# Dark*Matter: Gators Under Gary (Was Exit 23)



## arwink (Oct 6, 2004)

*Exit 23, Part One*

Zac rubbed at the windshield, trying to clear his field of vision.  It didn’t help much.  All he got was the gentle swish of the wipers going back and forth, the field of white snow mounting up in front of him.  There was the road…just…but he was fairly sure it wasn’t going to be there for much longer.  The air conditioning on his rental coughed and spluttered a few times, trying to make its point, but Zac was long past paying attention.

He tried to control the cars descent along the off-ramp, heading towards the dim light of the rest stop in the distance. He figured it was mostly luck that let him spot the sign a few miles back, but he let out a small sigh of relief when he realized he was going to make it.  The bright lights of the gas station were like gleaming stars after the hours of driving through the blizzard, and the steam rising from the heating vents promised more warmth than the crisp air being spat out by the car.  A quick trip to the facilities, and he’d avail himself to the dubious comforts offered by the White River Rest Stop.

He crunched his way across the parking lot, past the big rigs and sports utilities that clustered along one end.  The lights over the gas pumps were dark, as was much of the interior. Zac checked the opening hours on the gift shop and restaurant, but both were gone hours ago.  The only signs of life from the cloyingly tacky foyer were bunch of people clustered in the donut shop.  Teenage employees chatted amiably with rugged truckers, while some young student quietly talked about art with a balding executive. 

‘Nothing like disaster to bring people together,” Zac muttered to himself. Bathroom first, then the best coffee and donuts available.  It wasn’t quite tracking Bigfoot like he’d planned for his weekend, but it’d do in a pinch.  At least the toilets were clean.

By the time he’d returned to the donut shop, the crowd had grown a little more.  Another couple of truckers, a few more kids hanging out under the heating vent.  Zac threaded his way through the crowd, towards the counter.

“Howdy,” he said, giving the aging counterwoman a quick grin.

“Another one,” she said.  She poured a cup of black coffee and pointed towards him, giving Zac a quick glimpse of her name badge.  Mabel.  “Worst storm we’ve had round these parts in twenty years – you’d think everyone would have found some place to stop by now.”

“Didn’t know the area,” Zac said.  “Only really found my way here by luck.  Think it’ll last long?”
“Jane…that’s the officer over there…came in a few minutes ago.  She says the roads are cut off north of here, and the latest reports don’t think this’ll blow over ‘til morning.  I’m afraid you’re stuck here for the night.”

Zac thought about that for a second, scratching at his stubbled chin.

“In that case, how ‘bout another coffee, a couple of cinnamon donuts, a couple of crullers and a strawberry iced.  Best to be prepared for the long haul.”

He collected his purchases and went looking for somewhere to sit.  It wasn’t a large place – barely more than a half-dozen tables all up, so he squeezed into a corner booth held by a fit-looking woman and a clean-cut man dressed in a camoflage jacket.  There was a lot of stuff crammed into the booth with them, from sleeping bags to suitcases, but there was enough room for another body.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Neither of them said anything.  The woman read a book, intently focused on the text. On Zac’s right, Camouflage Jacket drank coffee in long slurps that drew a withering look from the far side.

“I’m Zac,” he offered, speaking around a mouthful of donut.
“Nick,” Camouflage said, offering his hand.
“And you?”
The woman looked up, eyes focusing on Zac.
“Ammie,” she said.  “Two M’s, but spell it however you want. Everyone does.”

“Ready for a long night?” Nick said.  Zac looked confused, and the blond man pointed at the pile of donuts.  Zac shrugged.

“If we’re going to be here for a while, best make the best of it.  No point wasting time.”

He lifted the first coffee to his mouth, drinking it in a long slurp.  Ammie glared at him, but Nick was hard pressed to suppress a grin.

“Sorry,” Zac offered. “How about a donut to make it up to…”

The lights died.

“That’s going to suck.”

Then there was the *BANG* of something large and heavy hitting something else very hard.

Then the bloodcurdling scream, the trilogy of gunshots, the sudden silence.

Dread settled over the donut shop like a smothering blanket of snow.


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## ledded (Oct 6, 2004)

Nice start to a classic adventure.

I'll be hanging around to see how this one develops, keep up the good work.


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## arwink (Oct 7, 2004)

*Exit 23, Part Two*

Ammie didn’t like the quiet.  It was too still.  She slipped a hand into her pack, searching around for the flashlight tucked in behind the toiletry bag.  Her hand brushed against the wound cord of the hilt, and she had to fight the temptation to draw it and take comfort in the weight.  _Unlikely to be helpful_, she thought.  The flashlight emerged not long after.  All she wanted was a weekend on the ranch with Jonas, a few short days riding and training.  Instead she got bad coffee and smart-arse geeks and gunshots.  Christ.  

Jonas didn’t even have the decency to sound disappointed when she’d called to let him know about the storm.

She found the flashlight and flicked it on, shining the beam around the faces at the table.  Nick was pressed against the side of the booth, one hand dipping towards the back of his camouflage jacket.  _Probably some crazed survivalist_, she thought.  _Telling himself he’s ready for everything._  Zac was quietly eating a donut, his eyes darting nervously behind his glasses.  He had seemed amiable enough when he sat down, a sort of crazed cross between Michael Moore and a lumberjack, but his nervousness and size were a bad combination in an emergency.  

Someone needed to do something.  Ammie figured it might as well be her.

“Does anyone else want to be the first person to ask what was that?” 

No one answered, but it broke the tension.  Across the others side of the room, Ammie could hear someone start to cry.  On the opposite side of the booth, Nick was recovering from the shock and getting ready to move.  He leapt to his feet and commandeered the flashlight, turning the light on the rest of the room.  Everyone was huddled together, but there were no injuries.

“Mabel, does this place have generators?” Nick called.  
“Yeah man, they do.” 

The answer came from the far side of the shop, where a bunch of teenagers wearing service uniforms were squeezing into the corner.  Ammie thought back to the people sitting there, remembered an Indian kid wearing the dull gray of a bowser jockey.  It sounded like his voice.

“Where is it?”.

“Outside,” the voice returned.  The light flicked back and forth across the group, eventually focusing on the wide eyes of the Indian kid.  

“About two hundred feet away from the back door,” he said.  “You know how to work it?”
“Yeah?”  
It wasn’t a confident answer.

“Right,” Nick said.  He gritted his teeth.

“Why are they never inside?” Ammie muttered.  “No matter how many times this sort of thing happens, they insist on keeping the generator outside.”

Nick ignored her, heading over to the group of kids.  She glanced across the table to Zac, barely able to make out his features in the darkness.  He shrugged.

“Likes to take charge, doesn’t he?” 
Ammie offered him a smile, clenching a fist in frustration.  
“I guess someone has to do it.”
She pauses, uncertain.
“What do you think happened?”

There was a long slurp as Zac drank more of his coffee.  Ammie did her best to avoid picturing herself shattering all the bones in his hand and mouth.

“Probably a broken window or something.  Or the state trooper trying to drive off a bear or something that was taking shelter from the storm.”
“Why the state trooper?”
“She had a gun,” Zac said.  “And she’s not in the shop anymore.  State trooper would have a flashlight nearby, probably trying to take control of the situation about now.”

Nick reappeared by their table.

“Lets go.”

Ammie glanced across the table.  Zac shrugged.
“Go where?”
“Gift shop,” Nick explained.  “One of the kids gave me the keys, told me there’s some spare flashlights behind the counter.  I’ll need spare hands, and its your flashlight I’m planning on taking, so I figured you’d be wanting to help.”

“Mind if I come along?” 
Zac had finished his first donut and opened an I-Mac, the silvery light from the screen making him seem even paler.  He typed a few words, then held the computer up.  It wasn’t much light, but it shed a dim radiance that lit the table with a silvery glow.  Nick just shrugged and started moving, gesturing for Ammie to follow.
“Guess your in,” Ammie said.  

It took a few minutes to find the right key to the gift shop, a nervous process that made Ammie feel exposed every time the wind hurled itself against the sliding doors of the rest stop.  Nick was busy swearing around the flashlight he had clenched between his teeth, testing key after key until one finally slid into the padlock.

“Right,” he said, then he disappeared into the shadowy mountains of shelves and stock dangling from the ceiling.  It wasn’t a large store by any means, but it took a few seconds longer to pick their way through the debris without the aid of the flashlight.

 “The girl said they’ve be back behind the counter.  About a dozen or so,” Nick said. He paused for a moment.  “Right.”
“Right what?”
“She didn’t mention they were all left over _Finding Nemo_ toys.”

Nick held up a flashlight, clicking it on.  The cheery light emerged from the mouth of a yellow and blue-stripped fish, weakly illuminating a spot about three feet wide on the far wall.

“Novelty toys,” Zac muttered.  “I hate novelty toys.”

There was a sudden flash of light as he raised something to his face.  Ammie blinked, dropping into a ready stance and holding her fists at the ready.

“Sorry,” Zac said.  “Camera flash.”
“They’re torches,” Ammie said.  “What in hell do you need to photograph them for?”
Zac was quiet for a few moments, his shadowy silhouette shifting uncomfortably.
“Posterity?”
“You want to remember this experience?”

“Guys, not the time,” Nick said.  He handed a handful of flashlights over the counter.  “Take one each and get the rest to the folks in the Donut Shop.  Loud thumps? Gunshots? People hurt in the toilets? Remember?”

Ammie glared.
“Who died and made you boss?”
Nick grinned in the dim glow of the flashlight.
“No-one," Nick said.  "Yet."


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## skullsmurfer (Oct 7, 2004)

nice, i'll be back


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## arwink (Oct 8, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Three

Nick kept one hand tucked into his jacket, the tips of his fingers brushing against the grip of the pistol.  The other was holding up the flashlight, running the light over the doors to the bathrooms.  The other two were pressed up against the wall behind him.  The girl, Ammie, did a fair approximation of moving quietly.  She wasn't trained for this kind of thing, but she was light on her feet and moved fast.  The big guy, Zac, he was just two left feet and a nervous twitch.  If there was a shooter still around here, the odds of Zac being the first man down were pretty good.  

Nick did his best to shut off the nagging part of his brain that whispered someting about duty of care and bringing civilians in the line of fire.  It'd been six years since the last time he went into the unknown without a full SWAT team, and after that...

After that...

Best not to think about it.

“Ladies first,” Nick said.  He eased towards the door, keeping the flashlight trained on the wall so it didn't spill through the doorjam.  The door swung open smoothly, a quick glance showing nothing.  Nick leaned against the wall, glanced back at his two companions.  With a nod, he ducked through the doorway. 

Flashlights swept over the bathroom, shining against the pale blue tiles and the row of stalls.  Nick crouched low, checking the stalls for feet, but everything was empty. 

“Crouching on the seat?” Ammie suggested.  
Nick glanced over his shoulder.
“You keep watch for someone making a run for it,” he suggested.  “Don’t give them an out.”
Ammie nodded, moving on the balls of her feet.  The golden glow of the Nemo flashlight scanned the row of stalls cautiously.

“Empty,” he said, glancing into the first.  He moved up to the second stall, pressing his palm against the door.  It swung open easily.  “Empty.”

The third and fourth were the same.  Everyone let out a short sigh of relief.

“Mens,” Nick ordered.  He herded everyone out, pressing himself against the space between the two doorways.  One hand reached out to push the door open, prepared to take a quick glance inside before entering.  

The door moved about a fraction of an inch, then caught on something.

“What’s up?” Zac asked.  The light of his flashlight hit Nick in the eyes.

“There’s something blocking the door,” Nick said.  “Not heavy, but heavy enough that we’ll need to shove it open.”
“Right,” Zac said.  He shined a flashlight at the floor.  “There’s blood.”
Another two flashlights dropped low, showing the red slick that seeped beneath the door.  Nick grimaced, put his hand on the pistol hilt and got ready to draw.
“I think the best course of action…” 

Nick stopped mid-sentence, watching in horror as Zac pushed the door open without taking precautions.  There was a whispering slide and a soft thump as the door swung wide.  Zac let out a strangled cry, rushing into the room and turning to examine something behind the door.  

Nick winced.

“Check the room,” He told Ammie, then peered round the doorway himself.  The state trooper was slumped against the wall, blood pooling around her from a pair of wounds.

The first was caused by an icicle plunged deep into her chest, an icicle long enough to put most knives to shame.  The second was caused by another icicle that protruded from her eye, the mixture of tears and melting ice running down the troopers face like tears.  Zac was trying to wake the trooper, shaking her in an effort to get a response.

“Oh *&#%$,” Nick said.  The SIG-Sauer swept out of its holster and scanned the room.

“We got another one,” Ammie called.  She was halfway across the rest room, shining Nemo into one of the stalls.  Nick left the trooper to Zac and moved down, the pistol sweeping across the room in a professional arc.  Ammie took a few steps back, getting out of the guns arc.

The stall was occupied by a door that had been ripped of its hinges, and a tall businessman dressed in a suit that would have been fairly natty if it wasn’t for the huge bloody *RENTS* where he’d been ripped apart by some wild animal.

Nick knelt next to him, checking for a pulse.  It was weak, but there.  God knows how he managed to live with his wounds.

“Either of you know anything about first aid?”

Nick started tending as best he could, binding wounds with torn shirt and jacket strips.  It wasn’t much, but he had never focused too much on the first aid side of things in the academy.  He thought he was doing the right thing, but in the darkness and the cold he was hard pressed to remember the correct procedure for anything more complex than CPR.

“A little, but it’s been a while sinc…” Zac appeared by the entryway to the stall, light looking over the carnage.   

“Oh *&#%$,” he said.  His Nemo light scanned the bloody walls, setting off a glittering sheen as the light hit layers of frost.  Then he stopped, pointing his light directly at the floor.

“Oh **&#%$ me*,” he repeated.  

Nick glanced over his shoulder, looking at the tall mans discovery.

In the middle of the floor, imprinted among the blood and frost, was the footprint of a creature that was almost definitely not human.  Nick paused in his tending, looking at the print a little more closely.  The moment he saw it, his heart leapt into his throat.

“Looks like a wolf print,” he said, as casually as he dared.  “No big deal.”
“Wolf print?” Zac was getting worked up.  “What kind of wolf has its paw split in the middle like that?  Hell, what kind of wolf leaves a paw print a foot and a freaking half long?”

“Really, really big ones.”	

Nick looked at the business suit, took his pulse again.  Still week, and not getting any steadier.

“Grab his legs,” he ordered.  “I’ll keep his neck stable." 

The other two looked at him, slightly taken back.  Nick let out a small sigh of frustration.

"We need to move him or he’s going to die.”


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## Paxr0mana (Oct 8, 2004)

Hmm, this seems oddly familiar...


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## arwink (Oct 8, 2004)

Paxr0mana said:
			
		

> Hmm, this seems oddly familiar...




I blame jonrog1.  I figure that after reading his storyhour, about a dozen people a year go out, pick up the Dark*Matter rulebook and immediately start writing storyhours.

I mean, heck, that's why I'm doing it


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## the Jester (Oct 8, 2004)

Nice start here, Arwink!  I like it!


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## arwink (Oct 8, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Four

Nick was trying to raise help on the state troopers radio, his call getting lost in bursts of static and chaos. The SIG-Sauer was still in his hand, the troopers glock tucked into his waist band.  It wasn’t, Zac thought, a terribly good sign.  

“No good,” Nick said eventually.  “I’ve got the message through.  I think.  If they’ve heard it, they’ll be here soon.  ‘Officer down’ is the only phrase that gets a state trooper moving faster than ‘free donuts’.”

“Lot of snow out there,” Ammie said.  “Really think they’ll be able to make it?”

Nick shrugged.  He turned his attention back to the fallen business man.  His wounds were patched as best they could manage, the breathing a little more stable, but it still wasn’t good.  It’d taken all the scraps of first aid the two of them could remember to even get him to that point, and medical facilities in the rest stop were likely to be nonexistent.

“Grab the door,” Nick ordered.  “We’ll take him back to the donut shop.  Keep him as warm as we can.”

Ammie and Zac both blinked a few times, not entirely sure what he was getting at.  Then they moved the fallen door into position, laying it out and moving the wounded so it could be used as a makeshift stretcher.  They took a corner and lifted, slowly shuffling past the state trooper and through the doorway.

Then Nick stopped, halting the progress.

“Put it down,” he whispered.  “Noise in the arcade.”

Ammie and Zac exchanged glances.  Neither of them had heard anything, but Nick was the guy with the guns now…

They laid the door down, readied the flashlights and followed him into the darkened corridor.  The looming shape of dark arcade machines filled both walls, ominously quiet without the usual barrage of electronic bleeps and whistles.  Nick circle wide, gun and flashlight trained on the spaces along the far wall.

Zac watched, his own flashlight following Nick as much as the far wall.  Whatever killed the cop in the bathroom wasn't likely to be hiding out in the arcade, and Nick seemed awfully comfortable with the gun. It was held at the ready, being careful not to block off his line of fire as he moved and switched the position of his light.

Then Nick stopped.

“Christ,” he said.  The gun disappeared back into its holster.  “It’s just a kid.”

Ammie approached cautiously, watching as Nick tried to calm the kid.  Huddled into the space between two machines was a teenager, still dressed in the uniform of the burger joint from the far side of the rest stop.  He was shaking, skin covered in frost, muttering to himself.

“You okay?” Nick asked.  “Hey, kid, you okay?”

He reached out with one hand, shaking the youth’s shoulder.  Eyes snapped open, looking at them.

“SHUT UP MAN, THAT *&#%$ THING MIGHT HEAR YOU!”

The kid started to cry.

Zac was there in an instant, his voice adopting a soothing tone as he started speaking.  
“What thing?  What did you see?” 
“It…I…there was this thing…it was like a giant cloud of snow…then it was like a wolf…Man, it killed that guy.  Ripped him apart.  When the cop went in she shot it.  Shot it three times, and all it did was rip her apart.  I watched it kill them, watched it…watched it…”

The kid stopped, blinking into the glare of the flashlights.

“It saw me.  It looked right at me, IT KNOWS WHO I AM.  IT’S coming to FRICKEN GET ME.  I gotta get out of here…”

He struggles to his feet, panic evident in his eyes.  He gets three steps towards the doorway when Ammie neatly grabs his arm in an iron grip, holding him fast.  

“You’re not going anywhere,” Nick says.  He keeps his tone as authoritative as he dares, in this state the kid is far from stable.  “What’s your name, kid?”
“Danny.”
“Show me your arms Danny.”
“*&#%$ you man, I’m not high.  I saw a *&#%$ing wolfman rip that guy apart.”

Nick ignored him, ripped Danny’s sleeves as high as they could go.  He was clean, and his eyes didn’t show signs of anything other than shock and fear.

Which meant he was either traumatized, or he really saw what he thought he did.

Nick wasn’t sure whether to start singing or to start gibbering in terror.

“Come on, Danny, we’re going back to the others.  It’s safer if we stay together.”

The mood in the donut shop was tense.  Adding a panicked kid and a barely conscious business man did little to calm the situation.  Nick took charge of the situation immediately, holstering his gun and pulling a wallet free from his jacket.

“Okay folks, we’ve got a situation,” he said.  “My name is Officer Nick De Lattre, ATF.  Everyone just keep calm and we should get through this just fine.”

People crowded around the body, checking it over.

“What happened to him, man?” The Indian kid asked. 

Nick shrugged.

“At this time, we’re not entirely sure.  We think it may have been self inflicted.”


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## arwink (Oct 10, 2004)

Exit 23: Part Five

Ammie huddled over her coffee, watching the silhouettes of the other patrons as they crowded around Nick and the unconscious body.

“At least he’s a cop,” she said.  “I had him pegged as a nut-case originally.”
Zac was busy demolishing another donut, licking the cinnamon off his fingers.
“The two aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.”

Nick still had both the guns.  Both the guns, a badge, and an uncertain mental stability.  Ammie thought about that for a while.

“So what do you think it was?” she asked finally.  “Some kind of bear?”
“Bear couldn’t get in,” Zac said.  “Not without leaving some trace.  Plus, it’s not really built for the whole stabbing with icicles thing.”
“Crazy guy?”
“Know many people that look like a cloud of snow?”
“What in hell do you think it is then?”
“I don’t know,” Zac said.  His tone was suddenly even, dangerously rational.  “A demon maybe?  Some kind of alien?”

Ammie blinked.  Twice.  She wasn’t entirely sure she just heard that.

“A demon or an alien,” she repeated.  Very slowly, to be sure Zac understood what she had heard coming out of his mouth.
“Yeah.”
“Your serious?”
Zac shrugged.
“Of course.”  He looked at her blank expression.  “Your not a believer, are you.  Trust me, they exist.  I can show you some very blurry photographs of some truly freaky *&#%$.”
“You are nuts, you know that?”
“You got a better explanation.”

Ammie thought about that for a second.

“A psycho,” she said.  “In a bear suit.”

“That sounds likely.”
Nick was back at their table, standing side-on with one eye trained on the crowd. He was glancing over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the crowd, but his voice was low enough that only the three of them could hear.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Ammie and Zac leaned in, letting Nick lower his voice a little further.  Outside the howling wind almost sounded like a wild animal.  Ammie resisted the urge to shudder.

“I just tried to radio the State Troopers again,” Nick whispered.  “Sound like they’re a fair way off.  Can’t quite make out the reason through the static, but it sounds like there’s been an avalanche.  If that guy doesn’t get treatment, he doesn’t last the night.”

“So?”

“So we need to get out there and start one of those cars,” Nick said.  “Blizzard or no, he’s got a better chance on the road than he does here.”

Then they heard the sound of a car horn blaring.  Followed by another.  And another.  A cacophony of noise that drowned out the sudden cries of panic in the donut shop.  

Ammie rushed to the doorway.

Just in time to be highlighted by the flare of sixteen pairs of car and truck lights, all switching on as a single illuminating burst of light.


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## Desdichado (Oct 11, 2004)

Oh, man!  _Exit 23_ doth totally rock.  Great writing, too!


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## arwink (Oct 12, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Six

“What in hell is happening out there?” 

Nick was at Ammie’s side in a matter of moments, his pistol at ready.  Zac was not far behind, barreling through the press of people trying to get a look.

Annie didn’t answer – she just stared that the hail of icicles raining down on the automobiles.  There was the tinkling of glass as a windshield was smashed, a hiss of steam as another drove itself through the bonnet of another.  Shards of ice rained down with the fury of a tropical storm, ripping through everything.

At least, everything with four wheels.  The space between the doorway and the first car was just filled with wind and falling snow.

“Okay,” Ammie said firmly.  “*THAT* is freakin’ weird.”
“Swamp gas,” Nick said.
“WHAT?”
“I’ve heard about this sort of thing happening,” Nick repeated.  “Freak weather, localized over a short space.  It’s usually caused by swamp gas.”
“Really?” Zac was suddenly enthused.  There was a flash of light as he took a photo with his digital camera, checking the image on the screen.  “Where did you read that?  It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite remember…”

“Not important,” Nick said.  “Wounded, remember?”

He turned to Ammie, his flashlight shining onto her face.

“We need one of those cars in working condition.  Trooper should have a spare torch in her car as well, possibly a shotgun.  Grab those as well, if you can.  Assuming your still willing to go out there.”

“It’s just hail, right?” Ammie said.
“Sure,” Zac said.  “Really sharp hail that punches through metal.”
“Foreign cars,” Nick said.  “Cheap manufacturing.”

Ammie looked at the carnage being wrecked by the storm, glanced back at the scared faces of folks in the donut store.  

“Grab the door,” she said.  “I’ve got a sleeping back in my stuff – if we layer the door, I might be able to use it as cover against the worst of the storm.”

Nick nods, and motions Zac into action.  They quickly cover the door with a thick layer of synthetic warmth, holding it in place with a bunch of tacks from the store notice board.  Ammie hefted it, got the weight, and stepped out into the storm.

The cold hit her like a fist, the icy air hitting her lungs like a fist to the stomach.  The door wavered in her hands as the wind clawed at it, trying to sweep it away.  Ammie locked her grip on both sides, adjusting her balance and crunching forward with gritted teeth.  She locked here eyes on the trooper’s four-wheel drive, counting down the distance she needed to cover.  Sixty feet.  Fifty.  Forty.  Thirty.

Then she felt the thump of something solid on the door, the sharp ripping noise as wood shattered, dissolving into a cloud of splinters that were swept away in the winds.

Ammie fall back into the snow, the force of the impact knocking her off her feet.

She was looking up at a psycho over eight feet tall.  

Covered in a thick layer of icy fur.

With the head of a wolf, glaring at her with baleful red eyes.

As costumes went, she had to admit it was a good one.


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## ledded (Oct 12, 2004)

There is much Story Hour rocking going on here.  Maybe it's that this adventure attracts good writers, or the adventure is just that good, but this is something like the 4th Story hour featuring this that I've read and I'm hooked again like it's the first time.


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## Paxr0mana (Oct 13, 2004)

I think I'm ready for another helping of Exit 23. Mmmm.


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## arwink (Oct 13, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Seven

“Oh crap, oh crap.”

Zac started moving, a few seconds ahead of his cognitive thoughts that told him it was a bad idea.  He slugged through the snow in a stumbling sprint, trying to cover the space between himself and the demon.  there was a flash of black in the snow, a momentary glimpse of Ammie's hand as she struggled to find her feet, and then he was airborne.  Sailing towards the creature in a flying tackle.  

Five years of highschool football came rushing back to him, the feeling of his weight cruising through the air in an effort to intercept his opponent before it could do any damage.  He hit the creature sqaurely, his shoulder driving into the things side...

…and it barely moved.

“Oh CRAP.”

Fetid breath caught Zac in the face, making him gag.  He coughed, distracted just long enough for glittering claws to *DRIVE* into his stomach and sending him sprawling back in the snow.  A wave of dizziness swept over him.

Zac's blood fountained out in a glittering arc, staining the snow as the numb wound gushed crimson fluid.  Zac groaned, a hand held to his stomach, and contemplated the common sense of struggling back to his feet.  He fought back unconsciousness, his eyes locked on teh glittering red of the wolf-creatures stare as it loomed over him.  Zac felt every muscle in his body freeze.

He whimpered.

*AAAAIIIIIYAAA*.  

Ammie was on her feet, pushing upright in a single fluid movement and using the momentum to carry her foot into the creatures’ crotch.  The creature let out a straggled cry, its features turning to face the young woman who now stood with both hands held in a defensive stance.

“Come on, you crazy freak,” Ammie yelled into the wind.  Both hands were raised, fists loosely bunched and ready to lash out.  “Come on.”

The creature struggled forward.  Zac wasn’t even sure if the creature had genitalia, least of all where Ammie had kicked it, but whatever she connected with it was enought to daze the demon.  He heard the sharp crack of gunfire as Nick came running into the snow, his SIG-Sauer snapping off a shot into the beasts’ chest.  Blue-white blood gushed into the air and the creature let out another scream.  The sound echoed in their ears, a scream that chilled the marrow in their bones.  Zac wasn't sure, but it was possible he was screaming as well.  

When the silence came, Zac ran for the cars.  He was relying on old instincts, the dogged persistence needed to run through the snow towards a try line.  He heard Ammie yelling again, glanced back just in time to see her launch her body upwards and swing a roundhouse kick into the creature's head.  The head snapped backwards, bobbing back and forth like a childs toy. Zac shuddered as he watched it twist and weave, trying to block out the thought that head and body were connected by a slinky.  He hit the slope of the car, clambering through snow until he felt the steel of the bonnet beneath his boots. 

Nick fired again, a clear shot that nailed the creature right between the eyes.  Blue-black blood sprayed accross the parking lot, covering Zac in gore.  Zac slumped against the care, staring at the carnage and gristle that surrounded him.  Ammie was letting out a yell of triumph, Nick a quick grunt as he kept the pistol trained.  

The creatures body staggered backwards, righted itself, and flexed the ice-tipped claws against the wind.  The faint trail of blue-ish steam that rose from the space where its head should have been evaporated into the wind.  

Then it turned, pointing a taloned finger directly at Nick.  

Ammie screamed.  Zac clambered through the broken windshield of the cruiser, searching for a weapon.  The headless demon LAUNCHED itself at Nick, the trail of blue-white steam marking its path accross the snow.  Nick threw up both hands to shield his face…

...and protected it from a burst of cold air and snow that rushed past, dissappearing into the storm.

Everyone stood in the midst of the parking lot.  Waiting.  

“What the HELL was THAT?” Ammie demanded.

No one answered.  One by one, they realized they were loosing feeling in their fingers and toes.

“Guns, flashlight and ignition,” Nick said.  Ammie didn’t respond, so he pushed her towards the cruiser.  Zac was already rummaging around inside, searching for useful equipment.  He let out a cry of triumph, a bloody hand holding up the cruisers first aid kit.

“What are you doing?” Ammie asked.  Nick shrugged.

“First, some crowd control,” he said.  “Then I’m getting ready to patch his stomach.  Then we’re getting the wounded out of here.”

Ammie stared at him for a few seconds, ready to argue.  Then she gave a brief shrug, turned and stalked towards the cruiser.  

Nick watched her go, then dragged himself back to the doors of the rest stop.  _Lousy *&#%$ of a day,_ he though.  _At least it can’t get much worse._

It's about then that he caught his first whiff of gasoline and smoke.


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## arwink (Oct 13, 2004)

Random Game Notes:

The Winter Demon being used here isn't quite the winter demon presented in the original adventure.  Nick's player had been part of a one-off game I ran using Exit 23 as a basis, so there were a few minor twists to ensure the experience wasn't exactly the same.

The action point system being used is a little more robust that the core D20 modern system, allowing people to make limited called shots and achieve ludicrous results should they roll enough sixes.  It's taken a lot of influence from games like Feng Shui and the Buffy Roleplaying Game.  Ammie made good use of her points to keep the demon a little occupied during the fight (Damn lousy Fort save).  Nick to keep plugging the demon and confirm more than a few crits over the course of the adventure.

Nick is a level 2 Dedicated Hero, an ATF agent who scored the nickname "Mouldy" due to an obsession he's developed over recent years.  Needless to say, the revelation of the demon and the subsequent transfer to the Hoffman Institute may well be something of a dream job for him.  Maybe   He was on his way to a fishing lodge to wind down a little, maybe get some perspective on the creepy stuff he's following before it costs him his job.  

Ammie is pure Fast Hero, with a bunch of feats pushed into martial-arts style stuff. She basically works as a trainer,was headed out to a horse ranch owned by the backer of her dojo's, and didn't really deserve any of the stuff that happened to her over the night spent in the Rest Stop.

Zac is a Dedicated Hero 1, Charismatic Hero 1.  Part journalist, part conspiracy theorist, part reserved geek build like a front row footballer (which I'm not entirely sure what the equivelent is in American codes).  About halfway throught he fight Zac made a fairly rediculous roll with his Knowledge (Occult) and pegged what they were up against.  

We play again tonight, for the second round of Dark*Mattery goodness.  This time they take on their first official investigation as Hoffman agents in "Gators Under Gary."


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## ledded (Oct 14, 2004)

arwink said:
			
		

> Nick watcher her go, then dragged himself back to the doors of the rest stop. _Lousy *&#%$ of a day,_ he though. _At least it can’t get much worse._
> 
> It's about then that he caught his first whiff of gasoline and smoke.



Ah yes, the trademark of a Dark*Matter-ish kind of game .  I can't tell you how many times I've actually been in that spot in our own similar d20 Modern game.

Great work here, keep it up.


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## HeapThaumaturgist (Oct 14, 2004)

Tee Hee.  Dark*Matter just keeps coming back.  Very very nice.

  We had to put our own D*M game on a long hiatus for marriage-things and then 3/5 of the group has been moving house and changing over to a new city.  Should start up again next Friday, though.  We've been tiding ourselves over with Pulp/Supers.

Keep it up, I want to see where this branches out.    I've run Exit 23 for 4 different groups now.  I have a feeling Hoffmann actually owns the exit and has a stable full of demons that they unleash on unsuspecting individuals so they can breed new agents.

Hhhhhrrrrmmmm ...

--fje


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## arwink (Oct 20, 2004)

HeapThaumaturgist said:
			
		

> We've been tiding ourselves over with Pulp/Supers.




Wierd.  Dark*Matter is the campaign I started on our Thursday night rotation, to replace the Supers game after a bunch of players left the states 



> I've run Exit 23 for 4 different groups now.  I have a feeling Hoffmann actually owns the exit and has a stable full of demons that they unleash on unsuspecting individuals so they can breed new agents.




I think the players are slowly coming to the same conclusion.  After three sessions they have a kind of hate/hate relationship with the institute and it's need to know attitude, which had its beginnings in this adventure.  They're far more suspicious of the events in 23 than I expected them to be.


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## arwink (Oct 20, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Eight

Nick ran into the convenience store, letting instinct and logic guide him to the fire extinguisher behind the counter.  HE ignored the in case of emergency sign and smashed the glass with the butt of his pistol, hauling the red cylinder out and spraying down the fire with foam.  Heat was starting to bead on his forehead when Ammie and Zack came in through the front doors, both of them armed with mini-extinguishers from their rentals.

“What in hell is going on?” Ammie demanded. 
“Less talk, more extinguishing.”

All in all, the fire didn’t last long.  Between the three extinguishers they quickly cut off the spread of the flames, localizing the damage to a short pair of shelves filled with trashy magazines and national enquirers.

“I smell gas,” Zack said, tossing the empty extinguisher over his shoulder.
“Deliberately lit,” Nick said.  He was leaning against the counter to the shop, checking the ammunition in his pistol.  “Someone in here isn’t playing nice.”
“Yeah, like the lurking psycho in a fur coat didn’t give that away,” Ammie muttered.
“It’s not a fur coat, you know,” Zack said.  “I’ve read about those things – they’re called Hariken.  It's a demon.”
"Demon," Ammie said.  "As in, pointy horns and root of all evil kind of thing."
"It's note quite that simple, but you've grasped the basic concept, yes."
“Riiiiiight.”
“I’m serious.  They steal the heads of their victims and use them to transform into that person.  A perfect disguise.”
“So one of them chose to look like a wolf?”
Zack thought about that.  Shrugged.
“It could have been desperate.  What I don’t get is why it’s here.  Rumor has it that these things build cults around themselves, they like to be worshipped.  Attacking lone truck stops isn’t really their style.”

He paused as Nick clicked the safety on his pistol

“It doesn’t really matter,” Nick said.  “If…note I said if…you’re right, then we’ve got bigger problems to deal with.  If you are actually a crazy crackpot, the same applies.  At this point, the best thing we can do is get one of those cars started and get the wounded to safety. Everyone, if we can get a large enough truck going.  I’m going to go calm people down, the two of you get back to starting a car.  Working out what’s happening is something we can do when we’re somewhere safe and warm.”

Ammie and Zack nodded wearily, started preparing themselves to head back into the storm.  Nick watched them go, holstered the pistol and headed back towards the donut shop.  It was quiet.  Probably to quite, considering the smell of gasoline and fire that still lingered in the air.  

The gun was back in his hand.  Nick leaned and glanced through the doorway.

Just in time to see a giant trucker pulling the trigger of a .44 magnum, spitting lead in Nick’s general direction.


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## arwink (Oct 21, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Nine

Bullets ploughed through the door's cheap wood , sending Nick scrambling backwards.  He pressed himself against the wall.  Splinters went flying as another shot punched through the veneer.

“Give yerself up, Officer,” the trucker yelled.  “You have meddled in the affairs of Le Triez Corbien, and you cannot hope to stand against our righteous fury.”

Another warning shot hit the doorway, a few inches from the doorknob.  Nick held his weapon at the ready. From the sound of his voice and the angle of his shots, the trucker was still standing on the counter.  Bad tactical position - the trade off for the range of fire was a complete lack of cover.  Nick drew a deep breath and prepared to prove that point.

***

Ammie turned the key in the state troopers ignition.  Nothing.  She sighed and leaned forward to yell through the shattered windscreen.

“Figure out what’s wrong?” 

Zac yelled something in reply, but it was swept away by the wind.  A moment later his face appeared from beneath the bonnet, nose red with cold.

“Batteries dead,” He yelled.  “Again.”

Ammie swore.  The third car they’d tried, all of them dead.  Even the Nemo torches they were using for light gave out within a few seconds of walking outside.

“You hear something?” Nick asked.  

“Wind,” Ammie said.  She wasn’t happy.  “Snow.  Cold.  Psycho-demon-things that want to eat my head.”
“Rip it off, not eat it.  They need it to replace their own.”
“Whatever.”
“And that’s not what I meant.  Do you hear something…something like a firecracker.”

Ammie listened hard.

“Nope.  Nothing.”

***

Nick leapt out from behind the door, throwing himself down as he pulled the trigger on the SiG.  His shot went wide, shattering a jar of cookies near the truckers foot.  The trucker laughed wildly, his magnum kicking as he fired another round.

“You haven’t stopped my pet,” the trucker screamed.  Nick’s second shot was no closer than the first.  “You may have taken its first head, but it will return for another.  You are doomed, lawman.  Doomed.”

"Lawman?" Nick yelled back.  "What, you're a crazed cultist from the old west?"

The magnum fired again, and Nick grunted as he caught a slug in the shoulder.  Blood streamed from the wound, and he swore as the trucker started lining him up for another shot.  

“Bastard mother-*&#%$,” Nick grunted.  He rolled desperately, finding cover behind one of the tables.  The truckers shot ricocheted off the tiled floor. 

Nick looked back accross the floor.  Blood coated the tiles, all of it his.  

He felt a little dizzy.

***

“I heard it,” Ammie said.  “But that’s not a firecracker…”

The realization dawned on both of them in tandem.

“Crap.”

Running through the storm wasn’t much of an option, but Zac did a good job ploughing through the snow.  One of the glass panes in the door to the Rest stop shattered as a bullet passed through.  Ammie ducked out of reflex, then scowled.

“Double crap.”

They made it inside just in time to see Nick pull himself up over one of the tables, his pistol held in one hand while blood streamed from his shoulder.  One of the truckers, a bear of a man wearing a patched jacket, was firing at him with a pistol the size of Ammie’s arm.  

Ammie swore and dove towards the booth where their gear was sitting.  Zac immediately decided that discretion was the better part of valor and took cover.  Nick snapped off one last, desperate shot.

The trucker’s brains spread along the back wall.

Nick nodded, once, and slipped into unconsciousness on the floor.

Stillness settled over the rest stop.  No-one said anything, they just waited and listened to the wail of the wind.

“*&#%$,” Ammie said.

Then she drew a gleaming katana out of her gear and glared at everyone in the donut shop, wordlessly daring one of them to draw a gun or cause trouble.


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## arwink (Oct 22, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Ten

First aid wasn’t really a big part of Zac’s life.  He’d attended a course, way back in ’98 when he first started work for the local paper, and he figured he’d stretched the limits of what he’d learned in those four days further than human memory was meant to be stretched.  Half-forgotten techniques of wrapping wounds were coming back to him, and he managed to muddle through extracting the slug from Nick’s shoulder without causing to much pain.  It wasn’t a professional job by any means, but it was good enough to get the ATF officer back on his feet and ordering folks about, so it had to do.

“Welcome back,” Zac said cheerfully.  He loomed over Nick, grinning as the smaller man regained consciousness.  
“I get him?”
“Yep.  Not much to question though.”

Nick nodded wearily, then pulled himself upright.

“You got his gun?”
Zac nodded.
“Hand it over.  Unless you’ve got some kind of training, you’re more dangerous to us than anything you’re shooting at.”
Zac nodded again and handed the gun over.  Nick tucked it into his waistband, next to the SiG, and scanned the room.

“Zac.”
“Yeah?”
“Why does Ammie have a sword?”

Ammie stalked over, sword still held at the ready.

“It’s mine,” she said.  “This is what I do, okay?”
“You own swords?”
“I teach martial arts.”
“Oh.”
Nick paused for a moment.  Everything was still quiet.
“As long as you’ve got a permit.”

Ammie looked at Zac, her expression inscrutable.
“You sure he’s okay?”
“Fine.  Minor painkillers, nothing major.  Lot of pain and bloodloss though.”
“You sure he’s okay with the guns?”
“I’m fine,” Nick assured her.  “Not great, but I’ll live.”
He dropped off the table, wobbling unsteadily on his feet.
“How’d you go with the cars?”

Zac and Ammie shared a glance.  

“Most of them are totaled,” Ammie explained.  “The rest have dead batteries.  Torches are gone too, except for mine.”
“Demon may feed on electricity,” Zac added.  “Rubber on Ammie’s camp torch probably protected it, but the Nemo’s were toast the moment it showed up.  We got some more maglights out of the troopers car, which should last us a while longer.”
“Right,” Nick said.  He rubbed his face blearily.  “Have you tried replacing the batteries in one of the cars?”

“Sure,” Ammie said.  “Of course we did.  We’re in the middle of no-where, so naturally we dropped down to the local auto-store and picked up a spare battery.”
“That could have been an option,” Nick said.  He seemed to be immune to sarcasm.
“Riiiiight.”
“Although you could have just nabbed one from the general store,” Nick said.
Ammie blinked.
“…or we could have just nabbed one from the general store ,” Ammie said.  

She looked at Zac.  “Why don’t we try that then?”

Nick watched the two of them go, Ammie silently berating herself for not thinking of it in the first place.  Once they were gone, he did a quick check of the other refugees from the storm and double-checked the bindings on the wounded businessman.  Somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the cause of all this, but Nick couldn’t figure out why.  Sharply dressed, dignified, every inch the power executive.  The only thing this guy was missing were some necessary parts of the chest cavity and a briefcase.

Nick paused.  A briefcase.  He was sure the exec was carrying one when he first entered the donut shop.  It wasn’t here now.

Slowly, quietly, without causing any alarm, Nick left the donut store and returned to the rest-rooms.


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## Terwox (Oct 23, 2004)

Cool, really cool, excellent intro, keeps being steadily entertaining.  Keep it up!


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## Sidekick (Oct 27, 2004)

Well Arwink this is a very good SH.  So I take great Pleasure in taking the honours as the 

FIRST. BUMP. EVER


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## arwink (Oct 31, 2004)

Thanks for the bump.

Sadly, the Storyhour writing time is on hold for the next two weeks - I'm trying to put together a job application, find a new place to live and get my semesters marking done before the middle of November, and the three goals aren't really working in tandem.

Once it's all done, however, expect a whole mess of updates


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## arwink (Nov 3, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Eleven

The floor of the restroom is slick with bloodstains and melting frost.  Nick holds one hand to his shoulder as he paces out the fight as best he can, judging the position of the beast and the exec based on the angle of blood splatters.  He’s been part of a forensics team for nearly three years now, which makes it easier, but forensic science hasn’t quite caught up with the challenges of seven-foot snow demons in hotel restrooms.

It takes a while, but eventually he gets the fight clear in his mind.  The beast comes in…Exec turns to face it…gets a claw to the ribs, goes flying…picks himself up near the washers….tries to run for the door…gets pulled from the hinges…

Nick pauses, midway through the pace.  He retraces his stems and follows the blood, just to be sure.

The executive isn’t running for the door, not to open it.  Instead, he’s running for the side that doesn’t open.  And the bloody handprints in the corner don’t match someone clawing at the door in a panic.

***

Ammie looked at Zac over the windshield.

“Anything?”

Zac shook his head.  They’ve hooked up the battery twice now, tried to match the plugs as best they could.  It’s not working, but the last time Zac had looked on the inside of a car engine he was twelve.  It’s entirely possible he was trying to hook the battery up to something completely unrelated.

Or the battery could be dead.

“I think we’re stuffed,” he yelled against the wind.  “Unless we can convince that kid to come out, we’ve done the best we can with my knowledge of engines. ”

Ammie leans her head against the steering wheel, the frost slowly settling in.  She feels tired.  Very tired.  She’s acutely aware that her own mechanical skills add up to less than Zacs.

“Think we could force him out at gunpoint?” She asks.  It’s a hopeful question, but not very serious.  Zac just shakes his head.

“Lets head back in then.  I’m freezing, and this is getting us nowhere.”

***

The briefcase was in the wastepaper basket, its hefty weight making it awkward to carry with his shoulder.  Nick steadies himself against one wall, forcing himself to keep walking.  He’s almost thankful when Ammie meets him at the door to the rest stop and takes the burden.

“Any luck?” Nick asks.
“Cold thumbs,” Zac tells him.  The big man is grinning despite the dire straights.  “What’s in the case?”
Nick shrugs, winces.
“It’s the suits,” he says.  “I remembered he had it earlier, found it in the wastepaper basket.  Hopefully, it might have some clues.”
“How you figure?”
“Demon attacked him first.”

Zac nods carefully.  It makes sense.

They start jimmying the lock with a butter knife the moment they get into the store.  It’s a cheap case, all told, but it still takes them a few minutes to force it open.  When it pops, they lean in and stare with bated breath.  It’s contents don’t disappoint.

One stack of papers and files, all prominent displaying the letterhead of something called the Hoffman institute.

One small mobile, although no one can pick the design.

One small glass sphere, about seven or eight inches across.  It’s interior spins with white dots, like the tourist snow globes out in the store.  Just like those snow globes, this one depicts the rest stop deep in the heart of the storm.  Only the snow never settles in this globe, and the howl of the wind turns into an unearthly shriek the moment Zac reaches out and touches the globe with his finger.


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## arwink (Nov 3, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Twelve

“Jonas Riley.” Nick says, flipping through the exec’s wallet.  “Hoffman Institute.”

“They’re an independent think-tank,” Zac tells him.  “New energy sources.  Cold fusions, perpetual motion, that kind of thing.”
“Not terribly demonic,” Ammie says.  “What makes you think he’s attached to our psycho-killer?”
“There’s rumors,” Zac says.  He rubs his forehead, trying to recall his perusal of the conspiracy mills.  Somethins he's amazed by his own ability remmeber scraps of message board posts.  “Apparently they do a sideline of debunking phenomena.  Back a few television shows and cable documentaries, that sort of thing.  They’re said to investigate the occult and alternative medicines in case it has any scientific value.”
“Still not seeing demons,” Ammie says.  She sound less convinced.

“He was an agent,” Nick says.  He’s got an open file in front of him, his eyes flicking back and forth as he speed-reads the contents.  “Was looking into the estate of a dead occultist known as Michael Galvin, the head of some small cult called the Thirteen Ravens.”
“Les Triez Corbins,” Zac translates.  “Thirteen Ravens in French, I think.”

Nick shrugs.

“Seems Galvin had bound some kind of demon,” he continued.  “Stole its head, forced it to wear the guise of the creatures whose head it stole…”

“…A beast of snow and evil,” Zac continued, his own memory suddenly jogged.  “Immortal as long as their head stays whole, their bodies can be slowed by silver.  Once the head is in your possession they can be bound to service with the right ritual and commanded with a talisman…”

“…which Riley took to keep out of the hands of Galvin’s followers,” Nick finished.  “Hence our cheery snow globe.”

Everyone thought about that for a second.

“Okay,” Ammie said.  “Now I see where the demons come in.”

The debate of what to do with the information is short.  Riley is still breathing, but consciousness is a long way off.  Even if he can help, it's not going to be anytie soon.  The notes offer a little more information, and breaking the snow globe is quickly deemed a bad idea.  That leaves the phone, and the hope that whoever Riley knew can help in some way.  

Nick picks it up and hits redial.  The words HOFFMAN HOTLINE appear on the screen.  It rings three times before someone answers, the connection startlingly clear through the storm.

“Wilkins,” a voice says.  “What you got?”
“This is Nick DeLatre of the ATF,” Nick says.  “We’ve got one of your agents in a critical condition, we’ve been snowed in by a demon summoned by crazed cultists, and we’re trying to keep a bunch of innocent people alive.  How can you help?”

“How did you get this phone?” Wilkins asks.  “This is a secured line.”

“Let me repeat Mr. Wilkins.  Jonas Riley. Critical Condition.  The phone was in his case, we broke it open.  Now, How…Can…You…Help?”
“It’s a harriken,” Zac offered helpfully. “Tell him it’s a harriken demon.”
“Did someone just say harriken?” 
“Yes.”

There is the brief sound of someone typing on a computer.

“Do you have silver weapons handy?” Wilkins asks.
“We’re in the middle of a freaking rest stop,” Nick says.  His tone is dangerously even.  “I was going camping.  We have one sword, two guns and some wounded.”
“Do you have its head?”

Nick glare is tangible even through the phone connection.

“In that case, Mr…DeLatre, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid you’re all going to be dead by morning.  We’d appreciate it if you didn’t call this number again.”

The phone line goes dead.  Nick stares at it in disbelief.

“What?” Ammie says.
“They hung up.”

Then the glass doors in the foyer *SHATTER*, wind rushing past with the force of a gale.  The demon is intangible, but this doesn’t stop Ammie and Nick from attacking with guns and sword.  Ammunition rakes the ceiling; the sword passes harmlessly through the demons form.

Zac seizes the globe and disappears beneath the table, praying quietly that it doesn’t notice.

Fortunately for him, it doesn’t.

Unfortunately for the unconscious form of Jonah Riley, the demon seizes him and disappears back through the shattered remains of the front door.  Ammie and Nick follow, but the creature has the advantage of speed and natural camouflage in this form.  They stand in the snow, blinking against the wind as they try to spot the creature.

Jonas Riley’s body falls from the sky, narrowly missing Ammie as it collapses in the snow.  Blood fountains from the severed neck.  Ammie looks at it.

“Well,” she says.  “At least when it’s got a head we can hit it.”


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## arwink (Nov 4, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Thirteen

The best is made of increasingly limited options.  The cars are a waste, the demon is still strong, and there seems little hope of help making it to the rest stop in time to save them.  Inside the donut store, people are either frightened out of their wits or quietly resigned to the fact that death is inevitable.  Behind the counter, Mabel is drinking and praying in roughly equal portions.

Ammie heads out into the parking lot, the keys to Riley’s car in hand.  Nick has the truckers keys, slowly working his way from truck to truck until the keys fit. According to Nick’s logic, both forces where trying to contain or control the demon, so the odds are they may be relying on something more than a occult tourist toy.

Zac sits in the donut store, the occult tourist toy on his lap.  He’s muttering to himself, loading scraps of arcane lore onto his laptop and trying to find something that will help him control the demon.  Every now and then he holds the orb up and chants, silencing the quiet crying that permeates the donut store.  When it becomes apparent that nothing has happened and everyone is still trapped, the crying starts again.

Eventually, Zac wonders if perhaps Wilkins is right.  They are all going to die.  He’s always believed in occult, but he’s starting to think he preferred it when it was something not quite as tangible.

Ammie is the first back to the donut store.  She’s dressed in a heavy jacket, stolen from the diners freezer.  She’s cradling a long, black object in her hands.

“What you find?” Zac asks.
“Uzi,” Nick says. He holds it up, the shape of a black gun distinct in dim light of the computer screen.  “Our trucker friend was well armed”
“That’s hopeful,”Zac commented.  
“How so?”
“It suggests he didn’t have quite the level of control over the demon that I thought,” Zac said.  “Which means he was afraid of it, and that the cult doesn’t yet have the head.”
“Oh,” Nick says.  “Good.  You..ah...figure out where the head is?”
“Nope.  ‘Course, I study this kind of stuff because it’s interesting.  I don’t really have much call to try using the occult stuff I dig up.  I might… I stress might…be able to use the sphere to control it.”
Nick blinks for a few moments.  This isn’t what he expected to hear.
“And you haven’t tried because…”
“…Because if I’m wrong, I’ll probably attract the creatures attention and it’ll rip me into tiny little pieces.”

***

Ammie rips apart the car, tearing up seats and searching for secret compartments.  If Riley was carrying something relating to the demon, it was probably important enough to keep hidden.  She works her way through the list of likely locations Nick carefully told her about, explaining the most common tactics used by smugglers and drug-runners.  The seats are a bust, but she hits the jackpot when she starts ripping apart the trunk.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a bad cop show?” she mutters.  There’s not a lot in there, just pistol and a few clips.  She takes the gun and checks the clips, hoping like hell she’s loading the weapon correctly.  She thinks back to Nick’s handling of his gun, carefully checking to see that the safety is on.  

One of the clips is loaded with short, lead ammunition.  The second clip of bullets has a silvery sheen.  

“Son of a Bitch,” Ammie says.  “Just like the boy scouts.”

The wind picks up, howling like a wounded animal.  She tucks the clip of silver bullets into her pocket and tightens the grip on her sword.  Forty-five feet and she’d be back in the truck stop, alongside the others.  All she has to do is make it that far.  For the first time, she lets herself feel like they have a fighting chance of seeing dawn.  All she has to do is get the silver bullets to the guy with the gun.  Easy.

The demon hits her halfway there.

She screams, sword lashing out in wild swing borne of frustration and fear.  The tip slices through the demons chest, opening a thin wound that bleeds blue blood and icy mist.  Riley’s misshapen head leers at her from atop the demon’s hairy frame as claws lash out, knocking her aside and opening a wound in her stomach.  Ammie lays on the ground, dimly aware that the sword is still in hand and the demon is coming towards her.

Two sets of instinct kick in at once.  The first has her on her feet, countering the beasts claws with a series of lightening fast blocks with her blade.

The second has her screaming for help.


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## arwink (Nov 5, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Fourteen

The roar of the demon isn’t quite enough to dull the sound of automatic weapons fire.  Ammie can barely believe it when the creature stumbles, knocked sideways by a hail of bullets.  She glances towards the shattered doorway of the rest stop, sees Nick standing with an Uzi at his waist.  The creature is already healing the bullet wounds, but its slowed by the damage.

“Nick!” Ammie screams.  She pulls the clip free and tosses it towards him.  “Silver!”

It falls into the snow a few feet from Nick’s feet.

Then the creature is on her again, darting in with claws and frigid breath that almost freezes her breath.  Ammie contemplates standing her ground, but chooses to sludge backwards in the snow.  Another round of bullets hit the creature in its side as Nick empties the Uzi clip.  The demons spins, it’s eyes narrowing as it gazes at Nick and the weapon that’s causing it pain.

Ammie takes the opportunity to plunge her sword into its chest, right where the heart should be.  It gets her a grunt, then the blade it almost twisted out of her grasp as the demon pulls away.

Zac rushes out of the rest stop, the orb gripped firmly in two hands.  His voice is strangely clear as he holds the snow globe into the air.

“Harriken, I command you to obey me by the power of the talisman!”

The demon regards him for a few moments, then extends its claws and charges.  Zac runs, orb still held in one hand.  The demon almost catches him, it’s claws tearing at his jacket, but Nick gets off his first shot with the silver bullets and draws a cry of rage from the wounded beast.  Zac dives beneath the nearest car, swallowing his fear as it sinks beneath the weight of the demon landing on top, and quickly digs a hole in the snow.

“Please don’t sense the orbs location,” he prays.  The car above him rocks as the creature tears at the frame, trying to dig through to Zac’s hiding place.  He can hear Nick firing steadily, the creature roaring, the sound of Ammie climbing over the bonnet to attack with her sword.  None of them are going to kill the creature if they can’t find the head, but they may be able to weaken it as long as it doesn’t get it’s hand on the talisman.  Zac deposits the snow globe in his hasty hole, it’s top still half-visible, and hopes its dumb enough to follow a diversion when its sees one.  

The car rocks again, and Zac takes a deep breath before crawling free and preparing to run.

He’s airborne before he’s taken three steps, the cold pain in his leg a telling reminder of the demon’s reach and strength.  Ammie and Nick watch as the creature snaps Zac against the car like he was a whip, blood spurting from his face as it smashes through the shattered remnants of a windscreen.  Zac is struggling feebly in the creatures grasp, trying to kick free with his other leg, but the demon swings again and tosses the big man aside.  Zac lies limply in the snow, unmoving.

Ammie hammers a blow into the creature’s head, screaming with rage.  She splits the distended remnants of Riley’s skull in two, knocking it free.  Nick fires a shot into the body, and another into its leg.  Both of them circle cautiously as the demon falls to the ground, twitching and writing in the snow.  It struggles to move, unable to stand where bullet wounds have shattered bones and torn muscle.

“Is it dead?” Ammie asks.  One of the demon’s hands reaches out feebly, trying to claw at the orb beneath the car.

“Not yet,” Nick says.  He walks towards the outstretched hand, clamps it down with one foot and fires a shot directly through the palm.  The beheaded form shudders, the other arm stretching forward.  Ammie stabs at it with her sword, hacking at fingers.

“Goddammit, why won’t it die.”

Sword wounds are already starting to close, forming up to leave unmarked flesh.  Only the silver bullet wounds remain open, and even then she thinks she can see them starting to close.  

Nick fires another shot into the creatures hand, knocking it away from the car as it rears and roars with pain.  Glancing past the writhing form of the demon, he can still see the snow globe sticking up out of the whole, a small flurry of movement amid the chaos of the melee.  He shoots the demon again, watches Ammie hit it so hard that he can see what passes for the demons ribs give way.

Still the creature keeps moving, clawing itself along the snow in a desperate effort to regain the globe.  It's barely moving further than a few inches before Ammie beats it back, but it shows no sign of stopping.

Nick grits his teeth and hopes he isn't about to do something stupid.

“Hold on,” he shouts.  “This’ll either kill it or kill us.”

Then he aims the gun at the globe and squeezes the trigger.


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## ledded (Nov 5, 2004)

Awesome.  Simply awesome.  Very good job.



> _
> 
> There is the brief sound of someone typing on a computer.
> 
> ...



And *that* is how a pseudo-government organization is supposed to react.  Classic.


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## arwink (Nov 5, 2004)

Exit 23, Part Fifteen

The snow globe shattered, dissolving in a haze of blue smoke and icy wind.  Laying in the snow is a shrunken head, its flesh stretched taught by years of withering.  Stubby horns protrude from the scalp, and dark eyes still bulge from the too-small skull.  

Nick’s bullets has grazed one cheek, and the puckered skin is already dissolving around the wound.  The headless demon body writhes in pain.  Then, for the first time since they laid it low, it stops moving.  

The dark eyes stare at Nick with hate.  

Nick shrugs and winks at it, moments before Ammie's sword plunches through its forehead.  The shrunken head melts around her blade, dissolving in a screaming mass of blue mist that is blown away by the wind.  Next to the ruins of the car, the body is quickly melting into a cloud of snow and steam.  

Calm settles over the rest stop.  The absence of the wind is deafening.

Ammie can barely hold herself upright.  Between the stress of the last eight hours and the blood loss from the wounds the demon has opened, she's feeling a little light headed.  Nick is already kneeling over Zac, checking for vital signs.  The ATF agent is barely standing himself, running on pure adrenaline and willpower.

“Is he…” Ammie asks.  She can’t bring herself to finnish the question.

“He’ll live,” Nick says.  “It isn't pretty, but he’ll live.”

She nodded, sliding the sword back into its sheath.  She was dimly aware of Nick pulling a phone from his pocket and hitting a button.  A voice on the other end buzzed.

“Wilkins,” Nick said reasonably.  “Hi, Nick DeLatre.  Good news, harrikens dead, we're still alive.  Bad news, when I get my hands on you I'm going to make you wish the demon had gotten you instead.”

***

Police and emergency services swarmed over the rest stop, tending to the wounded.  Nick explained things as best he could, glossed over what he couldn’t.  The words escaped lunatic were used, and there was a general nodding among the shell-shocked survivors.

A black car pulled up behind the police line.  The sharp-dressed woman that emerged talked with the local police for a few seconds, then made a beeline for the ambulance that held Nick, Zac and Ammie.

“Mary Carter, Hoffman Institute,” She said.  “You have Riley’s briefcase?”

Nick nodded mutely and pushed it towards her.  She flipped it open and examined the contents.

“The orb?” She asks.

“Broke it,” Ammie said.  “Needed to kill the demon head inside.”

“Right,” Carter said.  “That explains why you’re not dead.  Riley’s papers?”

Nick held up one of the folders with one hand.  He flicked a lighter and held the flame near the edge.

“I’ll give you one page for every minute I get to spend with Wilkins.”

Carter raises an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I can’t authorize that,” she says calmly, her eyes never leaving the papers.  “And his services are more value than what’s in those papers.  Burning them will cost you nothing, Mr. DeLatre, except the opportunity to find some answers for some long-standing questions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Carter hands them each a card.

“I’ve organized hospital coverage for all of you, and replacement for your cars.  This is a thank-you for recovering Riley’s research.  If you’re interested in seeing more, we’re always interested in people who have proven they can handle themselves.”

“Yeah,” Ammie says.  “Because I want to do this again every week.”

She lays her head against the stretcher, waiting for sleep to take over.  She wills herself to tear apart the business card, to forget what’s hapened.  If she can just forget and get to the ranch, she can get on with her life.  

Instead she runs her fingers over smooth cardboard, feeling the divots of the writing a few times before slipping it into her pocket.

There’s not going to be a recovery from this, not really.  Sometimes you have to cling to whatever lifeline you’re offered.

NEXT TIME: Gators Under Gary


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## arwink (Mar 29, 2005)

*Gators Under Gary, Part One*

Everyone spends a few days in the hospital, slowly recovering from the experience at the rest stop.  No one says anything about what happened, and as the physical wounds heal people drift away one by one.  

Ammie eventually makes it out to Sid’s ranch.  She spends a week riding horses, eating good food and relaxing as best she can.  When her boyfriend Dayne suggests she seems a little more…intent…in her even training sessions, something inside her seems to break.  She dumps Dayne, borrows Sid’s phone, and puts in the call to Hoffman. 

Nick goes back to the ATF, returns to his case files.  At the end of the third day he opens the rattiest file in his cabinet, looking at the notes from his second investogation with the force.  The clear typed script with the official statement of his apprehension of a drug runner inside a burning building, the hand-written notes about what really happened.  It isn’t until a couple of his co-worker start making jokes about “Mouldy” DeLatre loosing it again that he picks up the phone.  Twenty-four hours later he’s been removed from the ATF and hired by the Institute as a civilian adviser.

Zac doesn’t even get out of the hospital. He's been badly hurt, so he's still recovering when the others leave.  He makes the call only a few hours after they gone, late in the evening, burning with the realization that he’s actually seen a demon and has the chance to see more.  

The three of them meet again at orientation, working their way through with a small crowd of potential agents that just don't seem to understand what they're signing up for.  The first lecture is like a bad episode of the X-files, with a balding researcher quietly explaining that the Truth is Out there.  Most of the new recruits sit in wide-eyed amazement.  After the terrors of Exit 23, the fuzzy voodoo dolls and blurred photographs of aliens he’s showing don’t do much to impress Ammie, Nick or Zac.  They cluster together, the only people who comprehend the truth in a room full of true believers.

The next day the training starts, a daily routine of hand-to-hand drills, firearm drills, lectures on conspiracies and the supernatural, interview techniques.  All the things that could be useful in the field, accompanied by routine exposure to phenomena that hardened the recruits to the new reality they had to acknowledge.

In the middle of their second week of training, Zac disappears.  When Ammie asks one of their instructors what happened, he quietly point out that Zac showed promise.  He’s now in an advanced program that will develop his potential.  

Seven hours later, Ammie and Nick are summoned to the office of Richard Patterson, Chicago Section Chief for the Institute.  He waves them into his office, pointing at a pair of soft leather chairs in front of his desk.

“Patterson,” he says gruffly.  “Call me sir.  Just finished reading your file.  Says you took down a Harriken, kept a small crowd of people alive.  Not bad, not bad at all.  Of course, by all rights, you should be dead.
“Why do people keeep telling us that,” Ammie mutters.  
Paterson shrugs.
“Because it’s true.  Usually we show up after these things and there’s nothing but a few smears of blood on the wall.  Keeping two-dozen people alive is something of a feat.  That’s why we’ve fast-tracked you.  We’re going to send you out into a small town called Gary, get you to look into rumors of alligators in their sewers.”


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## Allanon (Mar 29, 2005)

Keep it up . I cannot get enough of this Dark*Matter goodness.


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## arwink (Apr 1, 2005)

*Gators Under Gary, Part Two*

"This has to be a joke," Ammie said.  "Some kind of hazing ritual they putt new recruits through."

"Huh?"

Nick is busy scanning his palm pilot, reviwing the notes he made from the file Patterson shoved accross the desk.  They notes weren't complte, but the file wasn't allowed out of the room so he'd done his best.  Ammie scowls at him, then turns her attention to the group ahead of them in the que.  Australians, from the accent, and geeks to boot.

"They're sending us out after aligators in the sewers," She repeats.  "They can't be serious."
"Because?" Nick says.
"Because things like that are just urban myths."
"You mean like demons that steal your head and cause snow-storms?" Nick asked.  Ammie glanced at him, daring him to even hint at the smirk that was showing in his voice.
"That's different," she said.  "Demons are mythical.  Real mythical.  Old."

"I'm sure that was a great comfort to the people the aligators killed," Nick says.  He punched a button on the PDA, showing a list of names and dates.  "Four agents dissappeared last time Hoffman investigated this.  Another team came back with nothing but bad headaches and a empty air.  All the Institute has is six years of newspaper articles and some good hunches."
"Then why send us to find something if they've already looked?"
"Because we're expendible."

Ammie blinked a few times.  The Australians finished at the requisitions window, leaving with an armful off briefcases and black packages.  Some of them looked deceptively like the carry-case for a sniper rifle.

"Next." 

The clerk offered them a wide smile.  It didn't suite his rounded features, and looked absurd with the fly-away whisps of hair on his balding pate.

"Hey Q, we're here for stuff," Ammie told him.  The clerk grimmaced, his expression leaving no doubt about how often he heard the joke.

"Car keys," Nick said.  He handed over a completed requisition form with Patterson's signature.  "We're meant to be taking a van out to Gary for a few days, doing some reconnasiance for a documentary about urban myth."

The clerk nodded a few times and pushed some keys into Nick's hand.

"Already taken care of, sir.  Fully loaded with AV, laptops with the necessary uplinks and suitable ID. Anything else?"

"Guns," Nick said.

The clerk punched numers into his computer.

"Records show that you've already been issued with the regulation pistols, Sir."

Nick nodded.

"Yep, but we're going hunting for aligators.  Or something that looks like a giant alligator.  You'll forgive me if I'm not willing to trust my life to a SIG and dumb luck."

The clerk narrows his eyes. Nick smiles a wide smile, full of as much menace as he can manage.

"Very well, sir, what would you like."

"Shotguns," Nick said.  "one semi-automatic if you've got them, but pump action if necessary.  Give me a sawn-off for tight corners if you've got them, otherwise expect them to come back missing some bits.  Two MP5's, with spare clips.  And grenades - twelve smoke grenades for starters, plus as many frags as we can leverage."

He turns and looks at Ammie.

"You want anything?"

Ammie and the clerk both blink in unison.

"I thought this was supposed to be a investigative mission," Ammie said.  "Not an armed attack.

Nick shrugged.

"If there's something like that Harriken out there, what do you want to be carrying."

Ammie thought about that for a second.  Then she thought about her skills on the target range, the dismal line of empty targets that she's barely grazed with her pistol.  Then she thinks about the demon gain, and the chilling cold that still seems to creep into her limbs at night.

"Double everything he said," she says.  "And give me the biggest #*$&% of a sword you've got."

The clerk nods.  

"So, you two are the recruits from the rest stop," he says.  "There's rumors about that.  I hear the two of you should..."

"Don't say it," Ammie says.  "Don't even think it.  Just go get us our stuff."
"


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## Peterson (Apr 1, 2005)

arwink said:
			
		

> "So, you two are the recruits from the rest stop," he says.  "There's rumors about that.  I hear the two of you should..."
> 
> "Don't say it," Ammie says.  "Don't even think it.  Just go get us our stuff."




LOL.

Another dose of Aussie genius.  Thanks guys!

Peterson


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## arwink (Apr 16, 2005)

About seven years ago, Nick was trained in the fine art of staying cool under pressure.  He learned to disarm a bomb while hanging upside down from a rapelling cable, just to prove that he could do it.  He was in the line of fire dozens of times, and never lost his head.  Even when he saw the demon among the flames of the siege gone wrong, he didn't freak out any worse than your average civilian does when they're caught in the middle of a downtown militarized conflict.

This probably explains why he's staying calm right now, quietly ignoring the fact that Ammie has the van roaring along the interstate at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.  Even the sound of angry horns and the squeal of tires doesn't get his attention.  Ammie keeps her eyes locked on the road, her fists clenched around the steering wheel.  She does her best not to think about the small arsenal they loaded into the back of the van, alongside the film equipment.

"So," Nick says.  "How do you think the dodgers are doing this year?"
"Don't follow sports," Ammie says.  She slams the wheel to the side, squealing around a slow-moving mail van.
"Right," Nick says.  "Me either.  What about the whole war thing that's going on?"
"Haven't thought about that either," Ammie says.

Nick nods again.  

The two hour trip to Gary is filled with half-hearted attempts at awkward silence.

Once they hit Gary, the first thing they do is set about establishing their cover.  A phone call to the local council, applying for permission to shoot in public spaces.  Lots of cruising aroudn town, getting to know the layout of the place, taking stock footage that can be looped through the miniature editing studio in the back of the van in case they actually need to look professional.  Nick is unanimously named the face of the pair, leaving Ammie the camera duties. 

It takes the better part of the day, and both of them are bored as hell by the time it's done.  When they figure they've been as obvious as possible about what it is that they appear to be doing, the van is parked outside Gary PD and they're on their way inside.

The police station is small, more run down than any Nick can remember seeing.  There's a young guy on the front desk, little more than a rookie, who seems surprised to have a film crew on his hands. 

"Um, yes?  How may I help you?"

Nick gave him his best soothing smile and offered the officer his hand.  

"Nick DeLatre, pleased to meet you," he said.  "I'm a documentary maker here to get some background on the attacks that have taken place in the sewers."
"What?  Listen, sir, I'm not allowed to say anything on current investigations."
"Of course not," Nick says.  "Not your place.  You're meant to be out there, fighting crime, not running around pandering to the desires of reporters.  But I'm not the press son.  Documentaries, completely different kettle of fish.  How about you call the media liason for your department and let me talk it over with him."

The young officer stammers a few seconds, then reaches for the phone.  Ammie raises an eye-brow at Nick, who appears to have taken the basic interview training Hoffman offered them and mutated it into a whole new thing entirely.  Especially when he leans over the desk and commanders the phoen while the officer is stammering his way through an explanation.  He talks for a few minutes, smiling the entire time, then passes the hand-piece back to the officer on duty.

"Thanks son," he says, still beaming.  It lasts only a few more seconds, until he's turned and the young cop can't see him.  By then he's scowling.

"Lets go," he mutters.  "I'll explain outside."

Ammie waits until they're back in the van before she gives him the raised eyebrow.

"They're giving us the run around," Nick says. "Did it plenty of times in my day.  Lots of excuses about long meetings and being busy.  Have to nail the bastards down on a time."
"But you got it?" Ammie asks.
"Sure," Nick says.  "7 AM tomorrow morning, bright and early.  Only time they had avilable, and even then I had to catch him in a double-talk."
"Screw that," Ammie says.  "Some of us like sleeping."
"And some of us need a camera crew to maintain out cover," Nick says.  "You're coming."

Ammie glares at him.

"I'm hungry," Nick says.  "How about we head back to the steakhouse before we find somewhere to crash for the evening?"


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## Terwox (Apr 20, 2005)

Glad to see this SH coming back.  Good stuff!


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