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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 2571366" data-attributes="member: 63"><p><em>October 29, 2005</em></p><p><em>5:35 pm</em></p><p></p><p>The Greyhound bus follows far behind Terry and the others in Nathan’s pristine BMW. Supremely confident as a driver, Nathan presses just high enough above the speed limit to enjoy himself without attracting police attention. As John looks longingly out the window to the sky, and Scarpedin talks about his biker gang back in New Mexico, Nathan sets the satellite radio to an appropriately bluesy-station.</p><p></p><p> </p><p><em>“When I look over my shoulder,</em></p><p><em>“What do you think I see?</em></p><p><em>“Some other cat looking over</em></p><p><em>“His shoulder right at me.”</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“And it’s strange, surely strange.”</em></p><p style="margin-left: 20px">- Dr. John, <em>Season of the Witch</em></p><p></p><p> </p><p>From the passenger side of the back seat, Scarpedin says, “Change the station, man. Put on something cool.”</p><p></p><p>“Hey,” Terry says, “leave it on. Don’t you like the blues, Scarpedin?”</p><p></p><p>The stare Terry receives looks like Scarpedin thinks he’s speaking in a different language. After a moment, Scarpedin shakes his head and says, “No man. I listen to rock. Metal. Drums. Hip-hop.”</p><p></p><p>Terry smiles wistfully. “I grew up in Chicago. Tons of blues there. I never appreciated it until I lived in England. Maybe I’ll get a chance to hear some live bands in New Orleans.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan asks, “That why you’re going to New Orleans?”</p><p></p><p>Terry tenses suddenly, then shakes his head. He whispers, “No.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan glances to Belladonna in the passenger seat. When she shifts and says nothing, Nathan looks to the rearview mirror at John for an explanation.</p><p></p><p>John frowns. “Somebody’s after him.”</p><p></p><p>“Why?” Nathan asks.</p><p></p><p>Terry hesitates. “Lin . . . my girlfriend Lin. . . . Someone shot her, and now they’re after me. I don’t know why.”</p><p></p><p>“My God man.” Nathan’s composure slips for a moment, but he focuses on the road. Everyone waits for Terry to say something, and when he doesn’t, Nathan clears his throat. </p><p></p><p>“I, um . . . need to get gas.”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>In 1901, the Bureau for the Management of Magicks was founded simultaneously in England and the United States. It quickly gained significant power and grudging respect among the races living on Gaia, and its influence even extended to parts of Terra. The Bureau’s mandate is to maintain the secrecy of magic from the eyes of the common human of Terra, and to police any crimes commited with magic or by magical creatures. As far as the average magic-user knows, they are strict but not malevolent. No government officially recognizes them, but it seems impossible that their existence is unknown. They wield power through obscurity. No one knows quite what the Bureau is capable of, and so few are willing to cross them.</p><p></p><p>In the United States, the three main offices of the Bureau are in the locations with the greatest concentration of supernatural disturbances – Salem, Savannah, and New Orleans. </p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>It’s a hot Texas evening, and the sun is setting while Nathan fuels his car at an Exxon. Terry leans against the hood, and the others listen to his story. John paces with a cigarette, suckin the dry air through his teeth along with the smoke. Belladonna stands next to the passenger door, listening with a strange expression on her face. And Scarpedin scrapes the bugs off the BMW’s windshield.</p><p></p><p>“Lin and I, we met in France.”</p><p></p><p>Terry pulls out his wallet and meekly shows them all a photo of the two of them. She looks half-Chinese, and Scarpedin can’t decide what actress she looks like.</p><p></p><p>“She was a family friend of my teacher, Russell. Russell Vanderschmidt. He’s, um, he’s just a teacher of magic in England. Introduced me to Lin, and when I passed this exam I had, a big thing, sorta like graduation, Russell paid for me and Lin to take a vacation back to the states. We were supposed to go through all fifty states. We only got to Alaska.</p><p></p><p>“We were out hiking outside of Fairbanks, climbing a little forested hill. I was holding her in my left arm, when . . . it just happened. No warning. I didn’t even recognize the gunshot until after she was dead. It was like . . . like there was a sniper. He shot her,” he points to his right temple, “right here. The shot pulled her out of my arm, and she fell, and there was blood, and-”</p><p></p><p>“It’s alright man,” Scarpedin says. “Um, c’mon Terry, you don’t have to say all that.”</p><p></p><p>Terry straightens and looks at Scarpedin for a moment. “No. I guess I want to tell someone. I need to get it out.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan nods, and his voice is soft. “I hear that’s the best thing to do.”</p><p></p><p>John rolls his eyes and looks away.</p><p></p><p>“I bent down,” Terry says, “and she wasn’t moving. Then there was another gunshot, and I got hit in my leg, here.” He points at his right thigh. “I panicked. I didn’t want to leave Lin, but I knew I had to get out. So I went to Gaia. It was just instinct.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan leans forward in curiosity, but Scarpedin waves his question off. “Terra, Gaia. We’ll explain it later man.”</p><p></p><p>“After that,” Terry says, “I was able to heal myself and struggle through the wilderness on Gaia until I was pretty sure I was back in Fairbanks. I caught the first flight I could. I’d never had to deal with the Bureau before, but I. . . . The way I figured it, they were there either for me or Lin, so either way they probably know my connection to Russell. The closest main Bureau office is in New Orleans, so that’s where I headed.</p><p></p><p>“I was smart, y’know? I charmed the teller at the airport to sell me a ticket without ID, so I was able to use a fake name. I don’t know how they could have known where I was going, but then there was the bomb threat in Dallas, and all the planes were grounded.”</p><p></p><p>John shrugs. “You’ve got magic. They’ve got magic. Couldn’t they have just used magic to find you?”</p><p></p><p>“I guess so. I still have been lucky, though. I ran into you guys.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan pulls out the pump and puts on his gas cap. “I know this probably is the wrong time to start asking questions,” he glances at Scarpedin warily, “but what are ‘Terra,’ ‘Gaia,’ and ‘the Bureau’? And what’s this talk about magic?”</p><p></p><p>Terry chuckles. “You claim to have visions, but you don’t believe in magic?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course not,” Nathan says. “I’m psychic.”</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>The next two hours of the car trip are a little awkward as Terry answers more of the group’s questions about Gaia, the Bureau, and the nature of magic, helping them know what to expect. The Bureau helped encourage the men in black myths over the past few decades, though from what Terry’s heard they’re more like the ones in the Will Smith movie than the one in <em>The X-Files</em>.</p><p></p><p>John seems increasingly disturbed as he hears more about the Bureau. He won’t explain why, but he clearly doesn’t like the idea of a secret organization having power and not being beholden to others. Terry shrugs and says that people on Gaia deal with the Bureau because they have to; he never really was interested in their procedures, though his mentor Russell was. Russell was very politically-minded.</p><p></p><p>Belladonna wants to know why her nana, a voodoo priest who obviously should know about Gaia, had never told her all this before.</p><p></p><p>Terry answers, “Just because you can do magic doesn’t mean you know why. Most humans need to bond with a ghost to use magic, but even if you can talk to spirits, it’s been a thousand years since there were many magi on Terra. Plus, once you find out, the Bureau inevitably gets involved in your life. I was lucky. Russell was on good terms with the Bureau, so he was able to keep most of his students away from their prying. Your nana, though, she might just have wanted you not to have to worry.”</p><p></p><p>Belladonna smirks. “I’ll have to talk to my daddy about that.”</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin wants to know about monsters, and about King Arthur. Terry has to disappoint him on both accounts, since he’s never seen a ‘monster’ before, and the closest thing to King Arthur he knows about are the ‘Knights of the Round.’ They’re sort of a terrorist group who hate non-humans and want to keep humans on Terra and magical races on Gaia.</p><p></p><p>“Maybe they’re the ones who want you dead,” Nathan says. “Hey, are any of you ladies and blokes feeling hungry? This is our last chance to get authentic Texan cuisine.”</p><p></p><p>The group decides to give it a go, stopping at a steakhouse in Beaumont, TX. Nathan becomes the topic of conversation, but he is modest almost to the point of mystery. Again Scarpedin posits that Nathan might be a man in black, but no one else thinks that’s likely.</p><p></p><p>After a fine dinner (though John ate little, only enough to be polite), the group is heading back to the car, and in the parking lot Scarpedin challenges Terry.</p><p></p><p>“Okay man, so enough about the Bureau. What about you? What can you do? Can you hurl lightning bolts?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Terry says. “I explained this before. Combat magic is illegal to teach in England.”</p><p></p><p>“Terry,” Scarpedin laughs, “I knew you were a thug at heart. So c’mon, can you hurl cars like Magneto?”</p><p></p><p>“Um . . . yeah,” Terry says, sounding surprised. “I actually probably could if I tried. But it would exhaust me.”</p><p></p><p>“Good, good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”</p><p></p><p>Belladonna and Nathan are already at the car, but they have to wait for John to finish his cigarette before they can go.</p><p></p><p>“Can you fly?”</p><p></p><p>“No.”</p><p></p><p>“Turn invisible?”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, I think so.”</p><p></p><p>“Summon a demon?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Terry says, “but I could make an illusion of Godzilla eating the moon if I wanted.”</p><p></p><p>“Cool. Show me!”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe after I’ve had a chance to rest. I wore myself out today.”</p><p></p><p>“Can you make women sleep with you?” Scarpedin asks.</p><p></p><p>“Um, my girlfriend was just assassinated two days ago? What the hell are you thinking, man?”</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin shrugs. “Sorry man, sorry. But we should go have some fun, man. We’re going to New Orleans, Terry. Think of the times we could have there with magic.”</p><p></p><p>Terry sighs and looks at the car. The burly, sword-wielding biker seems to mean well, but Terry’s starting to get irritated his with overbearing attitude.</p><p></p><p>“Not b*tch,” Terry says.</p><p></p><p>Belladonna frowns, “I wish you’d stop with the vulgarity. I am a lady, after all.”</p><p></p><p>John chuckles. “Yeah. Right.”</p><p></p><p>He stamps out his cigarette and starts to get into the car. “Nathan, we ready to go?”</p><p></p><p>Nathan starts to nod, but then the world fades away. The parking lot pavement cracks and water floods up through rifts in the ground. A vicious wind sweeps across him, and he looks back out beyond the shore at the tiny rowboat. The bottom of the boat is filled with blood-stained water, and the seas are choppy. Beyond the rowboat, faded in the sea mist, is a beacon of light from a lantern, swiftly catching up with the rowboat.</p><p></p><p>Nathan flicks on the headlights of his car, illuminating the rowboat. John, Robert, and Scarpedin are there, but Belladonna and Ian are missing. The rowboat is nearly to shore, and Nathan tosses out a rope to help them pull themselves in.</p><p></p><p>“What happened?” he shouts.</p><p></p><p>“We’re being followed,” John says. He tucks one of Belladonna’s revolvers into his pant pocket, then grabs the rope and wraps it around the gunwale.</p><p></p><p>“By whom?” Nathan says, tugging on the rope. The rowboat lurches ashore, waves of the North Sea dash Nathan’s shoes with salt water.</p><p></p><p>“The hell if I know,” Robert says. “It killed Belladonna.”</p><p></p><p>“They’re right behind us man,” Scarpedin says, pointing.</p><p></p><p>All Nathan can make out is another ship, a hooded figure at its prow holding a staff with a golden lantern on the end. It’s coming in fast, and will reach shore in less than a minute.</p><p></p><p>“Quickly, quickly,” Nathan says.</p><p></p><p>The four of them pile into the car, and Nathan guns it in reverse up the hill, then spins and shifts into drive to reach the dirt road that led them here. All they have to do is reach the bridge, and they’ll be safe.</p><p></p><p>“Did you get what you were looking for?” Nathan asks. He’s not sure why, but he has a bitter edge in his voice.</p><p></p><p>“Yeah,” Robert says, “we got it. And now the motherf*cker’s dead.”</p><p></p><p>“Just drive,” John says.</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin is looking out the rear window. “Screw ‘drive.’ Let’s run like hell, man.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan nods gravely and glances in the review mirror. The sun is rising. They don’t have much time left.</p><p></p><p>Ahead, he sees the bridge, and on the bridge is . . . a Greyhound bus? It’s a pile of burning wreckage, with charred bodies strewn around it. And this bridge, it’s not the one they want. This bridge is in Texas.</p><p></p><p>The vision ends and Nathan finds himself slumped on the parking lot pavement next to his BMW. John is shaking him. He sits up suddenly, his clear.</p><p></p><p>“You passed out,” John says.</p><p></p><p>“No, no,” Nathan smiles. “I had a vision.”</p><p></p><p>He stands up and dusts himself off like it’s perfectly normal for people to collapse outside steak houses.</p><p></p><p>“What’d you see?” Terry asks.</p><p></p><p>“John, and Scarpedin, and Robert were coming ashore in a boat off the North Sea, and John had one of Belladonna’s derringers, and Robert said Belladonna was dead. And there was someone named Ian that I thought should have been there, but he wasn't. And you were being chased by something. But that’s not important, because it’s not going to happen for a few months.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan ignores the stunned expressions from the rest of the group. The restaurant they’re at is right next to the interstate, and Nathan watches as a Greyhound bus drives right past them, heading toward Louisiana.</p><p></p><p>“There’s a bomb on the bus,” Nathan says. “And it’s going to blow up when the bus reaches the bridge to Louisiana.”</p><p></p><p>Nathan opens the door to his BMW and gets in. When the others hesitate, he sighs and gestures for them to follow.</p><p></p><p>“Come on. I can’t do this by myself.”</p><p></p><p>The others hesitantly get into the car, and Nathan pulls out of the parking lot, muttering. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t realize you’re heroes at all.”</p><p></p><p>He checks the GPS. It’s seventeen miles to Louisiana. He switches the CD changer to his driving music and speeds after the Greyhound, confident he’ll get there in time. His visions never steer him wrong.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 2571366, member: 63"] [i]October 29, 2005 5:35 pm[/i] The Greyhound bus follows far behind Terry and the others in Nathan’s pristine BMW. Supremely confident as a driver, Nathan presses just high enough above the speed limit to enjoy himself without attracting police attention. As John looks longingly out the window to the sky, and Scarpedin talks about his biker gang back in New Mexico, Nathan sets the satellite radio to an appropriately bluesy-station. [i]“When I look over my shoulder, “What do you think I see? “Some other cat looking over “His shoulder right at me.” “And it’s strange, surely strange.”[/i] [indent]- Dr. John, [i]Season of the Witch[/i][/indent] From the passenger side of the back seat, Scarpedin says, “Change the station, man. Put on something cool.” “Hey,” Terry says, “leave it on. Don’t you like the blues, Scarpedin?” The stare Terry receives looks like Scarpedin thinks he’s speaking in a different language. After a moment, Scarpedin shakes his head and says, “No man. I listen to rock. Metal. Drums. Hip-hop.” Terry smiles wistfully. “I grew up in Chicago. Tons of blues there. I never appreciated it until I lived in England. Maybe I’ll get a chance to hear some live bands in New Orleans.” Nathan asks, “That why you’re going to New Orleans?” Terry tenses suddenly, then shakes his head. He whispers, “No.” Nathan glances to Belladonna in the passenger seat. When she shifts and says nothing, Nathan looks to the rearview mirror at John for an explanation. John frowns. “Somebody’s after him.” “Why?” Nathan asks. Terry hesitates. “Lin . . . my girlfriend Lin. . . . Someone shot her, and now they’re after me. I don’t know why.” “My God man.” Nathan’s composure slips for a moment, but he focuses on the road. Everyone waits for Terry to say something, and when he doesn’t, Nathan clears his throat. “I, um . . . need to get gas.” [center]* * *[/center] In 1901, the Bureau for the Management of Magicks was founded simultaneously in England and the United States. It quickly gained significant power and grudging respect among the races living on Gaia, and its influence even extended to parts of Terra. The Bureau’s mandate is to maintain the secrecy of magic from the eyes of the common human of Terra, and to police any crimes commited with magic or by magical creatures. As far as the average magic-user knows, they are strict but not malevolent. No government officially recognizes them, but it seems impossible that their existence is unknown. They wield power through obscurity. No one knows quite what the Bureau is capable of, and so few are willing to cross them. In the United States, the three main offices of the Bureau are in the locations with the greatest concentration of supernatural disturbances – Salem, Savannah, and New Orleans. [center]* * *[/center] It’s a hot Texas evening, and the sun is setting while Nathan fuels his car at an Exxon. Terry leans against the hood, and the others listen to his story. John paces with a cigarette, suckin the dry air through his teeth along with the smoke. Belladonna stands next to the passenger door, listening with a strange expression on her face. And Scarpedin scrapes the bugs off the BMW’s windshield. “Lin and I, we met in France.” Terry pulls out his wallet and meekly shows them all a photo of the two of them. She looks half-Chinese, and Scarpedin can’t decide what actress she looks like. “She was a family friend of my teacher, Russell. Russell Vanderschmidt. He’s, um, he’s just a teacher of magic in England. Introduced me to Lin, and when I passed this exam I had, a big thing, sorta like graduation, Russell paid for me and Lin to take a vacation back to the states. We were supposed to go through all fifty states. We only got to Alaska. “We were out hiking outside of Fairbanks, climbing a little forested hill. I was holding her in my left arm, when . . . it just happened. No warning. I didn’t even recognize the gunshot until after she was dead. It was like . . . like there was a sniper. He shot her,” he points to his right temple, “right here. The shot pulled her out of my arm, and she fell, and there was blood, and-” “It’s alright man,” Scarpedin says. “Um, c’mon Terry, you don’t have to say all that.” Terry straightens and looks at Scarpedin for a moment. “No. I guess I want to tell someone. I need to get it out.” Nathan nods, and his voice is soft. “I hear that’s the best thing to do.” John rolls his eyes and looks away. “I bent down,” Terry says, “and she wasn’t moving. Then there was another gunshot, and I got hit in my leg, here.” He points at his right thigh. “I panicked. I didn’t want to leave Lin, but I knew I had to get out. So I went to Gaia. It was just instinct.” Nathan leans forward in curiosity, but Scarpedin waves his question off. “Terra, Gaia. We’ll explain it later man.” “After that,” Terry says, “I was able to heal myself and struggle through the wilderness on Gaia until I was pretty sure I was back in Fairbanks. I caught the first flight I could. I’d never had to deal with the Bureau before, but I. . . . The way I figured it, they were there either for me or Lin, so either way they probably know my connection to Russell. The closest main Bureau office is in New Orleans, so that’s where I headed. “I was smart, y’know? I charmed the teller at the airport to sell me a ticket without ID, so I was able to use a fake name. I don’t know how they could have known where I was going, but then there was the bomb threat in Dallas, and all the planes were grounded.” John shrugs. “You’ve got magic. They’ve got magic. Couldn’t they have just used magic to find you?” “I guess so. I still have been lucky, though. I ran into you guys.” Nathan pulls out the pump and puts on his gas cap. “I know this probably is the wrong time to start asking questions,” he glances at Scarpedin warily, “but what are ‘Terra,’ ‘Gaia,’ and ‘the Bureau’? And what’s this talk about magic?” Terry chuckles. “You claim to have visions, but you don’t believe in magic?” “Of course not,” Nathan says. “I’m psychic.” [center]* * *[/center] The next two hours of the car trip are a little awkward as Terry answers more of the group’s questions about Gaia, the Bureau, and the nature of magic, helping them know what to expect. The Bureau helped encourage the men in black myths over the past few decades, though from what Terry’s heard they’re more like the ones in the Will Smith movie than the one in [i]The X-Files[/i]. John seems increasingly disturbed as he hears more about the Bureau. He won’t explain why, but he clearly doesn’t like the idea of a secret organization having power and not being beholden to others. Terry shrugs and says that people on Gaia deal with the Bureau because they have to; he never really was interested in their procedures, though his mentor Russell was. Russell was very politically-minded. Belladonna wants to know why her nana, a voodoo priest who obviously should know about Gaia, had never told her all this before. Terry answers, “Just because you can do magic doesn’t mean you know why. Most humans need to bond with a ghost to use magic, but even if you can talk to spirits, it’s been a thousand years since there were many magi on Terra. Plus, once you find out, the Bureau inevitably gets involved in your life. I was lucky. Russell was on good terms with the Bureau, so he was able to keep most of his students away from their prying. Your nana, though, she might just have wanted you not to have to worry.” Belladonna smirks. “I’ll have to talk to my daddy about that.” Scarpedin wants to know about monsters, and about King Arthur. Terry has to disappoint him on both accounts, since he’s never seen a ‘monster’ before, and the closest thing to King Arthur he knows about are the ‘Knights of the Round.’ They’re sort of a terrorist group who hate non-humans and want to keep humans on Terra and magical races on Gaia. “Maybe they’re the ones who want you dead,” Nathan says. “Hey, are any of you ladies and blokes feeling hungry? This is our last chance to get authentic Texan cuisine.” The group decides to give it a go, stopping at a steakhouse in Beaumont, TX. Nathan becomes the topic of conversation, but he is modest almost to the point of mystery. Again Scarpedin posits that Nathan might be a man in black, but no one else thinks that’s likely. After a fine dinner (though John ate little, only enough to be polite), the group is heading back to the car, and in the parking lot Scarpedin challenges Terry. “Okay man, so enough about the Bureau. What about you? What can you do? Can you hurl lightning bolts?” “No,” Terry says. “I explained this before. Combat magic is illegal to teach in England.” “Terry,” Scarpedin laughs, “I knew you were a thug at heart. So c’mon, can you hurl cars like Magneto?” “Um . . . yeah,” Terry says, sounding surprised. “I actually probably could if I tried. But it would exhaust me.” “Good, good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Belladonna and Nathan are already at the car, but they have to wait for John to finish his cigarette before they can go. “Can you fly?” “No.” “Turn invisible?” “Yeah, I think so.” “Summon a demon?” “No,” Terry says, “but I could make an illusion of Godzilla eating the moon if I wanted.” “Cool. Show me!” “Maybe after I’ve had a chance to rest. I wore myself out today.” “Can you make women sleep with you?” Scarpedin asks. “Um, my girlfriend was just assassinated two days ago? What the hell are you thinking, man?” Scarpedin shrugs. “Sorry man, sorry. But we should go have some fun, man. We’re going to New Orleans, Terry. Think of the times we could have there with magic.” Terry sighs and looks at the car. The burly, sword-wielding biker seems to mean well, but Terry’s starting to get irritated his with overbearing attitude. “Not b*tch,” Terry says. Belladonna frowns, “I wish you’d stop with the vulgarity. I am a lady, after all.” John chuckles. “Yeah. Right.” He stamps out his cigarette and starts to get into the car. “Nathan, we ready to go?” Nathan starts to nod, but then the world fades away. The parking lot pavement cracks and water floods up through rifts in the ground. A vicious wind sweeps across him, and he looks back out beyond the shore at the tiny rowboat. The bottom of the boat is filled with blood-stained water, and the seas are choppy. Beyond the rowboat, faded in the sea mist, is a beacon of light from a lantern, swiftly catching up with the rowboat. Nathan flicks on the headlights of his car, illuminating the rowboat. John, Robert, and Scarpedin are there, but Belladonna and Ian are missing. The rowboat is nearly to shore, and Nathan tosses out a rope to help them pull themselves in. “What happened?” he shouts. “We’re being followed,” John says. He tucks one of Belladonna’s revolvers into his pant pocket, then grabs the rope and wraps it around the gunwale. “By whom?” Nathan says, tugging on the rope. The rowboat lurches ashore, waves of the North Sea dash Nathan’s shoes with salt water. “The hell if I know,” Robert says. “It killed Belladonna.” “They’re right behind us man,” Scarpedin says, pointing. All Nathan can make out is another ship, a hooded figure at its prow holding a staff with a golden lantern on the end. It’s coming in fast, and will reach shore in less than a minute. “Quickly, quickly,” Nathan says. The four of them pile into the car, and Nathan guns it in reverse up the hill, then spins and shifts into drive to reach the dirt road that led them here. All they have to do is reach the bridge, and they’ll be safe. “Did you get what you were looking for?” Nathan asks. He’s not sure why, but he has a bitter edge in his voice. “Yeah,” Robert says, “we got it. And now the motherf*cker’s dead.” “Just drive,” John says. Scarpedin is looking out the rear window. “Screw ‘drive.’ Let’s run like hell, man.” Nathan nods gravely and glances in the review mirror. The sun is rising. They don’t have much time left. Ahead, he sees the bridge, and on the bridge is . . . a Greyhound bus? It’s a pile of burning wreckage, with charred bodies strewn around it. And this bridge, it’s not the one they want. This bridge is in Texas. The vision ends and Nathan finds himself slumped on the parking lot pavement next to his BMW. John is shaking him. He sits up suddenly, his clear. “You passed out,” John says. “No, no,” Nathan smiles. “I had a vision.” He stands up and dusts himself off like it’s perfectly normal for people to collapse outside steak houses. “What’d you see?” Terry asks. “John, and Scarpedin, and Robert were coming ashore in a boat off the North Sea, and John had one of Belladonna’s derringers, and Robert said Belladonna was dead. And there was someone named Ian that I thought should have been there, but he wasn't. And you were being chased by something. But that’s not important, because it’s not going to happen for a few months.” Nathan ignores the stunned expressions from the rest of the group. The restaurant they’re at is right next to the interstate, and Nathan watches as a Greyhound bus drives right past them, heading toward Louisiana. “There’s a bomb on the bus,” Nathan says. “And it’s going to blow up when the bus reaches the bridge to Louisiana.” Nathan opens the door to his BMW and gets in. When the others hesitate, he sighs and gestures for them to follow. “Come on. I can’t do this by myself.” The others hesitantly get into the car, and Nathan pulls out of the parking lot, muttering. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t realize you’re heroes at all.” He checks the GPS. It’s seventeen miles to Louisiana. He switches the CD changer to his driving music and speeds after the Greyhound, confident he’ll get there in time. His visions never steer him wrong. [/QUOTE]
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High Fantasy Modern Storyhour - The Long Road (updated December 7)
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