Black Arrow

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that my mouth was covered by someone else's. The second was that she was gorgeous.

"Oh, yeah!" I thought, followed quickly by "Wait a minute, who the hell is she?"

These pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the smell of smoke and the heavy, low-pitched crackling sound of a fire. A very large fire. By now, she had realized I was awake and dragged me to my feet.

"Come on," she said, pulling on one arm. I followed without resistance or even a backward glance at what could only be my burning house.

She led me to an old pick-up parked halfway down the block. It was as ugly as she was beautiful - rusted, paint flaking, tires balding, the works.

"Get in," she said.

"Hold on," I objected. "Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate the save, and I don't usually mind getting rides from-"

My objection was cut off sharply by the explosion of my now-former house.

"So, where are we going?" I asked hurriedly as I climbed into the truck.

She didn't say a word as we left the Denver suburbs; just headed first for the highway, and then out towards the mountains. While she stared intently at the road, I stared intently at her. She had a classic gymnast's or swimmer's body - slender, strong, and just enough curves to be interesting. Shoulder length red hair, and crystal blue eyes a man could drown in. Blue jeans about a size too small, a blue denim shirt not quite buttoned all the way, and a pair of authentic, kill-a-cockroach- in-a-corner cowboy boots. Clearly a native, God love her. I admit it, I'm a lech. Admit it? Hell, I revel in it. But my persistent, obvious leering had a purpose besides visual gratification. She hadn't said a word since we got in the truck, and I hate being ignored.

"What?!" she finally exclaimed after half an hour of constant staring.

"Good question. Here's a couple more - Who are you? Where are we going? Why did you pick me up? Pick one and answer, hon."

The diminutive reference didn't it well with her, I could tell. At the moment, I didn't much care. She glared, I smirked, and after a few seconds, she smiled. Damn, I'm good.

"Yeah, I suppose you deserve that much."

"Yeah, I suppose I do." Still sarcastic, but friendlier now. I'd get the story out of her yet.

She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply before speaking; collecting her thoughts, I guess. When she began, her voice had a hesitant, should-I-be-telling-him-this-? quality to it.

"OK. Chris, what do you know about Black Arrow?"

Double heart attack. How did she know my name? And what did *she* know about that defunct group of government agents? Excuse me, did I say agents? Sorry, I meant terrorists. American terrorists, but terrorists all the same. I thought it best to let the first slide for now, and finesse the second as best I could.

"Um... not much. Should I?" Shit, that was weak. I'm slipping.

"Damnit, Chris, don't fuck around with me!" She was pissed. "I know you were in towards the end, ok? So don't fucking lie to me!" She punctuated that with a backhand slap to my shoulder. Strong woman.

"Ow! Ok, ok. Black Arrow... CIA-backed thugs. Pardon me - "Agents Provocateur" Ran ops in Latin America, Africa, and the Middle East that I know of, probably elsewhere, up through '93 when we were disbanded. What's that got to do with me? The feds decide it's cheaper to blow up my house than pay my pension?"

Her face turned grim as she leaned over and popped open the glove compartment. She pulled out an envelope and pitched it into my lap. I opened it, removing the Polaroids inside. The showed the archetypal soldier - ramrod straight, strong features, honest eyes. The man I served under for five years.

"Jack Burke," I whispered to myself. "How did you-" Then I noticed the ring on her hand. Damn, I really am slipping. "Oh."

"Yeah. I'm Wendy, Jack's wife. Widow." A blind man could've seen the pain in her eyes, but they remained dry, and not a trace of that pain slipped into her voice. Strong woman.

"Oh, God. What happened?" I didn't even know he'd been married.

"We started seeing each other in '92, when he was on leave. Skiing in Aspen. Can you believe that?" I couldn't. Jack hated snow, hated skiing, and hated the type of people usually found at Aspen. Of course, with company like this, he might have made an exception. I would've. "For the next year, he'd stop in and see me whenever he had the chance. Then, when Arrow disbanded, he moved to Denver. After another year, we got married.

"A little over a year ago, Jack found two obituaries. Two former Arrows. "Died under unknown circumstances" it said. He was a little suspicious. He got real careful, took a lot of safety precautions. But after six or seven months passed and nothing happened, he let it go. Tony and Vince were always a little crazy, he said; they probably brought it on themselves." She was right - they were both crazy-gungho guys, but also very very good. Not many men or groups of men could've taken them out.

She stopped talking for a few minutes as we left the highway for mountain roads. By now I was lost; native though I am, I'm also a city boy. After apparently finding the road she wanted, she continued.

"About a month ago, I came home early from work. He was just sitting in the living room, on the floor, leaned up against the couch. He didn't say anything when I walked in, so I figured I'd wake him up. The body was cold when I touched it, like he'd been dead for hours. There wasn't a mark on him, no bruises, no cuts, nothing. Like he just...stopped. Sat down and died. Coroner said "heart failure", but Jack was in good shape" Unbelievable understatement - Jack could run most marathoners into the ground on his worst day. "and I was so damned paranoid after what had happened before...

"So I dug through some of his things - the stuff he didn't want me to see. He never talked about the Work" It was capitalized in her voice, and in my mind. "but he loved to talk about the guys, and I knew he had to have something about all of you. Sure enough, he had a whole list of old Arrows. Names, families, current addresses. Everything. I started trying to find as many as I could. Kind of a support group, you know?

"It didn't work out like I thought it would. Or maybe it did. Damn near everyone I tried to call was dead, Chris. All under "unknown circumstances" or due to "natural causes". It's like you're being hunted, eliminated."

"How many did you find?"

"What?"

"You said 'near everyone'. How many did you find?"

"Counting you?"

"Yeah."

"Four."

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped; I know my heart did. Four? Shit, there'd been at least twenty-five or so of us when I was in. We were tight, we were good. Who could take out twenty-one of us without us even knowing about it?

"Where are we going, Wendy?" I had to change subjects, fast.

"Cabin up in the mountains. It belongs to Jack's little brother, Paul. It's where we've all gotten together."

" 'We'?"

"Me, Paul, Dan, Jimmy, Ron, and Andy. And you, if you want."

"Hunt the hunters, is that the plan?"

"Pretty much." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, like picking up the paper in the morning. "You in?"

I wanted out of the Work. I didn't want to get shot at anymore. But damn, they blew up my fucking house, killed Jack and damn near everybody else; who knew what was next? Going to war suddenly seemed like the safest route to take.

"Yeah, I'm in," I said, wondering if this was what it was like to go insane.

Copyright © Lee Casebolt, 1996. This work may be transmitted electronically or by other means at will, provided there is no money involved.

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By Lee Casebolt.