The Parks Escape

Andrew Parks' grandfather comes to warn him of an evil plot to have him killed. The only other problem? His grandfather's been dead for the last two years, or has he?

Somewhere in an undisclosed, underground facility, down a florescent lit, long stretch of metal corridor, two suit clad elderly men walked side by side in conversation.

"Is this really worth the risk?" One asked the other.

The latter looked to his friend - still walking.. "Yes. It's every bit worth it and more, and you know it is."

"It's just, you're vital to what we've been doing here. If something was to go wrong-"

"Ray, we're best friends; I'm asking you to have faith in me... Besides, I don't have a choice. It's already happened."

***

Eighteen year old Andrew Parks had in every which way lived an average life. He hadn't had many accomplishments to mention. His most glorious moment had come when he egged freshman Tommy Woodson from forty yards away while hanging out the passenger side window of his buddy's ride. His most courageous act came when he asked Serra Jenkins, the prettiest, most popular girl at school, to the prom; she had let him down easy. Had someone told him his life was all going to change at a knock at the door, that everything he had known and trusted in his world was about to transform, he would've called bullshit!

Andrew was in the middle of lunch, a bologna sandwich and a glass of milk, when there was a knock at the back door. He was tempted to ignore the rapping in hopes whoever it was would go away, or at least go around to the front for his mom to answer it. The knock sounded once more, a bit harder.

Andrew sighed, lightly tossing the sandwich to the plate before he slid out of his chair and moved to silence the knocking. He swung the door open and stood in shock. His eyes were unblinking at what he was seeing, and if his jaw could have dropped to the floor it would have. Staring back at him with the same golden brown eyes was his two-years dead "Grandpa?" The family resemblance was uncanny; it was like looking into a mirror at himself, sixty years from then..

"There isn't much time," his grandfather said quickly. "You're in grave danger."

Andrew arched a single brow and instantly thought he was dreaming.

"Within the next hour, six-thousand and twenty-two people across the country will be assassinated. You, if you don't listen very carefully, will be among them," his grandfather said matter-of-factly.

"Yeop, I'm dreaming," Andrew told himself once more.

"Brace yourself for what I'm about to tell you... Your father, he isn't who you think he is. Everything has been a lie; his family, the marriage, you, the all-nighters at work, the business trips, they're all lies, a veil to hide who he really is. He's a ruthless, heartless, trained killer, and he works for a secret group of powerful government officials; the men behind the curtain, whose immediate plan is to eliminate everyone that will pose a threat to their plans."

Every sentence the dead man finished was like a brick of confusion dropping on Andrew's head. "Luckily I'm dreaming," he reassured himself.

"I know what you're thinking, and no you aren't dreaming. We're running out of time. Here, if you want to live follow these instructions to a T." The old man grabbed Andrew's hand and shoved a perfectly folded, white piece of paper into it.

"Andy... who are you talking to?" the teen's mom asked from the kitchen entrance.

Andrew whirled around like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. Speechless, he glanced back to the door where his grandfather was now gone. "Had that all been a dream?" he wondered, and then looked down at the note in his hand that proved otherwise.

Closing the door, he looked back to his mom. "Um..." he gulped, trying to find the words to explain to her he had just spoken with her dead dad.

"What's the matter? You look like you just saw a ghost," his mom said, worried.

Andy avoided the question and looked down at the paper. He carefully unfolded it, reading the first line.

•DUCK!

"Huh..."

The window beside the back door shattered with the three bullets whizzing through it, striking his mother in the chest and sending her to the ground.

"Mom!" Andrew screamed, ducking. He scrambled to his mother's side, taking her in his arms. "Mom! The boy cried. "Oh, God no."

Her mouth was red, filled with blood. She tried speaking, but it came out as a cough, and she went completely still.

"Mom? Mom!" the boy screamed to her, tears in his eyes. There was no response; she was dead.

The old man's words resonated back to him. "If you want to live follow these instructions."

Andrew looked to the note.

• Pull yourself together. Armed men are about to storm the house.

• You have 30 seconds. Get to the basement.

He jumped to his feet. Staying low, he dodged out of the kitchen, past its entrance, and made for the basement door. Andrew practically ran through it on his way in, nearly stumbling as he scampered down the stairs. He was standing in the middle of the dimly lit basement when, from upstairs, he heard a loud crash. The front and back doors had been knocked down, and, like a thundering herd, a group of men rushed inside. "Move! Move! Move!" He could hear their shouting.

The teen's heart was racing, keeping pace with his mind. He glanced down, reading the next line.

• There's a switch under the work bench. It's located in the left corner, shaped like a nail. Flip it up.

Andrew moved hastily to follow the next instruction. He fingered around under the bench until he found what felt like a protruding nail. Flipping it up, he slowly backed away. The sound of gears turning emitted from the bench and shelves above it as they folded and slid over one another. In a moments time an entrance to a room a little larger than a walk-in closet was revealed. It was a mini armory, with a desktop computer at the back wall.

"No wonder Dad never wanted me down here," he thought, quickly entering the small room.

The next line read:

• Grab the Sig-Sauer p229 pistol.

"The which one?!" He looked frantically around at both adjacent walls, with rows upon rows of weaponry, and then back to the letter.

• The all black handgun, located on the second row from the top, on the right, third one closest to the entrance.

"Oh," Andrew thought, spotting the gun. He stuffed it into his pants before looking to the note's next line.

• To the computer. Password: 678900

The teen hurried to the computer's side. He gave the mouse a shake and the screen lit on, displaying a message box requesting a password. Andrew punched in the numbers, hit enter, and looked at the next instruction.

• RUN! The basement window.

"What?" He glanced from the note to the screen. It read: Self-Destruct in T-minus: 15...

14... 13...

"Oh, s**t!" Andy declared, whirling around and booking it out of the armory where he cut left for the basement window. He leapt onto an old hope chest positioned under his exit and forced the window open. Just as Andrew was pulling himself through the crawl space the basement door slammed down, with the armed men flooding in.

8... 7... 6...

Andy scrambled to his feet and took off, running away from the side of the house.

3... 2... 1...

The ground rocked as the whole house exploded. The blast sent Andrew flying forward, crashing into the fence that separated his yard and the neighbor's. The once two-story home was now nothing more than flaming frame work. Andy moaned as he pushed himself up slowly, but paused when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He turned where the back of the house had been, and rounding the yard was his father; a rifle, equipped with scope and silencer attachments, was in his hands.

Andrew didn't wait for his Dad to take aim. He bolted to his feet and dipped behind a nearby tree, escaping three shots that burrowed in it after him. Pressed back against the trunk, the teen breathed deeply trying to collect his voice. "Dad! It's me!" he screamed, almost in tears. The whole situation was overwhelming. It felt as if a relentless current was pulling him against his will, and he was helpless but to go along with its flow.

• Nothing you say will matter to him. Get to the main street and make for Kingston Blvd.

Andrew took a deep breath, pushed off the tree, and dashed for what had been the front of the house. Two silenced rounds zipped past him before a third tore into his upper arm, nearly spinning him completely around. He yelped in pain, instinctively grabbing the wound with his other arm's hand, but didn't stop. The boy kept running, across the drive way, onto the sidewalk, and down the street.

Andy didn't look back. Fear and adrenalin kept him going. The two pumped throughout his veins, pushing his body beyond its normal limits. He wasn't certain which was louder, his heart hitting his chest or his sneakers against the pavement.. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a vehicle fast approaching that he glanced behind him. It was his Dad, nearly hanging completely out the driver side window, one hand on the wheel, and the other on a pistol aiming for him.

The boy quickly turned to the note:

•The next house on the right. The door will be unlocked.

Andrew cut right immediately, eluding two bullets that ripped past him. He sprinted up the driveway and through the door, slamming it closed behind him. His eyes fell to the letter.

• Upstairs. The last door at the end of the hall.

Andy darted up the stairs, reaching the second floor where he rushed down the hall and more or less barreled his way through the door. He froze, his gaze wide.

"Andy? What hell are you doing here!"

"Uh... Sara?" the teen muttered, highly confused.

She marched over to him furiously. "I told you I'm not going to Prom with..." her words trailed off, and she stopped to stare at him. He was a wreck; his clothes charred, torn, and bloody in most places, his hair a mess, and his face smudged and sweaty. "What the hell happened to you... are you okay?"

"Uh..." Andrew glanced at the note.

• Kiss her. You'll never have another chance.

Taken aback, he read the line again and looked to Sara. "F- it." Andrew moved in, taking her in his arms, and before she could push him away he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Sara hesitated, but then embraced the moment, kissing him back. For a few blissful seconds everything else had washed away; it was just the two of them, somewhere else...

She pulled away slowly, looking at him long and deep. "Maybe, we can go to Prom after all..." Sara said, batting her eyes.

"Um..." Andrew began, but looked to the note for a reply.

• Don't even think about it. Her window. NOW!

"I'm sorry," he said, sighing, "I have to leave." He gently let her go, stepping away, and moving to the window, sliding it open.

"Andy, what's happening?" she breathed as he was climbing onto the ledge.

"I wish I knew," he said, giving her one last stare, and jumped.

Andrew landed with a grunt and a roll to his feet. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, and though the ache all through his body was starting to surface, he couldn't take his mind off the kiss.

• Make your way through the back of the houses to get to the other side of the neighborhood.

The teen huffed with reluctance before forcing his body to move. He ran towards Sara's fence and scaled it as fast and as best he could with one good arm. Andrew continued through each yard, overcoming every obstacle the various backyards had to offer; some with larger than normal fences, and others with the ever so popular guard dog. After several long, grueling, hard earned minutes, Andy jumped his last hedge and was at the other end of the neighborhood, its entrance not even a block away and just beyond that the Forest Circle Strip Mall.

Andrew doubled over, breathing heavily. The boy was exhausted and wanted to fall out, but instead looked to the letter.

• The gun! Pull back the slide, take off the safety, and fire it at the windshield.

"What?" He asked the note, but before he could get to the next line, where he expected to read his answer, his attention was drawn down the street to his Dad's car screeching around the corner. Andrew quickly went for the gun, pulling it from his pants. He struggled as he attempted to get back the slide, mostly due to him constantly glancing up to the speeding car that was heading right for him. Andy finally slid the slide back, flipped the safety off, and with two hands lifted the pistol up at the oncoming vehicle. He squeezed the trigger rapidly, firing wildly at the windshield until the clip was empty.

While only four of the twelve rounds that were fired struck their target, it was enough to send his Dad ducking behind the dashboard, taking the steering wheel with him. The car abruptly swerved off the road and right into a light pole with a loud crash.

Andrew dropped the gun, looking to the letter.

• Get to the Forest Circle Strip Mall parking lot.

The teen whirled around, taking off for the exit. His adrenaline had returned to him, churning his legs as he ran out of the neighborhood. Andy sprinted across the intersection, dodging a car on his way to a large patch of grass that separated the roads from the mall. He reached the parking lot and kept running toward where the majority of the cars were parked. Just then, a single, silenced gunshot hit his back left shoulder. Andrew cried out in pain as he stumbled forward, collapsing to the concrete.

Andy rolled over to see his Dad walking across the patch of grass, the gun now down by his side. He was coming to finish the job. The assassin stepped off the curb into the parking lot and continued walking for his son, his target. Andrew didn't move. He didn't even cry; he had given up. His father raised the pistol as he came within several feet and...

SPLAT!

A car came left and smacked into his Dad, sending him flying where he hit the ground rolling limp before lying lifeless, dead.

Andrew stared wide eyed and unblinking. The passenger side door opened, and a teen boy his age was looking down at him from the driver's side.

"GET IN!"

Andy glanced at the last line on the note.

• Trust him.

Andrew weakly got to his feet and climbed into the car, closing the door behind him.. "Who are you?"

"My names Raymond Garcia. Friends call me Ray," the other teen answered as he slammed his foot to the gas and sped off.

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea, but I'm afraid we'll be finding out soon enough," Ray replied, holding up a freshly unfolded white piece of paper with a list of instructions on it...

50 years later

The door at the end of the corridor slid open, and the two old friends entered a room filled with computers, screens, terminals, blinking buttons, and a single, white, coffin-looking bed at the center of it all. The two made it over to the middle of the room.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" one asked the other.

The other climbed into the bed and laid down. "Yes, Ray. Let's just get this over with."

His friend nodded and closed the top to the bed, locking it with several clasps. He walked over to the closest terminal where he entered a few keys. There was sudden flashing light from the top of the bed, and the other man was gone.

"Good luck, Andy."

***

The old man slowly walked up the back steps and gave the door a knock. No answer. He knocked once more, and the door swung open with young Andrew standing at it.

"Grandpa?"

"There isn't much time," he said quickly. "You're in grave danger."