Episode IV: The Fate of the World

Part 1

Reconnaissance
Enter the Players
Dial D for Dan
The Convoy Departs

Okay, okay. I suppose you’ve all been wondering what exactly happened neigh on four months ago that has kept me from completing a relevant, enjoyable-to-read post of any significant length. I will further suppose that you will not accept some flimsy tale of mild computer problems and laziness. I suppose that you will settle for nothing less than the completely true, white-knuckle action spectacular tale of how I wound up like I am today: computerless, hairless, and aching both physically and emotionally. In that case, listen up, readers, for I will now a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end, like the quills upon the fretful porpentine, as the poet says.


Let’s see . . .. Where to begin . . .. I guess it all started back in the early days of the Thanksgiving vacation. Sam and I were traveling home from the mall after some Christmas shopping. It was about nine o’ clock at night and . . ..

The late autumn moon hung low and ominous over the canals of Holyoke as the two Sugrue brothers drove along the back roads of the old factory district. Weak halogen streetlights dimly revealed the crumbling brick facades of some of the city’s oldest buildings. Richard, the elder brother, slowed their maroon Oldsmobile to a sluggish 55 miles per hour.
“Sam,” he whispered urgently, “Does anything about that building seem strange to you?” Richard pointed to a particularly large and imposing architectural monstrosity across the canal.
“Well, it could be the oddly thriving vines covering the face of the structure, despite the cold. Maybe it’s the new locks on the bridge gate, despite the fact that the building itself looks abandoned. Or it could be the swarms of guards surrounding the perimeter. Lastly, it might just be the giant red and white Umbrella Corporation logo on the gates, the roof, the vehicles, and the guards themselves, you stupid fucking chink.”
“Jeezum Crowe! You might be onto something there, amigo.” Richard muttered thoughtfully, bringing the car to a stop 50 feet down the street from the gates.
“If that is the Umbrella Corporation, I don’t like them being that close. It spells trouble.”
“So you’re stopping across the canal from their stronghold because you’re worried about them being close? Shouldn’t we be getting as far away as possible?”
“Listen, monkey fuck,” Richard said vehemently, “these bastards have tried to kill me on no less than three separate occasions. They’ve also tried to kill my friends. Normally that would be enough for me to want revenge, but on top of that they threaten the fabric of global society with their never-ending nonsensical and oft-times flammable machinations. They are constantly attempting to raise the dead, corrupt the youth of the world, and they create monstrous abominations which maim and kill all in their path.”
“So?”
“Well, granted I admire them for all of those reasons, but keep in mind that they are mostly staffed by pretentious Euro-trash in Armani suits and they test their products on animals.”
“Those villains!”
“So I figure, if they’re always planning, why not do some eavesdropping and see what they’re up to. That way we’ll be ready the next time they strike. And, as an added incentive we might be able to pull some pre-emptive ass kicking.”
“Hmm . . . alright, let’s do it!” Sam assented with gusto.
The two boys quietly stepped out of the car and crept quickly over to the towering chain-link fence separating them from the steep drop to the murky canal below. Hiding from the yellowed glow of the streetlights, they moved stealthily down the road until they stood before the imposing wrought-iron gates that closed off the bridge. Rich shuddered. The gates were large and formidable and emanated antiquity. Rusted and covered with thick, clinging ivy, they filled him with a substantial amount of dread.
“And how are we supposed to get in, fuck squat?” Sam inquired.
Rich soundlessly knelt in front of the locked gates and took a small leather case from his pocket. He slipped out three metal instruments: lock picks.
“This’ll just be a second.” Rich said. “Wait. You don’t happen to have a key, do you?”
“No.”
“Just checking.”
Richard expertly manipulated the skinny tools inside the heavy padlock on the gates. After a few minutes of twisting and poking, Rich was reward by a loud click, and the doors swung open a few inches.
“Well done,” Sam said. “How’d you learn how to do that?”
“I dated a hot cat burglar.”
“I think you mean you bought a lock-picking set out of a cheap army surplus catalog and it came with an instructional pamphlet.”
“Maybe so . . .. Well, let’s get down to the reconnaissance, amigo. And proceed with caution.”
They slipped through the gates and crept through the shadows across the bridge to old factory building, careful to avoid the security staff prowling purposefully about.

Richard was surprised to see that the normally flamboyant and exotic Umbrella Corporation was employing human guards. Especially dangerous-looking human guards. Moreover, the various workers bustling about the complex seemed uncharacteristically efficient. Something was going on in the Umbrella Corporation. Something big.
The factory was much larger than it had appeared from the road. It was part of an expansive complex that contained several adjacent buildings all nearly the size of the main structure. The immensity of the operation struck Richard as decidedly sinister. It did not bode well. He decided to tell Sam this, but found that his brother had sneaked off to steal obscure pieces of equipment. Figuring his brother could take care of himself, Richard headed for the main building. He crept around to the side, avoiding the shadow of the formidable front doors. He found an iron ladder attached to the building near the back. Richard climbed four stories to the roof without hesitation, and, using muscles built up from years of roofing, made his way to one of the larger skylights. Wiping some soot and grime from a pane of glass, he peered through at the scene below.

He was looking down at a large, darkened room. Taking prominence in the center of the room was a massive black meeting table. There were ten people on each side of it, and one person at each end. The figures along the sides were dressed impeccably in dark suits. Their features were indistinct, their faces shrouded in darkness, but Richard could tell that there was an even distribution of men and women. The ends of the table were slightly illuminated, and he could make out the two figures at each. At one end was a large, solidly built man in a coal black suit. His dark, rugged race was creased in a frown. His dark eyes were peering steadily across the table to the far end. His thick, dark hands lay motionless on the ebony surface in front of him. He was, in short, a dark character. The one part of his person that was not dark was his tie. It was a most remarkable tie, white with vibrant red and yellow geometric patterns. The remarkable thing was that the shapes were in constant movement, shifting across the fabric in hypnotic swirls. Richard then realized why this dark character was visible when everyone else in the room (save the figure at the other end of the table) was hidden in shadow. The tie gave off its own light.
Richard then turned his attention to the figure at the other end of the table and his jaw dropped. Surrounded by a circle of light that shone down from above stood a creature that had haunted his dreams for months. Towering above the two guards on either side of him, his mechanical limbs gleaming in the light, was Captain Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500.
“Holy fuck!” exclamed a voice.
Richard looked up quickly.
Sam had returned from his larcenous endeavors and made his way to the roof. He was now looking through the same skylight as his brother.
“That’s the Captain, isn’t it, Rich?” asked Sam in numb disbelief.
“It is. And that dark character at the other end of the table is Mr. Hazzard, if I’m not mistaken. He was in my Sociology book. He’s a corporate lawyer, employed by the Umbrella Corporation it seems. I wonder what’s going on.”
The brothers stopped speaking and turned their attention back to the window the below.

“Captain Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500,” spoke Mr. Hazzard in a rumbling basso which all black people have *cough Underworld cough* “You have been summoned before us, the Umbrella Corporation board of directors, because you have failed to execute your duties on three separate occasions. Your ineffective management skills have cost UC millions and set back our plans for several years. Moreover, you have not made any significant gains through your subsidiary company, Ninja Pirate Incorporated. As that enterprise is owned by the Umbrella Corporation, we expect profits on our investments. You have proven an ineffective leader, a failure, and a financial liability.”
“In short, you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
These words were not spoken by anyone physically in attendance at the meeting. A mammoth screen behind Hazzard suddenly lit up and a face appeared on it, dominating the entire room. The face was that of a man, Richard could tell that much by the goatee. But its features were fine and effeminate, giving it an androgynous appearance. The man was old, but healthy looking. A pair of pince nez glasses, which were perched upon his aquiline nose, hid his eyes. The lenses of these were an octagonal pattern made up of red and white stained glass triangles. They were the logo of the Umbrella Corporation. He was clad in a blood red suit, with a black shirt and white ascot. His hair was silver and short-cropped. Richard had no idea who he was.
“Captain, you cost more than you’re worth.”
“Yarr,” interjected the Captain, “Zince ven has the ‘Brella Corperation been about efficiency?”
“I’ll admit that the past corporate strategy has been lacking in direction and logic, but for various reasons we have undertaken to establish new policies and become a more effective entity.” He paused here for effect. “Your failure to eliminate the threat posed by those meddlesome students has not impressed me to any extent. I have run out of patience.”
“An’ another thing, vy does we have ter keel zose poor students? They were creary fighting in self defense.”
“You didn’t seem to mind being appointed this task before.”
“I were only forrowing orders.”
“Your kindness has no place here. You, Captain, are officially demoted. Henceforth you and your division will be under the supervision of a personally picked high enforcer.
"Gentlemen,” he said, turning his attention to the council, “allow me to introduce the newest member of the Umbrella Corporation team, vice president Silas Blake.”
A pair of automated sliding doors hissed open, filling the darkened hall with white light, and a figure stepped forth. It was a boy of no more than 19, Richard guessed. Of average height and build, he seemed remarkably unassuming. Blake made his way into the room and stood next to the Captain. The doors he entered through slid closed and another beam of light, like that surrounding the Captain, shone down done upon him, so Richard could make him out clearly. He had tussled brown hair and boyish good looks. He peered confidently, a little smugly even, at the assembled council, through mysterious turquoise eyes.
“Glad to be here, Doc,” he said as he gave the giant omnipresent head on the screen a jaunty salute.

On the roof, Sam laughed.
“He’s just a kid!”
Richard stared entranced.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“They think a kid is gonna be better than the Captain- a nine-foot-tall robot pirate Nazi- at killing us?”
“I think I’m in love.”

Back in the council room, the giant head was speaking.
“Silas will be taking over your duties, Captain, beginning with the extermination of those meddlesome kids, including the management of Ninja Pirate Inc, and following into our newest plan, the destruction of the town commons of South Hadley!”

On the roof, Sam and Richard stifled screams of abject horror.

“The town commons have long been a Mecca for teenagers of the surrounding area. With the restaurants, theatres, and the accursed Thirsty Mind, they have provided sanctuary and place of repose for those otherwise most susceptible to our influence. They must be destroyed. Once they are gone the teenagers of Western Massachusetts will become even more weak-willed and compliant. They will turn to the first helping hand they see. That hand will be ours. We will infect these noxious teenagers with several viruses hidden in our line of junk foods. They will transfer these diseases among themselves and eventually pass them on to their families. Just when the world is on the brink of a worldwide epidemic, a miraculous cure will be developed . . . by none other than the magnanimous Umbrella Corporation. We will become heroes to a panic-stricken world, and we will make obscene amounts of money.”
He paused here for emphasis.
“But that is not the end of this glorious scheme. The medicine we give out will have powerful addictive properties. Mind-altering properties. People will not be able to live without our specialized drugs. The world will be under our control!”
The assembled council dissolved into a chorus of irate objection and confusion.
“There’s nothing flammable!”
“---no undead!”
“Hot ass-kicking babes noticeably absent from---”
“---total disregard for company policy---”
“This is my will!” the giant head shouted. “This shall be done!”
A fearful hush fell over the room.
“You all have your orders. Do not fail me.”
The screen turned black.

On the roof the two brothers looked at each other. No words were said. They knew what they had to do. Silently they made there way back to the car and disappeared into the night.

As the Millennium Falcon sped over the bridge toward South Hadley and temporary safety, Richard spoke urgently to Sam.
“Sam, this is bad. This is very, very bad.”
“What you mean? The Captain is taking orders from a kid and their plot’s more boring than usual. If anything, we’re safer now than ever.”
“No. Something isn’t right. Their scheme isn’t the usual wacky and erratic evil plan they’re known for, but it’s also not inherently flawed or flammable. I think it has a chance of succeeding. And Silas strikes me as decidedly dangerous.”
“You think he’s hot.”
“True, but dangerous as well. We need to call everyone in on this. We need some help.”

The car increased in speed toward the center of South Hadley.

Back at the old factory, Silas sat in a swivel chair with his designer Italian shoes propped on a desk. In front of him was a massive Umbrella Corporation super computer which was, for the time being, inactive. He was reading a book on behavioral psychology with a contented expression on his handsome face. A guard entered through a side door and stood at attention behind him.
“Report.”
“Sir, we spotted two trespassers on the roof earlier this evening. Do you wish us to pursue them?”
“No, Sergeant. No need. You and your men take the night off. I already know about the intruders. I took the liberty of planting a tracking device on their vehicle before meeting the council.”
“Sir?”
“It was two of the teens I’m supposed to kill. Both rather solidly built. One with long black hair, the other with an afro. The one with the afro was intriguing. I don’t think I’ll kill him right off. I think I’ll have some fun with that one first. Bring me the file on the targets.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, and a Slice.”
Silas leaned farther back and returned to his reading.

The Millennium Falcon tore into the Commons parking lot. Richard and Sam didn’t even bother to park the car, but instead leaped out onto the pavement.
“Auto-park engage,” Richard spoke into a microphone on his glove.
The car sped up and crashed into a fence.
“Rich, I think your auto park is broken.”
“How? That’s the way I would have parked.”
Without another word they ran into the Thirsty Mind.

Bursting through the doors, Richard shouted breathlessly, “I need . . . use phone . . . call friends to fight evil megalomaniacal hottie and pirate robot . . .” He stopped short of his odd plea as he took in the sight before him.
Seemingly his entire class from school had gathered at the Thirsty Mind for a night of revelry.
Richard spotted his one true partner in mayhem across the crowded café. He rushed forward, straining against the mass of student bodies that packed the room.
Tara Maroney popped up out of nowhere in front of him, blocking his way.
“Hey, Rich. Your hair is big. What are you up to?”
“Good to see you, Tara, no time to talk,” Rich said, violently pushing her to the side, sending her toppling over several tables, coffee spraying into the air.
Finally he reached the person he sought, the one person who would understand.
“Tony . . .” he could say no more at the moment, for he was too excited and out of breath.
“Sweet Georgia Fuck, Ricardo, what is it?” Tony asked urgently, supporting his friend and leading him to a chair.
“The . . . Umbrella Corporation . . . something wrong . . . plans to destroy The Commons . . . must . . . stop . . . theh . . . heh . . . hem.”
“Okay, buddy, I think you’re really draggin’ this breathless thing out here. Just tell me plain an’ true.”
Richard straightened up and quickly composed himself.
“Sam and I uncovered a plot by the Umbrella Corporation, now stationed at the old abandoned Lashler Paper Factory, to destroy the South Hadley Commons and eventually take over the world through a man-made virus and a series of addictive cures.”
Tony was speechless for a moment. He clutched his brow in a feverish manner.
“What the hell are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know, Tones, I just don’t know.”
“I can tell you one thing you fellas need to do.”
Tony and Richard whirled around to see a figure shrouded in aromatic smoke sitting across the café.
“I’m just gonna throw this out there, you can take it, run with it, or you can throw it right back. I think we need to strike first. We can’t wait for them to hit the Commons. We gotta bring the fight to them.”
“Good point, Steve.” Rich said as he and Tony walked over to the smirking figure. “I didn’t even know you were here.”
“They let you smoke like that inside?” Tony asked, covering his mouth with his hand and coughing slightly.
“What they don’t know can’t--- ”
“Steve, put that cigarette out.”
“Son of a bitch! Amy, as a fellow smoker, you of all people should understand.”
“Oh, sorry Steve. I feel for ya, man, I really do,” Amy purred, gracefully reaching out and taking Steve’s trademark clove cigarette from between his fingers. She took a puff of it herself before dropping it into an abandoned coffee mug. “But rules are rules.” She paused to look at us. “What’s up with you guys? You look like hell.”
The three boys looked at each other, then at Amy. Rich spoke first.
“Amy, the Umbrella Corporation is back with a vengeance. Sam and I spied on them tonight and uncovered a plot.”
“A dastardly plot,” corrected Tony.
“We uncovered a dastardly plot to destroy the Commons of South Hadley.”
“Well we need to stop them, then, don’t we?” Amy said without hesitation.
“So far we’re in agreement about that much,” Rich explained impatiently, “but that leaves us with a tricky problem: How? The place is well defended and swarming with dangerous-looking guards.”
“So was my school, Rich, and you and Amy still blasted though there like two gay guys on E. Which I have done and dealt, by the way.”
It seemed Andrew LeTellier had been listening in on their conversation.
“You four are each one idiot if you think you’re goin’ after the ‘Brella without me.” Andrew said.
“Goddamnit, this is getting tedious. Everyone’s volunteering, but not bringing anything new to the plan . . .. Or lack there of,” said Rich.
“Dudes, I know how that can be. The group consciousness just gets sucked down into the gaping black maw of apathetic complacency. It’s like that at those killer Amherst hash parties.”
“Fuck.” Rich muttered tersely. He frowned as a lanky figure in a wool sweater and scarf approached.
Tony watched anxiously as Richard and the new arrival, their friend Pawel, greeted each other. Richard tensed up, but maintained the niceties.
“Okay,” spoke Rich authoritatively, “If we’re all going to be in on this, let’s tell everybody. And furthermoreover, let’s plan.”
Richard left the group and walked purposely over to the counter. With a leap he was on top of it.
“Attention customers of the Thirsty Mind café and used book shoppe!” He roared over the annoying Bob Seger tunes in the background. “I apologize for the look of pain on my face, but I was working out last night and I pulled a groin muscle. Which is a shame, ‘cause I’ve been trying to give that up.” He waited for the laughs to subside. “In all seriousness, folks, the look of pain on my face is genuine. I look this way because I am privy to some terrible news”
At this point a man in the audience stood up, shouted, “Oasis broke up?” and ran out the door screaming.
Richard paused, watching the crazed fan in stunned silence, then snapped out his reverie and returned to the subject at hand.
“These very Commons are threatened by a terrible, evil force. I need you all to join me and fight against that force, for the good of South Hadley, the United States, and even the world. Who among you will fight alongside me?”
Half of the audience stood up and crowded together by a table in the corner, the other half remained absorbed in their cell phones, laptops, and pseudo-intellectual banter.
“Well, that’s not too bad. We’ll run with it.” Richard said to himself with a smile, and walked over to the group.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a big fight ahead of us. Our odds aren’t anything to cheer about, but they’re even worse if we don’t have a plan. So let’s look at what we’ve got.”
He swiped his arm across the top of the table they had gathered around, spilling mugs, plates, and papers to the floor. He then began grabbing objects around him to make a rough map of the area they intended to attack.
“Okay! Our destination is the Lashler Paper Mill in the old factory district of Holyoke. The factory and outlying buildings are here, as represented by the plate and cups. The canal,” he said, pouring a stream of coffee along the table, “runs along here. This is the road,” he indicated a strip of newspaper, “and these are the train tracks,” he pointed to a series of forks. “They run behind the factory, and into it.”
He paused to let them take it all in.
“There is a bridge crossing the canal, but it will be heavily guarded.”
“Who here knows how to plan battle tactics?” asked Brendan Smith.
No one answered.
Rich spoke up. “I know someone who does.”

Dan McLaughlin rolled groggily over in bed, reached past the sleeping female form on his right and grabbed his cell phone off of an end table.
“McLaughlin,” he muttered into the receiver.
“Dan, this is Rich. Sorry to wake you but we need your help.”
“Rich, is there no way this can wait? I plan on being busy tomorrow morning. I need my rest,” Dan said, looking at the other female form sleeping to his left. This one, like the one on his right, was capable of making it into the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, but, like the one on Dan’s right, spent her time studying to get her doctorate at an Ivy League school.
“The Umbrella Corporation is back and they plan to destroy the Commons and kill us all. We need you to plan an attack for us.”
“The Umbrella Corporation? What do I care? I have no beef with them, it’s not my fight.”
“What about the Commons?”
“So a bunch of hippies are out of a coffee shop and the town loses a restaurant here and a theatre there. So what?”
“Goddamnit, Dan, stop being so difficult! I know a man of honor such as yourself can’t leave innocent people to a horrible death. I know that in your heart you want to help.”
Dan looked longingly left and right at the shapely exposed shoulders and shimmering hair, then sighed.
“Alright, I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks Dan.”
"Don’t mention it,” said Dan bitterly. He got up, put on some clothes, and reached for a jacket. The door to his room opened and a third swimsuit model grad student walked in clad only in lacy panties and carrying a can of Rediwhip and a feather duster.
“Dan, baby, are you leaving?” she asked dejectedly.
“’Fraid so, gorgeous,” said Dan as he walked past her on his way to the door. He stopped to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “But I’m sure you, Kim, and Melissa will keep each other busy while I’m gone.”
“Baby, where are you going?”
“Where am I going? I’m going to save the world!” And with that he ran out of the room.

The assembled soldiers all glanced up from their assorted mutterings as Dan entered the Thirsty Mind. Richard stepped forward and clasped his friend’s hand heartily.
“Dan, I’m so glad you’re here. We’re lost without you.”
“Well, let’s get right down to it, shall we? Care to tell me the specifics of the case?”
Richard led him to the map he had made on the conference table. He pointed out the various structures surrounding the Umbrella Corporation’s base, and explained the circumstances to Dan.
“This is the canal,” Richard pointed to the coffee spill.
“Are there tunnels beneath it?” Dan asked immediately.
“I believe so. There are passages which lead into the basement levels of the main buildings.”
“And these forks here,” Dan went on, “railroad tracks?”
“Yes.”
Dan was silent for a time, he merely stared at the three dimensional representation of the place he and his friends were going to attack.
Richard watched him keenly.
“You’ve got a plan, don’t you?” he asked.
Dan looked up, smiling.
“I might.”
Five minutes later Dan had outlined a daring plan which, though requiring great skill and courage, seemed to the collected heroes to be well within the range of plausibility. There was one last matter to discuss: the time.
“Dan,” Richard asked, “when do you think we should initiate your master strategy?”
“Well, it’s too late tonight. We should get some rest, and regroup here tomorrow in the afternoon. Let’s say 4.”
“Is that alright with anyone?” Tony asked the assembled.
The answer was a unanimous affirmative.
And so, the heroes departed one by one into the night.

Silas Blake extinguished his tenth cigarette in a crystal ashtray and peered at the documents before him. For the past hour and a half he had pored over the files of the teenagers he had been ordered to eliminate, and the fatigue of his night’s work showed. He was wearing a loose-fitting Oxford silk shirt which he had unbuttoned nearly all the way, exposing his narrow, smooth chest. His brown hair was tussled and circles were forming under his eyes, giving him a haunted, James Dean-like appearance. He had been fascinated by the subjects of the documents, specifically the one whom he had seen eavesdropping. According to the file, the target’s name was Lt. Ricardo Sanchez Sugrue III, Esq.
Silas blinked curiously at the file photo: the subject flexing his biceps, clad in only Speedo that left little up to the imagination. He glanced over Richard’s bio page.
“A bisexual multi-fetishist,” Blake read. “Highly advanced intellect in literature, history, and theology. Interests: writing, film, and . . . weight-lifting.” Blake paused to glance at the bulging muscles in the photo. He sighed.
“Tell me you’re single.”
Turning the page, he grinned. “Status: single.”
“Jeezum Crowe, that’s fantastic. I need to do something special for this one,” Silas mused.
Silas was creative and clever; it didn’t take long for inspiration to strike. He flipped through the file until he hit upon Richard’s home and e-mail address. He quickly typed the information into the super computer in front of him. Next, he produced adhesive electrode patches from a drawer and put one onto each temple. He took the wires trailing from them and plugged them into the computer.
“Oh, Ricardo, wait till you get a load of this . . .”
Blake happily went about his work.

The sun peered indifferently down at the frozen earth through a thick, grey layer of clouds, sodden, dirty cotton balls blocking the heavens from horizon to horizon. In the parking lot behind the Commons the heroes gradually began to assemble.
Showing a startling break from tradition, Richard was first on the scene, with Sam, dressed smartly in combat fatigues and an army helmet inexplicably bedecked in fake branches and camouflage netting, and Caitlin, who was wearing University of Michigan football uniform and padding, along with her pearly white pooka shell necklace. They were soon joined by Tony, in his rough and tumble red Jeep, with Jake Motroni, and Steve, in the Konefal family van.
The six friends stood outside their vehicles, waiting, with grim looks on their faces, for the rest of the troops. Tony was wearing his reliable Mandalorian battle armor. Dented and scratched from years of combat and adventure, it still looked formidable enough to deflect laser blasts. For the moment, Tony had his helmet off and his long, black hair was fluttering in the wind.
Steve had opted to wear a simple white T-shirt, jeans, and his old black leather jacket. Richard wore golden battle armor to match his eyes and flowing curls. They made an odd and impressive sight standing in a line in the middle of the parking lot.
Next to arrive were Andrew and Justin, in the Letelliers’ golden Saturn coup, with Dan McLaughlin, who was wearing his Air Force BTU’s. Then there was Brendan Smith with Meg Lynch in tow in Brendan’s red station wagon. Arriving sixth and seventh were Evelyn Powell and the Lapointes, and then Mike Pytka and Jason Frank, in Jason’s car. Sarah Sawka was with them. Pat Dandrea, Sarah Cantler, Steph Lepine, and Adam Goddu, and Mike Martin showed up in Pat’s golden van. Will Murray tore into the parking lot in his purple bomber, with Pawel, Jenn Murray, and Tara Maroney also in the car. Then came EJ, in his Saturn speedster, with Dave as trusty co-pilot, and Becky, grim and determined in the back. Finally, last to arrive was a weary-looking Amy McMenamin. Clad in her shape-fitting purple combat suit, she trudged slowly toward the group from the road.
Richard and Steve ran forward, immediately concerned.
“Amy, what happened?” asked Rich.
“Nothing happened. I walked here from home.”
“You know, you could have called me for a ride?”
“Or, better yet,” said Steve, “called me for a ride.”
“Ah, thanks guys. But I’m fine. Is everything ready for departure?”
“Well, as soon as Tony completes role-call and we decide how the carpool situation will work.”
“This sounds more like a 4th grade field trip than an invasion,” Steve commented.
Richard turned to him angrily, “If you’re going to be negative maybe you’d like to try organizing a movement of this magnitude.”
But Steve had already wandered off, in flirtatious conversation with Amy.
Richard shrugged and signaled Tony.
“All ready, chief?” he asked of the Italian ninja in the Boba Fett armor.
“Now that Amy’s here, yes. Although, there is one last item on the pre-invasion check list.”
Richard knew what he was getting at.
“Everyone gather ‘round.” Richard called to the 27 heroes brave enough to join him this day. “It’s time for prayer.”
The friends gathered in a tight circle.
Richard began.
“In the name of the Father, of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Lord Almighty in Heaven, be with us this day. We gather here now in friendship and with courage about to fight for a just cause. Guard us, and help us, o Lord, to achieve our noble goal. Also,” here he winked at Tony, “please forgive us for any grievous violence, theft, property destruction, and incest we commit today.”
“Incest?” asked Dan.
“Just covering all our bases. And, Dear God, give us the strength and the wisdom to follow your will. Bless us all. Amen.”
On cue, 24 of the assemble threw their fists into the air and shouted, “Yay God!”
On the outskirts of the circle, Amy, Dave, and Jake looked at each other quizzically.
“Must be a Holyoke Catholic thing,” ventured Amy.
Richard took a deep breath of the cold, moist, late-autumn air.
“Now let’s head out!”
And the noble convoy began to form.

In the lead was Richard, the only driver who knew the way. In his car were Sam, the diligent co-pilot, riding shotgun, and Caitlin, pretty and somber, in the back seat. Next in the convoy was Steve’s van, carrying Steve and Amy, and, much to Steve’s chagrin, Evelyn Powell and the Lapointes, both Marissa and Ashley. Third came Pat Dandrea, with the assorted underclassmen, Adam, Steph, Jenn, and Sarahs Cantler and Sawka, as well as Jason Frank, and Mikes Martin and Pytka. Will’s admirable old cruiser took fourth place, and contained Pawel, Tara, Brendan, and Meg, and, piloting the solid vessel with a keen eye and a smile, Will Murray himself. Fifth was Andrew’s Saturn, veteran of the Maine expedition, with Andrew, Justin, EJ, Dave, and Dan inside. Bringing up the rear was Tony’s rumbling Jeep. Its only passengers were the crazy ninja himself, who was adeptly steering, shifting, and eating a bowel of alfredo all at once, and Jake, the only person crazy enough to ride with Tony.
So the heroes ventured out on that fateful day, a stream of assorted cars, heading south on route 116, toward Holyoke and destiny.

Meanwhile, back at the Umbrella Corporation’s local headquarters, Silas keenly watched a computer screen showing the convoy’s progress.
“Just as expected. The fools are coming right to me.”
A guard marched smartly into the room and saluted. Blake paid no attention as he continued to watch the screen while dressing in his customized battle armor.
“Sir. The enemy are on their way. Do you wish us to prepare the complex for battle?”
Silas looked up, snapping a barbed titanium gauntlet onto his wrist.
“No, sergeant. There is too much fragile equipment here. I don’t want those ruffians upsetting any of our special projects. Instead, get three units together and meet me outside. Bring a few deathbots and rouse that mechanical oaf Cap’n Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500. I want him to be there for the enemy’s inevitable defeat. I want him to see what he’d been doing wrong all those times. Make sure your men are ready and well armed. Let’s kick this pig.” He finished, cocking a shotgun.