Firestorm (Complete)

[Aimee Connors]

The first thing she became aware of was her headache. Aimee scrunched her eyes closed a half second after opening them, the light sending a spike of pain into her brain. Eyes closed, she heard male voices arguing in Spanish and English, and then she remembered what had happened and her eyes snapped open, headache be dammed. She couldn't bear another second in the dark, not knowing what was going on around her.

She took in the enormous building, it's run down appearance, and the Three Elevens scattered throughout. In front of her were some big garage doors, and behind her was...

Aimee tugged at the handcuffs on her wrists while pushing against the warm back behind her. Twisting her head around she looked through her disheveled hair and realized it was Jim. Tears sprang to her eyes and she whispered, "Jim. Jim. Wake up, please..." Her voice cracked and she became certain he was dead and it was all her fault.

[Jim Lewinski]

Jim sat crumpled on the floor like a long-neglected ragdoll, his jeans were caked in dust, a savage spattering of blood decorated his shirt, and where his face was once pale blossomed a band of sickly bruises. He rocked heavily against Aimee as she tried to wake him, then suddenly snapped upright with a start:

"-obly eargas o-skind-o weaponised-hallucinogen- oh!" he blurted in surprise, rubbernecking left and right, "I was unconscious- never been unconscious before- that was boring- ow, my freakin' head!"

[Aimee Connors]

Aimee sagged with relief as Jim's motor mouth took over. "Ohmigod, Jim, I thought you were dead." She sniffed hard, their chain rattling as she tugged at her hands.

[Jim Lewinski]

"Not-dead-just-bait- straight into the garage door- can you believe that?"

He muttered to himself in disbelief, replaying his final moments before the blackout, and it took a considerable effort to ignore the sharp throbbing pain in his head threatening to push his eyes out of their sockets. Pressing his face against the cold metal cuffs, he sighed.

"You okay, purple?"

[Aimee Connors]

"No." Aimee sniffed again, glad that the Tres Onces around them seemed to be totally ignoring them. "I mean, yeah, I'm okay. B- but not really.

"Do... d'ya think that Aidan is okay?" She pulled her hands out in front of her, trying to see how much slack there was in the chain. Jim squeaked as her action pulled on his own wrists, the chain attached to them both and then to the ground. "Sorry."

[Jim Lewinski]

"If, by okay, you mean not chained to the spot in a heavily fortified warehouse and su-surrounded by legions of gun-totin' lunatics then-n-n... yeah, I reckon you'll find he's tip-motherfuckin'-top!"

Against his back, he felt Aimee heave another quiet sob. Instinctively, he moved and faltered to the sound of scraping chains. Being helpless was one thing, but the inability to comfort a friend in need was torturous, and yet strangely, it kept him strong. Alert eyes pinged around the room, soaking in their surroundings, despite the sad state of the battered glasses sitting skewed on the tip of his nose. Aimee was too quiet, he twisted enough to catch a glimpse a shimmering cheek, and softly amended his words:

"What I mean, Aimee, is... it's Aidan. He's tough. And I'm sure he'll figure something out."

[Aidan Fox]

Sunset was over an hour ago, but it had done nothing to ease the heat. The hot, sticky evening had become a hot, sticky night with no promise of relief in the smoke-brown sky.

Aidan glanced down at his open cell phone as he paced around the stacks of cheap beer and shelves full of junk food that stuffed the back aisles of the little convenience store attached to the Francisco Street BP station. The clock said 8:41 PM, which meant he had time to kill. At the bottom of the little screen, a couple status messages flashed urgently: 4 missed calls. 11 text messages. Two of the calls were from Anna; the rest was all Tess. He hadn't read them. Even now, he didn't have the stomach.

He thumbed through his contacts to Tess's number for the fifth time to punch in a message. Just like the other four, he found himself hovering over the 'send' button.

Crazy night. Srry about dinner. Be back as soon as I can, love you.

Which was more callous - sending a hollow apology like that, or saying nothing at all?

8:47 PM. Time was about to make the decision for him. He shut his phone off, dropped it into his pocket, and grabbed a candy bar off the shelf.

"Just this and the gas," he said.

The girl behind the till gave him a suspicious look and then pecked away at a keypad. "Your total is twenty-five thirteen."

Aidan fished two bills and a quarter onto the counter and glanced out the shopfront window where Jake was attending to the truck, then back to the short, heavy-set girl at the register. She'd had her eyes on him since he stepped inside. He guessed she had a sense for people who brought trouble with them, working nights in a place like this.

"You're working alone tonight?" he asked.

He didn't miss the warning in her face when he drug back into his pocket. But he pulled out three more twenty-dollar bills and dropped them on the counter by the candy bar.

"Why don't you lock up early tonight? You don't want be around here later. Trust me."

She didn't say a word. But she carefully slid the money down off the back of the counter and into her pocket.

Aidan stepped back out into the steamy night to find Jake crawling underneath the truck. "Hey. Ten minutes to showtime. How are we looking?"

[Jacob Foley]

"Stupid thing..." Jake muttered, the muffled fumble resumed and then, "There. Now we're good."

Worming his way out, Jake squinted at the stark light of the gas station, and quickly righted himself. He wiped a slick black trail down the side of his jeans and regarded Aidan where he stood. In the distance, the freeway softly roared to the tune of people going about their daily business, men and women returning home to their families. Further still, there were empty chairs waiting at a dinner table. His gaze flicked casually to the street, which he followed into the distance, hands plunged into his pockets.

"We'll make the trip there well enough," he said, after some consideration, "Twenty-five dollars..."

Time was against them, he could feel its oppressive weight hanging around his neck, pulling them inexorably toward that long and barren road. And it ripped the core out of him. He turned to Aidan again.

"Taped inside my acoustic there's a letter... for Anna... you know, just in case."

[Aidan Fox]

Aidan caugh Jake's eyes. They mirrored what he felt, that grim, too-alert sharpness that came from the other side of fatigue, something they'd shared before on late-night stakeouts and desperate escapes, but there had never been this much at stake before. That letter stuck in Aidan's mind, accusing. He hadn't written one. Until recently, he'd have never considered he had someone to write to.

He pulled half a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit the charred end with blue candle flame from his thumb. As he took his first drag, the lights in the convenience store went out, and Aidan craned over his shoulder to see the clerk watching them warily through the front glass.

He blew out a jet of white smoke and slapped Jake on the back. "Let's go."

They piled into the cab, and Aidan started the wheezing Toyota engine and put the truck into gear. "Listen," he said, "if this whole thing goes south, and you see an opportunity to get out with the kids, take it."

[Jacob Foley]

Inside the truck, the air was stale and warm and infected with the the sickly taint of an expired air freshener. It was anything but pine fresh. Jake cranked the window down and eased an elbow outside, intent on enjoying the breeze like a master illusionist. Headlamps chased away the encroaching gloom as they rolled onto the road. There was no music. It was not the time for music. The silence, however, was appalling and for a fleeting instant Jake feared he would drown in it.

Fortunately, Aidan put his fears swiftly to bed when his trademark brand of stoic chivalry made an ugly reappearance. Jake fired up at once:

"Hey, fuck that, man. You're gonna pull that shit on me now? We're in this together, Aidan. Enough with the goddamn hero talk!"

[Aidan Fox]

"You've got a family, Jake. I don't."

For once in his life, Aidan respected speed limits. There was no sense in hurrying. He could already see the factory looming at the end of the street like an old-world colosseum, its haunches illuminated by the unctuous orange glow of sodium streetlights.

"Besides," he said, "if this works at all... I might be more dangerous to you than they are."

He slowed down to a crawl as they approached the front gate, slow enough that the rifle-bearing guards on either side could look in and see their hated enemies behind the windshield. One of them leveled his gun at the mutants while the other walked around the truck and checked the empty bed. He gave a signal to his partner, who waved them on into the parking lot.

The pickup wobbled over the fractured pavement, and Aidan took the shortest possible route to the sidewalk and threw the shifter into park. Then he killed the engine and stepped out onto the asphalt.

"Hey, put that out, mutie!" Aidan was greeted by a Three Eleven waving a rifle barrel in his face. He reached up to hold his cigarette stub and exhaled. For a moment, the burning end glowed blue instead of orange.

"Throw it on the ground, now!" the guard ordered. Aidan took the stub between his thumb and forefinger and flicked it down to the pavement underneath the cooling truck. He glanced over toward Jake, who was also getting prodded with the barrel of a gun.

"Come on, let's not waste any more time," Aidan said. "Take us to Julio."

[The Tres Onces]

The rattle and crash of a sliding garage door split the silence of the factory floor and set the metal rafters ringing, and Aidan and Jake walked in just ahead of the rifle barrels of the thugs behind them. Julio leaned on the railing of an office balcony on the second story like a king waiting to deliver judgment. When he saw the two mutants, his mouth curled in victory.

"Would you look at that," he shouted. "This neighborhood's going straight to hell with garbage like you two walkin' in here."

[Aimee Connors]

Aimee's head jerked up as the doors opened, fear washing over her anew like cold water. When she saw Aidan and Jake she felt a surge of hope...

...Only to despair again at the sight of all the guns pointed at them. The leader guy of the gang shouted from above, and she stared at the two older mutants like a fat kid at a birthday cake.

[Aidan Fox]

Aidan tried not to look the kids' way - tried not to betray how his heart was thundering in his chest and his hands were sweaty at the prospect of finding them imprisoned in a den of slavers and murderers. But he glanced before he could help himself, enough to see the weltering bruises on Jim's face, and the surge and death of hope in Aimee's amber eyes. And then he lifted his face toward Julio.

"We're here," he shouted back. "You've got what you want. Let the kids go."

[The Tres Onces]

Julio strolled to a metal staircase and began descending toward the factory floor. "I said we might deal," he replied. "I never said what the deal would be. Looks to me like you've got nothing left to bargain with, mutie."

The Smoke Man stepped out from the shadows underneath the scaffolding that supported the offices and joined him as he crossed the concrete floor toward Aimee and Jim. He pulled Beretta 9 mm pistol from an underarm holster and stroked Aimee's cheek with the barrel, drawing a trembling whimper from the terrified girl.

"What I want to know is, how much do you have left to lose?"

[Aidan Fox]

Something shrank in Aidan's gut, and his fingers twitched at his side.

"You want to think about what you have to lose, Julio," he said. "Those kids are the only thing keeping you alive right now. If I were you, I'd consider pointing that gun at something that's still a threat."

[The Tres Onces]

Julio scowled like a wolf posturing over fresh meat. Then he pulled back the hammer of his pistol, seized Aimee's hair, and pressed the barrel against her temple.

"Empty your pockets!" he snarled. "Both of you! Throw down everything that's flammable! Jackets off too! You don't keep a goddamn Kleenex, hear me?"

[Aidan Fox]

Aidan shrugged off his leather jacket with a thud, leaving only a T-shirt underneath, tattered and dirty from his tumble down the hill. Then he turned out his pocket, dropping wallet, keys, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes onto the concrete floor. Beside him, Jake did the same. A couple Elevens poked through the contents with their shoes. One of them snagged Aidan's cell phone out of his coat pocket.

[Jacob Foley]

The warehouse stretched every which way, making insects of its inhabitants, and exhaled a long low clammy breath. Cold stretches of light slashed at the great expanse, clawing in futility for the steel-ribbed roof. Laughter rumbled in its darkest corners and warped words echoed and shrank in the vast swell of space. Jake removed his jacket and turned on the spot, glass crunching like fresh snow. He was unarmed. The same could not be said for the gunmen he saw prowling walkways overhead. It was at that moment he understood the staggering scope of the enemy and the threat they posed became painfully clear. A loose perimeter of gangbangers formed around them, snapping sneering taunts like hungry muzzled dogs. Fear made a home in his stomach, then clenched into a first at the sight of his scared young friends. He took a strained breath and met Jim's eyes with fierce intent.

[Jim Lewinski]

On the floor, Jim murmured fearfully as the terrible scene played out. The arrival of Aidan and Jake hadn't been unexpected, given the predicament in which he and Aimee had landed themselves, but at this stage he hadn't predicted the gang leader to renege on the deal. And when he heard the haunting click, and felt Aimee turn rigid against his back, his shriek rent the air. Chains jangled furiously as he wrestled against them. Then, caught in Jake's gaze, he settled, and listened, and understood.