Kresge Writers' House Presents...

Submission - Short Story

Bad Student, by Sara Howland of Kresge.  She respectfully requests that you check out her blog, Once Upon A Time There Lived An Elephant: The sometimes true but mostly fictional saga of an uneventful life.  It’s got some great stuff on it, I checked it out and can proudly say that I can put the KWHPresents stamp of approval on it.  Without further ado, Bad Student.

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She sits in the bedroom.  An ordinary bedroom, the bed unmade and the desk cluttered.  She hasn’t been here long enough to call it hers.  The posters sit in the corner, waiting to be hung,  to give the room some color- it has none now.

She watches the clock.

It’s an odd clock for this colorless, ordinary bedroom.  It hangs on the wall, unlike the posters she hasn’t had time to deal with.  An old-fashioned clock with hands and gears that tick on the second.  Its timelessness contrasts with the shining computer on the desk beneath it.

Her eyes don’t follow the hands.  They remain fixed on a number- the number twelve to be exact.  She watches the twelve as the minute hand inches closer.

A knock on the door.  She doesn’t turn from the clock.  But it doesn’t matter, the door opens anyway.

“Are you coming to class?” Sean asks.

Slowly she turns her head.  Her eyes only part from the clock once they reach the limits of their rotation.  Finally they snap to her friend.

“I don’t… feel well,” she says.

Sean looks her up and down with a critical eye.  “Really,” he says skeptically.  “How do you not feel well?  Headache?  A cold?”

She doesn’t answer.  Sean sighs.

“You’ve been watching that dumb fantasy show, haven’t you.  I could hear you laughing from the other room.”  She just looks at him, her gaze slightly unfocused.  “When was the last time you left the house?  Two days?  Three?  That’s not healthy, and you know it.  You need to go outside.”  Sean folds his arms, confident in his opinion.

“I don’t…”

“You need to go to class, really.  You’ve turned your brain into mush, you need to stimulate it.”  Sean is growing impatient with this argument.  They have gone through it too many times.

She turns back to the clock.  Her shoulders slump.

“You’ll fail if you don’t go to class.  You’re wasting all that money you’re paying to go to this school by not going.”

She watches the clock.

Sean shifts his weight.  He’s had enough.  “Go to class,” he orders her.

“…I really don’t feel well.”

He grinds his teeth.  “Fine,” he snaps.  “Fine.  Be a bad student.  I’m not going to push you anymore, you can do whatever you want with your time.  Watch whatever you want, fail however many classes you want.  Just don’t come crying to me when you’re broke and unemployed.”  He leaves, slamming the door behind him.

She looks at the door, regret in her eyes.  There’s something else, too.  It might be fear.

She doesn’t look very long.  She goes back to watching the clock.  The minute hand trembles in the brief seconds before it clicks onto the twelve.

It strikes the hour.

“Good girl,” the voice from before whispers.  She can feel the cold breath on her ear.  “I thought he’d never leave us alone, but you did well, driving him away.”  Her head sinks slightly.  Gentle hands stroke her hair.

The string they’d tied around her heart tightens.

“Don’t be sad,” the voice says.  It’s a soft voice, caring, and it raises goosebumps on her arms, a shiver in her bones.  “We wouldn’t want your friend to ruin our fun, would we?”  The string around her heart tugs, as do the ones attached to her limbs.  “Come along.  We have to get going.”

A flash of light reflects across the white walls, accompanied with the whirr and grind of ancient machinery.  The clock face clicks and whirls, and its gears unfold down and out, until the whirring stops.  Where there was once an old-fashioned clock, there is now a doorway.  The desk has disappeared, the bed as well.  The open space through the door is bright and unknowable, casting the ordinary bedroom in shadow.

The strings pull her to her feet.  As she stands her chair disappears as well.  There is nothing but the door.

“Come in!” another voice calls through the brightness.  “We’re all here, waiting for you.”  This voice is warm and childish.

The fear grows in her eyes.

“Come along,” the first voice, the soft voice breathes on her cheek.  “We don’t want to hurt their feelings.”  The strings tug on her heart and limbs insistently.

She remains still despite the pull, despite the pain as the strings bite into her skin.  “I don’t… want to…”

The soft voice laughs, kind and gentle.  “Of course you do.  You can’t lie to us, my dear.  We have your heart.  Now come along like a good girl.”

The pull is too strong, she’ll be ripped apart if she resists.  She slumps.  There’s nothing she can do: they have her heart, secured with an unbreakable puppet string.

She lets the strings pull her through the doorway.

The Vigils

By Sarah Tinkham of Kresge

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My older brother always had a thing for sunsets. I figure it had something to do with being the oldest. We’re Californians, born and raised, but what one thing we seem to forget is that on the continental United States, California, Oregon, and Washington are the three states that get the last light of day. My reasoning is that Soren was exposed to that for longer than I was…and with all the perks that first-borns get, he had the eyes for things that I did not. You could see it when he wrote; he saw things like he was seeing them for the first time. To say I’m envious of such a gift is an understatement. That was why, when Soren took me to the hill at the beach, the place where he saw what he called his “First” sunset, I was excited, and a little worried. I was thrilled to have the chance to see what he saw, and worried that I was incapable of such sight. We drove down to the beach an hour before noon, and I spent a good deal of time collecting sea glass while Soren surfed. When the sun started lowering, Soren joined me in gathering sea glass. He drove the car closer to the beach and started walked back to it frequently when he had a jar half-full of the sea glass to get a new one. He didn’t talk much, but I did. I often do when I’m nervous.

“We brought a lot more jars than we had to,” I said.

“We brought just the right amount of jars,” he replied.

Soren was referring, of course, to the empty pickle jars, mason jars, and Snapple bottles that were lying in the back of the car that he continued to retrieve with every jar he filled halfway.

“We won’t collect nearly enough sea glass to fill them all,” I said, hoping that he would get the hint that I wanted him to explain why we had brought so many.

“They won’t be filled all the way,” he said.

I glanced down at my jar, with the Vlasic pickle label torn off and the sticky stuff that had kept it on carefully picked away with my fingernail. It was filled to the brim with sea glass. Soren glanced up and sighed.

“We’re not filling them all the way,” he repeated, walking to the car and grabbing an empty jam jar. He picked off the remaining sticky stuff as he walked over and opened my pickle jar. He took out two large handfuls of sea glass from my pickle jar and stuck his hand into the jam jar, letting the sea glass slide through his fingers and hit the bottom of the jar, making sounds like a tinny rain stick.

“Why are you still wearing the wetsuit?” I asked.

“I’ll be getting in the water again.”

“To surf?” I persisted once more.

“No.”

I frowned. Anyone who’s ever worn a wetsuit before will tell you that there are few things as unpleasant on the surface of your skin as a slowly drying, salty wetsuit. He could have taken it off and gotten into some more comfortable clothes, but he seemed to want to be ready to run back to the water at any time. As the day went on Soren got more restless, and started looking at the horizon every two minutes to make sure the sun hadn’t hit the water yet. Suddenly, he perked up and ran to the water, carrying a jar half-filled with sea glass as he did so. He ran into the water until he was shoulder deep, and held the jar above the surface of the water. I could make out his head clearly bobbing, rising with the waves and still holding the jar. He was treading water in the glittering reflection of light caused by the sun, so bright that you squinted even if you were just looking at the water. He tilted the jar slightly and skimmed it across the glittering surface, then bobbed back to the shore, careful not to spill any of the water still in the jar, then ran up on the beach and took another jar from next to me.

“Try it,” he said to me.

“Try what?” I asked.

“Gloaming.”

“What?”

“Look…” he held out the jar to me, showing the shining light within, speckled with jade green and amber brown as the sea glass within gently rolled over each other,

“See the light?” he asked.

“Yeah…” I said, leaning in for a closer look. It looked like champagne held up against a floodlight, its brilliance only emphasized by the tiny imperfections created by grains of sand floating here and there.

“I’ve been talking…with kids online. The kids in Hawaii get the best but…” Soren trailed off. I could even feel the warmth of the light on my face, like I was looking into the sun, rather than a vlasic pickle jar.

“What is it?”

“Whaddarya, blind?! It’s sunlight!”

“Bull.”

“Look at it!”

“I see it. What did you put in the water?”

“No, no, no…It’s water in the sunlight!”

“But…that’s impossible! It’s light! You can’t…scoop it up like this!”

 “But it’s here.”

“How?”

“I told you, it’s gloaming. People do it all over the world. The folk in the Pacific islands get what we don’t, and the Japanese get the first batch of the new day’s sunlight. See, you can only gloam when the dark is pushing the light back…that’s when the light is movable. Now, do what I do.”

I rolled up my pants to the knees, disregarding my 2-week unshaved legs and followed his lead, walking into the shallows where the water sucked around my ankles.

“Only the pbbbt!” Soren spat from deeper in the water, spewing some of the water as he yelled, “Only the parts that shine!”

I looked down and saw glittering spots in the water. I scooped them up, careful not to spill out any of the sea glass, and walked back to the beach, examining the jar. I still couldn’t believe it. When Soren wasn’t looking I suspiciously sniffed the water in the jar. At first, I simply smelled the brine of the salt water, but then the scent of the sunlight seemed to punch through. At this point, I’m reminded of my jealousy of Soren’s ability to write, and wish I had such ability so that I could describe the smell of sunlight. It was musty in my nose at first, like that musty feeling you get seeing dust motes when light enters a grungy old room. That scent was lightened, like there were daisies drying upside down in bunches in that grungy old room, and that scent was mixed with the rainbow of droplets flying off of the fur of a wet golden retriever as he shakes himself dry, then it fell into the smell of fresh cut lawns and the stench of photosynthesis of a noon sun hitting an algae-green lake, the warmth of it seemed to surface into my nostrils, and the scent turned to brown sugar, the sweet-scent of deodorant kicked into overdrive after a sprint down a hot sidewalk, drying apricots, pralines, the tall yellow grass in the hills of Potter Valley, apple pie, fresh-squeezed lemonade, and honey. I probably would have kept snorting that sunlight had Soren not walked back onto the sand with two more jars full of sea glass and glittering water and given me a partially annoyed, partially affectionate swat upside the head.

“Keep them in the sun,” he instructed before grabbing the last four jars full of sea glass, “We can’t afford to lose any before they start coming in.”

“They?” I looked at him, still a little sore from the sunburns on my skin, as well as the one that seemed to be on the inside of my nostrils now. Another one of the things that made me jealous of Soren as a writer was the fact that he was one of those people who didn’t need a lot of dialogue for exposition in both his writing and his real life. He was born with that naturalist instinct of waiting and watching, whereas I was impatient in my pursuit of understanding and had to capture and dissect everything verbally.

“You’ll see them,” he replied, running his hands through his sienna-brown hair, turning it umber as he did so. His hands were covered in grains and droplets of light, and he gingerly brushed the light off into one of the jars.

“Who are they?” I asked, halfheartedly running one hand through my thick hair and shaking it into the jar as well. To be honest, I could have done a better job getting the sunlight out of my hair, but I never cared too much for it, even in the case of fantastic, solar-related phenomena.

“You have to catch all you can,” said Soren, “Before they take it.”

He handed me two of the jars and pulled off his wetsuit. He was wearing his shorts underneath, and would probably freeze in the wind if he were not so concerned with his two jars. He held the wetsuit towards the ocean and sun now touching the horizon. He stood there for a second, and then squeezed the ankles of the wetsuit into the jars of sea glass. The water poured in like liquid sunshine.  Then he set about running his hands over each other, until they looked like they were shrouded in night with stars on his fingertips. He shook his hands over the jar and the bright lights dropped from his fingers into the jar. He glanced at my sunburned shoulders and bronzed arms. “You’ve been in the sun all day,” he murmured.

“Ugh, yeah,” I started, looking at my arms, “I’m going to be so sore tomorr—”

“What are you doing standing there? The sun’s going down! Get it in the jar, quick!”

He seized my arm and swept his hand down it, sweeping the light on my arm into a pile at the back of my hand. My arm turned dusky with a pile of glowing diamonds at my knuckles. He swept the granulated light into the jar.

“Your other arm and your legs. Don’t forget those either,” he reminded me.

I did as he said, watching as he swept the sunlight off of his feet and into his jars. I swept the sunlight off of my other arm and legs and into the jars. The sun was halfway into the water when Soren raced to the car, carrying as many jars as he could. I raced after him. The air from inland blew cold out to the sea, already chilled by the darkened mountains in the distance. I shivered and pulled on my black sweatshirt, pulling up the hood over my wet hair. I grabbed all the jars and ran to the car, where Soren was already sitting in his after-surf clothes, clearly anxious to get going.  We drove only a short distance, to the top of a hill overlooking the beach, and the sun was already halfway into the ocean. Soren turned off the car, then walked around and opened the back. He looked down at all the jars full of sunlight and sea glass that we had gleaned, and then he covered it with a tarp. He then walked to my door.

“What are you waiting for? Did you want to see them or not?”

“See who?

He opened the door and grabbed my arm. We walked to the top of the hill and stood there, watching the sunlight melt into the sea.

Then I saw them.

I had at first glanced back to look at the car sitting halfway up the hill, but they were there. There were hundreds of them. The car was glowing with twilight, and they ran their hands over it and the light from it disappeared into their cloaks. None of them seemed to notice our jars of sunlight inside, though. They were all about 11 feet tall, hats included, some of them carried dim lanterns, and all of them wore tall hats with wide brims, halfway between a witch and a pilgrim. Their faces were gray, but their features were as blurred as any human face in the darkest point of night. They looked almost like they were wearing the masks of the plague doctors of the dark ages, with empty black eyes and long beaks. I turned to Soren, equal parts mystified and terrified, and Soren put a finger to his lips. They glided up the hill, the ones in front sucking the goldenrod from the dead grass and exhaling the blue-gray of twilight, and the ones in back breathing in the blue-gray and exhaling navy. They breathed in the glow of that all sunsets leave and exhaled the indigo mantle of night. The air, once golden, turned pink as it was being sucked into mouth-like orifices in their beaks. That cold inland wind off of the mountains blew again, and hit my face. I didn’t even notice or care about the cold, I was so engrossed in these beings. I had lost myself in watching them…but they found me. Their empty eye sockets turned up to me, and they all started rushing toward me like a humid summer wind. It was only then that I realized that my hood had blown off.

“What’s—-“ I turned to Soren, but he was gaping in horror.

“You’re dirty blonde!” he said, terrified. He reached forward and desperately started running his hands through my hair. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have forgotten!”

“Forgotten what!?” I protested, flailing a little under his yanking and grappling hands in my hair.

“It’s easier to get the sun out of brown hair like mine, but yours is dirty blonde. It’s got dark parts and light parts and it’s hard to tell whether the sunlight—-NO!”

I suddenly felt cold hands intertwining into my hair, still salty and stiff from that warm day spent squatting in the sand. The dark figures were bent over the two of us, but they were blind to Soren as he struggled to wipe the sunlight from my hair.  He was brushed aside and I was yanked onto my heels and dragged down the cliff to the beach. My feet thrashed and my hands gripped at my hair, trying to pull myself free from their grip,

“What are they doing?!” I shouted to Soren as he slid down the cliff f face, ignoring all signs prohibiting the erosion he was exacting on the dirt there, and ran after me.

“I told you! They’re gloamers! They push the light after the sun and leave the dark in its place!”

“Why do they have ME!?”

“THERE’S STILL LIGHT IN YOUR HAIR!”

I kicked and attempted to dig my heels into the sand as they moved across the beach, but to no avail. I yanked and writhed and strained my back and torso trying to force myself from their grip, but still they moved: Silent, unfeeling. I started screaming as I felt water splash onto my back. They had reached the ocean. If they could, would they drag me all the way to the Pacific Islands? All the way to Japan? Or would they leave me 200 feet out into the water in the dead of night once the light finally faded from my hair? Either way, I desperately thrashed and screamed. I literally was not going quietly into ANY night, let alone that good one. Then I saw Soren’s face and felt his body crash into me. It pushed me below the surface of the water, plunging my head underneath from the weight on my stomach. The air was forced out of me and brine filled my nostrils. My eyes were open and stinging with the salt, and beneath the surface I saw a cloud of golden light lift away from my hair. It drifted up to the surface and floated there. I saw a gray blurred hand sweep the light away and leave a dark gray blue in the green of the water. It spread like cream in tea. I had not realized how empty both my lungs were until most of the gloamers had passed over us. Then, Soren and I both broke the surface of the water and I gasped for breath and coughed. The sun was finally sinking into the horizon. It turned to gold mist at the edge of the sky, then the gloamers passed through and turned it lilac, then blue, then the gloamers disappeared over the edge of the sea. Soren and I stood there, soaking wet, thigh-deep in water. I hocked a wad of salty phlegm from my throat and then the reverence continued for another few minutes. Then we both turned back and walked up the path cutting into the cliff, toweled off a bit, then sat in the car, with towels covering the seats underneath us. We were silent as we drove for the first half of the ride. Then Soren exhaled.

“So….First sunset…thoughts?” he asked.

“That was messed up.”

“Yeah the Gloamers are a little weird like that.”

“I could’ve died.”

“The light would have faded from your hair before you got too far out. I just jumped in there ‘cause you were freaking out and I didn’t want someone to come in and scare the gloamers. But, first impulse, yes or no, would you want to do it again?”

“Yes,” the damnable word passed my lips.

“Great,” said Soren.

I looked over my shoulder at the jars glowing under the tarp, and then turned to Soren.

“So what are we going to do with all the sunlight we got?” I asked.

Soren smiled and rolled the grip of his fingers over the steering wheel.

“We’re waking up early tomorrow,” he said, “I’m taking you to the mountains. You’re going to see your first sunrise.”

Submission - TASK Force

Submission from Andrew Yokers of Kresge

“Alright, everyone gather around for mission briefing,” said Jag.

            The four TASK Force members sat around the remains of a campfire, the fire still crackling a little. Sinji, Jag’s right-hand man, poured water on the pit. The fire fizzled and died with a shriek. Bronze, the muscle of the team, opened his canteen and took a small gulp. The muggy heat was stronger than usual and the team members’ faces glistened with sweat. It didn’t do the guys any good that their uniforms clung to their skin.

            When the team gathered up, Jag started. “Our mission is to raid an enemy compound on the other side of the valley. Our target is Kishtar Okalin, a warlord with ties to an extremist militant group. According to Central Intelligence, he’s providing the group with biological weapons that are being used to terrorize villages and killing hundreds of people. Intel says he’s on site, hiding in a safe room somewhere in the compound. Our troops are going to launch a preemptive strike on the compound, allowing us to infiltrate unnoticed. We’re ordered to eliminate enemy forces by any means necessary. As for Kishtar, the Government wants him alive.” Jag locked eyes with Psycho who was sitting on Jag’s immediate right.

            Psycho cackled. “Why are you looking at me, sir?”

            “After your little incident, I want to be sure there are no ‘accidents’ this time,” said Jag.

            “I swear, the gun discharged on accident. I didn’t mean to kill the fucker,” said Psycho, smiling that creepy smile of his.

            “Fucking liar,” said Sinji under his breath.

            Jag stood up. “Alright, gear up. Check your weapons, make sure they’re loaded. The Army is going to launch their preemptive strike in about an hour. Let’s move.”

                                                                        *****

            The team squatted under some bushes some several hundred meters away from the compound. Birds chirped and squawked, small animals scurried about. The afternoon sun continued to beat down harsh rays of warmth. The outside of the compound was crawling with bad guys armed with mini submachine guns and assault rifles. Jag knelt with one hand on his sidearm, watching through a clearing waiting for the troops to strike. Sinji took a moment to relax and breathed in and out deeply several times. Psycho checked his assault rifle, making sure there was a full clip. Bronze huddled near Sinji, cradling his Cannon Fodder shotgun. The team heard nothing but the thump-thump, thump-thump of their hearts as they waited with anticipation…

            There was a flash of light, followed by an erupting boom as the entrance to the compound was torn apart by a rocket launcher. Mabonian troops swarmed the area; the bad guys returned fire. At that moment, Jag shouted, “Let’s move!” Jag pulled out his sidearm and bolted towards what remained of the entrance gates. Bronze followed suit, then Sinji and Psycho. The team made their way to the wrangled mess of cast-iron successfully dodging enemy fire. Jag turned to his team members and said, “We need to get through those doors.” He then pointed to the two black metallic doors. The doors were being guarded by two bad guys, one with a mini submachine gun, and the other with an assault rifle. They were shooting at troops while taking what little cover they could. Jag turned to Bronze and said, “Bronze, you take the one with the assault rifle, I’ll take the one with the submachine gun. Sinji, you and Psycho provide cover fire. Ready… Go!”

            Jag pulled out a flash grenade and threw it towards the two guards. It went off, blinding the two. Jag rushed toward his target, shooting off two rounds into the guard. The guard fell to the ground, dropping his weapon. Bronze ran up close behind and blasted a round into the other guard, ripping a hole in the guard’s stomach and exposing his innards. Sinji moved in and hacked the control panel, opening the doors. There were a few guards on the other side; Psycho cut them down with his assault rifle and rushed in. The rest of the team ran in behind Psycho and the doors closed shut and locked behind them.

            The inside of the compound was dimly lit. There was just enough light for the team to see clearly. The hallway which led to the entrance doors stretched a few hundred feet and then split off in two directions. Red lights were flashing. “They know we’re here,” said Jag. He turned to his team and said, “Proceed with caution. Move up.” The team moved down the hallway and stopped at the end. Jag motioned the others to wait as he looked down both hallways. “Clear,” he said. He waved his hand and said, “Sinji, you and Bronze go down this hallway.” He pointed down the left hallway. “Psycho, you’re with me. Move out.” Sinji and Bronze ran down the left hallway and Jag and Psycho ran down the right.

            Jag rushed down the hallway and came to another hallway that went left. A bad guy turned the corner right as Jag and Psycho came running up. The bad guy raised his Mach 2C; Jag fired off a round into the bad guy’s head, splattering the wall behind him with his brain matter. Jag darted around the corner, Psycho right behind him. A little further down there were two more bad guys with Mach 2Cs. “Psycho, take them down,” Jag yelled as he ducked. Psycho let off several more rounds. The bad guy closest to them went down; the other screamed in pain as one of the rounds pierced his leg. Jag leapt up and pistol-whipped him before firing a round into his skull. The bad guy ceased screaming and slumped over. “Let’s move,” he said.

            The hallway curved around in a serpentine shape. At the end of the hallway was a door, which led to a small command center. Jag ordered Psycho to halt. “Hold up,” he said. He then reached for a small comm link. “Sinji, what’s your status, over?” The comm link sparked to life as Sinji responded with, “Near the end of the hallway, sir. Little resistance met. About to breach.” “Copy that, over,” said Jag. He turned to Psycho and said, “You go first. I’ll cover you. Light ‘em up, buddy.”  Psycho stood in front of the door, assault rifle primed and ready. “You got it, sir,” he said, cackling.

                                                                        *****

            Sinji ducked as a round barely missed his head. He returned fire and hit the bad guy in the crotch. He flinched as another shot ricocheted off the wall next to him. “This is getting us nowhere. Bronze, do something!” Bronze charged toward the remaining bad guy and tackled him to the ground. He then picked the bad guy up, got him in a headlock and squeezed until the bad guy stopped struggling. Sinji moved forward further down the hall, motioning for Bronze to follow him. Bronze dropped the lifeless corpse and followed Sinji down the hall. The hall curved to the right where there was a door at the end of the hallway. “Halt,” said Sinji. Bronze stopped right behind him. “Bronze, how many rounds you have left in that thing?”

“A few,” said Bronze.

            “Reload and get ready,” Sinji told Bronze. “I’m gonna kick down the door. Cover me.”

            “Got it,” said Bronze, slipping in several more rounds into his shotgun.

            Sinji’s comm link crackled. “Sinji, what’s your status, over?”

            Sinji grabbed his comm link and said, “Near the end of the hallway, sir. Little resistance met. About to breach.”

            “Copy that, over,” said Jag. The comm link went silent.

            Sinji put away his comm link and primed his weapon. He turned to glance at Bronze. “Bronze, you ready?” Bronze nodded slightly and cocked his shotgun. “Let’s do this.” Sinji kicked open the door and fired off three shots into the surprised guard.

                                                                        *****           

            The door crashed opened with a bang. Psycho sprayed rounds into the guards that occupied the command center. He was cackling that demented cackle of his the entire time his finger was on the trigger. Screams filled the room as the guards dropped to the floor. Blood and gore splattered and stained the desks, control panels, and everything else in the room.

            Jag entered the room, aiming his sidearm at all the guards. He checked each body, making sure all enemy forces were eliminated. After making sure they were all dead, he said, “Clear! Regroup on me.” The team regrouped near the center of the room. “Is everyone okay,” he asked.

            Bronze and Psycho both nodded. Sinji gripped his shoulder blade. Jag approached him, asking, “Are you okay?”

            “I think so,” he said, drawing his hand back from his shoulder. There was blood stained on it. Jag took a closer look and saw that a round had gone clean through.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, I can go on.”

            “Good,” said Jag. He turned and faced the others. “Let’s keep moving. The safe room has to be somewhere nearby.” He scanned the room for any passageways or doors. He searched the room, stepping over corpses. He saw a door in the back of the command center. He walked over to the door and observed it for a minute, looking for a control panel. He found it and called Sinji over. Jag stepped out of the way to let Sinji hack the panel. After a minute, the door opened. Jag moved Sinji aside and stepped cautiously into the unlit passageway. Once he was sure that there weren’t any immediate threats, he signaled his team to move up.

            The team slowly made their way down the passageway. The hallway branched off in two directions: one that went left and one that went right. Jag pointed to the right path and said, “Bronze, you and Psycho go that way. Sinji and I will go this way.” Bronze and Psycho gave a nod and moved down the hallway; Sinji followed Jag down the other hallway. The hallway curved and opened into a storage facility. Iron containers filled with unknown contents were stacked all over the large room. Jag and Sinji rushed in and were met with heavy resistance. Jag fired off a couple of rounds and took cover behind the nearest container. Sinji did the same, reloading as he ducked a couple of enemy rounds.

            Enemy resistance was unusually heavy in these parts. They had to be close. But they weren’t going to complete the mission by crouching and slowly neutralizing all enemies in the area. They were pressed for time; they had to move fast. Jag checked his gear: a knife, extra clips of ammunition, a flare gun, a small flask of water, a small light and some food rations. Damn it, no flash grenades left. He shouted at Sinji trying to get his attention, but he could barely hear himself over the heavy roar of enemy gunfire. Frustrated, he pulled out his light and flashed it at Sinji. After flashing the light a few times, he got Sinji’s attention. He yelled, “Use a flash grenade!” Sinji cupped a hand to his ear. Jag tried again, “Use a flash grenade!” Sinji still couldn’t hear so Jag raised the light again and flashed repeatedly at Sinji. Sinji quickly checked his gear and pulled out a flash grenade. He primed it and threw it at the enemy. They heard the flash go off and the gunfire stopped shortly. They both moved in unison and each killed a bad guy that had been stunned by the flash grenade.

            Ahead there were a few more bad guys, two of them armed with assault rifles and one with a Cannon Fodder shotgun. Jag signaled to Sinji to flank them on the right while he stealthily moved up to flank them on the left. Sinji unloaded three rounds into one of the bad guys armed with an assault rifle; Jag fired two rounds into the other guard armed with an assault rifle and one shot into the leg of the remaining guard, causing him to drop to one knee. Sinji ran up from behind, kicked the shotgun away and shot two rounds into his head.

            Both of them rounded a corner and down another concrete hallway. At the end of the hallway, there was a locked steel door. Jag and Sinji ran toward the door, stopping short in front of it. Jag nudged Sinji and said, “You ready?” Sinji nodded and together they gave the door a nice hard kick, almost ripping the door off its hinges. They charged in weapons drawn.             Jag and Sinji quickly searched the room. No one was there. There was nothing in the room. Jag cursed. Sinji asked, “So, what now?”

Jag banged his fist against the wall. The room echoed with frustration. He couldn’t believe he failed. Sinji made a gesture to comfort his commander but decided it wasn’t a good idea. Instead he fidgeted with his gun, after making sure the safety was on of course. Jag shook with anger. He had miscalculated the location of the safe room. If the safe room wasn’t here, then where in the compound was it? If Kishtar got away…

            Jag’s comm link sparked to life. “Commander, this is Psycho, over.”

            Jag grabbed his comm link and responded, “This is Jag, over.”

            “We have the target in custody, over,” said Psycho.

            Jag couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What’s your status, over,” he asked.

            “Bronze and I are making our way back to the command center, over,” said Psycho.

            “Copy. Sinji and I are headed back. Eta: five minutes.”

            “Copy that, over,” said Psycho.

            Jag put away his comm link and turned to Sinji. “They got him. They fucking got him.”

            “Alive,” asked Sinji.

            “Yes, alive,” said Jag. “Come on, let’s move.”

                                                                        *****

            Bronze and Psycho had better luck than Jag and Sinji. They met little resistance as they moved through the passageway. They continued down until they came up to a door. The door was locked and there was a small rectangular window on it. Bronze pushed Psycho toward the door. “Look inside,” he said. Psycho peeked into the room. He looked back at Bronze, his creepy smile pasted on his face. “We scored big time Bronze.”

            “What do ya mean,” Bronze asked.

            “The target is in there,” said Psycho. “It looks like he has a couple of bodyguards in there with him.”

            Bronze was silent for a minute. Three on two. If they did this right, they could take out both bodyguards and take Kishtar alive. But knowing Psycho, they ran the risk of possibly killing Kishtar, failing the mission. Or the both of them could be killed and Kishtar would escape. Sweat dripped down Bronze’s forehead. He had to make a move now.

            “So, what’s the plan,” asked Psycho.

            Bronze thought it over for a moment. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he said. “We kick down the door. You take out the bodyguards and I’ll rush in and tackle Kishtar and restrain him. Be careful where you’re shooting though. We need Kishtar alive.”

            “I know, I know,” said Psycho. “So, on me?”

            “No,” said Bronze, pushing Psycho aside. “On me.” Bronze took a deep breath, moved back about twenty feet and rushed at the door, ramming it open. “Now, Psycho,” he screamed. Psycho lit up his assault rifle. “Knock, knock motherfuckers,” he said, cackling loudly.

                                                                        *****

            The team regrouped in the bloodstained command center. Bronze had Kishtar in a headlock; Psycho was sitting nearby, his assault rifle trained on Kishtar. Jag and Sinji arrived a few minutes later. Jag stared at the head of Kishtar. “Bronze, sit him down,” he ordered. “Sinji, find something to restrain him.” Bronze released his headlock and forced Kishtar in a nearby chair. The chair almost broke under the force. Sinji managed to find some cuffs off one of the dead guards. “Sir, will these do,” he asked Jag. “Yep,” said Jag. “That’ll work.” Sinji handed the cuffs to Bronze. Bronze cuffed Kishtar’s hands together. He then lifted him up and slung him over his shoulder.

            “Alright, let’s get out of this place,” said Jag. He went down one of the hallways that led back to the entranceway, the rest of his team following him.