Partners In Crime

28 Say Uncle

Derick meticulously opened the back of the ambulance doors, relieved.
The four of them hid in various spaces inside the vehicle as it whooshed through the city with screaming sirens to its destination. And not once did nobody catch suspicion.
"The coast is clear," he told the others.
"It's about time!" Johnty leapt to his feet like a pogo stick. But he did it too fast and yelped in pain.
"Cramp!"
"Shhh!" Chelsea, who's jet-lagged, instructed.
"Cramp." the boy repeated, this time more softly.

The four of them got off briskly and were out of sight, grateful that the doors weren't locked.
Derick pulled out the map, with Ashleigh always sneaky peeking. She managed to get a glimpse of the back. It's been written on. But she couldn't make it out. As far as she's concerned it is all gibberish.

The boy gave her a nasty look before turning away.
"So where is the detonator? Assuming we're not already too late?"
"If we're too late wouldn't we all be blown sky high?" Johnty asked the girl.
"I'm new to this, okay? Cut me some slack!"
"Would you guys knock it off, already?" Chelsea snarled.
"Yeah." Derick closed the map. "Besides, I know where it is."
The rest stood at the edge of their seat, waiting for him to continue. But instead, he ran inside, causing the others to follow him.

They took the lift descending to the lower ground floor. From there they trekked into the underbelly of the hospital, running as they went under transparent ceilings that portrayed the surface dwellers going about their daily lives in the most tedious of ways. It was like being in an aquarium, especially with the light choice vanquishing some areas of darkness.

Then there it was, the detonator, standing menacingly in all its sleek golden glory. With it being perfectly blended into the background, it was sheer luck that made the children aware of its presence. It was the size of a box. It had a green dashboard with a password to gain access. Other than that unforeseen drawback, the kids are practically home-free.
"That was easy," Johnty said suspiciously.
Chelsea grimaced. "Too easy."

"Right you are." said a sinister voice. The kids stiffened, looking in all directions, their senses heightened one hundred and ten per cent.

A man emerged from the shadows. He was wearing his best suit, almost as if he arrived at a black-tie event. Hardly appropriately. Yet oddly endearing.
"Maurice." Derick scowled benevolently.

It wasn't possible. How did he get here so fast? The man clapped, almost as if he was condescendingly congratulating them.
"I gotta say, you put up a good fight. I thought you two were goners. And even though you made a real monkey out of me, I'm afraid this is the part where it all ends. I underestimated you once. I assure you it won't happen again."

The kids could do absolutely nothing, watching in horror and helplessness as Maurice punched in his pin.  A humming noise was made. It got louder and louder, all while the display board began counting down from 30.  They had 30 minutes.
"Now would be a good time to devise a plan!" Chelsa prompted Derick.

Maurice closed them in.

"I work too hard to allow my nephew of all people to stop me. He's a nobody! Somebody who doesn't even know why he exists! He's just a kid!" Maurice shouted the words.

"What do we do? What do we do!?" Johnty panicked.
"We have to neutralize the bomb," Derick said.
"Does that come before or after we get blown up?" Ashleigh remarked sharply. "The blonde took the box that had been hidden and placed it in her pocket.
"We have to deactivate it manually!"
"What? Like finding out the password? We have no time for that!"
"We could chuck it in the ocean?"
"That might work!" Derick exclaimed, remembering what had become of the aircraft earlier.
"Really?"

But Derick's mind is already made up. A plan is better than no plan at all. Besides, even if they wanted to, they couldn't argue about it.

Members of Maurice's cartel slowly emerged menacingly from the shadows, shotguns in their possessions.
The second the others acknowledged them, they knew what they had to do.
"Go!" Johnty shouted.
Gunshots fired. They went flying like birds. Deadly, malice and benevolent birds, cascading all around them. It became such an incoherent unorganized mess that it seemed they would fire at anything that moved, including their kind. And no one had it harder than Maurice, who was shot three times before ceasing entirely. But it happened so quickly that nobody paid close attention.