A bump woke me up.

I was dreaming in green. 1980s green. 1980s web-surfing green.

There were women all around me. But not actual women. Just womanly spirits. Like how you can tell someone’s in a dream without seeing them.

But now I was back in Zeb-Rover. In between two nameless guards. They were both awake. They wouldn’t be caught sleeping in front of the king.

Day was already burning. It was hot. The windows were halfway down. The sound was incredible.

I remembered that we were on the run. They found us. This was it. They were on the trail.

The king stared at his phone. He seemed to be praying to it. Unsure of whether to use it to call for support or stay chill. Anything off that phone could go right into a headset into the Pentagon. The king had an army, but I was the Air Force.

Here’s an idiot. A dude holding a phone. Religiously. Thinking some god, some higher thing, will come down and change it. Change the electric machinery. It won’t. It can’t. It’s a perfect engine. Designed with hundreds of years and trillions of hours of perfection.

Since Turing. Since Galileo. Since the wheel.

And you think some God.

Some power will poke it,

Prod it in some mystical, algorithm and change the brains of that beast?

Good luck.

The phone was off. And there was a glare on it. I saw the king’s reflection, shining off the black mirror. His face was irate. His brows furrowed like fire. He looked like a Buddhist who was meditating. But not to be peaceful. Meditating for rage.

Outside all I could see were rocks, canyons, crappy little buildings, broken trucks, and the occasional tree. In a weird way, it felt like home to me. I’d gotten used to the scenery.

We cruised some arid mountains. I was shocked there wasn’t a bag over my head. The weather was hot, windy, and angry.

My eyes did something new. They darted to every gun in Zeb-Rover. I’d never thought to do that in Afkaz. There were so many new guards, I would lose track.

But now, up close, in the bitch seat, I felt a Glock handle poking my right hip. I didn’t feel one on my left, which meant both of these guards were left-handed. And I was sandwiched between them.

To my right, was the guard’s strong left hand.

To my left, was the other’s wimpy right hand.

I leaned to my left. Yup. Leftie had a pistol. On his left. I was correct. They were both left-handed.

They both had AKs. Well, Leftie did. Rightie had some weird knockoff I-want-an-AK-front-Uzi-butt Frankenstein of a gun. He did have a drum clip. He might have had over a thousand rounds in that thing.

But that’s what I could see. The driver had the same armor as the Backseat Gang. No right holster. Well, not that I could see. Wow, did the king have 3 left-handed bodyguards?

So Okay. 5, possibly 7 guns. And the King’s golden AK. THAT I GOT HIM!

8. 8 guns…

So the king had all these guns in the car.

That meant that I ALSO had all these guns in the car. He was holding one.

I wasn’t. But I could be. I was only handcuffed on the front. Their mistake, and my comfort. Most importantly, I had trigger fingers.

So all I had to do was get a gun.

We hit a bump. And hopped into the air. As we came down, the Glock-butt struck me hard in the hip. I winced. Then I gazed at the pistol. Rightie caught me looking, then I looked at him. Our eyes locked. For a jiffy I thought he could see my thoughts. Download my brain’s hard drive. See that I was gonna steal his gun.

He saw it and put his hand on the pistol. He gripped it.

There went my plan. So close and yet so far. He was going to move it. Going to grab it. Going to pick it up and blow a hole through my eye.

But he didn’t. He just flipped it up. The butt was sticking up now, between our legs. It was basically inviting me. Praise God.

Allahu Akbar. Shit, there’s the ticket.

Allahuu.

Akbar.

Rightie was stupid. He was acting like we were on the same team. I was still playing chess. Now the gun was closer than ever. He’d gotten lazy. It’s your funeral. I’m going out kicking and screaming.

All my life, I never understood why the Jews didn’t bite someone’s face off during the Holocaust. Like right as they were about to get shot, or pushed into a ditch. They were gonna eat it anyway. Leave a mark on that Nazi. Chew his eye off. Make sure he can’t look in a mirror and forget you existed. Don’t just take it. Earn it

Well Rightie, I’m not just gonna take it.

I was starting to see a plan. I could reach the gun, and safety.

It was a Glock. It had a safety. I didn’t know which way was which, though.

I couldn’t just grab it and shoot. I would need to test it.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

If the safety was off, I’d have to be pointing at the target. If it was on, I’d better hope my surprise was quicker than Rightie’s instinct. They might need me to get their money back, but I didn’t need legs to give them a password.

I figured I could reach and click down on the trigger. The gun was situated so perfectly up in the air. It might as well have been hanging off an Area 51 Arcade game. If it was live, the gun would shoot straight into Rightie’s thigh. He’d love that. Okay. Then, I would pull up and shoot him in his jaw.

And then from there, I’d swing the gun around. Zeyad and all that training we did that morning was fresh on my mind.

Leftie’s AK was pointed my way, bit its barrel was long. If I could get behind the barrel, I’d be in the clear. I could put the gun in Leftie’s face and… BAM.

Then. Killlllll the King?

And have an angry driver shoot me left-handed? No. Don’t be stupid.

Driver would have to go.

And then the king. Take his phone.

I knew that was my best option,… but why didn’t I want to do it?

Why should the king stay alive?

If I killed him, he’d be out of the game. There was a cell phone right there. If I turned it on, I could be live on satellite.

Or I could save him. Keep him alive. Maybe he’d get thrown in Guantanamo. Maybe they’d give him a trial, give him a lawyer. Give him a life sentence without parole, let him rot in jail. Write a few books. Become some kind of Cyber Ghandi.

No. Where were his prisoners? Where was their mercy? All his prisoners are blue light in the desert night.

He who lives by the sword.

I would kill the king. I would only hope that he’d be staring right at me while I pulled the trigger. I wanted to break those eyes of his. Burst them like bubbles. And I would laugh.

“Should I turn it on?” The king asked.

Everything stopped. It was English. He was asking me.

There was a long stretch of silence. The king knew I wanted to be rescued. He’d hoped he could trust me as an ally, but I wasn’t. I was a tool. I was his weapon.

And he knew that. He wasn’t asking. He was sizing up options.

This fucker played chess.

His life was chess.

Everything he did was weighed like a potato at a grocery store.

He didn’t want my advice to take it. He wanted to know if I thought turning it on would get us all killed.

Well I hope he didn’t forget that I play chess too.

I kept silent. I inhaled, staring into the king’s reflection. And then I realized he’d been staring at me the whole time. He’d seen everything. He saw my entire plan.

All of it. And he gave me the stare.

The stare a parent gives their child when they know bullshit is afoot.

He lifted one of his owl brows.

I coughed and muttered, “They can definitely find you.”.

The king hummed. He’d seen something in my eyes. I didn’t know what and I wasn’t sure he did, either, but he saw it. I didn’t have long.

The king kept his stare for a long time. I mean almost 10 minutes. I saw his eyes diverting. The scenery was changing. We had at least 20 miles of nothing but mountains in every direction.

I had to chill. I’d take advantage of this Area 51 handle stickin’ into the sky.

but I had to chill. I had to pick the right moment.

I had to meditate. I had to close my eyes and focus. I had to..

Slow.

I inhaled. I closed my eyes and saw black. I felt my body. I gave up control and just let it roll. I had to breathe in. I had to breathe out. And I had to just be. This might be it. Might be my last breaths. Might as well make sure they were peaceful. I wouldn’t go out angry. I would go out Hefty.

I counted down from Ten. I inhaled fully. I exhaled fully.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

I got down to one, and then to zero.

And then I felt a little peace. Just a little.

I was about to kill some men. And I would kill with a very relaxed pulse. Funny.

Well, Hefty, you’re a cyber terrorist.

Let’s make some history.

I smiled.

I slowly opened my eyes and took one more breath.

I looked around the Zeb-Rover. Everything was still. Nothing had changed. Nobody moved. It was just like it was before.

I inhaled and reached with my cuffs and put a hand on the gun. As soon as my finger slid into the trigger hole, I clutched. I had my left hand coming straight in to knock the safety around when the loudest pop erupted.

My ears went deaf as I pulled again.

Two shots into the thigh.

Rightie shot his head up into the air. He showed his teeth. He must have been screaming. I didn’t hear.

One shot into his jaw. My aim wasn’t as good as I imagined in my daydream. It was more like his throat.

There was a rustling on my left. Leftie was getting ideas. I turned around and got

Two shots into his head.

The car started to drift. The driver let his foot off the gas. La, la, la.

Two shots in the back of his head,

and then the king turned. As soon as he did, I pressed the gun right into his unibrow.

His golden AK was sitting in his lap. It was nice and small, but not small enough. In order to hit me, he would need to pull it in. Then scratch the ceiling, then twist the handle, then aim at me. I’d splatter him by then.

Check. That’s what I wanted to say. It would have been a little campy, though.

The truth was, we were holding loaded guns. Until that changed, I didn’t have the power. I just had a better hand in a Mexican standoff.

The car started to idle. The driver was dripping blood on the wheel. His limp body wasn’t hitting the gas. We slowed steadily. It was peaceful. Then we slipped off the road and onto the smooth desert sand. 10 mph, 5 mph, 2mph, 1 mile an hour, and then we came to a stop.

And were moving nowhere with a running engine. For the first time I could hear again. The air conditioning was running.

I kept lots of pressure on his forehead. I smelled the stink of blood. Smelled like pennies.

“Put that AK out the window, DON’T let go of it. Look at me, Yullah, LOOK at me… okay, okay, put the barrel of that gun out the car window. There’s a slit. It will fit. You’re going to put that thing out the slit. Move anything else and I’ll shoot.”

I kept eye contact. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. It wasn’t peaceful anymore. The king did as I commanded. He couldn’t look less interested. He wasn’t afraid of death. That’s what made him dangerous.

“Okay, now I want you to shoot every bullet of-”

Gunfire exploded.

I flinched, only a little, but I did. The king didn’t.

His face stayed as stoic as a frozen lake. He was bored. About 30 rounds came out and then they were done…

“All of them” I screamed, pressing the gun.

I heard a click from the trigger.

It was a very tight space. 3 bodies, and 7 live guns in the car.

Aw crap, what do I do now? I honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. My heart raced. The King began to call my bluff.

“The phone. Turn it on,” I said.

I’d almost forgotten. The king bit his lip.

“Turn the phone on.” I was done playing. I’d almost lost my game already. “Do it.” I pressed further.

Nothing was happening.

“Do it. I’m not playing.”

Still stoic.

“Do it NOW,” I said and pulled my pistol just off his ear. I let a round erupt into the stillness to scare him. Didn’t work. He head-butted the gun. It fell from my hands. Fucking handcuffs. I caught the gun with my thumb. It swiveled.

The king dropped his shoulders down. His AK fell into the car. The barrel turned in his lap.

He didn’t let all the rounds go. He was counting. He tricked me. He could have had 3 rounds left in that AK.

I gripped the gun, weaseled it around my cuffed hands. The king dropped his arm and elbowed my Glock. It went into the air.

I caught it, perfectly. I caught the gun and pumped 3 shots into the king’s shoulder. Blood swam through Zeb-Rover’s interior.

Howls flew into the sky.

The air conditioning was buzzing. I was starting to sweat.

I leaned back. I was still trapped between two dead bodies. The king was writhing in pain. He might have been dying. He might also have more guns. I lurched over to Rightie’s door handle. I flicked it twice, unlocked it, and then flung the car door open. I started to swivel my body around. I’d have to kick Rightie out of the car. Then Rightie inhaled.

He wasn’t dead.

“Ah!” I said, seeing a zombie.

I emptied my gun into his head. He was dead, but so was my gun. This dude didn’t even carry a fully loaded pistol. WHAT FUCKING ARMY IS THIS?

I kicked his body out the open door. It was an incredibly heavy meat bag. The body spilled halfway out onto the desert floor. I dropped out with him and threw my gun. Still handcuffed, I started to panic. I reached back into the backseat. Leftie’s Frankenstein AK. I grabbed it and ran.

With my handcuffs I couldn’t use the AK. I needed to free myself. I had no idea where the keys were. The king was screaming in Arabic. He was shifting inside. He was gonna crucify me. He knew I knew. I needed to shoot my hands free.

I had to do something. Use the AK. Shit. SHIT. How? I should go back and get the other pistol.

Then I remembered the king’s golden gun. His baby.

I looked at the AK, then at my legs. Screw it. The AK had a tip on the barrel. It was perfect for the handcuffs. It’s like they designed it to shoot off cuffs.

The king rustled around some more. I kicked off my shoe and whipped my sock off. I used my second toe, my index toe. I put my handcuffs on the tip, and the gun butt to my groin.

The golden AK bobbed around the window. I clicked down on the AK trigger.

Nothing.

Safety was on.

I scratched around with my big toe. The safety was on the other side. It was the big lever. The window started to roll down. The car was still running.

I kicked the safety down, and then, with my index toe still on the trigger, and force of the gun popped straight into my groin (under the sac, thank God). My hands were free. The slug smacked the side-view mirror of Zeb-rover. Glass chards exploded into the king’s face.

I gripped the Frankenstein AK handle off my groin, sprang up and flung the barrel into the cabin. I grabbed the golden AK and ripped it out of the king’s bloody hands, then shoved it into his bloody neck. Right under his jaw. Exactly where I’d shot Rightie.

The king’s face wasn’t stoic anymore. It was worried.

“Checkmate, fucko.”