Hunt
1: Commando
Luke didn’t feel like going back to
sleep. He just stared at his clock,
lying on one side while keeping his eyes locked on the big green numbers. 3:59 A.M., it read. If it could talk, it would probably demand
that he shut his eyes and get in a few more winks. Or maybe it would have reminded him that he’d
forgotten to turn off the alarm for school, and he’d better flip the switch if
he wanted to snooze his Saturday away.
But of course, he had plans. He wouldn’t snore through his weekend anytime
soon. In fact, if he wanted to make good
on his friends’ arrangements, he didn’t have much of a choice.
The clock ticked to 4 A.M. And with it came a sudden blast of radio
static -- the in-between tuning between stations that Luke had yet to fix. He slapped a hand against the top of the
clock and slid his thumb around, hoping to find the power switch. No luck.
With a groan, he hammered a palm against the clock’s face; the edge of
his finger managed to push the power button in.
Funny that he’d be so uncoordinated
after getting…well, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t gotten any sleep
last night. Maybe a few long blinks, but
he couldn’t remember blacking out. Well,
that didn’t matter; he could sleep another time. Right now, he had something to take care of.
Luke nodded to himself. Time to
head out. He felt tough thinking it,
but that feeling didn’t last as he rolled out of bed and fell face-first onto
the floor.
He climbed to his feet and rubbed
his head, hoping to shake the cobwebs from his muddled brown locks. He’d been lucky that no one was around to see
that -- and even luckier that his room was still charcoal-black -- but the
frustration still made his face heat up.
It went beyond just a pratfall, of course; his middle finger ran against
the cowlick near the front of his hair.
One of these days, he’d do something to take care of it…but not even
taking a chainsaw to it would keep it from growing back and casting him as a
five-foot-nine Alfalfa.
Whatever. Pretty soon, it won’t matter how I look,
Luke thought as he started shifting through his drawers. I’ve
just gotta take care of this thing, and then everything will go my way. He thrust his legs through a pair of
paint-speckled brown shorts, and threw on some old socks and sneakers. No
problem. No problem at all. He tugged a black and yellow jersey over
himself, ignoring the fact that the colors had faded -- or the fact that a team
called the “Warriors” probably wasn’t a big enough name to earn quality
merchandise.
Luke turned toward the door after
making sure his shoes were tied tight this time. My
stuff is in the garage. Just gotta grab
it, and then I’ll be on my way. He
ran a hand over his desk, and took hold of his cell phone. He crammed the scratched-up gadget into his
pocket -- and then, pulled it back out to check for messages. Sure enough, he had three new ones; each one
had come to him in the last ten minutes.
At 3:51: Don’t keep me waiting,
man!
At 3:53: This’ll be sweet!
At 3:54: I guess I have no choice…
Luke nodded and smiled, and felt an
urge to wipe a tear from his hazel eyes.
Of course, he hadn’t started crying; just reflexes from seeing them
agree to go all in. With those guys on my side, I bet we’ll have this done before the sun
rises, he thought as he started sneaking through the hallway. He moved as cautiously as he could; rolling
from toe to heel, toe to heel, as he crept across the carpet. He’d already taken some flak from his mom for
his earlier antics -- he didn’t want to see how angry she could get at four in
the morning.
He stood before the door to the
garage, thankful that his stealth mission hadn’t made Bowser break into one of
his barking fits. His eyes darted to the
door’s side -- was the alarm on? No, not
tonight; as the last one in bed that night, he made sure to leave it off so its
chirping wouldn’t wake up his family. So
he fumbled with the lock and wiggled the door open, sliding into the garage.
Maybe
I’d make a pretty good spy, Luke thought with a smile as he
moved between the wall and the family suburban.
If I can make it out the door
without waking that dog of ours up, I bet I can make it anywhere. He paused for a minute and shuddered. Nowhere
cold, though. I hate the cold.
He stood before the tool bench in
the corner. It didn’t take long for him
to find what he needed: a pair of heavy-duty brown gloves, almost as weighty as
his whole body put together. Hard to say how tough this’ll be, he
thought, slipping them on one at a time, but
whatever happens, I’ll be ready for it. He
rubbed his nose absent-mindedly. Maybe I’d make a good action hero, too.
But Luke cut his little daydream
short. He headed for the patio door,
only stopping to sling a tan backpack over his shoulder. His legs buckled for a bit as the weight
threw off his balance, but he quickly righted himself. As he did, he reached over his right shoulder
to wrap a hand around the item jutting out from the banded strap: a baseball
bat, its logos a bit scuffed and its metal surface carrying a few dents, but
otherwise solid and shining.
I’ve
got everything I need, Luke thought with one last nod. He unlocked the door and headed outside --
while making just enough noise to
send Bowser into a barking frenzy.
Luke didn’t bother sticking around
for long after that; he bolted through the backyard, with the sounds of canine
yaps and groaning parents trailing after him.
Across the lawn; over the fence; into the neighbor’s driveway, and
finally onto the sidewalk; his little panic attack gave him just the distance
he needed to clear the Fleming grounds.
He just had to hope that his parents wouldn’t get up and check his
room. They were much too savvy to fall
for the old “pillow under the sheets” trick -- and Luke was just dumb enough to
try it.
He let loose a sigh as he trekked
through the neighborhood, with the flickering street lamps guiding his
way. Well,
it’s not like I’d turn back anyway. The
guys are all counting on me. He
scratched at his hair and tilted his head, frowning just a bit. And
this whole thing was my idea anyway.
Wouldn’t look too good for me if I backed out.
He sighed, trying to get all the
willies out of his system; finding a bit of vigor, he nodded to himself. You’re
doing this for your friends, Luke. For
Two Sparrows.
Funny. Thinking things like that almost made him
sound like a hero.
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