The End of the Killer
By Anonymous, Ann Arbor, MI
The JobThe Killer wore all white as he slowly crept closer to the small cabin. It was one of the worst snowstorms that had ever struck the small Alaskan town. The cabin was built twenty miles from the nearest form of civilization, and it was located in a secluded area of the woods. It was the perfect target.
The Killer had tackled the first nineteen miles from town on a silver Yamaha snowmobile, and had trekked the last snowy mile wearing snowshoes. Now, as The Killer slowly approached the cabin through the unrelenting snow, he took out his weapon.
The weapon was a long double-bladed machete. It was nearly brand new; it had only been used on one previous occasion and still had the glint of freshly polished steel.
As The Killer approached the North-facing side of the cabin, he immediately knew that something was not right. He had been told that there would be a man and a woman in the cabin, however through the glass he saw two men. The men were wearing suits, and they were pacing back and forth across the living room floor. Were they there to intercept him?
He crept around to the front area of the cabin, and looked for the green van that his targets were to be driving. There wasn’t a green van in sight. Instead, there was what seemed to be a black police-issue Chevrolet Tahoe SUV. Immediately The Killer realized that he was in trouble, but it was too late. Four identical SUVs came screaming down the driveway with countless red and blue lights flashing rapidly. They each skidded to a halt in the snow, and 14 men wearing suits rapidly exited the vehicles.
Stunned, The Killer desperately tried to scramble back into the cover of the woods, but the men quickly had him surrounded, screaming, “Get on the ground!”. The Killer still had the machete in his hand, and one agent screamed “Drop the weapon!”. But before The Killer could react, the men from inside the house quickly ran out of the doors and tackled him. His head hit the hard, snow-covered pavement, and he began to lose consciousness as he felt his hands being placed in handcuffs.
When The Killer finally came to, he was riding in the back of a police car. His hands weren’t handcuffed, but after discreetly trying the door handle he realized that he was locked in. There was a cage to protect the driver, and also to make sure that The Killer remained in the rear half of the car.
The car was small – a typical police Crown Victoria sedan. It appeared that The Killer was being transported somewhere. There was no snow on the roads around him, and there were no visible markings inside the car that identified any location. The Killer had no idea where he was being taken.
The driver of the police car was a young, uniformed patrol officer. In an attempt to get the driver talking, The Killer asked: “Where are we?”, but the driver didn’t respond; The Killer thought that maybe he had been ordered not to. After trying several more conversation starters, The Killer gave up. Staring out the window, he noticed that the car was speeding down an unidentifiable country road, without a destination in sight. Realizing that he had no control over his current situation, The Killer rested his head against the glass of the car window, and fell into a deep sleep as the car continued racing along the road.