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Chapter 29


    We landed on the ground, somewhere in upstate New York. Our parachutes were on the ground also by now, for we had ditched them as soon as we hit the ground. We knew Steven Abding had gone missing, but that was pretty much it.

    “Well, where can we find him?” I asked the boys.

    They exchanged a glance, and I felt a shrink of hop rise in me. They had worked for Jack.

    “Do you guys know where he is?” I asked again, more excited.

    “Well,” Chase hesitated, “We know where he was, but who knows where he could be now,” Chase finished.

    “Well, Vamos!” I cried excitedly.

    “Now we are talking in Spanish?” Billy asked, and him and Chase cracked up.

    “¿Por qué no? I answered, annoyed that they found this so funny.

    “Está bien,” Billy answered.

    We walked into a little town, and decided Spanish speakers were the best choice. There was a mini golf course, with a little ice cream place in front of it. We needed a break from this. A lot had happened with Hilton, and I was begging that it wasn’t going to be as hard killing Agent Abding.

    “Tres, Por favor,” I held up three fingers for the lady.

    She silently took the money I slid across the counter, and pointed to the balls, indicating that we pick a color.

    “Azul, por favor,” Billy and Chase said, simultaneously.

    She cocked her head, not understanding.

    “English please?” She looked at me.

    I shook my head like an idiot, and answered,

    “No comprendo.”

    She sighed in frustration, and went to the back room. A few seconds later she came out with crayons, and pointed to them. A small smirk was barely visible on her face, but she didn’t realize that she sounded like the idiot. Crayons? Really?

    We picked our color crayon out anyways, and she impatiently grabbed the balls in which they coordinated. Not that she was in a rush, for no one was behind us.

    “Gracias,” We thanked her, and moved on.

    After nine holes of insanely hard courses for mini golf, we sat down on the benches, licking our ice cream. I had a vanilla ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles, and it reminded me of childhood. I was even more depressed, when an old man muttered,

    “Teenagers,” under his breath as he passed us.

    Remorse filled me, when I thought back,

    We aren’t teenagers. What we are doing is the worst thing even an adult can do.

    But it didn’t stop me from doing what needed to be. And that was what drove me to throw out my cone, and bark,

    “Vamos!” To the boys, as we walked into the parking lot.

    We had no car, and we needed one. We did what we did best. We stole one.

    Speeding down the street, we felt a rush, a beautiful, high, rush, and wished we always felt like this. But killing someone seriously kills a buzz, and we were finally feeling the regret settling into our bones. And that was only the first person.

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