The connection was laden with static but the voice on the other end 
came through steady and reassuring. 
"Where are you?" it inquired. 
"Highway 16 at Rooks Creek Bridge." 
"Where do you need me?" 
Tim Carpe looked out to the slight ridge two hundred meters in front 
of him. Four menacing shapes were closing in steadily, leisurely. 
His hands did not shake as they rose to shield his eyes from the 
oblique rays of the afternoon sun. 
"Bearing 210, range 200. Four in the open." 
"Bearing 210, range 200, four, loud and clear." 
The steady drone of the cicadas went on for another thirty second. 
Another sound, faint at first but dopplering in steadily, filled the 
air. He could see minute contrails which terminated in beautiful 
black tulips growing just behind the four shapes on the ridges. 
Split second later, the shock wave washed over him. 
"Over by 50," he said into the phone "Bearing is good." 
Another line of explosions dotted the landscape, this time exactly 
on the ridge line. Then one more, for luck. 

Tim's daydream gave way to reality as his cell phone connected to 
home and then to the answering machine. Mom wasn't home and, had she 
been home, what could she have done for him? The four bullies were 
half-way down from the ridge by now, and would run him down before 
he could retreat back to the school. 

At age ten, Tim was a pretty good runner. But the four tormentors 
were each thirteen and held a decisive advantage in speed and 
endurance. His closest safe haven was the school, two clicks away. 
His way home was blocked by those four. He stood at the far end of 
the short stone bridge and tried to think fast. 

Mom always insisted that he talk his way out of this kind of 
trouble. Maybe that's how adults did it. Tim didn't think he'd talk 
well with a mouth-full of broken teeth, which is what the older boys 
promised him as they got within earshot. His mom would call their 
parents after it was all over and ask them to reign in their 
hooligans. Nothing would change. 

The faces were distinct now, though he remembered them well enough 
from the last beating he got. John, the ring-leader, was a few steps 
ahead of the rest, his chiseled features reminding Tim of old 
recruiting posters he saw at a museum once. John's nylon jacket 
swished menacingly with the boy's every step. Jeff and Harry, twins, 
were right behind, grinning with the pleasure of anticipation. 
Romeo, the last of the bullies, was huffing from the exertion 
required to keep up with his friends. Big but not very athletic, he 
was the stomper, not a fighter. Once the victim was down, he'd jump 
in and break ribs. 

Tim did not want a beating. His stomach was all knots, and his mouth 
was dry. His eyes squinted against the glare of the May sunlight. He 
tried to think of something to say but his mind kept coming to the 
line from some forgotten movie: "Rank one, volley fiiiiiire!" A fat 
lot of good that did him now. 

"Hi, guys," he said, trying and failing to keep his voice from 
rising with betrayed fear. He put both of his hands into the pockets 
of his sweatshirt. His left hand came out with a twenty, a 
peace offering. "Won't you take this and not beat me today?" He 
tried to sound confident. 

The two twins looked at each other and smirked. John extended his 
hand for the money and said genially, turning his head to his 
entourage: "Can't buy us that cheap, can he, boys?" His friends 
whooped agreement, and started to spread out. 

It took Tim just four steps to cross the bridge over Rooks Creek, 
his own Rubicon. As John's head began to turn front, Tim's right 
hand came out of his pocket with a short piece of steel rebar. 
Stepping forward, the boy put all of his slight weight into the gut 
punch that folded his adversary in half. For a long, lucid moment, 
Tim felt fear of the consequences wash over him: the gang would 
surely kill him now. He saw the back John's close-cropped head waver 
slightly just in front of his hands, heard sharp intake of breath as 
the other began to recover. Whirling around to gain momentum, Tim 
brought his weapon down on the base of his enemy's skull. 

The three boys felt something change, as their erstwhile victim 
walked steadily at them. The slight smile on Tim's face scared them 
more than his weapon. Seconds later, the broke and ran. Tim 
continued to walk towards home. Behind him, John's pulse ceased.