Part 2

Silas' Trap
"Where the Hell Are We?"
The Epic Battle


The Millennium Falcon, in all its shining maroon glory, sped along the same canal road it had the night before. Richard stayed sharp at the wheel as always, perhaps even especially sharp today, only hitting four pedestrians. He spoke into a CB radio on the dashboard.
“Breaker, breaker. This is Han Frolo. We are approaching destination point. Over.”
Bringing up the rear in his crimson Jeep, Tony responded.
“Roger, Han Frolo. This is Red Rambler. You lead the way; I’ll follow in zombie ass-kicking pursuit. Over.”
“Woo wee, you sunbitchpileamonkeyspunk. That is good to hear!”
“I reckon it should be ya ol’ goatfuckinloadaturtleshit!”
The witty banter might have continued had Steve not come on the line.
“Hey, uh, guys, would you mind not doing that anymore? It’s scarin’ the laydays. ‘Kay? However, if you wanted to join me in a chorus of Afternoon Delight, that’s another matter.”
“You serious?” Richard asked.
“That’s a 10-4 good buddy,” Steve responded.
And in unison Tony, Richard, and Steve began to sing.
“Gonna grab my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight. My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right, so why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?”
The convoy surged along relentlessly, led by the song of determination and fury.
“Wheeeeeeehhhhnn the lovin’s always sweeter than the light of day. Aaaaannnd the night is gonna be there anyway!”
Tony and Steve began to harmonize.
“Rubbin’ sticks an’ stones together watchin’ sparks ignite----”
They would have gone on in such a manner had Rich not interrupted.
“Belay the shanty, lads. There be trouble off the port and starboard bows!”
Tony and Steve glanced urgently left and right. Speeding toward the convoy were a dozen Umbrella Corporation black SUV’s, six on each side. They had sneaked up unnoticed and were now heading with terrible intent, straight at the line of cars.
Richard was quick to take action, activating shields and ion cannons. He fired at the first SUV, sending it spinning away, powerless. The second vehicle fired its own cannons, taking out all of Richard’s offense weaponry. It then fired an energy grappling hook, and reeled the Falcon slowly in. Another SUV tried to tackle Tony’s Jeep, but the feisty Italian swerved into it, slicing the vehicle open with his plow blade and the SUV wheeled away. Steve rammed another, pushing it off a conveniently placed ramp-like pile of roadwork supplies and into the canal. Richard tried to drive to combat another oncoming SUV, but he was too late. The sleek black vehicles tore into the line of cars, scattering them to all directions. When all seemed lost to chaos, the Umbrella trucks began to push the separated cars to some preordained destination. They fired more electrical conduit bonds at the vehicles, trapping them, making them easy to control. The SUV’s were in amongst the heroes’ rides like wolves in a herd of sheep. They meticulously drove them away from the UC headquarters and back into the redbrick blocks of factories and warehouses that populated this district.
Richard tried desperately to swerve away, to speed ahead, to escape, but the enemy vehicles were too fast. They pushed and smashed relentlessly, forcing the Falcon and all the other cars down side streets and around corners with ruthless efficiency.
Richard caught sight of an alleyway to his right and decided to take a chance.
“Everyone, alley on the right, follow me!”
One by one the cars broke the Umbrella Corporation’s electrical restraints and swerved down the alley after Richard and the Falcon.
In the lead UC SUV, Silas smiled.
“Just as I thought, they’ve fallen right into our trap."
As the Falcon tore down the alleyway, Richard allowed himself a smile as well. The convoy was free; they had made their escape. Just a few minutes to regroup and they’d be on their way back to the UC headquarters.The smile faded from his face, to be replaced by a look of despair and frustration as he saw what lay in wait for them outside the alley.
Twelve more SUV’s spanned the road, six on a side, creating an unbreakable gauntlet the heroes had to drive through. Cannons on the SUV’s were at full power and aimed right at them.
“Oh fuck!” Richard yelled as his car sped out of the alley and between the rows of enemy cannons.
The guns fired mercilessly upon the convoy, sending the heroes’ rides rocking back and forth erratically and badly jarring the passengers within. Just as the Falcon’s shields were beginning to weaken, Richard blasted the car past the end of the gauntlet and into the alleyway on the other side of the road.
He sighed and looked at Sam, sitting in the seat next to him.
“Well we’re outta that frying pan----”
Richard stopped when he turned his attention back to the scene in front of him and saw where they had ended up.
The convoy had been driven into a vast courtyard, surrounded on all sides by the brick walls of the adjacent warehouses and factories. The courtyard itself, probably twenty acres, was crammed with towering heaps of scrap metal, rusted and bent, twisted and shredded. Amongst the piles were mammoth pieces of heavy machinery; giant mechanical dinosaurs, their chipped and rusted yellow hides standing stark against the leaden sky. There were excavators, magnets, and cranes, bulldozers and backhoes. To Richard’s left were massive abandoned concrete blocks, arranged in a mad pattern like a post-modern Stonehenge. Elsewhere, between the mountains of scrap metal, heavy machinery, and concrete blocks were rusting oil drums, discarded tools, and automotive parts. To Richard’s right was a huge conveyor belt on which cubes of compacted metal were sent into a factory behind them to be processed.
In the center of the yard was the most imposing structure of all. A terrifying industrial monster framed against the heaps of scrap metal. The compactor. Its infinitely powerful jaws were still for the moment, open and held toward the sky as if awaiting rain to quench its thirst. Around the perimeter of the metal compactor was a steel platform, with a railing of pipe. The compactor was surrounded by a small herd of forklifts.
Richard got out of the Falcon and looked around. The place seemed deserted. The eerie stillness of the hulking metallic beasts around him sent a shiver down his spine.
Behind him Tony was stepping out of his scratched and dented Jeep. He stared in silent anger at the damage that had been dealt to his beloved ride before turning to Rich.
“Where the hell are we?”
“I know,” Richard said absently, looking around. “For some reason the Umbrella Corporation has herded us into the Sullivan Steel scrap yard.”
Brendan spoke up, gingerly touching a cut on his forehead.
“So you expect me to believe that this corporation closed off a whole street with mysterious black SUV’s and pushed ten cars into a steel mill- that they had arranged to be abandoned- without anybody noticing?”
“Umbrella has closed off whole cities with walls 50 feet tall. This is a walk in the park for them.” Tony explained.
“Well,” said Caitlin, voicing the concern they had all felt, “now that they have us here, what do they intend to do?”
As soon as she had said this, heavy steel gates closed behind the heroes, trapping them in the industrial wasteland. Then, before anyone could react, two doors opened, one on either side of the compound. A battalion of Umbrella guards filed out of each doorway. They were all dressed in black concussion-resistant armor and carrying laser rifles. Gleaming, red-eyed battle masks hid their faces. Each battalion was followed by two hulking deathbots, which opened and closed their pincer arms menacingly. Out of the door to Richard’s right tramped Captain Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500. Richard noticed a sadness in the Captain’s human eye, and his bulky shoulders were slumped.
“Well, this isn’t looking good,” remarked Andrew, gazing around in fear. “Anyone got any ideas?”
“How’s this for an idea: You all die!” Silas Blake shouted, flying out of the door to Richard’s left, a jet pack on his back. He fired a blast from his laser rifle. It struck Steph Lepine in the shoulder, sending her to the ground with a cry of anguish.
Adam Goddu whipped out twin .45 caliber pistols and fired at Silas. Many of his shots would have done damage, but the maniac had surrounded himself with a force field generated from a red glowing belt buckle. Steve meanwhile had stepped over to Steph’s side and was gently administering to her injuries.
“Get away from her!” Adam cried, tearing his attention away from Silas, who had contented himself with floating in the air and watching the drama unfold below, a smug smile on his beautiful face.
“Whoa, amigo,” Steve said, trying to mollify the enraged Goddu. “I’m trying to help. Nurse in training, you know.”
Tony stepped forward. He put a hand on Adam’s solid shoulder.
“She’ll be alright with Steve. We can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves. We’ve got a battle to win! Help Richard unload the guns from the Falcon, I’ll handle Silas! Don’t worry, he’ll pay for hurting Steph.”
Tony tightened his grip on Adam’s shoulder for emphasis before buckling on his own jet pack, unsheathing his katana, and taking to the sky after Blake.
Silas drew his own blade, a beautifully replicated 10th Century Saxon broad sword. He took a fighting stance in the air, awaiting Tony. The Italian ninja caught Blake off guard, though, so fast was his attack, and sent the villain reeling with a flying shoulder butt. Silas crashed into the arm of a crane, shattering his force field belt. He shook his head to clear his senses, and flew back to meet Tony.

Richard, watching from below, had never seen his friend battle so ferociously. Enraged at the cowardly the attack on one he cared so much for, Tony fought with a boundless fury that could not be stopped. Still, Blake managed to counter every one of Tony’s attacks. It seemed to Rich as though Silas knew the attack before it came. Richard tore his attention from the battle above and focused on the crisis at hand.

The enemy soldiers had not yet begun to fire. Indeed, they seemed to waiting for a signal. Silas had his hands full fighting Tony, and the Captain made no attempt to step in as leader. Nonetheless, Richard had to see that his friends were properly armed and ready. He darted forward and opened the rear cargo hold of the Falcon. Clearing aside and old tire and some cans and bottles, he reached the cache laser rifles that came standard with the Oldsmobile Regency 98.
“Attention! There’re these,” Richard said, indicating the rifles in the trunk, “and a plethora of other weapons hidden inside the Falcon. Take your pick, but make it snappy. There’s no telling when those Umbrella goons’ll start their attack. Oh, and make sure it’s one weapon per person, we’ve got quite a crowd today.”

Tony and Silas were fighting an amazing battle in the air above. The clang of steel upon steel echoed around the vast courtyard. Tony was an expert swordsman, but Silas matched him parry for parry, thrust for thrust. Silas blocked one of Tony’s attacks, knocked his sword aside, and punched him in the mouth. Tony tasted blood. He swung high and Silas positioned his blade to deflect his enemy’s. Tony took advantage of the opening and delivered a solid kick to Blake’s exposed stomach, sending the villain flying backward.
Silas triggered his thrusters and blasted forward, blade held steadily in front of him. Tony obliged him and charged forward as well. They swung mightily, the clash sending angry hornets buzzing down the lengths of their swords to their gloved hands. They tore past each other, spun ‘round, and charged again in a futuristic interpretation of medieval jousting. They continued for many passes, but Silas eventually gained the upper hand. He flew forward for another clash, but dodged downward at the last minute, leaving Tony to strike out at vacant air. Below his enemy, Silas swung swiftly with his sword. The blade, sharpened by lasers to the millionth of an inch, sliced though Tony’s Mandalorian battle armor like a razor blade through paper. A deep gash opened on the ninja’s leg and began to bleed profusely.
Tony clenched his teeth against the pain and turned to face Blake.
“That one looked like it hurt, Tony,” Blake jeered. “Had about enough.”
“I live for this,” Tony said, reaching down and exploring the laceration with his fingers. He brought his bloodstained hand up and licked his fingertips.
“Mmmm . . . mother’s milk.”
He charged.
Silas, taken aback at this deranged display of savagery, was once again caught off guard. Tony brought his katana whistling downward in a broad chop and left a deep scratch in Silas’ breastplate. Silas staggered backward through the air, barely blocking Tony’s renewed attacks. He finally ran out of room to back-peddle in, bumping against the arm of another crane. He deflected one, two, three of Tony’s swipes and thrust his sword at Tony’s abdomen. The Italian dodged to the left, but too slowly. The villain’s blade grazed his side. Seemingly defeated, Tony took one last awkward swing. Silas easily dodged it and was about to laugh at the pathetic attempt when he realized Tony hadn’t been aiming for him. The arm of the crane behind him slowly slid in half; Tony’s slice had cut it clearly and silently. Just before the weight of the girders and cables crushed him, Silas took a desperate swing. His sword didn’t quite hit Tony- it was off by millimeters- but it did succeed in severing the strap which was holding Tony’s jet pack on. Silas was pushed to the earth and, with a cry of dismay, Tony followed him, leaving his jet pack floating in the air.
Tony hit the earth with a squelch; recent rain had made the ground soft. He was hurt, but it could have been worse. He limped over to a cluster of oil drums and slid to a sitting position with his back to one, favoring his left leg.
Silas managed to slow his descent using his thrusters. Just before impact he slid from under the oppressive weight of the rusted steel and landed a few feet away. The arm of the crane crashed heavily into the muddy ground, screeching and clanging in agony. Silas got up. He tenderly rubbed an aching shoulder. A few scrapes and bruises, he thought, but otherwise none the worse for wear. His jet pack was another story. It had sustained grievous damage in the fall and was far from being in working order. He unstrapped it and let it fall to the ground. Once he had gotten his bearings straight he realized what was out of place with the scene: There was no battle. The UC troops had yet to attack.
He sprinted over to the formation and berated them.
“Idiots! Why have you not begun the slaughter? What were you waiting for, invitations on flowered stationary?”
A lieutenant stepped forward and saluted.
“Sir. We were awaiting orders, sir.”
“Huzuki-twit didn’t give you any?”
“No, sir.”
Silas picked up a pipe and walked over to the Captain, who was standing very still, a sad, far-off look in his eyes. Wordlessly, Silas swung the pipe upward, striking the Captain on his heavy, bearded jaw. The robo-pirate-ninja stumbled backward and glared at Silas. He advanced upon the fiend, a menacing gleam in his red, robotic eye.
Silas stood his ground.
“What are you going to do? Hit me?” he taunted. “I’m your new boss, remember? Touch me and I liquidate NP Inc and have you sent here for scrap metal, you oaf! Never sit idly by in a battle situation again!”
Silas turned to the assembled troops.
“You want orders? Here they are: Attack! Destroy! Leave no one alive!”
The soldiers opened fire on the car blockade and began to advance.

While the small army were selecting their choice tools from Richard’s arsenal, Richard himself ducked into the Falcon and activated her shields. He manipulated the switches and knobs until he had spread the energy barrier over every car in the formation, and turned it up to its full power.
He emerged from the vehicle and drew a pistol from a belt holster.
“All right everyone, we need to split up.”
“Zoinks!” Andrew gulped. “Like, I hate it when he says that.”
Richard went on. “Dan, care to handle the particulars?”
The Cadet was in his element, and directed the troops with vigor.
“All underclassmen! You’re too young for battle. Stay here and guard Steph and the vehicles.” He ignored the groans of protest.
“Next, current high school seniors. Pat, Jason, Mike, Mike, Sarah, Dave. You are to sneak around the mountains of scrap metal- only after the enemy is distracted- and make your way to the rear of the army, attacking them from behind.”
The seniors nodded dutifully and readied their weapons.
“Lastly, this year’s college freshmen.”
“And sophomores,” added Amy.
“And sophomores,” said Dan.
“I’m always left out,” Justin LeTellier lamented.
“And juniors,” Dan added thoughtfully.
“All right!” yelled Justin grinning.
“College freshmen, sophomores, and juniors. We will attack the enemy head-on. This may seem fool-hearty, but we have some decided advantages. First, in front of the Umbrella brigades is a good deal of open ground. They must cross this and they have no cover. We, on the other hand, have a good deal of cover. Second, we have reinforcements here and coming around the back. Third, we’ve got heart, damnit! Now let’s get out there and fight.”
A raucous cheer went up from the heroes behind the wall of cars.
“And remember,” Richard said as he moved toward he fray with the other college-age students, “do not kill anyone. These are human beings we’re fighting, so set your laser rifles to stun. Now, be careful out there. Those villains are playing for keeps.”
As if on cue, a barrage of laser bolts collided into the shield wall, and several of the assembled adventurers jumped.
Dan leapt forward, brandishing his rifle.
“My group, follow me! When we’re gone, seniors head to the right and wrap around, attack from behind. Underclassmen, stay here and cover us. Guard Steph. Guard the cars. If anything goes wrong, get the hell out of here. Now, my group, chaaaarge!”
Dan scrambled over the hood of the Falcon and dove, under heavy laser fire, behind a large concrete block. His troops followed him, doing the same. The heroic college brigade were all positioned behind the massive cement pillars. Chips of stone flew off from the adventurers’ cover as the Umbrella troops increased their fire. The sharp bits of concrete caused minor damage as the grazed past the huddled students. One such shard sliced across Dan’s cheek. His hand went immediately up to the new wound and came back bloody. This served only to rile the young cadet, and, with a bellow of rage, he burst out from his secure spot and opened fire on the closely clustered Umbrella Corporation soldiers. Two well-aimed laser blasts knocked a goon unconscious. Another numbed the arm of the soldier close to him. Dan made it to another concrete shield and rested.
Inspired by his courage, Dan’s troops poured out in a wave, firing devastatingly into the lines of soldiers. Seven more went down. However, so numerous were the UC troops that hardly had those seven soldiers hit the ground than another seven stepped into formation in their place. Still, the villains’ progress was halted and the heroes had made it to the next line of concrete blocks.
Dan knew that only superior tactics would see his friends through. He called back to the clustered heroes over the roar of battle.
“On my signal, move to the third line of cover and form three rows. Right now, find one soldier and aim for him as you move out.” He paused, selected his target, and then said, “Now!”
The heroes once again leapt from their cover, firing into the enemy ranks. This time, however, their attack was more focused, and a score of Umbrella soldiers were taken out. Quickly and efficiently, they formed three rows.
Before the enemy had a chance to recover, Dan was already commanding his unit.
“First row, up and fire.”
The first line of students rose and let loose a volley at the UC army.
“First row down. Second row, up and fire!”
Another powerful blast hit the enemy.
“Second row down. Third row, up and fire!”
Dan continued like this, thinning the enemy ranks considerably. He knew it wasn’t a permanent solution; there were none in battle. He just hoped Silas didn’t think of any deciding strategy before he did.

Andrew, feeling cramped behind the concrete blocks, took off to the side and, dodging behind scrap metal and automotive parts, opened fire sporadically into the enemy.

Silas saw that his army was in disarray and acted quickly. He ordered his troops to cluster behind the imposing deathbots. The powerful robotic menaces generated their own force field, which would protect the huddled soldiers. Moreover, the deathbots were difficult, near impossible, to halt. They acted as cover and moved forward relentlessly, their heavy, spiked treads crushing the scrap metal beneath. Dan was lost for a way out as the deathbots slowly rolled closer. His troops were pinned down and had little hope for reprieve from the cannons of the approaching tank-like robots.
Suddenly, the high school seniors of delta squadron came rushing from behind the Umbrella army and opened fire on the soldiers who, though protected in the front, were dangerously exposed in the rear.
Dave, who had opted to find his own weapon in the mess of the Falcon’s interior, had created some volatile Molotov cocktails from empty beer bottles, rags, and flammable roofing chemicals he found in Rich’s ride. These he threw to devastating effect. Though they were in flame-retardant suits, the flashes of light from the bursts of flame blinded the UC troops. And, where the flame was the most consuming, the oxygen was drained from the air around them, which resulted in several of the soldiers passing out.
Silas saw that once again, Dan had bested him. He knew that his advantage of numbers would soon be eliminated if his troops were forced to fight at such long range. He sent orders through the headsets of the soldiers.
“Attention!” he yelled. “Break off from long distance shoot outs. Make this a close range fight. Hand to hand, if it comes to it. Use the weight of your numbers to break them. Attack!”
So, with the deathbots remaining in position, the UC soldiers gripped their rifles like clubs and charged at concrete pylons behind which the heroes lay. Some of the army did an about face and engaged delta squadron in close quarters combat.
The deathbots, unwilling for the moment to fire upon their own soldiers, took any shots they could, but those were usually limited and ineffective. However, every so often a deathbot would surge forward and attack one of the heroes with its heavy pincer arms.
And so, the battle dissolved into primitive chaos, with both sides attacking furiously.

Meanwhile, Andrew LeTellier was racing around the outskirts of the battle, firing into the fray whenever he saw a decent shot. His natural clumsiness had seemingly vanished, and he had not slipped up yet. (Save for the one time he hit his own team member with a misjudged blast of his laser rifle.)
Mike Pytka had been gallantly fencing with a laser rapier, leaping from concrete block to oil drum and deflecting attacks left and right in the swashbuckling tradition of Errol Flynn when suddenly a blast from a laser rifle struck him in the back of the head. With a faint cry, the blonde hero crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Back on the fringes of the battle, Andrew pulled nervously at his collar upon seeing what he had done. However, nothing could keep the lanky crusader down for long, and he continued his laser-blasting laps around the perimeter of the massed armies. Andrew gracefully leapt over obstructions, dodged under vehicles, rolled across the ground, both marksman and acrobat. He caught sight of Evelyn Powell across the fray. She was struggling to fend off two Umbrella soldiers, swinging her laser rifle bravely, but slowly being overpowered. Andrew put on an extra burst of speed to reach her in time, but suddenly, his foot caught on something and he went tumbling to the ground in a heap of gangly limbs. Andrew shook the stars from his vision and looked up. Silas Blake was standing above him, foot still extended after having tripped the hero. Silas glanced from Andrew to Evelyn.
“Sorry. Did I trip you on your way to save your pretty friend?”
“You heartless jerk, she’s outnumbered!”
"Oh, I can see that. You’d better get to her quick. You might be able to save her”
Andrew got up.
“Unless, of course, I get to her first.”
Andrew’s eyes widened in shock, but then he smiled.
“Are you saying you want to race?”
“Exactly.”
Andrew stared down at the shorter Blake.
“Well, then I’ll be happy to accept your challenge.”
Silas and Andrew locked eyes for less than a second and then both took off like lightning.
Andrew, the lanky track star, was surprised to see Silas matching him stride for stride.
The bastard’s fast, Andrew thought to himself as they tore over the uneven terrain.
The battle they were racing around ranged over a massive area of land. Feet pounded doggedly into the turf as they sought to circumnavigate the sprawling fray. Hearts pounding, sweat beading on their foreheads, the two competitors raced. Both boys leapt over the scrap metal and auto parts, dodged around forklifts and concrete blocks.
In a startling display of athleticism, Andrew ran up the side of one such concrete block, his body horizontal for several seconds, and leapt in front of Silas, forcing the villain into second place. The race continued, Andrew having gained several feet. The opponents never once let their pace lag, but instead kept it continually increasing. They ran flat out across the rugged, metal-strewn ground.
Andrew was in the lead, but the race was taking its toll. His lungs began to burn; his legs ache. His combat armor was soaked with sweat. Silas was taxed to the limit as well. He had never raced anyone so fast before.
Suddenly, Silas put on an astonishing burst of speed and blasted past Andrew. The tall hero could only watch helplessly as Silas reached Evelyn first. Without slowing down he extended his arm away from his body and ran straight at the valiant girl, who had dispatched one Umbrella Corp soldier and was focusing on the other. Evelyn turned just in time to see Silas collide into her. She was struck by the extended arm, a devastating clothesline attack, and, legs flipping violently into the air, she crashed to the ground. Andrew, seeing this, used up his last reserve of speed and flung himself into the air, both feet first. His two-legged drop kick hit Silas in the chest with all the force of a speeding car, and the fiend was hurled backward onto the muddy ground. Andrew, unable to get his legs back underneath him, also hit the ground. He was up first, however, and quickly dashed over to Evelyn, who was still lying on her back amid the chaos of the battle. He helped her to her feet, and, supporting her gently, guided her over to a concrete block on the edge of the fray. He helped her into a sitting position, gave her a laser rifle, and left her in the relative safety of the cement pillar. He then turned his attention to Silas. Anger flickered in Andrew’s eyes as he strode toward the fiend, still lying motionless on the ground. His fists clenched and unclenched. Fully intent on avenging his friend, Andrew was too absorbed in his fury to notice Silas stir. As soon as Andrew was close enough, Blake spun himself on the ground like a break-dancer, scissoring out his legs and hitting the back of Andrew’s knees. Andrew collapsed to the ground beside Silas, who quickly scrambled over and began to pummel the downed hero mercilessly. Andrew’s hand feverishly searched the ground for something to use as a weapon. His fingers closed upon a discarded slab of wood. Gripping it tightly, he brought the beam swinging through the air. It struck Silas in the side of the head, and the villain was once again down. Andrew wiped at a stream of blood pouring out of his aching nose and picked himself up. He staggered to Silas, bent over, grabbed the fiend by the collar, and heaved him to his feet. Furiously he slammed Silas into a forklift. He brought his face close to the villain's and spoke in a dangerous whisper.
“You’ll regret hurting my friends. I’ll send you to hell, you son of a bitch.”
Silas looked at him through dim, half-closed eyes and smiled. “See you there, Stretch.”
His eyes suddenly opened wide and alert as he stabbed at Andrew’s vulnerable stomach with a knife he had been concealing. Andrew’s face contorted in pain and a stream of red liquid dripped out from his combat armor. Silas maliciously twisted the blade, and was rewarded by a crunching tearing sound, undoubtedly Andrew’s innards and ribs being ripped and broken. Andrew released his grip on the villain’s collar and tumbled to the ground. Silas, leaving the knife protruding from Andrew’s stomach, dashed away to cause more mayhem.

The tide of battle had turned in favor of the Umbrella Corporation troops, and Dan was at a loss for what to do. His fatigues were torn and soiled. Blood dripped from countless wounds on his young frame. He wiped a heavy hand across his worried brow and gazed at the melee before him.
Everywhere he looked, his troops were fighting admirably.
Justin LeTellier had grouped together with bandmates Will Murray and Brendan Smith. The three of them were pinned behind a small pile of scrap metal by an approaching deathbot. Both of the machine’s laser canons were firing relentlessly at the young friends. Justin managed a glance at their mechanic enemy. He saw how hopeless the situation was. He turned to his comrades.
“Damnit all!” he shouted. “Our friends are falling out there! We need to help them!”
He kicked a nearby oil drum in frustration. Instead of tipping over as he had expected it to do, the barrel remained still and his ankle was given a jolt.
“Oww! This frickin’ oil drum is still full!”
This caught Will’s attention. While Brendan was busy firing he turned to Justin.
“It’s full? That gives me an idea.”

Brendan and Justin grappled and struggled to tip the drum over and roll in into position. Closing in steadily was the menacing deathbot. With a surge of combined power, Brendan and Justin sent the barrel rolling toward the deathbot. Still focused on exterminating the three small threats behind the rocks, the machine paid little attention to the oil drum, even as it rolled to a stop between the robot’s left and right treads. Justin and Brendan then ran from the cover of the concrete block, firing erratically at the deathbot. The machine’s attention was diverted, and its cannons followed the two heroes as they dodged for more cover. Will, taking advantage of the distraction, stood up and aimed right for the oil barrel underneath the clanking monstrosity targeting his two friends. The laser from his weapon ignited the flammable contents in the barrel, and, in a gust of fire, the deathbot was blown to pieces.
The explosion was bigger than Will had counted on, and he was thrown backward as the blast of burning air rushed from the center of the conflagration. The huge ball of flame flew into the air an intense orange, before curling downward in a choking cloud of black. Justin and Brendan made their way to their dizzy friend and helped him to stand. Will’s face was coated with ash, and his hair was singed. He rubbed soot from his glasses and peered at the destruction around him.
“Wow,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Justin, “you sure played that drum well!” He grinned and gave a thumbs-up to his friends. “Get it, oil drum? Will plays the drums?”
Brendan pushed his friend’s raised thumb back down. “Easy there, killer. Just settle down and play your git fiddle.”
No sooner had he spoken than a dozen Umbrella goons charged through the smoke and rubble, laser rifles firing. The friends grew instantly serious, grabbed their weapons, and ran to meet the oncoming foe.

Dan looked away from that small victory to see how his other friends were doing.
EJ was blundering around the battle, seemingly oblivious to all around him. He was swinging a tire iron taken from the Falcon and reciting Haikus. Pawel and Marissa, fighting through the fray, wound up next to him.
“Hey, EJ,” Marissa called, wielding a gun which shot quick-hardening, super-strong foam, “do you wanna come and join us. Three is good number. It’ll be just like our old AP study groups.”
“I cannot, dear friends,” answered EJ, beaning a passing soldier with his tire iron, “I am in search of my comrade, Lord Dominic.”
“You mean Dave?” Pawel asked between slashes of his scimitar.
“Exactly.”
“Come with us, we’ll help you solve that enigmatic dilemma.” Pawel ventured, struggling with a particularly large enemy soldier.
EJ cracked the soldier over the head, knocking him unconscious, and Pawel breathed freely for a moment.
“Thanks, dude. Now, off to find Dave!”
And the three compatriots tore off into the center of the battle, swinging, shooting, and clubbing.

Dan looked to his right to see Sarah Sawka and Jason Frank. They were taking turns, Jason firing shots from his laser rifle, and Sarah hurling small concussion grenades into masses of the enemy troops.
Nearby that pair were Pat Dandrea and Caitlin, fighting back-to-back. Pat was grappling with two UC goons while Caitlin was using a blowgun to fire special darts into the fray. Each dart was a toothpick liberally soaked in a fast-acting tranquilizer.
Richard fought his way through to Cait and Pat, and the three formed a triangle of fury, battering through the enemy ranks. Richard looked over at Caitlin.
“Lookin’ good, Cait. I heard you were a skilled blower.”
Pat giggled.
Caitlin stopped firing and glared at her curly-haired comrade.
“Get lost, Rich, before I take two of these toothpicks and blind you with them.”
“Yeah, Rich,” Pat joked along, “You’re cramping our style.”
Richard shrugged.
“I can take a hint.”
He strode off into the battle, firing his laser rifle with accuracy and skill.
Caitlin looked to Pat for an answer.
“I didn’t expect him to actually leave.”
Pat knocked an enemy soldier out and said, “Maybe he has a very literal mind.”
Caitlin nodded, smiled, and launched another dart. It stuck an enemy solider, who slumped and collapsed to the ground. But not before firing one last shot in his delirium. The laser blast struck the soldier next to him in the arm.
Caitlin grinned in satisfaction.

Dan fired several shots at a passing deathbot before turning his attention to another group of his friends.

Ashley Lapointe and Meg Lynch were firing into the enemy ranks with fierce determination.
“I kinda like the kickback from this rifle,” said Ashley, a randy smile on her face. “Especially when I shoot from the hip.”
Meg downed another UC trooper and glanced at her friend with an exasperated grin.
“Just don’t let your boyfriend know about your new interest."
A soldier had sneaked up on the two girls from behind and was about to fire when Jake Motroni swooped in and laid the villain out. He swung his laser rapier though the air and gave Ashley and Meg a rascally wink.
“You should watch your asses, ladies,” Jake said. “Everyone else here is.” And with that he leapt off again, looking for more damsels in distress.
Ashley feigned offense and turned to Meg.
“That was uncalled for!”
Meg smiled and fired her weapon.
“You liked hearing it.”
The two girls chatted and chided away, still shooting their laser rifles.

Near those three was Mike Martin, swinging his thin limbs like a dervish, tripping and striking soldiers left and right.

Dan looked behind him to check on the underclassmen. He gasped. They were all missing. Where the hell did those kids go?
Suddenly, a yell sounded behind him.
Sam, Adam, Becky, Jenn Murray, and Sarah Cantler came running over the top of a scrap hill, each swinging pipes. Sarah knocked out a soldier, caught a glimpse of Pat on the far side of the field, and charged towards him. Jenn and Becky formed a small unit and tore into the middle of the fray, swinging energy batons. Sam and Adam slowly waded through the carnage, swinging madly and singing show tunes.
Dan shouted angrily at them.
“You were supposed to stay behind the shield! It’s dangerous out here! And what about Steph?”
No sooner had these words left his mouth than a deathbot charged out of nowhere, swung a heavy pincer arm and knocked Dan’s weapon from his grip. With the other pincer arm it lifted him off the ground and threw him into a concrete block.
Dan looked dazedly up at the towering engine of destruction rumbling toward him. Its laser cannons began to charge. He was too weak to fight back, too weak, even, to move. He knew his time had come. He closed his eyes.
Instead of hearing the buzzing zap of the laser guns firing, he heard another rumbling, heavier than that of the deathbot, and then a terrible rending crash. He eyes snapped open. A massive bulldozer had plowed in from the side and collided with the deathbot about to fire at him. The heavy blade of the construction machine smashed into the deathbot and pushed it, clawing and screeching, into a huge mountain of scrap metal. The force of the mammoth machine had all but cut the deathbot in half, and the impact with the scrap heap broke the robot to pieces. The deep, diesel rumble of the bulldozer quieted. Dan was shocked to see Steph Lepine, her arm in a sling, hop down from the vehicle and come trotting over to him. She helped him to stand.
“We can tell it’s dangerous, Dan. And as for me, I’m fine. ‘Stay behind the shield under guard’ my eye! I’m better off out here!”
Dan smiled.“Well I guess you’ve proven me wrong. Let’s go get ‘em.” He picked up his rifle, handed her a laser pistol which he had in a waist holster, and together they joined the battle.

Elsewhere, Steve was fighting valiantly. He clashed with several Umbrella Corp soldiers, tripping one, knocking one out cold with his laser rifle. Then, though the madness of battle, he caught sight of the archfiend Silas Blake. Steve fought his way through the mass of Umbrella Corporation soldiers, finally reaching his foe. He aimed his laser rifle at Silas’s chest. Silas held his laser rifle at shoulder level, targeting Steve’s head. The opponents stood staring at each other, breathing heavily.
“Well, Steve, what a surprise,” said Silas, smiling. “I’m glad you came.”
Steve smiled right back. “You know me, I wouldn’t miss a party.”
Silas chuckled. “It seems we’ve got a stand-off on our hands.” He paused. “What’s say we make this more interesting? How about a game of catch?”
Silas slowly lowered his rifle. He produced a box of matches from a pouch on his combat belt. Steve lowered his rifle as well.
Silas drew a match from the box.
“You ready?”
Steve nodded. “I was born so.”
Silas quickly lit the match. It flared brightly for an instant and then settled into a slow burn. In a flash he threw the match at Steve, who deftly caught it and blew it out. Silas nodded appreciatively. Now it was Steve’s turn. He drew out his own box of matches, and, to raise the stakes, a bottle of lighter fluid. He doused the box of matches with the butane, struck one match, and lit the whole box. Steve flew the flaming box straight at Silas’ head. Silas dodged out of the way, spun around, and caught the box. Instantly he flung the fiery ball back at Steve. Steve swatted the box back at Silas and a volley developed, from Steve to Silas, Silas to Steve. Inevitably, one slipped up. Steve sent the flaming bundle flying through the air faster than the fiend could counter. The fiery box of matches struck Silas in the chest, bounced off, and fell to the ground. Silas brushed ashes off of his black body armor and angrily stamped on the box of matches, extinguishing it. He glared at Steve.
“Careful there, amigo,” Steve quipped, “You play with matches, you might get burned.”
“You think you’re skilled?” Silas asked him. “Let’s take the game up another notch.”
He bent down and poured lighter fluid liberally over two sharp pieces of metal. He pulled out a Zippo lighter and with a clink-flick, ignited them both. Silas picked them up, one in each hand, and sent the shards of flaming metal whirling at Steve.
Steve dodged one and caught the other. He flung the piece of metal at Silas like a Frisbee and smiled in satisfaction. His smile was premature, however, for Silas was ready. He also caught the metal shard and threw it back at Steve with devastating accuracy. Steve dodged out of the missile’s path, but was too slow. The shard grazed his arm. Steve fell to the ground clutching the wound. Silas strode over to him.
“What’s the matter, Steve? Get burned?”
Steve managed a tight smile.
“The game isn’t over, Silas.”
“Excellent!”
Silas returned to his place for the continuation of the match.
Steve stopped nursing his arm, picked up a pipe, doused one end in butane, and lit it. He flipped it into the air, the flames creating a heavy whirring sound. Closing his eyes, Steve reached out and caught the unlit end of the pipe. Quick as a wink he sent it spinning at Silas. Silas reached out to catch the pipe, but misjudged and caught the flaming end. His gloves were flame retardant, but the heat still reached his tensed fingers. Silas gasped in pain and dropped the pipe. He doubled over, clutching at his wrist.
Steve ran toward his foe and leaped into the air, colliding with Silas and sending them both rolling to the earth.
The two combatants struggled on the ground, trading punches. Steve managed to position himself on top of Silas. He brushed one of Blake’s punches away and struck him squarely in the jaw. Silas’ face went slack. His eyes rolled up. He collapsed, unconscious. Steve staggered to his feet and dusted himself off.
“Game set and match.” Steve said as he turned away.
Silas’ eyes snapped open. He grabbed the bottle of butane and pulled out his lighter.
“Hey!”
His call got Steve’s attention and as he turned, Silas sprayed his chest with a blast of lighter fluid. Before Steve even had time to react, Silas flicked open his lighter and lit the stream of butane. The front of Steve’s shirt went up in a whoosh of flame. He immediately dropped to the ground and rolled on his chest, extinguishing the fire before it had done any serious damage. Silas got up and strode over to where Steve was lying motionless on the ground. Steve slowly lifted himself off the ground as if doing a push up. Silas grinned as he delivered a vicious kick to Steve’s face, sending him toppling backward and knocking him out.
Silas drew a knife from a sheath on his combat belt. He squatted down near Steve’s unconscious form. Silas smiled wickedly and was about to finish Steve off when a blast from a laser rifle whizzed past his head. He dropped the knife and whirled around.
Amy charged over the muddy terrain towards the two boys, firing her weapon with reckless abandon. Silas decided not to tempt his luck. He darted around a heap of scrap metal and ran.
Amy made it to Steve, dropped her laser rifle, and knelt beside him, cradling his head in her arms. Steve blinked tiredly up at her.
“Thanks a lot, Ames. It was getting dangerous.”
“Did he hurt you, Steve?”
“Well, there was some healthy give and take on both sides, but yeah he burned me pretty well at the end there.”
He gazed down at his red, blistered chest.
Amy stood up, grabbed her laser rifle and started off after Silas.
Steve held up a hand.
“Wait, Amy, what are you doing?”
“First Tony, then Andrew, now you. Who knows who he’ll hurt next? You three got lucky. Maybe the next person he attacks won’t make it out alive. He’s got to be stopped!”
“Amy, no! You don’t understand,” breathed Steve, “He’s too dangerous.”
But his words had fallen on deaf ears. Amy had turned her back and was trotting away after the fiend Silas Blake.

Tony gritted his teeth in pain as he tied his belt around his leg above the wound inflicted by Silas. He was still sitting behind a cluster of oil drums on the edge of the melee. He grabbed his sword and tried to stand-up. The pain in his leg was too great, and he collapsed to the ground again. He was cursing his weakness when a sound behind him made him turn around.
A deathbot and ten UC soldiers had found his hiding place. They stood looking down at him through their glowing red eyes. The soldiers raised their weapons and prepared to fire when a crash behind them made them turn violently.
Two gleaming black Mercedes had crashed through the heavy gates of the scrap yard. The luxury cars came to a halt near the other line of vehicles and their doors opened.
Tony, watching from across the battle, couldn’t believe his eyes. Eight men emerged from the cars, some dressed in silvery Armani jackets and pants, others in obnoxious tracksuits. All carried aluminum baseball bats. One man stood out from all the others. He had slick, black hair and wore a black suit which seemed tailor-fit to his powerful frame. His dark eyes glinted dangerously as he scanned the scene in front of him.
It was Tony’s father.
His eyes came to rest on his son, bleeding and surrounded across the fray, and with an emphatic gesture, he and the other Italian gentlemen marched toward the boy.
The leader of the small band of soldiers stepped forward to meet Mr. Celi.
“Hey, pops, what are you and these other Scorcese rejects doing here?”
Mr. Celi kept his calm.“We’re here to help my son and his friends, whom you seem intent on doing harm to.”
“Oh yeah?” asked the soldier. “Well these little punks are getting what they deserve. They----”
He got no farther. Mr. Celi had laid him out flat with a swing from his Louisville Slugger. At that signal, the other wise guys began in earnest, bringing their own type of retribution to the UC goons, and even striking bravely out at the deathbot.
Mr. Celi helped Tony up and hugged him tightly.
“Dad,” Tony asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t that mutt in the face mask just ask me the same thing?”
“Seriously, Dad.”
“ABC Storage is just 2 minutes from here. I heard about what was goin’ on from a friend of a friend and decided to come and help you guys out.”
“Thanks, we need it.” Tony gripped his sword. His father saw this and frowned.
“Tony, a nice Italian boy like you, messin’ around with those things. It isn’t right.” He called to one of his men. “Joe, gimme that extra bat.”
The Mafioso in question, a hulking beast in a red tracksuit, handed the weapon to Mr. Celi.
“Here, Tones, use this.”
Tony took the sword in one hand and the bat in the other, smiled, and with a departing “Thanks,” limped into the fray.

Amy followed the fleeing Silas far across the compound, to the door of a large machinery room near the trash compactor. Silas took one look back at the towering beauty pursuing him, a rifle in her hand and rage in her eyes, and dashed through the large door into the clanking darkness. Amy reached the door, stopped, and peered inside. She could make out nothing. Steeling herself up, she gripped the rifle tightly and stepped inside.
Suddenly several dim bulbs burst into life. Amy blinked dazedly as her eyes became adjusted to the dull, yellow light. She looked around. The room was filled with massive pieces of machinery, whirring and clanking obnoxiously. It seemed to be a power plant, generating energy for the surrounding factories. Just as the noise was becoming maddening, it began to cease. Gradually the noise vanished entirely. Amy glanced to her right. Blake was seated on some sort of generator, his hand slowly slipping off a switch. He had cut the power to the machinery.
“Glad you showed up. You caught my eye on the battlefield today and I so desired to meet up with you . . .” he slid off the generator and moved across the floor to her, “face to face.”
The barrel of Amy’s laser rifle was now jabbing into Silas’ taught stomach, yet he moved closer still.
“What are you doing here, smart girl like you?”
Amy was momentarily mesmerized by Blake’s sea green eyes, but snapped herself out of it.
“I’m here to fight Umbrella.”
Silas began to wander around the engine room. Amy, almost involuntarily, let her gaze wander over his lithe, shapely frame. She nodded in approval, caught herself, and gripped her laser rifle more tightly.
“I know that much, Amy,” Silas said. “But why are you really here?”
“Well, I first encountered Umbrella with Rich, going to get Andrew.”
“I see.”
“Then they went after me when I was with Rich and Andrew at a sex shop.”
“That was a fun one.”
“Today I’m here to help Rich.”
Silas turned to look at her.
“So, basically you’re here today, as you were every other time, because of the needs of someone else.”
Amy lowered her rifle.
“No, it’s not like that.”
“You don’t want to be here. You strike me as more of the fun-loving type. That leads to the inevitable question: What do you do for fun?”
Her eyes locked with his and a shiver went down the length of her spine.
Silas stepped forward. He licked his full, pink lips.
“You don’t want this; you have no part in it. Forget the battle outside. Forget the people scrambling over and around each other for two needless causes. Just focus on you and me. What do you say?”
Amy’s lip quivered. The laser rifle dropped from her grasp. Silas, no less than three inches from her supple breasts, smiled. He spoke, his voice deep and gravelly.
“Wanna have some fun?”

Rich was fighting several enemy soldiers when he caught sight of Steve. Dispatching two with powerful swings of his fists, Richard tore the rifle out of the hands of the remaining third and, turning the weapon’s dial to stun, shot the goon in the stomach, knocking him out. He ran to Steve and pulled him to his feet.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s a bit of a long and interesting story,” Steve began.
“I’ll take the abbreviated version, if you please.”
“Well, Silas lit me on fire and would have sliced me up had Amy not showed up and scared him off. She then took of after him. Kind of a rash move, if you ask me.”
Richard let go of Steve, who promptly collapsed again. He rubbed his brow worriedly.
“This is not good, Steve.” Rich said. “She’s gonna get hurt.”
“That’s what I told her. I said, ‘Wait, Amy, he’s too dangerous.’ But would she listen? No! Well, makes sense I suppose. Women are only a third as smart as men.”
“Steve!”
“What? It’s science.”
“No, I need to go after Amy. I need to save her. You need to go get Tony and Andrew and find us. I have a feeling I’ll need back up.”
And with that, Richard took off.
Steve raised a feeble hand.
“No, Rich, not by yourself! He’s too dangerous!”
But Richard was already long gone.
“Damn,” said Steve dejectedly. “I’m really not good at that.”

Tony was battering and slashing a deathbot alongside Pawel, EJ, and Marissa. The heroes fought with courage and intensity, but to little avail. The robotic beast was invulnerable to their attacks.
Steve ran up and tapped Tony on the shoulder.
“What is it, Steve?” Tony asked, dodging a blow from one of the deathbots heavy arms. “I’m a bit busy.”
“Rich needs our help. He’s fighting Silas to save Amy.”
Tony stopped fighting. “Rich? Trouble? Amy? Needs saving? Silas?” He practically spat the last word. It was plain to see he was dying for a rematch.
“Let’s go!”

Tony and Steve came upon Andrew’s sprawled form. They rushed forward, dismay on their faces. Andrew lay on his back, the knife from Silas still sticking upward out of his stomach. He wasn’t moving.
“Damnit! No!” Steve yelled.
“This can’t be!” Tony cried.
Both boys knelt near Andrew, both on the verge of tears.
Steve shook his lanky friend.“Wake up, you bastard! Don’t let it end like this!” He began to cry.
Tony sat in stony silence to the side.
Suddenly, Andrew sat up.
Both Steve and Tony screamed and leaped into each other’s arms.
Andrew examined his wound. He pulled the knife out of his stomach without flinching and threw it aside. He then rolled up his orange spandex combat suit.
“Aww, man,” he cried, pulling out several crumbled items from inside the shirt.
“That jerk punctured my Capri Sun and broke it spilled all over my Combos! Then he twisted the freakin’ blade and broke all those delicious little pretzels to pieces! Damnit! It’s all just a paste now. Well, no choice but to eat it.”
Andrew sat gobbling up the juice-soaked pretzel mush with a look of delight on his face.
Tony and Steve found speech.
“You jerk!” Tony shouted.
“We thought you were dead!”
“Yeah, where do you get off hidin’ food under your combat suit!?”
Andrew glanced up at them.
“Jeez, you chicken fries need to get a grip.”
Steve and Tony roughly hauled Andrew to his feet. Only concern for Richard and Amy kept them from beating him severely. They dragged their lanky friend, who was still eating the pretzel mush, toward Amy and Richard’s last known location, explaining the mission on the way.