The Gas Station

The paper fluttered to the table, landing in the pool of lantern light like a declaration of war. Julian stared at it, his face draining of color until it was as pale as the moon overhead.

*Name: Julian Sterling.*
*Mother: Patricia Sterling.*
*Father: Arthur Vance.*

"No," Julian whispered, backing away from the table. "No, that's not true. My mother was..."

"Your mother was Arthur's secretary," Elena said, her voice soft but relentless. "She died in childbirth. Arthur didn't want the scandal, so he invented a car crash. And he let Patricia Sterling, his lawyer and his fixer, raise you as a ward of the estate."

"But she treated me like..." Julian trailed off. He looked at Arthur. "She treated me like a servant."

"Because she hated you," Arthur said, his voice raspy. "You were proof of her weakness. Proof that she let me use her."

Julian’s hand went to the gun in his pocket. Not the one he had taken from Halloway's man. A smaller one. A pearl-handled revolver.

Sterling's gun.

He had stolen it from her purse weeks ago.

"You knew," Julian said to Arthur. "You knew she was my mother. And you let her burn."

"She was a liability," Arthur said. "Just like you are now."

Halloway chuckled. "This is better than the polls," he said. "A family reunion in a graveyard."

He raised his gun again, aiming at Marcus.

"Enough talk. Give me the ledger."

"No," Julian said.

He stepped forward, putting himself between Halloway and the book.

"You're not getting it," Julian said. "None of you are."

"Step aside, son," Halloway warned.

"I'm not your son," Julian spat. "I'm nobody's son."

He looked at Elena.

"Take it," he said.

"Julian, no—"

"Take it and run!"

Julian raised his gun.

Halloway fired.

The shot was deafening in the enclosed space.

Julian jerked back, clutching his shoulder. But he didn't fall. He fired back.

His shot went wide, hitting the rusted machinery above Halloway's head.

Sparks showered down.

And then, something else.

Oil.

Old, congealed machine oil, leaking from a ruptured pipe. It hit the lantern on the table.

Whoosh.

A wall of fire erupted between the two sides of the table, separating the children from the fathers.

"Go!" Marcus shouted, grabbing Elena and Sarah.

They ran for the back exit, the only way out that wasn't blocked by fire or gunmen.

Behind them, Halloway was screaming orders. Arthur was laughing, a high, thin sound that bordered on madness.

They burst out into the night air, stumbling down the riverbank.

"Where's Julian?" Sarah cried, looking back at the burning mill.

"He stayed," Elena said, tears streaming down her face. "He stayed to hold them off."

A second explosion rocked the ground. The roof of the mill collapsed inward, sending a plume of sparks into the sky.

Elena stopped. She looked at the inferno.

Julian was gone.

But he had bought them time.

"The boat," Marcus said, pointing to a rotting pier jutting out into the river. "There's an old skiff. It might still run."

They ran to the pier. The boat was there, half-filled with water, the outboard motor rusted.

"Get in," Marcus said. He jumped in and started yanking the pull cord.

Elena pushed Sarah into the boat. She looked back at the woods.

Figures were emerging from the trees. Halloway's men.

They opened fire.

Bullets splashed into the water around the pier.

"Marcus!" Elena screamed.

The engine coughed. Sputtered. And died.

"It's flooded," Marcus cursed.

They were sitting ducks.

Elena looked at the ledger in her lap. It was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that could stop this.

She stood up in the boat.

"Hey!" she shouted at the gunmen. "I have it! I have the book!"

The shooting stopped.

A man stepped onto the pier. It was the hitman Julian had knocked out earlier. He had a bandage on his head and a fresh gun in his hand.

"Bring it here," he ordered.

Elena looked at Marcus. At Sarah.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She raised the ledger high above her head.

And she threw it.

Not at the man.

Into the river.

The heavy book splashed into the black water and sank immediately.

The hitman stared at the ripples. Then at Elena.

"You stupid bitch," he snarled.

He raised his gun.

But before he could fire, a spotlight blinded him.

A helicopter roared overhead, its rotor wash whipping the water into a frenzy.

A loudspeaker boomed.

*"This is the State Police. Drop your weapons!"*

Elena looked up.

It wasn't Halloway's helicopter.

It was painted with the logo of Channel 4 News.

And leaning out the side door, camera rolling, was the journalist.

She had brought backup.

The hitman cursed and ran back toward the woods.

Elena collapsed onto the bench seat, shaking.

It was over. The ledger was gone. The evidence was at the bottom of the river.

But the camera was rolling.

And the whole world was watching.