Dark Destiny

DARK DESTINY

The battered car forces its way through the night, weaving along a deserted two-lane highway at a terrific speed. It is an old car, a mid-eighties tan-colored Buick, with chipping paint along the doors and rust along the base of the back window, making its way down to the car’s trunk. As the lone car travels into the darkness, its suspension and shocks grunting their disapproval at its high rate of speed and sharp turns, it is followed at a nearly constant distance of one hundred yards behind by two police cars, their swirling blue lights casting light in the darkness and into the high trees and dark bushes that line the sides of the road, as they weave their way around curves and potholes. The two police cars’ white bodies and metallic blue lettering, further illuminated by their blue lights, create a stark contrast against the otherwise dark scene of this moonless night. The sound of piercing sirens shatter the otherwise still night, serving as a warning to the inhabitants of the vehicle; a warning that goes unheeded.

The road is a narrow one, weaving along the side of an old river, with a history of often unsavory trade along its banks. This part of the river, however, is a narrow one, and a few miles from downtown section of the port city located miles behind, at the river’s mouth. The road is not well-lit at this point, and there as there are no street lights to help guide weary passengers through the road’s many twists and turns. In the darkness of this late night hour, the headlights cut through the darkness, but cast light only on a small section of the road directly in front of the vehicles on this moonless night. The sides of the road are narrow, and tall trees largely encumber the view on each side of the road, an eerie warning if a curve is taken too sharply. Along the sides of the road are oak and pine trees, as well as small shrubbery. In front of the police cars, trying to gain ground on its pursuers, the lead car jumps across a large pothole, the tires and shocks jerking their disapproval when the vehicle returns to the ground on the other side of the large pothole. The driver curses under his breath at the difficulty he is having navigating this neglected road, which is made all the more challenging by the concealment of these potholes by the encroaching darkness all around them.

In the fleeing vehicle, the driver keeps his dark eyes on the road, as he man-handles the steering wheel, forcing it to make sharp turns, as the wheels leave much of their rubber and remaining tread on the road behind. His dark brown eyes show signs of fear and determination, as he does all he can to prevent another stretch in prison—and, this time, a long one. His face is unshaven and rough, with an old scar that runs just under his right eye, all the way to his chin, cutting through his cheek. He looks to be in his mid-forties, but is actually only in his mid-thirties, the result of hard living and hard drinking over much of his life. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with his right hand, he uses the back side of his left to push away the perspiration and hair which was encroaching into his eyes, making it more difficult to see. His hair, once dark brown, has gotten lighter in the past few years, as more and more gray hairs are overtaking the brown ones. To his right, in the passenger’s seat, his friend of many years holds on tightly to the dashboard, preventing his head from slamming into the windshield, as he is thrown about from the driver’s desperate driving. His face is a mask of fear, for both the police behind him and the concern of being one of what he envisions to be many passengers who ended their lives wrapped around one of the pine trees that stretches high into the night sky. He has brown, straight hair, with the bangs threatening to go over his eyes, causing him to brush them back when he has a free hand to do so. At the moment, however, he uses both hands, shifting his right hand alternatively to the dashboard and to the armrest on the door, depending on where the momentum of the sharp turns and quick acceleration are taking him. His green eyes grow larger, as he looks at the approaching curve in the road ahead, and the fact that his friend is making little effort to slow down to navigate his way through it. As he navigates the turn, the front-seat passenger looks out the window into a very narrow clearing in the trees, where he sees the river off in the distance, separated by a side strand of marsh front not fifteen feet away from the road on the small, two-lane concrete bridge they are now crossing.

“Man, try to keep us in one piece!” the passenger remarks sharply, defensively, as his elbow slams into the side of the door, even as the car makes a sharp right turn. He winces with pain at the impact of the door against his elbow, which reverberates with a throbbing sensation that—at least at this moment—seems unlikely to stop any time in the near future, and grimaces at his friend. His skin is leathery, having spent much of his life working in the sun, in between long stretches in prison.

“You want to be here—or in a jail cell?” the driver responds sharply, not taking his eyes from the road, as his face contorts in anger. He has long been irritated by his friend’s lack of backbone, and this is just another example, in his mind, of him having to take the lead, only to hear whining as a result. “Just shut up and let me drive!” As his mind dwells on the outburst, he grows increasingly angry as a result. “Here I am trying to do what it takes to keep us out of prison for the rest of our lives, and all you can do is whine about it!” His eyes burn with anger. “Have you forgotten that we’re all looking at violent habitual, not to mention armed robbery?! You want me to drop you off at the curb, so the cops can take you to the big house for the rest of your life, just say so! If we get caught for this rap, man, there ain’t gonna be any more daylight in our lives.”

The passenger in the front seat looks over, angry at his friend and still reeling from the throbbing sensation in his elbow, but elects to say nothing. He has seen him this way before, and realizes that it will accomplish nothing to continue their argument, other than to escalate this into an unnecessary and counter-productive shouting match. Besides, he is driving, and there’s no reason to give him an excuse to wrap the car around the closest tree, a danger that has been made increasingly likely by another sharp turn in the road. Instead, he elects to just keep holding onto the dashboard, and hoping that his friend can lose the police as soon as possible, so that at least this part of the escape will be over. As much as he hates to admit it, his friend does have a point about the dangers of getting caught. He knows as well as his friend that this will be their last trip to prison if they’re caught.

In the back seat, another of the gang looks on, smiling, as he roughly holds onto the arm of a gagged, terrified young girl of perhaps seventeen. He is wearing a red flannel shirt, and his face is also unshaved, like the driver. His eyes are dark, like his hair, and he smells like a chain smoker. He’s larger than the two in the front seat, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the car’s sudden jerks and turns. He has a sneer on his face as he holds onto the young girl’s arm. The young girl’s blue eyes reflect the terror of being a captive, even as they grow larger in a combination of the driving and the uncertainty of what these men have planned for her. He holds her tight, even as the car bounces over bumps and potholes in the road, causing them to be jarred about in the car. At their feet are bags filled with money stolen from a bank before this chase started. She looks down at the money, and tries to keep her eyes away from the man, holding roughly onto her at her tricep, even as his eyes measure her fear—something which makes him smile all the more. Her sandy blond hair glimmers in the darkness, as the blue lights continue to trail them in the distance.

“Don’t worry, girl,” the man in the back seat says, looking at the terrified girl, who glances over at his rough, unshaven face for a moment before turning away again, overcome by the violence in his eyes. Just looking at the man terrifies her, and he knows as much. “We’ll get away from this in one piece,” he offers suggestively, as his eyes scan up and down her slender form. She is wearing a tight-fitting red sweater and a black skirt, which falls just below the knee. “So to speak.” Her eyes grow wider with fear, as she turns away from his piercing, prurient gaze, and the smell of his breath. His hands are rough and calloused, grating against her arm like sandpaper. She looks around him on the seat, where she sees that he has consumed most of a bottle of cheap liquor before she met him. Her long, blond hair bounces around and gets into her eyes, but she can only shake her head to remove it, her hands bound tightly behind her back. In fact, they are bound so tightly that she can feel her fingers starting to grow numb. She opens and closes her fists, trying to wiggle her fingers to restore the feeling in her hands, but finds it increasingly difficult to do that when she is being thrown about in the car, her only hope of not having a fatal head injury, ironically, in the rough hands of the man who is holding onto her. She can take little comfort from this fact. The blue lights light up the car, and reveals the terror in her eyes, but it grows dark with each sudden turn on the dark, winding road. It is a look, however, that her captor has not missed.

Suddenly, the driver turns the wheel sharply, turning the car away from the road and onto a narrow dirt road leading to the river, leaving a trail of dust and dirt in its wake, as he barrels down the dirt pathway. Maneuvering down the narrow road, he scans around, as if looking for something with a sense of urgency. He jerks the car hard to the right and pulls it to a stop behind a cluster of shrubbery, the car jerking back and forth from the sudden braking, and cuts off the engine and the lights. The car quickly hums to a stop, after convulsing and rattling, as if complaining about the rough driving it has been put through for the past forty-five minutes—a period of time that, to the terrified owner of this vehicle, seems closer to an eternity.

“What are you doing?” the man in the back utters alarmingly, a threatening tone ever present in virtually everything he has to say, even to his compatriots. “Why are you stopping?

“You’ll see,” the driver returns, his eyes returning to the roadside. He is relieved to see that most of the dirt and dust that he stirred up when he came onto this road has dissipated. He’s relieved that the road is still damp from rain earlier in the day. He waits in the darkness, watching the road closely to see if his ploy has worked. His eyes light up when he sees the police cars drive by, continuing their search down the winding paved road, their blue lights blazing as they slowly disappear down the road.

“I can’t believe it!” the brown-haired man in the front passenger’s seat remarks with unconcealed elation. “They fell for it!” He looks at his friend in the driver’s seat beside him, grinning with uncontrolled enthusiasm, as he slaps the back of his friend’s seat. He pumps his hand in excitement, and nods his head. “Forget everything I said earlier! That was a fine piece of driving!”

“Maybe so,” their compatriot in the back seat comments, leaning forward, placing his left hand on the back of the passenger’s seat, while continuing to hold tightly onto the arm of the young girl seated beside him. “But we ain’t out of the woodwork yet. They won’t be fooled that way for too long.” As the three robbers talk among themselves, the young girl in the back seat leans back, relieved that he has taken his attention from her—at least for the moment. She just wonders what will happen now—now that the police are going the wrong way, and the men in the car have free time on their hands. The thought sends a shiver down her spine, and makes her shake involuntarily, as if she was cold. In fact, she can feel her hands and feet growing cold, from the terror of her situation.

“They won’t need to be,” the driver responds, shaking his head defensively, as he grins with satisfaction. “We just need a couple of minutes to…”

THUMP!

“What was that?!” the front passenger asks, frantically looking around, into the back seat, out the back window, and on each of the side windows, trying to determine where that sound originated.

THUMP!

The sound is much louder now, and the three thugs are jolted this time, as the car shakes from an impact to each side, followed immediately by a loud, crunching noise. The front passenger and the driver each look out their windows, and each react with shock at the sight of giant metal hooks reaching into the sides of the car, just above the door handles on the outside of the car, and just under the bottom of the window panes—immediately and directly in their field of vision. These hooks are attached to giant arms protruding from an object hovering above the vehicle (and out of their immediate line of vision). They can only make out the bottom of the object, which resembles the underside of a plane. However, the object is dark, and seems to almost blend into the night sky. Their eyes light up with fear, and grow ever larger, as they look at the sight of the giant hooks moving closer to the car doors. Frantically, each of them tries to open his door, but they find that the first strike on the car twisted the metal in the door frame, making it impossible to open the doors. This only adds to their shared terror, as they find themselves trapped within a car and unable to get out. The car shakes again, violently, as the hooks make contact, metal to metal screeching in protest, as the car is lifted slightly from the ground, and then dropped just as suddenly. The sound of metal scraping against metal, and the accompanying crunching noise, creates a mixture of pain and fear on the faces of the two criminals.

“What is that thing, man?” the passenger in the front seat asks, pushing hard against the door, but finding it just as sealed shut as it was mere seconds ago…if not more so. He beats against the door, hoping to loosen it somehow.

“How am I supposed to know?” the driver responds, a mixture of irritation at his friend’s whining and his own fear at really having no idea the answer to his friend’s question. “But if little green men get outta that thing…!”

“Little green men?!” the man in the back seat interjects, his hands digging into the driver’s seat in front of him, as if he was trying to create permanent grooves in the canvas. “You’re both crazy! This is some new military weapon, man. And we need to get away from it, or we’ll be the first guinea pigs!”

“Don’t you think we’re trying to get out?” the front seat passenger exclaims, his own frustration showing clearly in his tone. “We’ve been trying to get out since this thing first hit, but the doors ain’t moving!”

“You can both shut up and keep trying to get out of here,” the driver argues, shaking his head, and leaning back, kicking at the door, “before that thing…!” He doesn’t have the chance to finish his sentence, as he is thrown off balance, and lands head-first into the passenger floorboard, on top of his friend’s feet.

The car tilts back and forth, as the twin hooks dig deeper into the car, ripping at the sides of the car, as it tears a ragged track along the side of the car, along the doors just under the windows. The night is filled with a loud screeching sound, as metal grinds against metal, even as the hooks dig deeper into the side of the vehicle, holding on tightly to the trapped car. The windows strain and start to develop thin cracks under the grinding pressure of the metal hooks, even as the three thugs panic, their bodies being tossed about within the small confines of the vehicle. Their unwilling passenger takes the opportunity to inch further away from the man in the back seat, squirming within the ropes holding her arms tied behind her back. She is relieved that the man in the backseat has finally taken his other hand off her bare legs, and is too concerned with saving his own life to harass her. As the other backseat passenger is tossed about in the car, she leans back on the seat, and grabs a seatbelt hook in her hands, to try to prevent herself from being thrown about in the car as well.

Suddenly, the roof of the car is ripped off, as the passengers in the car cover their faces with their arms, trying to cover their eyes and faces from any falling debris. The young girl leans forward, face-down on the seat, so that any shards that fall will hit her back. Glass does shower down on all of the passengers, but the three thugs get hit hard in the face and hands, while she just gets a few small shards, which bounce harmlessly off her wool sweater. She buries her face into the back seat until she feels no more glass shards hitting her back and shoulders. Even as the top of the car is thrown back into the woods by the large claws, the thugs quickly adjust to their new surroundings, their first thoughts being to get away. The night air hits their battered faces with a damp chill.

The driver leaps out of the car where his window once was, but now is only the lower part of the door, ripped and jagged from the tearing force of the claws, looking up to see what was pursuing them. What he sees is a sight he will never forget. A small jet-black plane hovers overhead, its engines so quiet that they could not be heard even amid the relative silence of the dark clearing. The plane has twin round, short wings, similar to those found on the space shuttle. The metal in the plane is coated with a substance developed to diminish the amount of glare normally cast off even by dark metals, so that it will appear invisible at night. The twin claws stretch out from long mechanical arms on each side of the hovering plane, but are now retracting back onto their respective sides, into hidden compartments on the sides of the airplane. He stands in awe of the sight for a moment, the shock of the moment seeming to freeze his feet onto the ground, as the plane starts to lower slightly. Soon, a realization of where he is returns and he quickly turns to run towards the river, turning back to the car quickly and grabbing a bag of money from the back seat as he does so. The jagged metal rips across his shirt, cutting a hole in it, and drawing a surface wound across his chest. He winces in pain, but nevertheless turns and starts to run towards the waiting river in the distance…seemingly a significantly longer distance than it had been before this plane arrived.

Leaping down from the plane, a lone figure falls in front of the fleeing felon, landing on his feet, crouching for but a brief moment before he returns to a standing position, stunning the fleeing felon. It is a move borne out of many years of intensive training. He is a large man, standing well over six feet in height and built like a combination of a weight lifter and a gymnast. His body is highly toned, but muscular. His golden blond hair is visible even in the darkness of this night. Before the fleeing thug realizes it, he is delivered a powerful blow to his face that jerks his head back violently. He feels his legs giving way under him from the sheer impact of this powerful blow. Before he can recover, the blond man hits him in the stomach with one blow, then another, causing him to double over and struggle to retain his footing. It is a futile effort. The blond man finishes the criminal with a vicious uppercut that sends him falling back, striking his head on a scattering of rocks. He is unconscious before he hits the ground, and his body stretches out against the cold, moist sand on the bank of the river. The money bag he had been carrying hits the ground as well, its contents spilling out on the sandy ground near its temporary owner.

Meanwhile, the thug in the passenger’s seat has also fled the car, and is heading full force into the woods. He has a jagged gash just above his right eye, and blood is pouring down across his eyelids, and onto his cheeks and lips. He continues to run, wiping the back of his right hand across his face in a futile effort to keep the flowing blood out of his eyes. In the distance, he sees the river, and rushes towards it, hoping to get away through that route, while the stranger is distracted. He doesn’t even think to retrieve the money, just concentrating on how much he wants to stay away from prison—this time. Maybe he’ll be able to come back later and get it, but it really doesn’t matter at the moment, he assures himself. Having already gone to prison three times for previous felonies, he knows full well that he is unlikely to return this time. His heart pounds in anticipation, not knowing who this man is, or what he plans to do with them. His breath starts to come with increasing difficulty, and he silently curses himself for years of heavy smoking, all the while wanting a cigarette right now, to help him clear his shaky nerves.

The large blond man turns his eyes towards the other thug, noting with a stern expression that he is fleeing. Immediately, he reaches down, picking up a large, polished stone from the ground. He throws the stone with the precision of a major league pitcher, striking the fleeing thug in the back of the head, just above the roof of his neck. The thug’s face contorts in pain, as his head is immediately hit with a stinging, followed by a throbbing sensation. The stone accomplishes its objective, bringing him to the ground in one fluid motion, before the robber even realizes what has happened. His head is throbbing from the impact of the rock, and he can feel a strange tingling in his hands and arms. He struggles to get to his feet, still focusing on the river, and hoping that he has time to make it. He remembers through the haze of pain from his wounds and the blow to the head that there is a small boat waiting for him there, somewhere at the edge of the river, the one they left earlier to help with their get-away. If he can only make it to the boat…!

As the bank robber tries to make his way to his feet, pushing against the ground with his hand, he is shocked to see that the man from the plane is upon him. This quickly? He cannot believe his tired eyes. His arms and legs ache with the pain of the encounter with the plane, and he merely looks up at the man with disdain, overcome with a feeling of helplessness, as the man stands over him, glaring down at him. With a motion that appears to the thug a mere blur, the man kicks him in the face with the bottom of his shoe, shattering his nose and knocking him out instantly. The thug’s head jerks back, even as his body falls backwards, landing on a ground covered with oak tree limbs and pine straw, finally giving in to the pain in various parts of his body since he first felt the effect of those hooks. He leaves the thug, momentarily, in a small pool of his own blood, as he turns his attention once more to the car that the thug and his last accomplice had stolen to make their getaway.

As the tall, powerfully-built man makes his way to the car, he sees that the last assailant is only now making his way out of the car. Unlike his compatriots, he did not fare well. His face shows the result of having been slammed against the window before it shattered on his cheeks and above his eyes. His arms are bruised, defensive wounds from his futile attempt to protect his head when he was being thrown about in the car, and from the showering of glass when it shattered. Behind him, on the other side of the car (and unseen by him), the young girl has made her way out of the car and has been watching the scene transpiring before her. Her hands are still bound, but she is crouching behind the side of the car, trying desperately to keep out of sight. She has a small shard of glass in her hand, initially intending to use it on the bonds in an attempt to free herself. She is transfixed on the spot, unable to move, but shaking violently from the shock of the experience. Small shards of glass have latched onto the fabric of her sweater, glittering in the light reflected from the plane, still humming lightly overhead. The metal arms have fully retracted, leaving only a small plane, with short, thin wings. The young girl is largely unharmed, other than a small cut to the side of her cheek and some unseen bruises. The final assailant’s body cushioned most of the blows that would have otherwise come to her young body.

The blond dynamo rushes over to the last assailant, who reaches for his gun, firing off two shots, even as the blond man leaps the distance between them. The thug’s hands are shaking, as his body is trying desperately to fight off the effects of shock from his injuries and loss of blood, and his aim is off. In fact, what he has been doing can hardly be called aiming. His hand shakes so violently, and his head throbs so intensely, that he has been unable to do anything more than point in the man’s general direction and pull the trigger, firing off a small series of wild shots. Even that seems like quite an effort for him at the moment, although it has become an instinctive one, given his long and violent life. The bullets hit the ground harmlessly, imbedding themselves in the sandy ground, and some disappearing into the pine straw. Before he can raise the handgun again in his shaking hands, a powerful hand grabs his, squeezing it with such force that he hears bones crack, even as the gun falls from his hand, landing on the ground at his feet. It then bounces on the ground, and disappears underneath the car. His face contorts in pain, even as he looks up at the man who towers over him, looking down at him with contempt. The robber can only look up at the large man, his eyes pleading for mercy, even as a series of intense pains wrack his body from his head down to his feet.

With lighting-fast motion, the tall blond man slams his left fist into the thug’s stomach, doubling him over, as he coughs up blood from the impact of the blow and internal injuries from the entire episode. He falls to his knees, grabbing onto the car, in a vain attempt to remain conscious, and then slumps to the ground, finally succumbing to his various injuries. His blood-stained fingers trail along the car on the way to the ground. His hand soon falls at his side, as his unconscious body lies on the cold ground, not too far from that of his fellow criminal. The tall figure stands over him, watching to make sure that he does not rise again.

The young girl can feel her teeth chattering, even as she makes a conscious effort to hold her jaws together, trying to keep her position a secret. This whole night has been a nightmare to her. Going into the bank to make a small deposit from her paycheck, only to be held hostage by these insane bank robbers! She still does not know who the pilot of the plane is, or what he wants. She only knows that she is terrified, and just hopes to make it through the night with her life. Then, she feels a hand on her right shoulder, causing her to shudder violently, and grow faint from the shock and anticipation of what might come. Her face grows pale, and she nearly faints, her head moving back towards the car.

“It’s all right,” the powerful man offers, kneeling down behind her, his strong hand reaching behind her head to cradle it, preventing it from hitting the side of the car. She continues to shudder, unable to control her chattering teeth or shaking body, still in visible shock. “I just want to help you out of those ropes.” She has dropped the small piece of glass that she instinctively picked up earlier, forgetting even that she had it, or that she was going to use it for the same purpose. He knows that she is still in shock from everything that has happened, and tries to be as gentle as possible in his words and actions, in direct contrast to his treatment of her captors mere moments earlier.

As fingers quickly and skillfully untie her ropes, the girl is still trying to shake off the fear from the entire evening. But, she must know. “W-who are you?” she manages, though her teeth are still chattering. She just hopes that her words were intelligible in the midst of her chattering teeth, but she simply can’t stop shaking, or stop her teeth from chattering. She consciously tries to hold her mouth closed, but her jaws still involuntarily shake.

“Courage,” he responds, as her ropes fall to the ground. He looks off into the distance, seeing that the police cars have turned around and are driving down the dirt road, into the distance. He then gets to his feet and holds out his right hand, helping her to her feet also. She uses the car to steady herself on her feet with her other hand. “You’ve been through quite an experience, but the police are returning,” he assures her. He places his hand on her shaking shoulder, as he looks into her tearful eyes. She is taken by the blueness of them, and by his handsome features. She knows that he is trying to calm her down. His tone is gentle, his words assuring.

“T-thank you,” she forces out through her still-chattering teeth. Although a thousand questions will flood her mind soon, for the moment, she is just grateful to be alive, and free from those felons.

“I’m just glad I was flying nearby when I saw the commotion,” the man replies, looking at her sympathetically. “I just had to wait for the right opportunity, when there were no other people who were in danger to put a stop to it. There’s no telling what they would have done if given the chance.” She looks at the strong man, realizing what he means. She’s been trying not to think about it since this whole horrible ordeal started.

“They’ve done plenty already,” she replies, thinking back to the kidnapping and the terror that followed. She half-laughs, trying to fight off the fear that has consumed her all evening. She brings her hands around in front of her for the first time in hours, realizing just how sore her arms are with the effort. She rubs her right hand with her left, then switches hands, trying to wake up her hands, even as she massages her fingers, but her fingers don’t respond too quickly, and it is difficult to massage each hand, because of the lack of control she has in her fingers. The tingling sensation in her hands is like a thousand needles, and she tries to hide the look of pain on her face; but it is a futile effort.

“Have the authorities take you to the hospital,” he offers, turning away from her, but glancing back, as he starts to move away from the car. “You’re likely in shock, and it wouldn’t hurt to have them look you over, although I don’t think you have any serious medical injuries.” She makes no response, but merely nods in understanding.

The man takes a look at the back of the car, then nods at the young girl, even as he pushes a button on a small remote he holds in his hand, as a ladder falls down from the underside of the plane, in a hidden compartment that suddenly comes open. He climbs the ladder, noticing that the police are now arriving on the scene, dust and dirt filling the night air all around their fast-moving vehicles. As the police turn onto the side of the road near the car, they quickly disembark. She turns from the man for a moment, turning her attention on the officers, parked some distance away, as they make their way towards her. It is then that she realizes the man had placed a flare on the other side of the car, facing the road, to alert the police to her whereabouts. She has no idea when he had the opportunity to do that, or why she hadn’t noticed the red lights that are now very visible to her, but realizes it must have been just before he actually came over to talk to her. The plane disappears into the night, its occupant now out of her field of vision, even as the police arrive to check on the girl.

“Where are the robbers?” the first officer asks. He is a slim, young officer, in his early twenties. His enthusiasm is evident in his voice. In his hand, he holds a police-issued handgun, as he looks around from side to side.

“He took care of them,” she replies, gesturing towards where the plane had been. She is shocked, however, to realize that the plane has already disappeared into the distance. It moved too suddenly, and so silently, that she didn’t even see it disappear.

“Who took care of them, kid?” the young officer asks, looking around, his mind off thoughts of the robbers for a moment.

“Didn’t you see the plane?” she asks, incredulous, urging the young officer to look in the sky above them.

“I thought I saw a glimmering of metal,” the officer admits, his head tiling to the side a bit, as he thinks back to a mere moment earlier. “But what plane? Where did it land…and how could it have taken off so quickly?” He looks around, for any sign of the departing plane, or any sign that it had been there, but can find none.

A second officer arrives, offering the young girl his jacket, which he wraps around her. “Start rounding them up, Johnson,” the second officer says authoritatively. He is older, looking to be in his late forties and somewhat overweight. The stripes on his shirt sleeve confirm his authority. He looks at the girl, seeing that her body is still shaking from the experience, and elects to stop the questioning for now. There will be ample time to hear her statement later. Johnson, he thinks, just needs to learn a little patience, and some manners. He didn’t even think to offer the shivering girl his coat. He shakes his head. What’s the deal with kids today? “This girl will need medical attention. I’ve already put in a call for reinforcements. They should be arriving any minute now.”

“Sure, Sarge,” the young officer responds. He then turns to the girl again. “Do you have any idea who that was?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, looking away from the young officer, who rushes down a well-worn path that leads to the river, looking for the robbers. She turns back towards the officer, as the elder officer walks her towards his car. “I asked him and all he said was ‘Courage’. I thought he was trying to calm me down.”

The young officer turns around, after hearing what she said. The two officers each look at the other, each with recognition of a name that they had each heard, even as another police car pulls in behind theirs, adding its blue lights to those of the other cars, lighting up even this dark night. The girl gets into the elder police officer’s car, pulling the jacket close around her thin body, trying to warm herself from the chill of the night.