot once Malcolm was inside the car, shooting through the hole which the deuce had torn in the police barricade, trying to track the terrorist truck. Though the awkward deuce stood out like a white man on a basketball court in the broad light of day, in the pitch-black overcast midnight, Malcolm and I could barely keep tabs on the vehicle as it cruised away from us at reckless warp speed. I dared not use my headlights for fear the Communist creeps would spot the tail; who knew what they would do if they thought they were being followed so closely. Little did they know, we didn’t have the slightest clue where they were heading, or even, really, where they were at that moment… we raced blindly through town fearing for the lives of Katy and anyone else who might cross paths with the fleeing bastards. A quick look over his shoulder only served to add to Malcolm’s distress; the blood soaked back seat, where Beth must have been lain to comfort her in the trip to the cop-shop, was now empty!

"The bastards got Beth too!" he snorted starkly.

"We’ll find them!" I promised, jamming the wheel sharply left, careening round another corner. "But where?" I asked myself… "and how?" Soon, the A-Company helicopter was overhead, spotlights gleaming, highlighting the deuce as it made its escape northward, while dimming my hopes that we would find either of our ladies alive. I had witnessed first-hand the disintegration of their faithful, fearful leader’s mental state; what would his followers do when forced to flee? We would soon find out, I realized, noticing how the helicopter had come to hover in a holding pattern over the north-east edge of town.

"Move it, Slick!" Malcolm roared, and I sped toward the beaming beacons, doing a double-take with my dumbfounded brother once we had established the deuce-and-a-half’s final destination…

"The armory?" I gasped. The tale had truly come full-circle for em then, returning to the point where it had begun, for both Malcolm and I. I parked the little white Capri just down the street from the armory, and Malcolm and I crept closer, while the copter circled cautiously overhead. As we stalked toward the lot, we spotted one of the Slackers lugging something cumbersome over his shoulder across the pavement, away from the deuce-and-a-half. From a distance, it appeared to be a body! Oh no! Katy!

"Hey!" I shouted, alerting the stumbling Slacker to our approach. Caught in the open, the figure suddenly bolted for the armory, as quickly as the burdensome bundle in his arms would allow. Malcolm and I burst forward as well, racing to the armory. Once in the lot, we found the deuce parked innocently near the loading bay, where we leaped into action, to rescue—

"…nobody?!" I huffed, finding the truck bed devoid of any life—or death!
KTS-D14U, the license plate read; it was indeed the correct truck this time! I slipped around to the driver’s door and tugged it open gruffly, ducking from the blast radius of any weapon’s-fire that might erupt; but, the cab was also quite empty. A quick hop up the single step, and look inside confirmed it; the deuce was empty, as empty as… Aha! The gas gauge also read Empty… they hadn’t had time to refuel after all! They must have another plan of escape, and would be taking the girls as hostages as far as they could get with them!

"Hey Slick!" Malcolm summoned in harsh whisper. "Check it out, huh?!" Disgruntled, I dismounted the deuce, and turned to look across the nearly-empty parking lot, where I was as surprised as Malcolm to see a battered and beaten rusty beige and brown station wagon, parked in the place normally reserved for…

"Charley’s car!!" Malcolm’s shock and surprise were piqued, as was his curiosity. Charley’ station wagon was, and still should have been, parked safely and securely on-campus with the rest of the hostage vehicles. Obviously, Charley had fled the college campus before the police vehicles had barricaded the exit ramps from the parking lots. The car now sat discreetly hidden from view on the street as we approached, but in-line with the angle of approach from Charley or whoever it was we had watched walking from the deuce with the body moments earlier. "They might make a break for it in the station wagon! Let’s check it out!"

"No!" I disagreed, glancing to the armory entrance, where a soft, subtle red glow caught my eye, even as I feared for the life of ‘my girlfriend’ at the hands of the Communist Slacker bastages. "There!"
Though the light was blinking in the lobby, Malcolm and I opted to go for the surprise assault, by breaching the place at the point where the most Guard troops could storm at once, once the helicopter troops had been dispersed. Together, Malcolm and I heaved the garage door open, each with our one good arm… what a team!

"Katy!" I saw her fallen form lying just inside the lobby door across the loading bay, and rushed to her, blinded by tears of joy when I saw her roll toward me. She was alive! My emotions were bounding all over inside me as I blinked back the tears and glanced away from Katy for an instant. The blinking red light was coming from a digital display at the far side of the room, a clock of a sort; only this clock was counting backwards! The digital display was mounted amidst a haphazard arrangement of the tan bricks I recognized from the bomb in the gymnasium… C-4… A LOT of C-4! About 7 or 8 bricks, maybe 20 pounds of the stuff, stuffed inside the display case in the middle of the room. More than enough to bring this place down, I assumed.
Leaning against the display case was an open rucksack, Charley Andrews’s rucksack, as indicated by the crusty brown diamondback rattlesnake rattle that still dangled from the draw-strings on the front pocket. Charley had obviously been back at the armory awhile, probably since fleeing the pool area, long before the police arrived on campus. He had all the time in the world to set this bomb, although from the looks of things as we approached the armory, his partner in crime Carlson had just arrived!

"Time to move, Jusss--- Slick?!" Charley stuttered, stumbling from the latrine, assuming I was Justin waiting for him in the lobby. "What the **** are you doing here?! This place is going to blow! You have to get out of here!"

"I’m not leaving without Katy!" I defied him, noticing that he was unarmed, and in a bit of a hurry himself.

"Katy?" Charley seemed unaware of her presence as he collected his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "What the--? This really isn’t my fault! It’s not supposed to come down like this at all! The Scorpions just want to make a difference, to inspire change and reform in our government! To draw attention to things that just aren’t right in this country! But, nobody was supposed to get killed!"

"Well," I pointed out, " somebody here has other ideas…"

"Top?" Charley pondered aloud. "Of course… this is Top’s fault! Shit! I got no time for this!"

Charley had a point; time was running out, I realized, looking past him, suddenly transfixed as the timer counted down… 60…59…58…

"Malcolm!" I cried, unsure whether he had heard me. Upon hearing my brother’s name, Charley bolted for the front lobby exit, apparently unwilling to square-off against my bigger, faster, stronger brother. Malcolm, however, had stopped in the loading bay, surveying the darkness dutifully, protecting my back-side as I assisted the fallen female. Unfortunately, as I called out to him, my voice was swallowed up in the earth-shattering rumble of the second deuce engine being brought to life!! "Malcolm?!" I roared again, leaping from Katy’s side and jumping toward the loading bay. If he had gone and joined those Communist terrorist bastards now, I swear, I’ll kill him!!

There he was; like a deer in the headlights, Malcolm stood hypnotized as the bright beams from the deuce flashed over him, and the engine roared.

"MALCOLM!!" I bellowed a third time, charging into the bay and tackling my bigger, stronger, dumb-founded brother as the deuce shifted forward and shot toward him. I shuffled Malcolm off to one-side and leaped away as the truck tore past, crashing through the blocked garage door, and lurching further forward, into the parking lot. Amazingly, the second deuce crashed head-long into the parked truck outside, while Malcolm and I recovered, winded but hardly wounded.

"It’s Charley… more C-4…" I panted. "Another bomb… no time…" I gasped and wheezed in a panic, then retraced my steps to the lobby. As I scooped Katy into my arms, latching onto her under her arms, I unwittingly cupped her petite, sweet breasts. If I had had any time at all, I might even have enjoyed myself just then! Unfortunately…
35…34…33…32… the timer ticked as I dragged Katy’s unconscious body through the loading bay toward the parking lot.

"I’ve got to try to shut it down!" Malcolm mouthed; at least that’s what I thought he said, though I could hear nothing but the thunderous revving of the diesel engine just outside. He could have said ‘I think we should have stayed in town’ or ‘I’d really like to boogie down,’ but I couldn’t see the relevance of those too-nonsensical statements at this particular time and place, so I went with my gut, nodding as I struggled to move Katy from the blast zone. I was sincerely hopeful that my approval of my brother’s suggestion wouldn’t lead him to suddenly break into a John Travolta-Michael Jackson disco-dance ritual, and I was pleasantly surprised by my brother once again… I had almost reached the loading bay door when Malcolm ducked into the lobby; Katy and I were just about home free.

Then, the crashed, trashed truck began to back up! Directly toward me and Katy in the open garage door, away from the dented diesel they had left behind, the deuce bore down… Ooops!

"Move it, Slick!" Malcolm was once again at my side, having immediately abandoned the bomb upon seeing and hearing the truck turn on us. "Move it or lose it!!" He hefted Katy’s legs from the floor and rushed away, with me tottering behind him, into the parking lot as the deuce crashed and scraped against the garage-door frame. Malcolm, Katy and I sprawled to the pavement, quickly recovering and carrying the fainted female and stumbling across the lot. Once near the street, we stopped and turned toward the parking lot, while the Army helicopter illuminated the area from above.

"Son of a *****!" I cursed. If that wasn’t Justin Carlson at the wheel of the delayed deuce, then it for damn sure was his Communist bastard look-alike! Even as the 2.5-ton truck once again jolted toward us from the loading bay, the mystery completely fell into place. Justin and Charley had been Guard troops along with Sergeant Graham, under the tutelage of First Sergeant Walters. They all must have kept in contact with top following his institutionalization, plotting his escape attempt perfectly, to coordinate it with the Advanced Party outing 1 week ago! Justin and Charley had driven the deuce down to Ripley, along with Corporal Quisberg a week before AT which left Justin exempt from driving again for opening weekend. Until Cadet Sorenson had made arrangements for his inclusion, after Malcolm had argued his way from the task. Would Quisberg and Andrews have tried to coerce Malcolm into the task had Carlson not been involuntarily volunteered for the job? As the Supply NCO, Quisberg would have had access to the Arms Room, but must have had second thoughts--- or had been eliminated once his services had no longer been needed. They set their plan in motion, leaving Quisberg for dead in the deuce, and booby-trapping the vehicle. Quisberg must have had life enough to disarm the device before he died, and only Carlson knew about the false bottom in the cooler of Bud he had had Malcolm help load into the Camaro. Malcolm was not involved at all, after all!

Top must have secretly liked the rebellious spirit of the Slacker Squad; no wonder Andrews and Carlson could always get away with murder, and Sergeant Graham rarely suffered more humiliation than a slap on the wrist for his failure to properly motivate his troops…

=KKKKKAAAAAABBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!!=

The massive explosion of the armory would have sent us sprawling any way then, even if the deuce hadn’t been rocketing across the parking lot toward us once again! We scattered, and rolled clear of the rumbling truck as it raced from the lot.

King Cobra’s dead, boys… No more getting away with murder! No more getting away… "Vengeance is mine; I shall repay… For in doing so, thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head…" I was sure if I let the truck get clear, get to the highway, the 2 trouble-makers would get caught eventually. Then, Charley would say, "But, it wasn’t our fault!…" and he and Justin would launch into their best performance ever, no doubt raving with claims of alien abduction, brain-washing, or some other far-fetched folklore and fictional falsehoods. They might even avoid prosecution with pleas of temporary insanity. And they would get away with it again!

"Oh no…" I decided then and there, taking the whole lot of the situation into my hands, fishing for my Ace in the hole… Adios, Amigos…

"You can’t run…" I murmured, remembering that brick of C-4 from the bomb Malcolm had left behind in the fully-fueled and forgotten deuce, hoping Fate would play its final cards in my favor here and now.

"You can’t hide…" I continued. These Communist terrorist bastards were playing cut-and-run poker. Well, though they had drawn themselves into a highly volatile Full House, King Cobras over Queen Bs, I still held the all important Ace--- the remote detonator--- while they were left trapped with their Deuce… With Katy as my Queen of Hearts, and Malcolm as the naïve Knave, I truly was the King… and nothing beats a Royal Flush! Where, then, you might wonder, does the 10 come in??

That would be in the final 10 seconds I gave the smart-assed bastards to revel in their ignorance before…

=BLIP!= the little red light under the FIRE button blinked telling me the signal was being transmitted, then shown steadily, brightly, indicating that the signal had indeed been received on the other end.

"But you can die!!" Only then did I push the FIRE button…

=KAAAAAAAABBBLOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY!!!=

GAME OVER!

TWENTY-ONE

"It’s over…" I calmed a shaken Katy, as she stirred, cradling her battered body in my arms, rocking gently on the cold concrete. The fireball which engulfed the 2.5-ton military transport had only just begun to die down; fire officials had yet to arrive to contain the blaze, not that there was much left to contain!

"It’s all over…"

"Really??" Katy sobbed, her eyes welling with tears, "Is it really over?" She could sense my lack of certainty as I consoled her, and like the typical woman, she put me on the spot then-and-there…

"Not yet!" a stern-voice responded from the street. Oh, great! Now what?! A stray Communist terrorist bastard with a bazooka and a bad attitude? A reject from Jesse Graham’s goon-squad with a grenade and monkey-breath? Or…

…a straight-laced stud with a suit-and-tie and a bad hair-cut!

"You’ve still got a lot of questions to answer for, Mister King!" the Feds had converged on the exploded armory, along with the entire remnants of the Morris Police Department--- who all scrambled from one car, like a pack of circus clowns, or Keystone Cops! Of course, most of their vehicles had been bashed and crashed as part of the barricade at the campus South Parking Lot, so the cramped quarters of the single car were probably a necessity, but it was still a sight to behold!

"Stay back, you bastards!" I leaped up, stepping forward, placing my body bravely between the oncoming crowd and Katy. I no longer knew who to trust; Manuel de Salazar was supposedly a Federal agent, but had been taken into custody by supposed-city-cops. The car crashed, and Manuel died, only he DIDN’T die, and came back to kill me later… was it a set-up by the Communist terrorists, or by the Feds for which Manuel worked? I couldn’t trust any of them--- and I didn’t really have to!

"I don’t have your precious disk any more!!" I explained, raising my hands in surrender. "Search me! I gave the damn thing up to the Slacker Scorpions to buy some time back in the gym! I can’t say what happened to it after that! All I knew is: I don’t have your damn disk!!"

"He’s telling the truth, Harry!" the paunchy police chief p
promised, approaching from the police cruiser. "We performed a complete frisk and search of the King brothers on campus during the interrogation… they are clean, and their stories check out… Most likely, the disk was in the possession of one Charley Andrews, and if he was indeed on-board the 2.5-ton truck, we can safely assume that the disk is no longer viable. It’s over…"

"Well," the agent seemed soothed, " we should still take you all in, for follow-up questioning, such as the whereabouts of the missing section of this map we found in the armory parking lot…" he reached out and gripped my left shoulder firmly, waving the torn and tattered map fragment with his other hand. Amazingly, the whole map together DID spell out the entire plot…

From what I could piece together, the Slackers, Scorpions and Fat Hairy Bitches would gather enmasse at Landing Zone One (LZ1) before converging on the Target Area (the Gymnasium). Then, they would move out in teams, covering the 3 locations marked by Xs: Operation Egg-Hunt entailed searching for the disk in Behmler Hall, the Science and Computer Center, then securing the radio station in the Student Center to make the call for help. Then, Operation Pit-Fall would be engaged, and they would make their escape in the distraction of the gym explosion, converging in LZ2 and fleeing the campus.

If only I had collected both fragments of the map in the armory, I might have been able to better predict what the bastards had planned, or could have at least taken the proof to the authorities and avoided the entire night’s horrors! Instead, I was left, practically a Hero! A hero who was being mauled and molested by the ‘proper authorities’ at that very moment!

"Watch it, man! We’re hurt here!" I winced and hissed in mostly mock-pain as the agent gruffly grabbed my shoulder.

"Oh…" he sighed, suddenly switching from sympathetic sighs to stern somberness in less than a breath, as he declared. "Your injuries will be taken care of down town." I had no choice really; I had to make sure Katy was going to be all right, so I allowed the freaky Feds to take us down town…

Malcolm had been strangely quiet during this last encounter, not putting any of his two cents in, not twisting the agent’s words around on him, not cracking wise or smarting off, not saying a word. Of course, he had good reason to be lost in silence at the moment…

"Beth…" I heard him sigh, staring at the demolished deuce which still burned brightly in the dark night, as we drove from the lot. If Carlson and Andrews had taken Beth along with Katy, pulling them from the car together, as a double-indemnity insurance against us, we had failed to save her from either blast at the armory! I gasped with the sudden realization that Beth was---

"…going to be just fine…" the Fed comforted our concerns.

"I dropped her at the station, and they took care of her…" Katy explained.

"What?" Malcolm and I cried in unison, and Malcolm wondered. "You mean Beth is---"

"Right here!" Beth smiled as we pulled up to the Police Station and stopped with a screech. Malcolm leaped from the car and swept Beth into his arms before taking stock of her injuries, and Beth shivered in slight discomfort from Malcolm’s not-so-tender loving care. Her face had been bandaged where the shards of glass had gouged her, and her arm was in a sling, from the gash that was torn in her chest and tricep, but she was apparently going to be fine. "Oh, Malcolm…"

"Oh Beth…" Malcolm cooed, cuddling with his lady lovingly.

"Oh Katy?" I questioned from the curb, feeling the heat of the moment of passion building up in the air around us.

"OK Rick!" Katy’s voice was deeper, masculine, more hideous than I remembered, almost like…

Oh, no! Not another dream sequence where Katy transformed into King Cobra to crush the life out of me?!

"It’s time, Mister King…" the cold stern voice deemed, and I as certainly doomed. "They are ready for you inside…" Oh, shhhhiiiiii----

"It wasn’t my fault!" I relied on Charley Andrews’s excuse to get me through the unending interrogation. "I didn’t know who to trust, so I had to trust my own instincts, I had to improvise something on-the-spot to cover myself when I first suspected that Charley was involved in this whole caper! I gave up the disk hoping to buy time to allow you guys to show up and end this! I figured in the end the better man would win, right? And, after all, American agents are supposedly trained to be the best of the best, right? So… you tell me, what happened, pal?! Where’s your precious disk now?!"

"That disk was programmed with the proper pass-codes and clearances which could enable the user to access any or all of this country’s nuclear missile silo facilities! If that information fell into the wrong hands…" he had made his point. Still, without missing a beat, the Fed continued with his spiel.

"But, since you don’t have the disk, and our agents in the field corroborate your story about not being in possession of the disk at the time of your rescue from the gymnasium, we can only assume that whoever had the disk was in the 2.5-ton transport when it exploded, and that that person is now dead, and the disk destroyed…

"Although the entire network of highly-classified codes will have to be reprogrammed and secured, your intervention against the insurgents, in the interest of National Security, has prevented a major incident… For that, your country thanks you!"

Thanks me! My country, the good old US of A honors and thanks me for doing its job, taking on and taking out Communist terrorist scum-sucking bastages! Wow! How’s that for team spirit, Matt?!

"In the end, you were quite a team-player, son. Giving up all your leverage against the insurgents to keep them at bay and off-balance long enough to gain the upper hand and save your friends and family… It’s quite an amazing accomplishment really!" I hadn’t had time to really think of it like that yet; but he was right!

"You’ve got a lot of guts, there, King…" the Fed continued, shaking my hand heartily.

"I know…" I agreed dumbly, still only just wrapping my mind around all he was saying about me. "I’m just glad you and I didn’t have to see much more of them!"

We laughed, the first chance we had really had to laugh since this whole nightmarish night had begun. Ahh! For our bravery, both Malcolm and I received decorative Medals of Valor from the Feds, and photocopied certificates with a prepared speech, stamped with the authentic-looking signature of the President of the United States, thanking us for our courage and dedication to the principles laid forth in the Declaration of Independence, in this time of crisis. Wow!

And, we got free medical treatment for our injuries! Yea! My broken arm was reset and a real cast applied to replace the homemade splint I’d invented. My ribs were only slightly more bruised than before, and were wrapped loosely. The burn on my shoulder and my other cuts and scrapes were easily cleaned and bandaged, and I was as good as new again. Malcolm’s gunshot wound was tended, along with his incidental injuries, most of which he shrugged off anyway. He had Beth back, and he was on top of the world! And, Katy’s wounds were taken care of quickest of all, because she was least injured of us all.

"Because I’m so tough!" Katy mocked my manliness, flexing her arms, and laughing. "Nothing hurts me! Hee! Hee!!"

"Or, "I offered. "because you’re so beautiful, all mortal men dread harming you, fearing the wrath of the other gods and goddesses…" I was laying it on thick, like I had learned from the master, Malcolm.

"Very smooth…" Katy smiled, "Very smart… very true!" We all left the hospital together, arm-in-arm with our loved ones, heading to the parking lot. Out front, in the parking lot, we gathered around the little white Capri, and Malcolm paused, holding Beth’s hand to his lips and kissing her fingers tenderly.
"There’s something I have been meaning to ask you all weekend…" Malcolm admitted, dropping to his knee. "I’m so nervous…" he fumbled in his pockets shakily.

"I wanted to do this the other night, when I had a chance to come home a day early, but Slick totally ****ed it up for me then…" he was babbling, fishing the a small black box from his front pocket… Was he about to blow us all away?!

"Beth… will you marry me?" He did it! He did it! I can’t believe my brother would ever do something as reckless and crazy and foolhardy as that! He asked a woman to be his wife!! Oh man! This was going to get ugly!

"Yes…" Beth cried, sobbing happily. Oh, crap!

"Woo-hoo!" Katy cheered, rushing in and hugging Beth excitedly. I stepped to Malcolm, shaking my head and smiling, extending my hand to help him up, and shaking his hand in congratulatory consent.

"Way to go, bro!" I smiled, "Now, let’s go!"

"I’ll drive!" Malcolm offered, climbing behind the wheel while Beth took up the passenger’s seat. After all we had been through that night, I felt compelled to remind him to…

"Be careful… after all, this is MY car!" I warned

"Huh?!" Malcolm gaped, so I explained, and Beth half-heartedly agreed.

"OK bro…" Malcolm agreed, "But, after what you did to my Camaro, I think you owe it to me to let me drive your car every once in awhile…"

"Sure!" Katy spoke for me, assuming yet another of her womanly duties in our relationship, adding, "You can be our chauffeur!"

"Of course…" I added smoothly. "It’ll cost you, oh, about 50-cents a mile!" HA! I got him!

"Holy Shiite Muslim breath!" Malcolm cussed, laughing.

"Home, James!" Katy cooed, cuddling up to me in the small back seat.
And, we were off!

Due to the egregious acts of death and violence all around campus, all Final Exams were canceled, and every surviving students’ grades were to be recalculated, using only their grades earned throughout the semester as a guide-line in making their Final Grade. That gave Katy and I the whole day to be together before our date that night! What to do, what to do? Hmmmm…

…we slept! After such an exciting and exhausting night followed by equally exhausting hours of interrogation and medication, we were completely spent, though our minds wouldn’t let our bodies rest… and neither would the troublesome Feds or the press! Finally, after hours of excessive questioning, which ended early Tuesday afternoon, we were allowed to relax. Katy was quite apprehensive about returning to campus alone, and I completely understood.

"You’ll never have to be alone again…" I promised, inviting her to our place for the day, and perhaps…

"Tonight??" I pondered hopefully. I was worried about having to leave her alone, afraid to be alone myself as well, but I didn’t want to sound like I was rushing our relationship at all. Still, I really was concerned, so I had to ask. "Will you spend the night with me? With us?" The tension built, until…

"I have to go back to Indy later…" Katy crushed my hopes for our future together. "I have to pack some things: clothes and shampoo… girl stuff, you know…"

I was speechless. All I could do was shake my head and smile in wonder and bewilderment. So much had happened over the past few weeks, so much… For better, and worse, then better… then…

…we slept, and I dreamed a dream in which I had dreamed the whole entire mess. It was like a dream within a dream within a dream… I kept waking up in the midst of yet another dream, dreams involving death and blood-shed, Raoul and Juan, Bill Webber and Vern Walters. Throughout them all, I had Katy at my side even as she slept on the couch above my place on the living room floor. Finally safe, after what seemed like weeks of being so close to death, we rested in peace…

"…over 20 people dead and dozens more injured in what has been called the largest-scale terrorist siege on American soil, at the small college campus in Morris, Minnesota … the University of Minnesota campus was laid siege to by an unknown number of terrorists, some of whom had apparently infiltrated the student body. Millions of dollars in collateral damage have been reported due to explosions and gun-play all across the small campus. The reason for the siege is unknown, but there have been unconfirmed reports concerning matters of national security… More on the story as we uncover it…"

The TV newscast woke me from my dream, and I felt the rush of panic surge through my being, as I reoriented myself to my surroundings. It was all over… Nothing more to uncover here, guys! Just me and Katy, sleeping off a major dose of terror-induced adrenaline. Katy looked so peaceful as she slept, so delicate, so beautiful, I couldn’t help but stretch closer to her. Tenderly, I caressed her cheek with my fingertips, brushing aside her wavy brown locks, leaning forward, kissing her gently on the lips.

"Mmmmmm…" Katy stirred, smiling that gorgeous deep-dimpled smile. "What was that for?"

"Hmmmmm…" I thought quickly, suddenly embarrassed. " That’s how all princesses should be awakened!"

"Well, then…" she lifted her head from the throw-pillow, "That makes you my Prince Charming, doesn’t it?" she kissed me back quickly before I could respond.

"I…I’ve been meaning to ask you this since last night…" I stumbled over my words carelessly, flustered by Katy’s forward approach to my over-active hormones, recalling Malcolm’s similar stumbling. "Are you… will you… would you be… my…girlfriend??" Katy’s smile faded in an instant, replaced by a stone-cold scowl, and I wished she would transform into King Cobra then, and swallow my whole stupid head!! Ooops!

Every time in my life when I get things rolling smoothly, just the way I want them, I end up making one simple tragic mistake that costs me everything. Usually, my mistake is in moving too fast, leaping before I look, not planning ahead---not thinking ahead at all--- before starting something. Every time! It never failed! And now, my haste may have laid waste to the beginnings of a beautiful relationship! I had to say something, had to try to correct the situation, had to explain things…

"Slow down!" Katy’s stern look and sharp words cut me to the quick. "We should take this slow and easy… Let’s not rush into anything just yet. We should look before we take that leap…"

Then she did it. Worse than a knife to the back or a gunshot to the arm—or a knife to the arm and a gunshot to the back! As uncalled-for as if she had just stormed out of my life, never to return, Katy did her worst! She grabbed me by the nape of the neck, and I prepared to be choked or to have my neck snapped like a chicken bone, at the hands of a Communist terrorist scum-sucking secret weapon! Of course!

I tried in vain to pull away, but Katy once again moved too quickly, planting her mouth firmly over mine, forcefully probing, licking, sucking… Oh My God! The Communist terrorist scum-sucking lip lock of death! I knew it! I fell back to my knees, dazed, my vision blurred, my eyeballs sucked back in my skull by the incredible suction of Katy’s kiss. I was trembling all over, nearly in shock, most definitely in love, as I asked.

"Uhh, is that a Yes or a No?"

"Tell you tonight!" her beaming smile returned, and she sprung up from the couch, startling me once more. Rather than attack me, Katy stepped over my quivering body, moving to the bathroom to fix herself up. "Relax, Rick… Really!"

"We should get ready…" she was saying, checking her look in the mirror, primping her hair and fixing her unmade-up face as best she could. Though she looked absolutely perfect to me, I was still at a loss for words. What was happening to me? Did she have on some slow-acting Communist lip gloss that had brought me to the brink of insanity before causing my innards to explode, thereby leading to a most agonizing demise? Or maybe…

"Wake up, Lover-boy!" Oh shit! Not Jesse Graham, last evening’s crazy apish shit-berg sergeant? No it was Malcolm, this evening’s cocky Capri automobile chauffeur! Malcolm and Beth had agreed to join Katy and I, to enjoy a night on the town, to forget about the horrific night we’d spent on campus. Wow! My first real date with an angel, turned into a double-date with my devilish brother and his wildly religious girlfriend! Let the date begin!!

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

"Happy trails, Hans…" John McClaine cracked as he shot the evil terrorist leader, Hans Gruber. Hans crashed through the window, 30 stories above the city of Los Angeles, dragging the beautiful red-headed woman along with him, placing her precariously close to the edge. But, this was no ordinary woman; she was Holly Gennero-McClaine, John’s enterprising but estranged wife. John had to save his woman! Bravely, John leaped to the window, clutching his wife, pulling her back from the brink, and the bad guy plummeted to his death…

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

"Well…" I wondered, escorting Katy from the theater following the flick. "What did you think?"

"It was OK, I guess…" she sighed with slight disappointment. "Pretty unrealistic though, for a movie!" Excuse me?! Unrealistic? My look of astonishment changed quickly to one of foolish disbelief, and I smiled, noticing Katy’s deep-dimpled grin as she admitted.

"Gotchya!" she slid close to me, wrapping her arm around my waist as we walked to the parking lot. "It was pretty swell… Really Neat-O…"