Herculanium by Alex G. Paman

couldn’t peer through the rear windows because of the mounds of equipment stored in the back compartment. She was about to leave the van and investigate, when a curious scratching sound came from her side of the van. It was a continuous scrape, metal to metal, that was getting louder as it came closer to her window. Darienne slammed her fist on her door’s locking latch and made sure the rest of the doors were secured as well. Lilian looked at her, puzzled.
    Whoever was out there was not getting inside.
    Allan dug his car key deep into the body of the van, making sure his etching was beyond just noticeable. He staggered its pattern, making a continuous zigzag that ran up and down its side. Darienne leaned against Lilian as she saw the silhouette of a passing man pause and stand right outside the driver-side window. She gestured for her to lay low and not say a word, using one hand to squeeze her shoulder and the other pressed tightly against her lips.
    Allan pulled out his revolver with an exaggerated gesture and pointed it to the window. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if anyone was actually inside. he smiled as he cocked his weapon and curled his index finger on the trigger. He looked up at the night sky for a final breath and prayer, his heartbeat pounding outside of his chest.
    The helicopter descended like an avenging angel, its spotlight a sword spearing into the darkness. It came in low from behind them, causing the surrounding topiaries to quiver and sway back and forth. Allan quickly pulled his gun arm back and ran around the van. He tucked himself under the base of the nearest topiary sculpture, then sprinted across the rolling fields. Pummeled by dozens of sprinklers, he pulled the borrowed security guard’s jacket over his head and disappeared in the darkness.
    Darienne exited the van and waved her hands to the helicopter, trying to acknowledge that she was safe. But the helicopter had already passed her, heading towards the hall. It wasn’t a police helicopter after all, but a media chopper. She could make out call letters scrolled against its side, visible next to the running lights. Another news station must’ve heard that Preston Jones was here.
    Darienne grabbed Lilian by the wrist and pulled her forward. “We’re getting the fuck out of here—now!”
    “What if that maniac comes back? We’re safer in here. Just lock the doors.”
    “If he comes back, there will be no one around to help us. There are some security guards up the road. We have to report this so they can catch him.”
    “I’m not leaving here, child. Do what you will, but I’m staying here.”
    “Your funeral,” said Darienne, shaking her head. She slammed the door and ran towards the veterans’ hall.
    Lilian locked the door and sat in the darkness. The sprinklers continued to pummel her side of the van, the spray creating a similar scraping sound the stranger had made earlier. She couldn’t see past the vertical puddles swirling on the glass. There was no way to know what could be waiting outside.
    Fighting tears, she ran after Darienne, towards the helicopter, towards the light.
     
    “Can you get a clear shot?” Micky stood on her toes and stretched her neck as high as she could.
    “Almost,” yelled Clay, his voice nearly drowned out by the crowd. “I’m trying to crop the other reporters out of the picture.” He raised the camera slightly above his shoulders, with his eye still glued to the viewer. The cheering fans and reporters had considerably grown in size around them. Luckily, the celebrities stood atop an elevated staircase, high above the crowd.
    “Excuse me, pardon me please,” insisted Micky politely as she nudged people aside to get closer to the staircase. “Thank you, thank you so much, pardon us please, KMNL News, thank you…”
    Heaven help the fool dumb enough to get in their way , Micky swore.
    Clay stayed close behind her, keeping his camera rolling. Fortunately, the lighting from the