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He moves as fast as he can when he crosses the car park to go up the stairs to the roof of the annex. By the time he arrives there both guards are dead. The man grabs their coats and moves them deeper into the shadows so no one will see them.Kneeling by the back of the warehouse he takes off his pack to get out the components of another gun. He takes a moment to finish assembling the weapon, slip a smaller bag over his shoulder to hang in front of his left hip, put his pack back on, slip the strap for his new gun over his right shoulder, take the silenced rifle in hand, and stand up.In another moment he’s through the door, across the break-room the door is an exit for, and out the room’s other door to move along a walkway running along the front of the offices built against the side wall. While he walks along he looks over at the large group of men gathered in a well lighted semi-circle of seating in the warehouse proper.About a third of the way across the warehouse, around forty. The wind carries the smell of rotting fish off the lake, overpowering the green wood smell of the tree I’m sitting on. Each wave storms in, crashes over the non-existent beach, and retreats. A blood red sun, sitting low in the sky watches quietly. A small block of clay breaks off the cliff and falls. A wave greedily pulls it towards the lake. The next wave screams and grabs the clay, flinging it back against the cliff. The scene resembles two little kids squabbling over a toy. A quick scan of the skies shows no looming storm clouds. A large wave rewards my inattention by sending up a fine mist. I laugh as the spray hits my face, safe on my perch high above the beach. Each wave takes away my tension as it gives up its assault on the cliff. A seagull calls. I’m surprised, they don’t like to fly in high winds. Looking for the gull, I notice the waves are smaller. The storm is ending. There! There’s the gull. It struggles against the wood, scanning the foamy waves, hoping for a meal. I.
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