Martha Bell wiped the sweat from her forehead as she slaved over her flower garden. She hated weeding more than anything else in the world, and really regretted that she had put the chore off for so long. Instead of a quick hour or so task, she'd let the garden become so overrun that it had turned into a morning-long ordeal.

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and Martha looked up at the darkening sky. Deciding to call it quits before the rain started to fall, she wearily stood and stretched her back. She was about to head inside when a very odd sight caught her eye. A few yards down the road a young, pregnant girl was stumbling toward her. That in itself was odd, but the fact that the nearest form of civilization was at least three miles in any direction added to her concern. What in the world is that girl doing on the road? Martha wondered. Car trouble maybe?

She walked down her large sloping front yard to check on the girl, who started frantically waving as soon as she spotted Martha.

"Help me!"

Martha's heart skipped a beat as she rushed to the girl. "What's wrong, Dear? You're not having your baby, are you?"

The young girl shook her head. "He shot him!" she hysterically sobbed. "He shot him. He was going to k-kill me, too, but I... I ran."

"Who are you talking about?" Martha asked as she gripped the girl's arm and guided her into the house.

"The gas station," the girl cried. "There's a man in there. He shot him right in front of me!"

Martha sat the girl in an armchair, grabbed her cordless phone and dialed the local sheriff's number. "Lucy?" she greeted as the lone county dispatcher answered the phone. "I need you to send an ambulance out to my house. I've got a pregnant girl here and she's very upset." Martha swallowed as she saw the fear in the young girl's eyes. "Better send the sheriff, too. I think we may have a situation down at Turner's Gas and Go."

--

Alan looked down at his son where he fitfully dozed on his shoulder. He reached out and stroked Don's cheek to try to soothe the restlessness away, softly smiling when his son calmed in response to his touch. Alan leaned his head against the wall behind him and studied the ceiling tiles overhead.

A simple father and son fishing trip, he mused. How in the world did it come to this?

They'd been camping and fishing for three days, and were headed back home as planned. The car still had half a tank when they came upon Turner's Gas and Go, but Alan insisted they stop because they didn't have any idea how long it would be until they came upon another gas station. That was the case he presented to Don, but in actuality Alan loved to stop at small mom and pop stores to get a taste of the local culture. He suspected Don knew his true motive, but he agreed nonetheless.

They pulled in and Don pumped the gas while Alan headed inside, where he was greeted by a young, pregnant clerk with a friendly smile and a wealth of local knowledge. They conversed while Alan took in the impulse items near the register, waiting for Don to join him. He looked up as the door opened and a young man in hunter's clothes sauntered in, immediately going to the cash register. He tipped his hat at Alan in greeting, before striking up a rather flirtatious conversation with the cashier. Alan sighed as he moved to the back of the store, remembering what it had been like to be young and impulsive. He heard a skittering noise and saw that the young hunter had knocked over a display of lighters. He was bent over behind the counter as he picked them up, all the while apologizing repeatedly.

The bell over the door jangled again and Alan saw Don arrive through the front door and walk down the aisle toward him. "Hey, Dad!" he called. "You ready?"

"Let me grab a drink," Alan answered as he pulled a bottle of water from the cooler. "Would you like anything?"

"A Coke," Don replied as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. His jacket pulled back as he did so, revealing his service weapon.

"Whoa, man," the hunter said in admiration. "Nice piece."

The pregnant clerk looked distinctly nervous so Don flashed her his most reassuring smile. "It's okay," he said as he flipped open his badge. "I'm an FBI agent."

"What are you doing up in these parts?" the hunter inquired.

"Vacationing."

"You carry your weapon with you off duty?"

"Yeah," Don laughed. "Guess I'm never really off duty."

"Good point," the hunter nodded to Don as Alan joined the group at the front of the store. "I hate to hear that though." The young man quickly drew a gun from the back of his pants and fired, hitting Don in the right leg. As the agent lay on the floor in shock, the hunter seized Don's service weapon and turned it on Alan. "Better put those drinks down, old man."

Alan did as told and started to move toward his son.

"Stop right there," the gunman warned. "Or I'll put another bullet in his head."

"He needs help," Alan argued.

"Maybe so, but he ain't getting it right now." The man dragged the frantic clerk from behind the counter. "Get the Fed's wallet and phone out of his pocket." She was frozen in shock as she stared at his gun. "Now!"

She bent down and gently dug through the agent's pockets. "It's okay," Don rasped. "Just do what he says." She nodded and handed the requested items over to the gunman.

"Now get the old man's, too."

Alan retrieved his phone and wallet, handing them to the girl. "Here you go, sweetheart."

She smiled at him in appreciation as she shakily took the items and handed them to the hunter. "Now, stand over there and don't move," he growled, gesturing to a spot near the door. She obeyed and he turned his back on her as he hovered menacingly over the wounded agent. "You really here on vacation?" he demanded.

"Yes," Don spoke evenly.

"That right, pops?"

"Yes, that's right," Alan agreed.

"Vacationing with daddy?" the gunman sneered. "How sweet is that?"

All three men looked toward the front door as the bell rang, announcing that the pregnant clerk had just escaped. Don and Alan were worried that he might shoot her, but the hunter surprised them by shrugging. "Guess she'll be calling the cops soon enough. Well then, we might as well get settled in."

"Dad?"

Don's tired voice drew Alan back to the present. "Yes?"

"Can I have more water?" Alan nodded as he removed the bottle from its hiding place. He stopped short of handing it to Don, instead holding it to his son's lips while he drank. He watched with dread as Don finished the contents and looked up at him. "Don't suppose there's another bottle somewhere?"

"Sorry, Don."

"That's okay," Don forced a smile to his face. "I'll be fine." He paused to try and even out his breathing, hating the shortness of breath that seemed to be plaguing him non-stop. "You figure out anything about Barry?"

Alan thoughtfully studied Don's face. "When I think back, I could swear he let the clerk escape on purpose."

"Crossed my mind, too."

"But I have no idea what that would mean."

Don frowned. "It means he wanted someone to know that he's here, that he has hostages, and that he's not afraid to hurt them," he panted, exhausted from the effort of speaking.

"That doesn't sound promising at all," Alan sighed.

"No, it doesn't."

--

Chris had been sitting on the floor next to his bomb for about thirty minutes. He was normally a very patient man – he could sit in a deer blind for hours on end – but he was anxious to resolve his current situation. Frustration that maybe things weren't going exactly as planned began to overwhelm him, and he climbed to his feet and flew to the manager's office. He swung the door open and trained his gun on the hostages that were sitting side-by-side across the room from him. The expression on the father's face was one of concern, love, and a fierce desire to protect his son, and that angered Chris to no end as he thought about how his own father could have cared less about him.

"Get up," he ordered Alan.

"What?"

"I said get up!" he roared. "Or the Fed is dead!"

"All right," Alan said as he gently lifted Don's head from his shoulder. "I'm getting up." As soon as Alan was on his feet, Rutherford yanked him to the doorway and slammed him against the door jamb.

"Don't move," he threatened as he shoved the gun into Alan's stomach. "Got it?" Alan nodded and Chris moved to the other man's side. "Why aren't the local cops here yet?"

"What?" Don asked in confusion. How was he supposed to know- "Ah!" he cried out as Chris slammed the butt of his gun against the side of his head.

"Tell me why they're not here yet!"

"I don't know," he managed to gasp around the intense throbbing in his skull.

"Wrong answer," he hissed as he drove his foot into the leg wound. He cackled as Don's face drained of color and slapped his cheek to keep the injured agent awake. "That clerk left a long time ago. The local authorities should have been here by now. What exactly did you say on that phone call to your office?"

"Nothing!" Alan insisted from the doorway. "I swear!"

Grinning malevolently, Chris shook his head. "I don't believe that, old man." With a slow, deliberate motion he pressed the gun to Don's temple and looked over his shoulder. "One last chance to tell me what I want to know."

"I swear I didn't say anything. I didn't get a chance to!"

Chris knew the man was probably telling the truth, but he was looking for an excuse to vent. "I warned you." He cocked the gun and his finger began to squeeze the trigger.

"No!" Alan's cry was drowned out by the deafening sound of a gunshot.

TBC