Bomb Shelter

Heavy, swift footsteps echoed through the street of the empty neighborhood, as Eric Cartman quickly made his way down the darkened sidewalk. The crisp, cool night air harshly bit at his flushed, uncovered face, but he ignored the freeze. It was the middle of winter, and it was best to stay indoors if you wanted to be warm. But with his usual heavy red coat, thick blue beanie, and baggy leather pants, he considered himself warm enough. Besides, he didn't imagine he'd be outside too long.

His coffee-colored eyes flicked back and fourth, as he peered through the dark. The all-too-familiar neighborhood was only barely lit by the spaced streetlights, and even their glow was dim in the chill of the winter weather. The poles the lights were connected to looked cold enough to actually cause harm if you touched it. It wouldn't be surprising if it actually did inflict some pain. It was always especially cold during the winters in Colorado... and even especially in South Park, a small, remote town that resided in the mountains.

Cartman's pace began to slow as he neared his destination. Through the dark of the night, he could see the darkened green tint of the large house that held the nice, little, unsuspecting Jewish family. The windows were darkened, indicating that the lights were off, and that the residents of the humble, warm dwelling had already made their journeys' to their beds, where they'd sleep the night away and loose themselves in the realistic thoughts of their unconsciousness. So innocent. So peaced. And so... so unaware of a young catholic boy's intentions.

If it was at all possible for someone the size of Cartman, the youth's steps became absolutely silent as a pair of feet lifted themselves upon the front steps of the large green house. A gloved hand came and gently clasped itself against the doorknob. The hand twisted the knob, but the knob hit a stop half way through it's turn. That was expected. Most in the town of South Park were wise to keep their houses locked, in the hopes that they'd keep themselves away from the ridiculous events that usually took place in the small mountain town. Still, Cartman knew it didn't hurt to check and see if the door was even locked in the first place. He would have felt silly, trying to pick the lock if the door had already been undone.

Cartman gently, silently, slid his bright yellow backpack off of his shoulders, and rested it beside the door. His wrists flicked this way and that as his hands quickly moved; unzipping the backpack and diving into the biggest pocket to collect what he needed. In a matter of moments, he held his mother's credit card in his left hand. His mother was far too deep beneath the surface of unconsciousness to notice her son sneak in and steal her card from her bedside table. Not that she'd miss it. When she'd wake, she'd find it upon the nightstand, where she had left it the night before.

Gently, Cartman raised his hand and slipped the card in the crack between the door and the wall, where he knew the lock would lay. With another push and the flick of his wrist, the door opened, making the faintest of creaking noises as it did. Cartman had broken into the Broflovski household many a time, and each time, he was reminded of how odd it was for a Jewish house to have a lock that was so easy to break open. Especially a front door. But he couldn't think about that now. Most times he broke in for fun, but tonight meant business. Tonight could change the way his life would go. Tonight could change the way the town functioned. Tonight meant everything.

Sliding the straps of his backpack over his shoulders again, Cartman slowly pushed open the door. The door creaked and squeaked as it was pushed open... but as stated before, Cartman had broken into the Jewish home many times before, and he was more than confident that the residents of the green-painted dwelling were too heavy of sleepers to hear their door opening at night. ...Though... now that he thought about it, the brunette supposed it wouldn't hurt to remind Mr. Broflovski that his hinges needed to be oiled. It would make things a little easier for everyone.

Cartman slipped past the entry way, but instead of closing the door, he left it ajar and made his way across the living-room. The largest room in the house was neat and spotless, not a single mess or object broken in sight. Unlike Cartman's house, which, by the end of the day, had a couch covered in empty Snaky-Poof bags and soda cans.

Cartman began to descend up the stairs of the house. Luckily for him, none of the steps whined or creaked like the door did. His own footsteps were still silent as his feet gracefully glided across the darkened carpeting. He rested his left hand on the rail beside him as he climbed up the stairs, his hand sliding across the smooth, polished wood. On the wall to his right, there were several pictures of the Broflovski family, all with smiling faces and colorful back-rounds. Some were family portraits, others were taken at what appeared to be a beach and a forest. The Broflovski family loved to go swimming and camping during the summers.

Once Cartman reached the top of the stairs, he didn't need to look where he was going, to know where Kyle's room was. He had crossed the hallway many times. He knew that in ten steps, he'd be in the center of the hall, and five steps to the left, he'd be at his victim's door. And that's exactly where he found himself in a matter of fifteen steps.

Cartman, now on a new level of caution (for he knew his victim was a light and alert sleeper), gently opened the door and slipped through the entry-way. He was immediately greeted by the familiar dark brown wallpaper and the Go Cows poster on the other side of the room. Cartman rolled his eyes and almost sneered at the decor of his enemy's living space. While it had that hint of boyishness to it, it was also insanely Jewish-looking, a taste that Cartman didn't care for much.

His eyes scanned the room, but to his own impatience, he shifted his gaze to the small, one-person bed. There, bundled under at least three covers (that was necessary, since it was very, very cold), lay the person that Cartman hated with every little piece of his being.

Kyle Broflovski.

Not so much as a snore came from Kyle (unlike Cartman, who was a very heavy and loud sleeper), although his body was twitching, giving off the impression that he was dreaming. This brought a little bit of relief to Cartman. The Jew was still a light sleeper, but he was in a heavier sleep than usual. Just the sight of his victim forced the thoughts of the future event into Cartman's mind. His thin lips slowly turned upward into a small smirk, which couldn't be seen through the darkness. With gentle steps, Cartman made his way across the room, and to Kyle's beside. The young Jewish male didn't detect Cartman's presence, instead, self-consciously fisted one of his small hands into his curly red hair. His lips moved together as he mumbled an incoherent sentence. Cartman watched his enemy for a moment, his own brow lifting as he pondered exactly how deep of a sleep the Jersey-boy could be in. He didn't know Kyle was one to talk in his sleep.

Cartman quickly shook his head, clearing his mind of the questioning thoughts, as he slid his backpack off of his shoulders, and rested it against the floor. He tore his eyes away from Kyle, and to the bag, as he again, unzipped the zipper and began digging around through the biggest pocket. Slowly, he began to unpack the things he had brought. The first thing to leave his bag was the credit-card, but that was to just get out of the way. The next thing was a giant bag, which he had neatly folded into a small square that could, luckily, fit inside his pack. He lay the folded square beside the pack, and then dug through the bag again. He quickly found the little bottle he had brought with him, and only a few seconds after, the cloth. Cartman peered through the dark, looking to his current weapon. Another smirk spread across his face, and he couldn't help but darkly chuckle.

His eyes widened. Woops.

There was a gasp from the bed, and Cartman's head snapped to the right, just in enough time to see Kyle's eyes flash open. The Jew looked directly at Cartman and pulled himself into a sitting position. His emerald-hued stare burned right into Cartman's soul as the Jewish boy began to register just exactly who was in his room.

After several moments of silence, and several long, tired blinks, Kyle's brows knitted together in a glare.

"Cartman!" He growled. "What are you do-...mpph!"

Cartman was quick to cut the Jew off, his left hand grabbing Kyle's wrists, while his right pressed the now liquid-covered cloth to his mouth. The green-eyed youth thrashed at first, wiggling back and fourth as he tried to free himself from Cartman's grasp. But the fumes were too much for the Jew to handle, and within seconds, he was out again, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thud.

Cartman, again, gave a sigh of relief and took the cloth away from Kyle's mouth. He threw the cloth to the ground, and neatly placed the now opened bottle atop it, before snatching up the folded bag. He began to unfold it, and while he did, continued to send Kyle little smirks, or little glares.

"You thought you were so funny today, didn't you Kahl?" His voice was soft, careful not to awaken the other residents of the household. His tone was laced with irritation, yet also held that sly sound that he always had when he was up to something. "You thought you bested Eric Cartman. Humiliated him. Thought for certain that he'd leave you alone."

The brunette stood and roughly grabbed Kyle's unconscious body, and began to slip the youth into the life-sized bag.

"Well I am done with your games, you fucking Jew-rat!" The boy softly snarled, glaring at Kyle's face, watching as it disappeared under the fold of the bag. "I enjoyed having you around. Having a Jew to torture and make fun of. But you crossed the damned line today, Keyl." Kyle's body disappeared inside the bag. Cartman reached into his yellow pack and pulled out a bit of rope, and began to tie the opening of the bag shut. "They'll worry. They'll cry. They'll wonder where you are. But in a matter of months, no one will care about you. You'll be forgotten. Out of my life forever."

Cartman carelessly let Kyle's body drop to the floor, and moved to his backpack, packing up his things. He moved quickly.

"And I'll enjoy every bit of peace I get after you're gone."