"Before Dawn"

Chapter 17: Yorktown Cemetery

A half-a-mile east of the Yorktown Cemetery, Dawn drives her father's Ford Econoline van into the designated wood-line. Apparently, her father and Cat created a place to conceal the van some-time ago—just for her. When the location had been explained to her during her first official mission brief with her father and Cat, she was confused, and didn't think she'd find it. They had assured her that she would. And here she is.

She shuts off the engine and listens a moment. The night is quiet and still. The simple, first phase of her mission is complete.

The rest of the mission brief—she had sat in on them before when Martha sent them on a job—was like clockwork. All the gear she needs is hidden inside of the cargo area of the Econoline's hidden panels. Dawn, sporting a black long-sleeved shirt, black dickies with the legs tucked into black combat boots, heads to the back of the van to access the panels. All of her clothing had been pre-treated days ago by her father with ""No Burn"" flame retardant to include the ski-mask stuffed in her front pocket. All she needs now is the gear hidden in the rear of the van behind the panels.

She has to walk in between and around her father's maze-like rows and stacks of equipment to access the panels. The panels—an elaborate puzzle designed by her father—hides a multitude of hunting gear behind them. The gear suspended by hooks in plain view on the outer walls of the panel appear harmless to those not privy to hunting eye or even the novice hunter. Dawn has to move a spool of black cable to access her intended panel to get the pre-stowed gear for tonight.

Within seconds she has her daddy's shotty and checks to make sure the safety is on. She still can't believe he's loaning her the Shockwave. She checks the barrel and its already loaded with five rock salt shells. She scoops up the extra twenty and slides them in her right cargo pocket. She loops the shotgun across her body by the carrying strap and seeks out her next weapon. She grabs her .22, already secured in its ankle holster, and straps it around her left ankle. Next, she picks up a miniature can of black spray pain, a flask of Monster energy drink and slides both in her left cargo pocket. Of course, her wakizashis are there in their custom-made x-shaped scabbards, and she straps them over her back. She grabs the waist holster with the flare gun and puts it on. Lastly, she picks up a pair of light-weight, nylon gloves and puts them on.

Dawn imagines her father, cramped and miserable in the passenger-side seat of Cat's Celica parked somewhere a short distance away. He's a big man and he hates having to ride with little 'ol Jimbo in his little 'ol wheels. Her father had made her take the flare gun—just in case—to signal them to come saver her ass. She didn't plan on using it, though. She didn't want another dad-and-Cat-to-the-rescue situation like she had had with the imp-man. Sure, they had saved her ass but that is an isolated incident as far as Dawn is concerned. She still feels as though she has to redeem herself because she probably wouldn't get another shot at the imp-man. She's scared like shit right now, but like her father, Cat, and even Martha had told her, fear is to be expected—and used as a benefit. The plan is laid out, she's geared up, and ready to rock and roll.

Before Dawn steps out of the Econoline and checks her iPhone for the time. It's 10:15 p.m.. She figures since she's got her iPhone out she'd check for any return calls from Wesley's sorry-ass. Nothing. She had called him off-and-on throughout the day to no avail. She'd texted him and gotten the same results. Dawn was going to give it another shot but changed her mind and put her phone in her back pocket.

Screw him.

She walks along the wood-line staying close enough to duck back into the trees if need be. She doesn't expect to see any vehicles to come driving down the road thirty feet to her right, nor does she expect someone to be out and about on a nice little stroll.