World War III: Smuggler's Run

Chapter 2: The Reason You're Alone

SCCHHRREEEEEECCCHHH!!! HIIISSSSSSSSS... The subway arrived at the terminal station at Logan International. Business travelers and everyday commuters entered and exited the train, some reading the newspaper while others hurried through with their suitcases of luggage. But among the crowd, a lone teenage city-slicker just walked to the entrance, surrounded by the usual traffic of pedestrians.

Passing through the air terminals and security check-ins, Roland walked outside to be welcomed yet again by the constant downpour. He didn't mind the rain. Getting drenched wasn't unusual for Roland, no matter what the element. It was as if he had adapted to it...

After managing to sneak onto the runway area, avoiding security and bystanders, Roland walked to a small garage on the edge of the airport. Covered behind barrels and cargo nets, it was pretty well hidden, perfect to not arouse suspicion. Opening the garage door, he peered inside to gaze at the Cessna 150, perfectly stashed within the garage.

"Hey girl..." Roland solemnly said to the small airplane, standing quietly near it. "A bit rusty, huh?" He said as he stoked the frame of the the propeller, which indeed had somewhat faded to a reddish-brown hue. "If only dad were here..."

Suddenly, Roland felt that something, or someone, was near him, approaching the garage. At first he passed it as another schizophrenic hallucination, but he wasn't risking any chances. He stood still, as if expecting for whatever was walking near to pass. He heard footsteps coming towards him. Clenching his hands to the frame of the plane, he stood absolutely still, shutting his eyes on the windshield of the plane.

Then, slowly out of the mist of the rain, a silhouette appeared in the reflection of the windshield. It wasn't a hallucination; the figure stood there loud and clear. Sporting a dark blue shirt and leather jacket,the person was quite tall, and looked to be around sixteen years old. Most striking of all,  he looked vaguely familiar, expect for his dark  brown hair and pernicious blue eyes. Out of the blue, two other figures appeared from the downpour, standing on either side of the teenager. 

"Hello..." The teen said cunningly. "...Orlando."

Roland open his eyes widely. Still trembling, he was even more shocked that teenager, who he had never seen or encountered before, suddenly knew his name. He slowly turned his head to face the three strangers standing at the garage door. 

"W-w-who are y-y-you?" stammered Roland. He felt a tiny spark in his mind shocked him, as if to warn him. 

"The reason you're alone." The teen wickedly replied.  

"W-w-w-what...?" Roland began to stammered, but the other two strangers quickly skimmed across the floor to him, tripping him over in the process. Falling face-first to the ground, the two strangers harshly grabbed his slim arms, tying them behind his back. 

"Wait, what are you-?!" Before he could even finish the sentence, one of the men pulled out a pistol and knock Roland on the back of the head with it. The last thing he heard before losing conscious was the teen commenting to the older strangers. 

"Nice work, guys. Let's fly!"

Inside the airport terminal, a slim thirty-year old man peered outside the foggy window of the departure lounge. Through the rain, he could clearly make out a large and wide freighter plane -- the same Lockheed C-141 that stirred the news lately -- taking off from the runway. 

"Damn it!" He muttered furiously. He ran over his thoughts and decided to check on his cargo down in the baggage-sorting section of the airport. Walking as cool and calmly as he could, he arrived at the cargo-transport station and retrieved his large package, careful not to arouse security. 

Thinking about how to catch-up with his co-workers, he walked across the cargo bay, until he spotted a small garage outside in the distance. Since he noticed the garage doors were wide open, he decided to check it out. To his relief, there was a small plane, functional and unattended. 

"Yes!" He exclaimed. He grabbed his cargo and stored it in the back seat of the plane. "Sorry." He buckled the seat-belts around the large package, just in case.  With no one in sight, he ignited the engine, the propeller sputtering at first, then gradually gained speed. 

"Here we go..." Grabbing ahold of the steering wheel, the shadder stepped on the pedal, motioning the plane towards the runway. Within a few minutes, he and his defenseless cargo departed from the prestigious East Coast city, and eastwards over the North Atlantic towards Europe and his friends.

Finally, another chapter done! Sorry that it took so long for me to update...    
MY UNIVERSITY IS HOLDING MY CREATIVITY HOSTAGE FOR ACADEMIC REASONS KNOWN AND UNKNOWN!!!  Anyway, make sure to comment, vote, and share!

-RLS