15
"Is it true?" The Ethiopian said with astonishment, so much bewilderment that Ron's hardened nerves began to wane. "That in America, you glide down these huge, massive peaks on a mere board?"
"Well... yeah!" he shrugged as his lips took up the straw of his Grande- sized cola. Prayer had ended abruptly at the Western Wall, both their fragile stomachs let out loud, churning wail in the midst of a prayer--a really good prayer at that! It was such a shame that it had to end, but his gut couldn't bear the pain of its emptiness. Thank the Lord that she had brought her Peugeot, or they would have never had made it to the Bueno Nacho in time. "It's called a snowboard."
"Many of your modern ways are new to me." Her thumbs twiddled idly, mere inches from the scrap paper that remained of her burrito. "I come from a small village from Ethiopia, where we still live off much of the land... if the Lord blesses us with rich harvest."
Little claws clacked on the table as his little buddy scampered over to the girl's paper. His tongue turned red as he eagerly lapped up the rest of that delicious, precious sauce. The girl's thicker lips slid off of her teeth, as she pulled them into a big toothy grin.
"Regardless of bountiful harvest or not." She giggled. "We have these little creatures a plenty. Except they typically don't favor fast food."
"Oh yeah!" he blinked. "This little guy's named Rufus, and I love him to bits!"
"But where on earth did you find him in your country?" she leaned toward him. "I heard it was illegal to own such pets?"
"I guess in Middleton," he shrugged, "my hometown, all rules apply except to us. My dad's allergic to pretty much everything, but when the Smarty Mart sale came, I just so happened to stumble upon this little guy."
"Aisle nine!" his buddy and him cheered together.
"Sounds like a strange place." She angled her head. "This city of yours."
"Not really." He smiled. "Well, if you ignore the creepy, nut-jobs that is."
"Oh!" the girl perked her head up. "How rude of me! I have not yet introduced my self. My name is Robin, of the family Ata."
"Robin?" his brow kinked. "For an Ethiopian?"
"Ah..." she grinned sheepishly, slowly moving her gaze down to the table, "strange, yes? Believe me, you are not the first who thought in such a way. You see my father loves the birds of the sky. You would call him an ornithologist, as I have heard it said.
"Before I was born, he had heard a story of a beautiful bird, native on your side of the world. He had seen a picture of it briefly. It was a small, chubby bird with a beautiful red breast beneath its dark wings. And when I was born, he thought that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever saw."
"Just like the bird..." he nodded.
"Exactly." She nodded back. "Even my boyfriend thinks so."
"Oh really?" he grinned bigly.
"Yes." She nodded. "He is a Jew like yourself. The odd thing is that he came to the Holy Land from France, but he spoke in the tongue of an American."
His lips dropped into a thin, flat line as his heart skipped a single beat. "An American-Frenchman?"
"Yes." Her lips pulled into a warm smile. "His name is Shia, and I love him so very much. He took me into his apartment as a sign of generosity, when I had no money left from the trip here. He taught me how to read and speak this English language, and even taught me how to drive. And as time progressed, we fell in love."
"Now I remember you!" he moved his head back and forth, realization dawning on him like a clear day. "You were at the Dan Panorama for the Shmuck Avenue concert!"
"Yes, I was." Her dark brow kinked. "But have I met you before?"
"Nope," he shook his head, "we had never met. But I'm sure I saw you there, arguing with this Shia person on the stage."
"Yes, I was." she pressed back squarely against the tiny, oval back of the chair. "But enough about myself, who might you be?"
*Tread carefully... * his mind whispered.
"Head!" he nodded quickly, punctuating with the folding of his arms tightly against his chest. "Richard Head's the name, and wrestling's the game!"
The dark girl blinked--and the tops of her cheeks puffed, her eyes closed as she let out a snort of a laugh.
"What?" he shrugged. "Can someone let me in on the joke?"
"I may be a mere Ethiopian," she giggled softly, "but I've been around Shia enough to know how poor a name that is. I pity you."
"Gee!" he frowned. "I feel *so* much better now."
"With a name like that, I am surprised to realize that I haven't seen you there before." She said. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"
"In my room, typically." He cautiously moved his eyes away, up towards the deep blue sky. "With me an my co-worker--her name's Jane, if you must know. We do a little promotional work for the GWA. In fact, after the little... uh--*impromptu* concert, we were about to announce briefly their tour throughout Europe."
His head eased down properly, only to see the girl's head move shyly away from him, eyes at a repentant half-mast.
"Why didn't you?" she asked rhetorically.
"Well--for one thing--this wet freak shows up, and shoots the place up like Iraq!" both his hand slapped squarely upon the plastic table. Utensils rang out with a clattery discord. The buddy shot his head straight up, his forelegs bent in and his head moving about like a prairie dog in surprise. "She and the other couple were lucky we didn't get a bullet in between our headlights!"
"I apologize..." she sighed heavily.
"For what?" the tension loosened its squeeze in his muscles, his arms growing weak with gravity dragging them by the elbows. "You've done nothing wrong."
"On behalf of my boyfriend's troublesome employer." Her locks of frizzy, stringy hair shook like the tail of a shaggy dog. "I know I have not done anything wrong, and neither had Shia. Unless, of course, you call a night with me a critical offense."
"No, it's not." His brow furrowed. "What job on earth did he take that gives such treatment?"
"He's with the vigilantes." She spat, as if the taste suddenly had become foul in her mouth. "The 'VSA', as I have heard the news media say."
"I assume his superior isn't exactly an ideal person to be a neighbor with." He pressed gently his chest to the flat edge of the table.
"That Simeon's a monster!" a corner of her mouth pulled her lips into a snarl. "He turns good people into demons, out fresh from the Devil's regions. I know that my Shia cannot *exactly* hold a candle up to Moses or Elijah, but he is not like that. The Major--his boss has corrupted him."
*Drazen... you'll pay for that! * He thought, coming out his mouth like a flat, throaty grunt.
"I feel bad for the people he terrorizes." She shook her head.
"Huh?" he played it ignorant.
"The Palestinians." She gazed at him squarely. "Or, as the Major calls them, the 'dirty-rotten-inbred-filth', accusing them of taking over the Israeli way of life. I'm not saying they are all innocent, I know a minority of them are trying to do exactly that, but--! ...I don't know anymore--I just DON'T!"
Ron nodded. His heart seemed to gain a little more weight as the thought circled around in his mind. Not all of the Palestinians were bad, he knew that sincerely, but his heart longed for them, merely to ease their suffering--just a little, and help them to realize that peace isn't found in a vest--at the end of a gun.
"They're not *exactly* the best treated people in the Middle East." He attempted to rationalize. "They have no jobs, no school, and barely get by from what jobs they can get. But you have to agree somewhat, they're treated by Israel--the *real* Israel--better than their own countries.
"Back in 48', with the nation's independence, it was written in the Balfor Declaration that all native peoples were automatic citizens. We didn't expel them; they chose to reject it of their own accord. And suddenly, after a couple more wars, we find our Arab 'friends' expel a great deal of them from their own lands, and stash them over here."
"Nothing more than to throw the proverbial gasoline on the flame." She noted, nodding in agreement.
"So we try to take care of them." He shrugged. "We attempt to give them food, and some comfort away from their own countries who'd kill them at a bat of an eye. But the more we try to help, the more they hate us for it. Always blaming us for their own inadequacies, when their PLO is really to blame."
"I can see your point clear as the day, Mr. Head." She nodded. "Their home countries throw them out on their ear, as you say; their twisted little government strips them of their dignity and aid. Yet with that in mind, still they pretend that we--the evil 'Zionist entity'--are to blame for all the suffering. Governments of the fallen world turn their eyes away from it, yet are quick to strike us with their mouths and their hands when we make a move."
"We're all tired." He nodded.
"That is the vigilantes' mentality..." She shook her head in exasperation. His heart stilled its slow beats, for only a moment, as his ears took in the language of his fathers--his mothers--and of all the people of his nation. It affected him every time.
"'Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.'" She quoted directly from the words of great King Solomon. Chills ran down his spine, chills that froze him directly to the core. "'What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?'"
"How true." He nodded solemnly.
"They have given up the good fight." She bowed her head low. "And they have taken the way of the heathen. Oh--may the God of our fathers have mercy upon them."
"Hmm..." Rufus stood there; unusually silent as though his little heart had miraculously drank in the aura that surrounded the tiny table. He just stood there upon his bare hind legs, black, beady eyes gazing endlessly and his tiny nose without a twitch.
--He heard something burning in the sky behind, as if a fighter plane had kicked on the afterburners on its pass by.
Something caught the corner of his eye, something moving at a high rate of speed that left a trail of white upon a field of blue. He blinked, and his eyes cleared onto Robin's image. The dark girl snapped her head up, as if someone snapped their fingers right beside her ear. Her eyes moved slowly in her head with thick lips agape, from top left to the bottom right in spasmodic jerks.
"What is that?" she asked distantly. Others nearby too turned their eyes to the sky. A tanned, dark woman put her hands upon her face, fingers capping her mouth and the bridge of her nose beneath wide, awestruck eyes. Feeling as if left out of a great show in the heavens, slowly he moved the top of his trunk around.
*What the--!? *
Ribbons of white radiated from a single focus in the sky in soft wisps of vapor, being pulled to the earth by tiny, white dots at an exponential rate. He had seen nothing like it before in his short life, for the real, yet it looked so familiar. But where exactly had he seen if before? On TV maybe, or in a movie theater perhaps, where the spaceship blew to pieces in the atmosphere like frigid water in a blast furnace--
*Holy... cow! *
***
Something foul was a foot in the country, so the news anchor acted on the small television. He bowed head of messy, brown locks into the palms of his creased hands, burring it almost in sheer disgust at what had befallen him. Amazing what mere words on the papers littering his desk could do, other than create a mess. With the crestfallen man in front, juxtaposed behind on the wall were photos of quite a few people, all of different ages and of various walks of life. Strangely enough, the tanned, Bedouin faces barely outnumbered those of the others, typically of eastern Slavic descent.
*I don't like this... *
He turned his eyes away from the puzzler on the television at the sound of soft footsteps coming his way. His love took a seat on the opposite corner of the bed. The seat of her black skirt sank with a creak into the mattress, the hem of her light green tank caressing the tip of her waist as she pulled it smoothly over her head.
"It's been about a half hour since Sadie had last checked in." He said plainly. "Are you all packed?"
"Yeah..." the blonde let out a sigh as she negotiated her bra straps underneath the wider ones of her tank. "My bag's sitting on that little luggage cot by the door. But I wish it could be by your duffel for just another night."
He nodded.
"Can't you reconsider?" she folded her hands upon her dark lap as she gazed at him sincerely, glistening eyes shining brightly below the large band-aid angled on her crown.
"I'm sorry, Tara." He looked away. "It's out of my hands.... Well-- err--hand, at least."
"Whose going to help you around?" the bed shifted awkwardly side to side, his love inching closer on the bedspread.
"Hershel's having someone sent over." He said. "Don't worry about me. Just enjoy what's left of the summer, safe and sound back home."
"But what'll be so great about it, if you're not there?"
"Tara..." he inched himself closer. "You know I love you deeply, right?"
She bowed her head shyly. "Yes."
"Tara, look at me." His good arm crossed the span of his body, the joint aching a bit as he pushed it further beyond the typical range of motion. His fingers moved upon her jaw gently, caressing the smooth skin as they curled around the other side of her jaw. Resistant at the start, but he felt the tension in her muscles give way to him. Her lids batted parted for those beautiful, glistening eyes. "I love you very much, T. But things have gotten complicated. I want you to be safe, and the only place I know that's safe is back stateside."
"But Yune--!" she protested.
"Tara--just listen." He exclaimed gently. "You don't want me stuffed in a morgue, and I don't want you suffering the same fate. Drazen's a monster, and he'll kill either one of us without a second thought. As long as you're safe, I'm willing to stake it out with the others."
"But--!"
"Tara..." he frowned, "please.... For me?"
The blonde shook her head fiercely. Her wavy locks swishing in a messy tangle of yellow, the corners of her lips dragging them into a sour frown.
"Fine..." she whispered quietly. "Just--come back alive!"
"I promise." He nodded.
"Yune," her hands wringed in her dark lap quickly, "just one more thing."
"What's that?"
He moved himself a little closer, the fabric of his pants grazing the soft cloth of her skirt. She gazed at him squarely, her sour lips curving into a gentle, warm smile that made his heart quicken. Her soft, cool palms cupped around the line of his jaw, the thumbs rubbing at his cheeks as her thin fingers came to rest on the pulsating sides of his neck.
"Kiss me." She grinned.
"I should have known." He smiled back, and the crowns of their heads rubbed together as they melted into each other's tender embrace. Their lips merely grazed each other, their breath heated with passion as they leaned in to seal the deal--
--*Ring...! *
"Pf--" The blonde giggled softly. "Phone...!"
"*Ugh...! *" He sighed loudly, not even attempting to conceal the frustration in his voice. "Better not be a wrong number! I swear!"
The springs let out a stifled creak as he pushed himself off of the bed, a huff in his heavy step as he stormed for that irritating device. His knuckles popped, the sinew flicking at the bone underneath his skin as he snatched the receiver viciously from the cradle.
"Yes...?" he sighed quite loudly, even before the receiver was pressed firmly against his ear.
"Yune," that very boyish voice crackled out of the phone, "it's Wade. Got a minute?"
"Can it wait?" the accumulation of his utter frustration came together in a single grunt. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."
"Be nice, Yune." His love countered sternly. His eyes took a lap around the circumference of his sockets.
"Alright...!" he let out a low, humming grunt. "You've got a minute."
"Good."
"Now, what do you want?"
"Yune, the Kimmunicator satellite's been shot down!"
He blinked. "What?"
"I know it sounds farfetched, but my readings don't lie." The boy said with calmed exclamation, the panic crawling out gradually in his voice. "One second, I had a clear map of the Har Ramon, next thing I know-- KA-BOOM! The readouts went haywire!"
"Couldn't it simply be electrical interference?" he inquired. "You know the sun's been acting unusual this year."
"I've run that scenario a few times." The boy explained. "The numbers crunched just don't add up to it. I came to the current conclusion when I switched on the news channel. They ran a segment, featuring what looked like a spacecraft disintegrating in the upper atmosphere exactly where the satellite's last known location was reported."
"Are you actually saying it was shot down?"
"That exactly it." The boy confirmed. "And, I don't think I need to tell you what else the news network aired, do I?"
"Maybe you should." He stole a glance over at the blonde upon the bed. She sat there idly, eyes glued to the television, her toes like cat claws, scratching at the carpet for her low-heel pumps a couple feet away. "Everything here's in Hebrew or Arabic."
"There's not an easy way to put this, Yune," the kid said, "so I'm just going to say it."
"Go ahead." He nodded. "I'm used to shit hitting the fan."
"A terrorist group in the upper West Bank had executed a group of Israelis they kidnapped." His throat tightened, and he pushed down a wad as the kid's words gained meaning in his mind. He heard a distinct, hollow sigh resounding in his ear, from the other side of the line way back in the States. "Men, women, and some children... *man*--how could someone--*ANYONE* stoop that low!?"
"You're asking me?" he threw the question right back.
"No." the Webmaster said quietly. "But I don't know what's more disturbing: the fact the terrorists did it, or the fact that the news media could care less over it. They played it for only a measly 30 seconds before the entertainment section came up! I'm supposed to be a genius, and even I can't answer that!"
"Maybe, you should ask them yourself." He said.
"Bah!" the kid spat. "Like that's ever going to happen! Damned media moguls! And I'm sure I don't need to tell you about certain repercussions this tragedy's going to have."
"Yeah," he clenched his teeth behind shut lips, "Drazen will be taking the men for some good old fashioned target practice."
"Precisely."
"Does Kim know?"
"I just got off the phone with her before I called you." He said. "She's getting herself ready to search for the thugs' GHQ this afternoon. With the thugs... oh--let's say, 'doing their sworn duty', it'll be the perfect time. Sad, isn't it?"
"We're all actors, and the world's a freaking dilapidated stage."
"Such a positive outlook on life, Yune." The kid joked softly.
"Not the time, Wade." He frowned.
"Right... *hmm! *" The boy rescinded in a withdrawn, grunting hum. "All right. I'm going to bed. Just keep yourself alive till the next time I give you a call, okay?"
"Already done." He nodded. "Good night, Wade."
The receiver made a static clatter in his ear, letting out a tiny *click* before he removed it from his head, gently letting the piece of plastic down upon its cradle. He took another glance at his girl, which had finally managed to slip her feet inside her dark pumps. A mass of her hair shifted to one side as she angled her head by the neck, eyes gazing at him curiously.
"What's going on, Yune?" she asked.
"There's been an 'incident' in the upper West Bank." He said carefully. "VSA are on the move. Till either Hershel comes for you or Sadie gets back, I want you in this room."
"Okay." She nodded, and she pushed herself to her elevated feet, strolling over to him with longing in her eyes. "But before I go, can we pick up where we left off?"
His chest pulsed quickly, quickening at the sheer touch of her hands upon his shoulders. Gingerly, she pressed him against the nearby wall, making him back up a couple steps.
"I don't want to go anywhere." She smiled warmly. "I want you all to myself, my big, strong man!"
"As do I, T." his good arm snaked around her slender waist, her muscles tensing beneath that perfect skin. He drew her closer, eyes perfectly even and locked, thanks in large part to her heels. "As do I..."
And everything just seemed to... melt away instantly.
"I told you those shoes would come in handy someday, T."
"Shut up and kiss me, Yune."
***
No matter how much scopolamine Uzi managed to choke down, little did the feeling of drowsy, light-headedness wane. It felt as if it had been getting worse and worse each day since Prague, and his senses seemed to drift a little further out of reach each time the room--the world began to drunkenly twirl around.
"*Ugh... Dreck! *" He moaned quietly. "Not again!"
"Major Drazen, Sir." That flat, unwavering tone of that burn victim called for him, just beyond the closest set of the armory's double doors.
"What is it, Avi?" the room around sloshed heavily side to side, as he tried vigilantly to shake utter sense back into his groggy brain. "Don't you have something else to tend to?"
"Tank Man's already got the 'propaganda' covered, and Solomon Rex is near completion as we speak." He said emotionlessly. "But Sir, we've completed the trace of the Korean's last known phone call."
"Really...?" he batted his eyelids quickly. Colors began to filter in gradually with every blink.
"Indeed, Sir." The scarred man stepped into a better light, the halogens above playing havoc upon his burns. The shadows cast turned the half of the face into a field of large boils, ready to burst seemingly at the touch. "Your plan worked flawlessly! Dan Panorama Tel Aviv, room 402."
"Excellent!" he hopped off the ammunition crate in a drunken stupor, the dim room sloshing and turning about in opposite directions of his movement, so quickly the snacks found their way back up his gut. "Oh... boy...!"
"Do you need more scopolamine, Sir?"
"No." he shook his head very slowly. "I just had a bottle a few minutes ago. Should take effect *sometime* while we're on route, at least!"
"On route, Sir?"
"Yes...." The dim, blurry room ceased its crazed twirl around him. His bearings had become straight enough he could stand up straight in a moderate hunch. Curses at the good doctor came out under-breath. "Damn drug!"
"How do you mean, Sir?" the scarred man pressed.
"Pull the active troops off the current objective." He said. "Redirect them to the Charles Clore Park, and put them on standby. No one moves in unless I give the word. Where's Matt?"
"He's on the other side of the armory," the man gestured accordingly, to the farthest circle of light adjacent from him, "with Ben tweaking the SWARM, and having the launcher loaded."
"Put them together." He said. "I want them in on this mission!"
"Is that such a good idea, Sir?" the man cocked an eyebrow, what the fire had generously left unscathed. "He's been here for only a couple days at most."
"It'll be an unofficial initiation." He nodded. "If he wants in on our operations so badly, we'll just see how he can cope with what we really do!"
The good piece of the man's crown perked, eyes just barely open as he let out a quick, little hum.
"Hmm..." the scarred man said, "that may not be such a bad idea after all, Sir."
"Get Shia in the hanger on the double!" he exclaimed. "I want the Apache ready for take off. I want every available man here active, and on route for the target site! Have them set up a perimeter once there."
"Yes Sir!" the scarred man unrolled into a straighter stand, saluting him appropriately. Uzi countered with a weaker salute. "Anything else, Sir?"
"Just one thing, Avi."
"Yes?"
"I needed it 20 minutes ago!"
"Sir!"
***
"God!" Tara made her eyes take another lap around her sockets, as her man exclaimed to the top-middle of his lungs. He paced before her, back and forth, to and fro with no sign of exhaustion in sight. His odd Daewoo pistol lay before the laptop at the ready, just in case. "It's been close to a half hour already! Where the heck's that damn car?"
"Technically, it's an SUV, Hon." She shrugged in the midst of laying her head down upon the mattress.
"It could be a damn Gremlin for all I care, right now!" he grunted. "Where the heck is it?"
"Yune, would you calm down?" Kimberly's voice called out from the door's unlatching, over the rackety handle as it turned. The lumber's travel from its frame to its stopper became smoothly quiet as the handle snapped back.
The auburn passed through quietly in her boots, the legs of her olive cargos swishing against each other as she walked. Her gloved fingers combed through her hair smoothly, the extreme most ends of her mane barely escaping the snatching door as it worked its way back into the frame with a rattle.
"You're going to wear a trench in the carpet if you don't stop."
"Mission time already, Kim?" She grinned.
"Not exactly." The girl shook her mane gently. "Sadie isn't back yet. And even with her around, I don't know how I can move my big equipment around discretely."
"And what exactly is this equipment?" she rolled her self off of the bed, into a hunch. "Anything illegal?"
"I've seen it." Yune had finally managed to plant his walking shoes firmly in the carpet. "A .50-caliber sniper rifle made by Barrett. Makes holes so large, you're sure as hell won't get up from it."
"Pretty much, yeah." The auburn nodded as though it were trivial. "Don't know when I'll use it, but I'm sure it'll come in pretty handy.
"And..." the Velcro of her right cargo pocket, the one that appeared to be cancerous tumor, and her fingers wiggled their way inside. The bulge became nothing more than a flat piece of cloth again as the auburn dragged out a large shiny, silvery revolver with a little snub for a barrel. "I got this little puppy for backup. Brought enough extra rounds for two cylinders, just in case."
"Who on earth would give you that thing?" She blinked. "I can barely work a stick shift, and you don't see Yune over there, handing the keys over to his Mustang!"
"I did a couple of times!" he looked at her, frowning softly.
"True." She nodded, smiling bitter-sweetly. "But at least I didn't crash it!"
The Asian let out a flat grunt, drawn out in a slow, short drawl. His almond eyes almost dark slits as he furrowed his brow.
"I'm not even going there..." he moved his head away. "Do you have the locator card?"
Kimberly simply tapped her other cargo pocket with the little barrel of the gun, where there was a smaller mass protruding from the bottom of the pocket.
"Right here!" she said. "With the battery contact."
"Good." He turned his back to the auburn, walking slowly for the window. He pressed the pinky side of his good hand to the window, making a makeshift bill as he moved his crown against the side of his index. "Better pocket the piece, Kim and get your bag ready, T. I think I see your lift coming down the street."
Kim stuffed the revolver carefully into the pocket from which it sat, smoothing the flap over it with the gloved tips of her fingers.
"Already done." Her neck let out a little crack as she moved her head about. "I'll be getting the rifle. T, get your stuff and meet Sadie in the parking lot."
"Okay Kim." She nodded.
The fiery mane whipped behind her as the girl spun harshly on her boots. The handle rattled as Kim turned it, the door squeaking just a bit as she slipped through the little opening she made for herself right before it clamped back shut. Her gnarled, wrinkly bag laid waiting for her on its little cot, right next to the door.
"Well..." she leaned a bit too forward as she pushed herself to her feet, stabilizing her body with her arms a tad as she evened pressure on her pumps. "*Whoa--. * I... guess this is it, you know."
"I know." He turned on a dime, or a quarter at least.
"I'd better be going now." She bowed her head. Water began to seep between her eyelids, where they made a thin crevice. "Just don't worry about me. I'll be perfectly fine back home... alone."
The Asian let out a soft chuckle; the patting of his steps intensifying as he drew closer, and closer till his chest touched the very apex of her brow. His dry, firm fingers curled around the shape of her chin unevenly, and her head pitched up merely at his whim alone. She looked at him, gazed at him, and never had he looked so handsome or loving for as long as she known him.
"That's usually my line." He smiled warmly as he thumbed at her moist cheeks.
"Yune..."
"T..."
"Please remember your promise." She moved him closer a step. "Please...?"
"I will, Tara." He nodded gently. "I'll be sure to keep it."
"Thanks..." she nestled her head between his pecks.
"Don't I get a goodbye hug?" he asked.
"Duh!" she giggled hysterically, and her arms moved around his trunk with quick speed, squeezing at him like a constrictor. The corners of her smiling lips pulled at them harder as her ears caught that slow, hollow groan that came from out his throat.
"Oh--I love you, Yune!" she smiled brightly with her eyes closed, just basking in the sheer warmth of his body.
"*OH! *" The Asian let out through her tight grip. "I love--*AH*--you too... Tara!"
--"*DRECK! * I HATE YOU SHIA!!"
Her eyes popped open; her arms waned in their grip around her man's fleeting trunk. The weight of her body nearly carried her forward; the balls of her angled feet strained to keep her standing before she moved her trunk back upright. Her eyes darted over to the Korean at the desk, his pistol missing from its black surface.
"WELL SORRY, SIR!" that boyish voice fluctuated over a medium of radio static.
The sunlight in the room suddenly pulsated to quickened pace, going from bright to shade in mere hundredths of seconds through a chopping--a ridiculously loud chopping, as though someone hovered a helicopter right outside her window.
--The door let out a splintering crack, one that powered barely over the thrumming chopping sound. She turned--and in stumbled the auburn, nearly tripping over her own feet as the large piece of wood gave way. In the strained grasp of one of her arms was a huge, freaking rifle with some kind of angled box at the barrel's business end.
"YUNE!" the girl called, and the man turned--
She screamed only in her mind; her mouth a stunned agape--when a green wing, a chubby, green wing dropped into view. Its underbelly filled to the proverbial brim with armaments of every kind, possibly all with her name programmed straight in it.
*Oh no...! *
"Is it true?" The Ethiopian said with astonishment, so much bewilderment that Ron's hardened nerves began to wane. "That in America, you glide down these huge, massive peaks on a mere board?"
"Well... yeah!" he shrugged as his lips took up the straw of his Grande- sized cola. Prayer had ended abruptly at the Western Wall, both their fragile stomachs let out loud, churning wail in the midst of a prayer--a really good prayer at that! It was such a shame that it had to end, but his gut couldn't bear the pain of its emptiness. Thank the Lord that she had brought her Peugeot, or they would have never had made it to the Bueno Nacho in time. "It's called a snowboard."
"Many of your modern ways are new to me." Her thumbs twiddled idly, mere inches from the scrap paper that remained of her burrito. "I come from a small village from Ethiopia, where we still live off much of the land... if the Lord blesses us with rich harvest."
Little claws clacked on the table as his little buddy scampered over to the girl's paper. His tongue turned red as he eagerly lapped up the rest of that delicious, precious sauce. The girl's thicker lips slid off of her teeth, as she pulled them into a big toothy grin.
"Regardless of bountiful harvest or not." She giggled. "We have these little creatures a plenty. Except they typically don't favor fast food."
"Oh yeah!" he blinked. "This little guy's named Rufus, and I love him to bits!"
"But where on earth did you find him in your country?" she leaned toward him. "I heard it was illegal to own such pets?"
"I guess in Middleton," he shrugged, "my hometown, all rules apply except to us. My dad's allergic to pretty much everything, but when the Smarty Mart sale came, I just so happened to stumble upon this little guy."
"Aisle nine!" his buddy and him cheered together.
"Sounds like a strange place." She angled her head. "This city of yours."
"Not really." He smiled. "Well, if you ignore the creepy, nut-jobs that is."
"Oh!" the girl perked her head up. "How rude of me! I have not yet introduced my self. My name is Robin, of the family Ata."
"Robin?" his brow kinked. "For an Ethiopian?"
"Ah..." she grinned sheepishly, slowly moving her gaze down to the table, "strange, yes? Believe me, you are not the first who thought in such a way. You see my father loves the birds of the sky. You would call him an ornithologist, as I have heard it said.
"Before I was born, he had heard a story of a beautiful bird, native on your side of the world. He had seen a picture of it briefly. It was a small, chubby bird with a beautiful red breast beneath its dark wings. And when I was born, he thought that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever saw."
"Just like the bird..." he nodded.
"Exactly." She nodded back. "Even my boyfriend thinks so."
"Oh really?" he grinned bigly.
"Yes." She nodded. "He is a Jew like yourself. The odd thing is that he came to the Holy Land from France, but he spoke in the tongue of an American."
His lips dropped into a thin, flat line as his heart skipped a single beat. "An American-Frenchman?"
"Yes." Her lips pulled into a warm smile. "His name is Shia, and I love him so very much. He took me into his apartment as a sign of generosity, when I had no money left from the trip here. He taught me how to read and speak this English language, and even taught me how to drive. And as time progressed, we fell in love."
"Now I remember you!" he moved his head back and forth, realization dawning on him like a clear day. "You were at the Dan Panorama for the Shmuck Avenue concert!"
"Yes, I was." Her dark brow kinked. "But have I met you before?"
"Nope," he shook his head, "we had never met. But I'm sure I saw you there, arguing with this Shia person on the stage."
"Yes, I was." she pressed back squarely against the tiny, oval back of the chair. "But enough about myself, who might you be?"
*Tread carefully... * his mind whispered.
"Head!" he nodded quickly, punctuating with the folding of his arms tightly against his chest. "Richard Head's the name, and wrestling's the game!"
The dark girl blinked--and the tops of her cheeks puffed, her eyes closed as she let out a snort of a laugh.
"What?" he shrugged. "Can someone let me in on the joke?"
"I may be a mere Ethiopian," she giggled softly, "but I've been around Shia enough to know how poor a name that is. I pity you."
"Gee!" he frowned. "I feel *so* much better now."
"With a name like that, I am surprised to realize that I haven't seen you there before." She said. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"
"In my room, typically." He cautiously moved his eyes away, up towards the deep blue sky. "With me an my co-worker--her name's Jane, if you must know. We do a little promotional work for the GWA. In fact, after the little... uh--*impromptu* concert, we were about to announce briefly their tour throughout Europe."
His head eased down properly, only to see the girl's head move shyly away from him, eyes at a repentant half-mast.
"Why didn't you?" she asked rhetorically.
"Well--for one thing--this wet freak shows up, and shoots the place up like Iraq!" both his hand slapped squarely upon the plastic table. Utensils rang out with a clattery discord. The buddy shot his head straight up, his forelegs bent in and his head moving about like a prairie dog in surprise. "She and the other couple were lucky we didn't get a bullet in between our headlights!"
"I apologize..." she sighed heavily.
"For what?" the tension loosened its squeeze in his muscles, his arms growing weak with gravity dragging them by the elbows. "You've done nothing wrong."
"On behalf of my boyfriend's troublesome employer." Her locks of frizzy, stringy hair shook like the tail of a shaggy dog. "I know I have not done anything wrong, and neither had Shia. Unless, of course, you call a night with me a critical offense."
"No, it's not." His brow furrowed. "What job on earth did he take that gives such treatment?"
"He's with the vigilantes." She spat, as if the taste suddenly had become foul in her mouth. "The 'VSA', as I have heard the news media say."
"I assume his superior isn't exactly an ideal person to be a neighbor with." He pressed gently his chest to the flat edge of the table.
"That Simeon's a monster!" a corner of her mouth pulled her lips into a snarl. "He turns good people into demons, out fresh from the Devil's regions. I know that my Shia cannot *exactly* hold a candle up to Moses or Elijah, but he is not like that. The Major--his boss has corrupted him."
*Drazen... you'll pay for that! * He thought, coming out his mouth like a flat, throaty grunt.
"I feel bad for the people he terrorizes." She shook her head.
"Huh?" he played it ignorant.
"The Palestinians." She gazed at him squarely. "Or, as the Major calls them, the 'dirty-rotten-inbred-filth', accusing them of taking over the Israeli way of life. I'm not saying they are all innocent, I know a minority of them are trying to do exactly that, but--! ...I don't know anymore--I just DON'T!"
Ron nodded. His heart seemed to gain a little more weight as the thought circled around in his mind. Not all of the Palestinians were bad, he knew that sincerely, but his heart longed for them, merely to ease their suffering--just a little, and help them to realize that peace isn't found in a vest--at the end of a gun.
"They're not *exactly* the best treated people in the Middle East." He attempted to rationalize. "They have no jobs, no school, and barely get by from what jobs they can get. But you have to agree somewhat, they're treated by Israel--the *real* Israel--better than their own countries.
"Back in 48', with the nation's independence, it was written in the Balfor Declaration that all native peoples were automatic citizens. We didn't expel them; they chose to reject it of their own accord. And suddenly, after a couple more wars, we find our Arab 'friends' expel a great deal of them from their own lands, and stash them over here."
"Nothing more than to throw the proverbial gasoline on the flame." She noted, nodding in agreement.
"So we try to take care of them." He shrugged. "We attempt to give them food, and some comfort away from their own countries who'd kill them at a bat of an eye. But the more we try to help, the more they hate us for it. Always blaming us for their own inadequacies, when their PLO is really to blame."
"I can see your point clear as the day, Mr. Head." She nodded. "Their home countries throw them out on their ear, as you say; their twisted little government strips them of their dignity and aid. Yet with that in mind, still they pretend that we--the evil 'Zionist entity'--are to blame for all the suffering. Governments of the fallen world turn their eyes away from it, yet are quick to strike us with their mouths and their hands when we make a move."
"We're all tired." He nodded.
"That is the vigilantes' mentality..." She shook her head in exasperation. His heart stilled its slow beats, for only a moment, as his ears took in the language of his fathers--his mothers--and of all the people of his nation. It affected him every time.
"'Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.'" She quoted directly from the words of great King Solomon. Chills ran down his spine, chills that froze him directly to the core. "'What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?'"
"How true." He nodded solemnly.
"They have given up the good fight." She bowed her head low. "And they have taken the way of the heathen. Oh--may the God of our fathers have mercy upon them."
"Hmm..." Rufus stood there; unusually silent as though his little heart had miraculously drank in the aura that surrounded the tiny table. He just stood there upon his bare hind legs, black, beady eyes gazing endlessly and his tiny nose without a twitch.
--He heard something burning in the sky behind, as if a fighter plane had kicked on the afterburners on its pass by.
Something caught the corner of his eye, something moving at a high rate of speed that left a trail of white upon a field of blue. He blinked, and his eyes cleared onto Robin's image. The dark girl snapped her head up, as if someone snapped their fingers right beside her ear. Her eyes moved slowly in her head with thick lips agape, from top left to the bottom right in spasmodic jerks.
"What is that?" she asked distantly. Others nearby too turned their eyes to the sky. A tanned, dark woman put her hands upon her face, fingers capping her mouth and the bridge of her nose beneath wide, awestruck eyes. Feeling as if left out of a great show in the heavens, slowly he moved the top of his trunk around.
*What the--!? *
Ribbons of white radiated from a single focus in the sky in soft wisps of vapor, being pulled to the earth by tiny, white dots at an exponential rate. He had seen nothing like it before in his short life, for the real, yet it looked so familiar. But where exactly had he seen if before? On TV maybe, or in a movie theater perhaps, where the spaceship blew to pieces in the atmosphere like frigid water in a blast furnace--
*Holy... cow! *
***
Something foul was a foot in the country, so the news anchor acted on the small television. He bowed head of messy, brown locks into the palms of his creased hands, burring it almost in sheer disgust at what had befallen him. Amazing what mere words on the papers littering his desk could do, other than create a mess. With the crestfallen man in front, juxtaposed behind on the wall were photos of quite a few people, all of different ages and of various walks of life. Strangely enough, the tanned, Bedouin faces barely outnumbered those of the others, typically of eastern Slavic descent.
*I don't like this... *
He turned his eyes away from the puzzler on the television at the sound of soft footsteps coming his way. His love took a seat on the opposite corner of the bed. The seat of her black skirt sank with a creak into the mattress, the hem of her light green tank caressing the tip of her waist as she pulled it smoothly over her head.
"It's been about a half hour since Sadie had last checked in." He said plainly. "Are you all packed?"
"Yeah..." the blonde let out a sigh as she negotiated her bra straps underneath the wider ones of her tank. "My bag's sitting on that little luggage cot by the door. But I wish it could be by your duffel for just another night."
He nodded.
"Can't you reconsider?" she folded her hands upon her dark lap as she gazed at him sincerely, glistening eyes shining brightly below the large band-aid angled on her crown.
"I'm sorry, Tara." He looked away. "It's out of my hands.... Well-- err--hand, at least."
"Whose going to help you around?" the bed shifted awkwardly side to side, his love inching closer on the bedspread.
"Hershel's having someone sent over." He said. "Don't worry about me. Just enjoy what's left of the summer, safe and sound back home."
"But what'll be so great about it, if you're not there?"
"Tara..." he inched himself closer. "You know I love you deeply, right?"
She bowed her head shyly. "Yes."
"Tara, look at me." His good arm crossed the span of his body, the joint aching a bit as he pushed it further beyond the typical range of motion. His fingers moved upon her jaw gently, caressing the smooth skin as they curled around the other side of her jaw. Resistant at the start, but he felt the tension in her muscles give way to him. Her lids batted parted for those beautiful, glistening eyes. "I love you very much, T. But things have gotten complicated. I want you to be safe, and the only place I know that's safe is back stateside."
"But Yune--!" she protested.
"Tara--just listen." He exclaimed gently. "You don't want me stuffed in a morgue, and I don't want you suffering the same fate. Drazen's a monster, and he'll kill either one of us without a second thought. As long as you're safe, I'm willing to stake it out with the others."
"But--!"
"Tara..." he frowned, "please.... For me?"
The blonde shook her head fiercely. Her wavy locks swishing in a messy tangle of yellow, the corners of her lips dragging them into a sour frown.
"Fine..." she whispered quietly. "Just--come back alive!"
"I promise." He nodded.
"Yune," her hands wringed in her dark lap quickly, "just one more thing."
"What's that?"
He moved himself a little closer, the fabric of his pants grazing the soft cloth of her skirt. She gazed at him squarely, her sour lips curving into a gentle, warm smile that made his heart quicken. Her soft, cool palms cupped around the line of his jaw, the thumbs rubbing at his cheeks as her thin fingers came to rest on the pulsating sides of his neck.
"Kiss me." She grinned.
"I should have known." He smiled back, and the crowns of their heads rubbed together as they melted into each other's tender embrace. Their lips merely grazed each other, their breath heated with passion as they leaned in to seal the deal--
--*Ring...! *
"Pf--" The blonde giggled softly. "Phone...!"
"*Ugh...! *" He sighed loudly, not even attempting to conceal the frustration in his voice. "Better not be a wrong number! I swear!"
The springs let out a stifled creak as he pushed himself off of the bed, a huff in his heavy step as he stormed for that irritating device. His knuckles popped, the sinew flicking at the bone underneath his skin as he snatched the receiver viciously from the cradle.
"Yes...?" he sighed quite loudly, even before the receiver was pressed firmly against his ear.
"Yune," that very boyish voice crackled out of the phone, "it's Wade. Got a minute?"
"Can it wait?" the accumulation of his utter frustration came together in a single grunt. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."
"Be nice, Yune." His love countered sternly. His eyes took a lap around the circumference of his sockets.
"Alright...!" he let out a low, humming grunt. "You've got a minute."
"Good."
"Now, what do you want?"
"Yune, the Kimmunicator satellite's been shot down!"
He blinked. "What?"
"I know it sounds farfetched, but my readings don't lie." The boy said with calmed exclamation, the panic crawling out gradually in his voice. "One second, I had a clear map of the Har Ramon, next thing I know-- KA-BOOM! The readouts went haywire!"
"Couldn't it simply be electrical interference?" he inquired. "You know the sun's been acting unusual this year."
"I've run that scenario a few times." The boy explained. "The numbers crunched just don't add up to it. I came to the current conclusion when I switched on the news channel. They ran a segment, featuring what looked like a spacecraft disintegrating in the upper atmosphere exactly where the satellite's last known location was reported."
"Are you actually saying it was shot down?"
"That exactly it." The boy confirmed. "And, I don't think I need to tell you what else the news network aired, do I?"
"Maybe you should." He stole a glance over at the blonde upon the bed. She sat there idly, eyes glued to the television, her toes like cat claws, scratching at the carpet for her low-heel pumps a couple feet away. "Everything here's in Hebrew or Arabic."
"There's not an easy way to put this, Yune," the kid said, "so I'm just going to say it."
"Go ahead." He nodded. "I'm used to shit hitting the fan."
"A terrorist group in the upper West Bank had executed a group of Israelis they kidnapped." His throat tightened, and he pushed down a wad as the kid's words gained meaning in his mind. He heard a distinct, hollow sigh resounding in his ear, from the other side of the line way back in the States. "Men, women, and some children... *man*--how could someone--*ANYONE* stoop that low!?"
"You're asking me?" he threw the question right back.
"No." the Webmaster said quietly. "But I don't know what's more disturbing: the fact the terrorists did it, or the fact that the news media could care less over it. They played it for only a measly 30 seconds before the entertainment section came up! I'm supposed to be a genius, and even I can't answer that!"
"Maybe, you should ask them yourself." He said.
"Bah!" the kid spat. "Like that's ever going to happen! Damned media moguls! And I'm sure I don't need to tell you about certain repercussions this tragedy's going to have."
"Yeah," he clenched his teeth behind shut lips, "Drazen will be taking the men for some good old fashioned target practice."
"Precisely."
"Does Kim know?"
"I just got off the phone with her before I called you." He said. "She's getting herself ready to search for the thugs' GHQ this afternoon. With the thugs... oh--let's say, 'doing their sworn duty', it'll be the perfect time. Sad, isn't it?"
"We're all actors, and the world's a freaking dilapidated stage."
"Such a positive outlook on life, Yune." The kid joked softly.
"Not the time, Wade." He frowned.
"Right... *hmm! *" The boy rescinded in a withdrawn, grunting hum. "All right. I'm going to bed. Just keep yourself alive till the next time I give you a call, okay?"
"Already done." He nodded. "Good night, Wade."
The receiver made a static clatter in his ear, letting out a tiny *click* before he removed it from his head, gently letting the piece of plastic down upon its cradle. He took another glance at his girl, which had finally managed to slip her feet inside her dark pumps. A mass of her hair shifted to one side as she angled her head by the neck, eyes gazing at him curiously.
"What's going on, Yune?" she asked.
"There's been an 'incident' in the upper West Bank." He said carefully. "VSA are on the move. Till either Hershel comes for you or Sadie gets back, I want you in this room."
"Okay." She nodded, and she pushed herself to her elevated feet, strolling over to him with longing in her eyes. "But before I go, can we pick up where we left off?"
His chest pulsed quickly, quickening at the sheer touch of her hands upon his shoulders. Gingerly, she pressed him against the nearby wall, making him back up a couple steps.
"I don't want to go anywhere." She smiled warmly. "I want you all to myself, my big, strong man!"
"As do I, T." his good arm snaked around her slender waist, her muscles tensing beneath that perfect skin. He drew her closer, eyes perfectly even and locked, thanks in large part to her heels. "As do I..."
And everything just seemed to... melt away instantly.
"I told you those shoes would come in handy someday, T."
"Shut up and kiss me, Yune."
***
No matter how much scopolamine Uzi managed to choke down, little did the feeling of drowsy, light-headedness wane. It felt as if it had been getting worse and worse each day since Prague, and his senses seemed to drift a little further out of reach each time the room--the world began to drunkenly twirl around.
"*Ugh... Dreck! *" He moaned quietly. "Not again!"
"Major Drazen, Sir." That flat, unwavering tone of that burn victim called for him, just beyond the closest set of the armory's double doors.
"What is it, Avi?" the room around sloshed heavily side to side, as he tried vigilantly to shake utter sense back into his groggy brain. "Don't you have something else to tend to?"
"Tank Man's already got the 'propaganda' covered, and Solomon Rex is near completion as we speak." He said emotionlessly. "But Sir, we've completed the trace of the Korean's last known phone call."
"Really...?" he batted his eyelids quickly. Colors began to filter in gradually with every blink.
"Indeed, Sir." The scarred man stepped into a better light, the halogens above playing havoc upon his burns. The shadows cast turned the half of the face into a field of large boils, ready to burst seemingly at the touch. "Your plan worked flawlessly! Dan Panorama Tel Aviv, room 402."
"Excellent!" he hopped off the ammunition crate in a drunken stupor, the dim room sloshing and turning about in opposite directions of his movement, so quickly the snacks found their way back up his gut. "Oh... boy...!"
"Do you need more scopolamine, Sir?"
"No." he shook his head very slowly. "I just had a bottle a few minutes ago. Should take effect *sometime* while we're on route, at least!"
"On route, Sir?"
"Yes...." The dim, blurry room ceased its crazed twirl around him. His bearings had become straight enough he could stand up straight in a moderate hunch. Curses at the good doctor came out under-breath. "Damn drug!"
"How do you mean, Sir?" the scarred man pressed.
"Pull the active troops off the current objective." He said. "Redirect them to the Charles Clore Park, and put them on standby. No one moves in unless I give the word. Where's Matt?"
"He's on the other side of the armory," the man gestured accordingly, to the farthest circle of light adjacent from him, "with Ben tweaking the SWARM, and having the launcher loaded."
"Put them together." He said. "I want them in on this mission!"
"Is that such a good idea, Sir?" the man cocked an eyebrow, what the fire had generously left unscathed. "He's been here for only a couple days at most."
"It'll be an unofficial initiation." He nodded. "If he wants in on our operations so badly, we'll just see how he can cope with what we really do!"
The good piece of the man's crown perked, eyes just barely open as he let out a quick, little hum.
"Hmm..." the scarred man said, "that may not be such a bad idea after all, Sir."
"Get Shia in the hanger on the double!" he exclaimed. "I want the Apache ready for take off. I want every available man here active, and on route for the target site! Have them set up a perimeter once there."
"Yes Sir!" the scarred man unrolled into a straighter stand, saluting him appropriately. Uzi countered with a weaker salute. "Anything else, Sir?"
"Just one thing, Avi."
"Yes?"
"I needed it 20 minutes ago!"
"Sir!"
***
"God!" Tara made her eyes take another lap around her sockets, as her man exclaimed to the top-middle of his lungs. He paced before her, back and forth, to and fro with no sign of exhaustion in sight. His odd Daewoo pistol lay before the laptop at the ready, just in case. "It's been close to a half hour already! Where the heck's that damn car?"
"Technically, it's an SUV, Hon." She shrugged in the midst of laying her head down upon the mattress.
"It could be a damn Gremlin for all I care, right now!" he grunted. "Where the heck is it?"
"Yune, would you calm down?" Kimberly's voice called out from the door's unlatching, over the rackety handle as it turned. The lumber's travel from its frame to its stopper became smoothly quiet as the handle snapped back.
The auburn passed through quietly in her boots, the legs of her olive cargos swishing against each other as she walked. Her gloved fingers combed through her hair smoothly, the extreme most ends of her mane barely escaping the snatching door as it worked its way back into the frame with a rattle.
"You're going to wear a trench in the carpet if you don't stop."
"Mission time already, Kim?" She grinned.
"Not exactly." The girl shook her mane gently. "Sadie isn't back yet. And even with her around, I don't know how I can move my big equipment around discretely."
"And what exactly is this equipment?" she rolled her self off of the bed, into a hunch. "Anything illegal?"
"I've seen it." Yune had finally managed to plant his walking shoes firmly in the carpet. "A .50-caliber sniper rifle made by Barrett. Makes holes so large, you're sure as hell won't get up from it."
"Pretty much, yeah." The auburn nodded as though it were trivial. "Don't know when I'll use it, but I'm sure it'll come in pretty handy.
"And..." the Velcro of her right cargo pocket, the one that appeared to be cancerous tumor, and her fingers wiggled their way inside. The bulge became nothing more than a flat piece of cloth again as the auburn dragged out a large shiny, silvery revolver with a little snub for a barrel. "I got this little puppy for backup. Brought enough extra rounds for two cylinders, just in case."
"Who on earth would give you that thing?" She blinked. "I can barely work a stick shift, and you don't see Yune over there, handing the keys over to his Mustang!"
"I did a couple of times!" he looked at her, frowning softly.
"True." She nodded, smiling bitter-sweetly. "But at least I didn't crash it!"
The Asian let out a flat grunt, drawn out in a slow, short drawl. His almond eyes almost dark slits as he furrowed his brow.
"I'm not even going there..." he moved his head away. "Do you have the locator card?"
Kimberly simply tapped her other cargo pocket with the little barrel of the gun, where there was a smaller mass protruding from the bottom of the pocket.
"Right here!" she said. "With the battery contact."
"Good." He turned his back to the auburn, walking slowly for the window. He pressed the pinky side of his good hand to the window, making a makeshift bill as he moved his crown against the side of his index. "Better pocket the piece, Kim and get your bag ready, T. I think I see your lift coming down the street."
Kim stuffed the revolver carefully into the pocket from which it sat, smoothing the flap over it with the gloved tips of her fingers.
"Already done." Her neck let out a little crack as she moved her head about. "I'll be getting the rifle. T, get your stuff and meet Sadie in the parking lot."
"Okay Kim." She nodded.
The fiery mane whipped behind her as the girl spun harshly on her boots. The handle rattled as Kim turned it, the door squeaking just a bit as she slipped through the little opening she made for herself right before it clamped back shut. Her gnarled, wrinkly bag laid waiting for her on its little cot, right next to the door.
"Well..." she leaned a bit too forward as she pushed herself to her feet, stabilizing her body with her arms a tad as she evened pressure on her pumps. "*Whoa--. * I... guess this is it, you know."
"I know." He turned on a dime, or a quarter at least.
"I'd better be going now." She bowed her head. Water began to seep between her eyelids, where they made a thin crevice. "Just don't worry about me. I'll be perfectly fine back home... alone."
The Asian let out a soft chuckle; the patting of his steps intensifying as he drew closer, and closer till his chest touched the very apex of her brow. His dry, firm fingers curled around the shape of her chin unevenly, and her head pitched up merely at his whim alone. She looked at him, gazed at him, and never had he looked so handsome or loving for as long as she known him.
"That's usually my line." He smiled warmly as he thumbed at her moist cheeks.
"Yune..."
"T..."
"Please remember your promise." She moved him closer a step. "Please...?"
"I will, Tara." He nodded gently. "I'll be sure to keep it."
"Thanks..." she nestled her head between his pecks.
"Don't I get a goodbye hug?" he asked.
"Duh!" she giggled hysterically, and her arms moved around his trunk with quick speed, squeezing at him like a constrictor. The corners of her smiling lips pulled at them harder as her ears caught that slow, hollow groan that came from out his throat.
"Oh--I love you, Yune!" she smiled brightly with her eyes closed, just basking in the sheer warmth of his body.
"*OH! *" The Asian let out through her tight grip. "I love--*AH*--you too... Tara!"
--"*DRECK! * I HATE YOU SHIA!!"
Her eyes popped open; her arms waned in their grip around her man's fleeting trunk. The weight of her body nearly carried her forward; the balls of her angled feet strained to keep her standing before she moved her trunk back upright. Her eyes darted over to the Korean at the desk, his pistol missing from its black surface.
"WELL SORRY, SIR!" that boyish voice fluctuated over a medium of radio static.
The sunlight in the room suddenly pulsated to quickened pace, going from bright to shade in mere hundredths of seconds through a chopping--a ridiculously loud chopping, as though someone hovered a helicopter right outside her window.
--The door let out a splintering crack, one that powered barely over the thrumming chopping sound. She turned--and in stumbled the auburn, nearly tripping over her own feet as the large piece of wood gave way. In the strained grasp of one of her arms was a huge, freaking rifle with some kind of angled box at the barrel's business end.
"YUNE!" the girl called, and the man turned--
She screamed only in her mind; her mouth a stunned agape--when a green wing, a chubby, green wing dropped into view. Its underbelly filled to the proverbial brim with armaments of every kind, possibly all with her name programmed straight in it.
*Oh no...! *