Riders on the Storm

Chapter 2

Susan Lowe's Point of View

I woke up to a terrible pain in the side of my head and the sound of The Eagles playing at a low volume. I opened my eyes to find myself in the back of a moving Volkswagen van. I touched the side of my head and felt a bandage stretching all the way from my temple to my chin. My vision felt blurry at first, but soon cleared. I looked to see a dark complected man sitting beside me. 

"Ah," he said, "you're finally awake."

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"I'm Elijah Taylor," he replied, holding out his hand. "I'm one of the officers helping to retrieve your dad."

I shook his hand and groaned as the memory of the bar came flooding back. I had lost most of my memory after I had been knocked on the side of the head with the empty beer bottle, however. 

"Let me introduce you to everyone," he said turning around and looking over the seat. I slowly pulled myself up, struggling to do so. 

In front of me was an asian man looking back at me, giving me a welcoming smile.

"This is John Lee," Elijah said, "an officer helping us all the way from Korea."

John and I greeted each other. Beside John sat a man with dark hair and blue eyes, reading a book. He looked up from his book and smiled at me. 

"I'm Peter Johnson," he said with holding out his hand, he had a british accent.

"Peter Johnson?" I said with a laugh, "Are you kidding?"

"I get that a lot," he replied. "My parents hated children however had eight of them but gave them all terrible names."

"I see that," I said, "but it's also unique and that's good."

I was introduced to the rest of the men in the car. Jerome Wilson was an officer sent from France, Logan Brown was an american officer that worked in Boston, Michael Allen was an officer sent from Australia, and William Jones was an officer sent from Ireland. 

"And that's James Monroe," Taylor said, "who I've been told you already know. And lastly, Robert Smith, the driver up there, who I've been told that you're very familiar with."

I made eye contact with Robert through the rear view mirror. I gave him a nasty look and then flipped him a bird. 

"So," I said sinking back into my seat, "where are we going?"

"The cape," Elijah said, "we're stopping at the hotel first. Then we're going to a bar where the nazis are expected to be."

"Nazis?" I said jumping up from my seat.

"Yeah," Elijah replied, "the drug lords are nazis."

"Jesus," I said leaning back, "and why do I need to be a part of this? All that has happened is my dad was kidnapped by some drug dealers who happen to be nazis."

"Well, this is sort of a classified mission," Elijah said, "top secret. You can't tell anyone. It has been suspected that all of this could be the verge of another war...possible another world war. And us retrieving your father and taking out these guys decides whether that war starts or not."

"That's stupid," I replied, "it doesn't even seem realistic. Are you sure I'm not dreaming?"

"I'm sure," Elijah lit a smoke. 

"And again why am I need for this?"

"Well you're obviously probably going to be targeted by the nazis," Elijah replied.

"Why my father?"

"Just a coincidence that your father unknowingly supplied materials to drug lords who happened to be nazis with a lot of money and anything they would need to start a war. If we get your father back it angers them so we'll have to take the ones holding your father out too."

"This sounds terrible," I said, "but why can you leave my father?"

"If we don't take them out they'll spread," John said over the seat.

"I know I didn't witness some murder or something, but why can't I be put in some witness protection?" I asked.

"That's a really good question," John replied, "and we don't know. We have no idea why you're with us other than a target. Would you happen to know? Think deep down...do you have any special skills?"

My mind instantly went back to when I was ten. When I was nine, my mother passed away. After she passed away, my father completely changed. My dad had been a drill sergeant in the second world war. He was educated in combat. When I was ten he started training me in combat endlessly. Lessons would last from dawn until the middle of the night usually. Meals were always small out of fear of me gaining too much weight. I can remember most of my childhood being spent on a weighing scale and my father scolding me for being too fat. My self esteem was destroyed by him. I couldn't help the way I looked. I believed wasn't what they called fat. I just wasn't what they called skinny. It was just in my genes. But I knew now he was right. I knew I was ugly and fat, deserving of nothing. The only real boyfriend I've ever had was Robert's brother but it was right before he was drafted to Vietnam. He knew he was going to be drafted so he just wanted a girl that was easy and desperate probably. What happened between Robert and I was a different story. I loved my father though and we had really good times, just sometimes I felt like the bad times outweighed the good. After I turned eighteen I was able to get away from everything. As a result from the eight terrible years, I was highly skilled in combat. My father had ties in the government and it all made sense now that they were aware of how skilled I was and that's why I was a part of the mission. 

"I took a couple karate classes when I was a kid," I lied. 

"Hm," Elijah said, "then I have no idea why you're here, other than protection."

We soon arrived to a motel in the cape. I had noticed a bag in the back of the bus. Elijah told me it was the luggage the government had packed for me. The clothes in the bag were exactly my style and size, the government must have known a lot about me. I grabbed the bag and everyone else grabbed their luggage. Five rooms had been bought, two people in each. Unfortunately, it had been decided that Robert and I would share a room at each stop because "we knew each other the best" and both Robert and I hated that idea but we would have to make do. 

Robert and I entered the motel room. It had two twin beds, a television, a table, and a nightstand with a lamp. Michael followed behind us, holding a first aid kit.

"Let's clean up that nasty cut on your head," Michael said, setting the kit on the table. I sat down in the chair and removed the bandage. 

Michael put some type of liquid on a cloth and cleaned the cut. It burned pretty bad at first. After he was finished, he placed a new bandage on top of it.

"It should heal pretty quick," he said. "The cut isn't as long as we thought...I suppose some blood trickled down the side of your face. Get some rest, we'll meet up at the bar at around seven which is in a couple of hours." 

"Thank you," I said and Michael left the room. 

I stood up and sat down on my bed. Robert sat down at the table. A thick silence filled the air and lasted for a good thirty minutes. 

"You want a smoke?" he asked. 

"Sure," I replied. I stood up and sat across from him at the table. He hand me a cig. I pushed it in my mouth. He began to light it for me and I backed away. "I can light it myself."

He slid me the lighter. I lit the cigarette and took a puff.

"So what do you think about all of this," Robert asked lighting his cigarette.

"I don't know," I replied. "I think it's ridiculous. It would be better though if you weren't here."

"You know I think it's pretty immature that you're still upset with me," he said.

"It's hard for me to even look at you," I hissed.

"Look I'm sorry," he exclaimed. "I'm stupid, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Give me the necklace," I said crossing my arms.

"I haven't talked to the girl I gave it to in years," he replied.

"Then I'm pretty much going to hate you for the rest of my life."

"Fine with me."