9:12 a.m.
Stanley Larson holds a foot halfway down on the gas pedal of a stolen, government Chevy Suburban. He's doing 55 in a 15mph speed zone. What he has to do he's not afraid to do. Whom he must he's not afraid of exposing. How he must kill in the process, he's not afraid of killing. A double-clipped CAR-15 rest across his lap. It's a shorter and lighter and more accurate version of the military M-16.
He projects a round into the chamber.
No turning back now.
Stanley's heart drums hard against his chest, reverberating throughout his ingenious brain. My God, he thinks, The hour has come. He buckles himself in, runs a red light, keeps an eye looking ahead while the other lingers into the rear-view mirror. Softly, he licks his full lips. Then he thinks of death.
It could be thoughts of them, he ponders.
He knows it's not because of how the interior of the SUV is frequency-block secured. So, through slow traffic of Cambelton Road, in East Point, Georgia, Stanley weaves like a super-sportbike in the Laguna Seca, California raceway. Time is crucial. To what degree it is he's unsure. But he reminds himself that it's all irrelevant, and it's irrelevant because he's aware now --- aware that he's a pawn within an evil government --- an evil government with an evil experiment and tumultuous intentions.
Traffic is blocked off by several motorcycle cops at a coming intersection. Within visual of the cops at the pavement, then leaps forth in more speed and more danger.
" Stop! " The cops signal him.
The SUV swerves around them and storms ahead, over the hill and then down it.
His eyes widen. Twenty or so squad cars are parked on and off the mainstreet. How had they arrived so quickly? No time to figure it out, a dozen or so officers race in his direction --- guns aimed as they suddenly take to a knee.
No question now, he knows. There's no escape from this, no pause and replay, no novel-like scene where a lead character returns safely from the impossible.
Guns shots.
The SUV swerves, then jumps a curve and races throughout a multitude of small parking lots in front of various buildings.
Bullets pound against the exterior. Stanley curses the cops, himself, then looks down along the side of his seat. His index finger fishes for the button that will recline his seat. He finds it. Depressing it, he looks up.
" Shit! " is all Stanley musters, before tightening both hands on the steering-
He collides head on.
* * *
The SUV broke through half of a floor-to-ceiling window pane and a portion of brick structuring of the First Union Bank, as if it were SheetRock. Then it crushed through the Aisle-1 and -2 teller counters, throwing up showers of splinterwood and glass into the lobby. Front tiress came to a rest ontop of the bank manager.
Telsa stared on in near disbelief.
Before her eyes was a gaping hole with hanging debri in its opening. Broken wires draped a few inches from the ceiling in showers of sparks. Yet, through the opening, Telsa observed six people dressed in SWAT uniform rush toward the opening --- weapons held at the ready.
The driver-side door of the SUV opened.A man stepped out quickly. He turned and faced the opening and then fired from the hip.
" Get up! ' He shouted. " Get inside the truck! " He continued shooting.
She watched him gun down one officer after another, dropping them in the doorway and knocking some of them back out of it. But she couldn't find it in herself to move. So tired. So confused. So depressed. Yet, the man was taking backward steps toward her.
Suddenly, in one swift motion, he took to a knee and grabbed Telsa near the neck and yanked on the sweater. " Get up! " He fired again into the opening. Then he looked into her eyes. " You're
not in shock, dammit. Now get up! " Spittle sprayed her face. " I'm here to help you, I know what you're experiencing. "
He yanked once more and then let go.
He went back to shooting.
Telsa's eyes widened.
She couldn't just lay there and let him die trying to help her. No, another person need not to die because of herself. With a grunt, she sat up.
Pain from her shoulder wound sky-rocketed into the nape of her neck. She was blind for a second or so. Never in her 33 years of life had she felt so weak, so distraught, so unsure of what was reality and what wasn't. Maybe this was all imagination since the voices no longer spoke.
The stranger set Telsa over his broad shoulders and hurried to the front seat of the SUV.
" Listen to me, " she heard him say. " We're getting outta here. "
" How? " she said in despair. " They're everywhere. "
For a brief moment, Telsa felt as though the world had stopped when he gazed into her soul.
" It's amazing, " she listened to him say. " You still don't know your fate. "
With that said, he spun around and fired into the opening and then the front entrance, where two SWAT team members rushed inside. " Get to the passenger floor board and stay there! " He shouted.
As Telsa started, she watched and him sprint deeper into the lobby and retrieve the money bags she'd left behind. She climbed onto the seat and then cautiously lowered herself to the floor.
The stranger climbed in behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition key.
The starter screamed. " Dammit, what the hell was I thinking?! "
He pulled the gear shifter into reverse, stamped the gas pedal, then screamed the rear tires against the dust-ridden floor tile.
" Hold on, " he warned.
" We gonna die. "
" It won't happen inside here, " he assured. " This bitch is N.S.A. approved, bullet proof. "
He backed through the opening, spun the SUV in an 180 degree turn, then hauled ass to the mainstreet.
" Shit, " he cursed. " Hold on. "
Bullets pummeled against the exterior of the SUV. Telsa wasn't scared, only concerned of why this man would risk his life for someone he couldn't possibly know. Grateful none-the-less, she felt hope take the place of her once suicidal thoughts.
Telsa stared at him, him with the toffee-colored skin, trim goat-tee, and medium, yet muscular build underneath his bullet-proof vest and tight t-shirt. Contrary to his killer actions, his face was feminine in structure. Thick eyebrows with natural sleepy eyes gave him an Omar Epps, pretty-boy type of appeal.
" Hold on! "
The SUV banked left, slid a bit, found grip, and then resumed speed.
" Telsa Spencer, " he said quickly. " Do I look familiar? "
Telsa blinked several times. " Who are you? "
" Stanley Larson. "
" How do you know my name? "
Stanley stared at her for a moment. " They took no chances. . . you're memory-index
blocked. "
Another hard turn, then another and another.
" I don't what you're talking about, " Telsa fumed. " I gotta get off this floor and- "
" No! " Stanley exclaimed. " Not yet. Your EMF emission might get locked onto GPS
tracking. "
He's crazy! " My what? "
" Your Electromagnetic Frequency Emission. "
" What are you talking about? " Telsa asked, becoming irate. " How do you know my name? How- "
Stanley slapped the steering wheel once and cursed. " Look under your seat and grab that PDA. "
Having no idea what he was talking about, she searched anyway. There was something cold, squarish, flat-surfaced --- she pulled it out and held it up. " This it? " She squinted from a sharp pain in the shoulder.
Stanley's mesmerizing dark-browns gazed down on her. " You've been shot. You never get shot. . . I don't believe it, " she heard him say, with sincerity. " Why didn't you tell me you were shot? Your sweater, take it off. I have to see the wound. "
" 'xcuse me. "
" Please, you have nothing I haven't seen already.Take it off. "
Arrogant bastard! Telsa removed the sweater.
Stanley reached over and felt around the wound. " Exit wound. No, just a deep gash. No threat. Put your sweater on. We'll ditch the government and- "
" They're behind us? "
" Behind us, over us, hiding from us, did you think they were going to let us bang-bang shoot'em up and then ride off into the sunset? As long as they don't pick up your EMF we'll be alright. We'll lose this helicopter in about- " He stared at the navigator system in the dash board and said, " Twenty minutes. "
" I have to sit up, my shoulder. "
" No, I told you why you can't. "
" But I don't underst- "
" Understand? " Stanley finished her sentence. " None of this makes sense to you, I know. But Telsa, ask yourself this. Where did you get that gun? "
She ascertained the question. " It was just there."
Stanley faced her. She knew by the look on his face that her answer sounded half-cocked. But it was the truth. " Just there, huh? " He responded. " There where? "
" In my bag. I woke up this morning and it was just there. "
" An AK-47 assault pistol. C.I.A. and Special Op's issue, just there in the bag."
" It's the truth. "
" Where did you learn how to operate it? "
" I've never owned a gun. "
" My point, " he stressed, then smiled. " And today you suddenly become a bankrobber and murderer.
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