The Rift

Chapter Thirty-Three: Wicked Intentions

After the meeting with Gustavo and Haley, I head out of the room with a feeling of relief. I no longer have to keep the existence of Haven a secret. I told the two of them almost everything about Haven, leaving out the fact that Lisbeth is alive.

I finally told Haley and Gustavo that Lauren is in fact my sister, and their reactions were as expected.

I agreed with Gustavo when he said that something must be done, and that's what I plan on doing tonight.

I head down the cold hallway of the factory and then proceed downstairs to the armory, where Jones is taking inventory of all our weapons.

When I walk inside, he is writing something down on a clipboard while standing in front of a row of ammunition boxes on the shelves. Jones looks up, sees me and says politely, "Oh, can I help you with something, Nathaniel?"

I shake my head, "No, just passing through. How's our artillery looking?"

Jones breathes, "Well, today we used almost an entire ammo clip and about 29 bullets from the handguns. We still have way more than enough to get by, though so today's usage isn't a big deal."

"What's that?", I then ask, pointing to a small stack of wide, rectangular devices sitting in the corner of the armory.

"Oh, you really don't wanna mess with those, man", Jones chuckles, slowly heading for the door.

"What are they?", I ask again.

Jones starts, "Those, my friend, are C4 explosives. Found 'em a long while back at some abandoned military camp. It's where we got most of our guns. But trust me, while they are small, they can kick serious ass."

"Have you seen it?"

"Yes, actually. Saw a one-handed dude with long hair blow himself to hell."

I raise my eyebrows at Jones's joke, realizing that he was talking about me. He breaks down in laughter, slapping his knees.

"I'm sorry, man", Jones wheezes, then reaches into his pocket and hands me a ring with one key attached to it, "Can you lock up once you're done in here?"

"Sure", I answer, taking the key. Jones walks out of the armory and disappears down the hall. I turn back towards the stack of C4, an empty and red colored backpack resting beside it.

And then I have a plan.

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Night has fallen.

I stare through the window of the main door to the factory, hearing only the crickets sing their nightly song. With the red-tinted revolver tucked in the back of my gray jacket and the red backpack in my hands, I walk outside and breathe in the fresh air.

I walk past a few homes, where families sit around in the candle-lit interiors.

One of these is a mobile home, where a sleepy-looking Peter leans on the doorway, dressed in a black Rolling Stones t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. I approach him and ask, "I guess you heard what happened?"

Peter nods his head, "Is Ashley okay?"

"She's going to live, yes. Did you know her?"

"A little, but I didn't talk to her much. Where are you going?"

I breathe deeply and answer, "I'm going to make things right."

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The headlights of the pickup truck barely help me with driving through the night. The red backpack and my revolver both sit in the passenger seat beside me.