by Justin Bell
********
Sunlight slipped through the branches of trees above and settled on Strickland's eyes, struggling to open. The cool, smooth body of water rippled in the early morning breeze, which shook a few leaves. It was a deep moment of tranquility as yellow chutes cut through the thick brown foliage. It was cool, and his head felt a bit groggy. It only took seconds before he cleared the cobwebs away and walked over to the pile of weapons stacked up by a nearby tree. With a few yanks and pulls, the tactical vest came over his shoulders and fastened around his waist, weighing him down with the load of extra magazines that he had stuffed in the pockets and pouches. Then he dug out a black backpack that he had liberated from one of the unfortunate victims of the car wreck the previous day. If he folded the stock, he could slide the SCAR inside this pack, and the smaller machine gun fit neatly inside as well. Folding up the belts with the holsters, he slid those into the pack too, which filled out much of the rest of the space. First Strickland swung his coat over his shoulders making sure to conceal the vest, and then the backpack joined it. A thick blanket of trees above covered the pool itself, and the dirt parking lot in front of it. He didn't want someone to see him exiting the pool, especially since he'd have to navigate around a chain-link gate to do it. Lifting the speed bike from underneath the piles of leaves and sticks, he rolled it across the long parking lot, then out towards the road itself, perking his ears to make sure he couldn't hear anyone at this early morning. Even to his crystal-clear hearing, it was by all accounts a quiet and peaceful autumn morning. He slipped the black motorcycle helmet over his head and considered the best route to get back home.
