Kevin Ryan: Nightscape

Watching the sheriff carefully, Max noted that the tag on his uniform shirt said Sheriff Taylor.

"Max?" Michael called out from inside the van.

"It's okay," Max said, nodding his head. It was far from okay, but Max didn't want Michael charging the sheriff.

"You quiet down in there," the sheriff said to Max's friends. Then he leaned closer to Max and said, "You all wait right here while I make a call."

Realizing he had just a few seconds to act, Max seized on something. It was more of an act of desperation than a plan. It didn't feel right exactly, but it felt like the only thing he could do. "We need your help," Max said to the sheriff before the man could walk away.

"What?" Sheriff Taylor said, suspicion in his voice.

"We're in trouble. Someone's been following us for about ten miles now," Max said. Right on cue, a black SUV came from the direction Max had been driving. Max was sure it was the Special Unit SUV that had been in front of them.

"Really?" the sheriff said. Max could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm serious, that SUV has been following us," Max said, nodding in the direction of the car. "They are watching us now." Then Max turned around and took a look at the sheriff, who was watching the SUV pull over with the same sharp-eyed intelligence he had eyed Max.

He's smart, and a decent person, Max thought. It wasn't an intellectual analysis, and Max thought it might be because he reminded Max of Sheriff Valenti. Still, he was sure he was right. Max didn't know how this could all turn out okay for everybody involved, but he felt a surge of hope.

"Don't go away, son. Let me talk to your friends," Sheriff Taylor said.

Then Max saw the doors to the SUV open and two men in dark suits get out. They were in their late twenties or early thirties and had a look that was both bland and dangerous. Any doubt that Max might have had disappeared. He was absolutely certain that he was looking at two agents of the Special Unit.

Max felt the small seed of hope die inside him.

The agent who came out of the driver's side was dark-haired, while the one who came out of the passenger side was blond.

"Who…?" Max heard the sheriff say.

"They're dangerous," Max said.

Apparently the sheriff believed him, because his hand went immediately to his holstered gun. Max felt his heart hammering in his chest, warning him of the danger he and the others were in.

The Special Unit agents were almost directly across the road from them.

"Get back in the van, son," Sheriff Taylor said.

Surprised, Max quickly opened the driver's side door and got in. Then he watched and listened through the open window.

"Federal law enforcement," the blond agent said. The agents waited for a few seconds while a car drove past them, then they crossed the street.

Max noted that the sheriff never took his hand from the butt of his still-holstered gun.

"FBI, Special Unit. We'll take over from here," the blond agent said when he reached their side of the street. The other agent was watching Max and the van closely.

"Thank you, sir, but we local law enforcement officers usually can handle these broken taillight situations just fine," Sheriff Taylor said.

The blond officer smiled, but the expression looked more like a sneer than it did a smile. The sheriff's hand tightened its grip on his gun. For a moment, Max had the almost irrational thought that the sheriff was on their side.

"Just relax, Sheriff," the blond agent said, reaching inside his suit jacket.

Before his hand got where it was going, the sheriff had his gun in his hand. "Freeze!" Sheriff Taylor said in a commanding voice.

Immediately, the agent stopped. Then something unpleasant crossed his face. It took the agent a few seconds to get himself under control, then he said, "I'm Agent Spellman of the FBI, Special Unit. I'm going to get my identification."

The sheriff nodded, keeping a steady gaze on both men. "Okay, Agent Spellman, do it very slowly and we won't have a problem."

The smile that appeared on Spellman's face seemed forced, but he nodded and slowly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a wallet that he flipped open. Max couldn't see the inside of the wallet, but the sheriff leaned down and scanned it for a moment. He nodded, but did not put away his gun, which was still leveled directly at Agent Spellman.

"You FBI boys cracking down on vehicle safety?" the sheriff asked.

"I think even you can see this isn't about a broken tail-light. We'll take it from here," he said.

"No," Sheriff Taylor said.

"What?" Spellman said.

"1 said no. What you will do is go back to your car and get your superior on the line while 1 call for some assistance from some of my deputies. Then we'll all sort it out together," the sheriff said.

"That won't be necessary," Spellman said slowly. "We have jurisdiction."

"See, that's where you're wrong. This is my town, and I don't know you from Adam. I've never heard of the Special Unit, and I just plain don't like you, Agent Spellman."

Spellman glanced at the gun pointed at him. "Have it your way, Sheriff, but you will regret this," he said.

"I'm sure I will. Now, you and your friend run along," Sheriff Taylor said.

Spellman sneered at the sheriff, nodded to the other agent, and turned around. The sheriff watched them go for a moment, then turned toward his squad car. Suddenly, Agent Spellman jumped aside. As he did so, Max could see that he had been partially blocking the dark-haired agent, who was holding something in his hand.

Max's mind registered the device as a gun. Then he heard a pop and saw Sheriff Taylor fall to the ground.

They shot him, Max's mind supplied, but he couldn't believe it.

Max heard a sound behind him, and then he was moving without consciously willing his body to do it. He jumped out of the van and before his feet hit the ground, he had his hand out and projected a green defensive field.

Behind him he heard Michael, then he heard another pop and saw something hit his screen. It flashed brightly, and Max realized that it wasn't a bullet.

He saw the two agents standing a few yards away, both of them now holding guns. Then he immediately lowered the field, knowing that Michael would take care of the rest.

Michael did not disappoint him. His own hand raised, Michael released a blast that knocked the agents backward. For a moment, Max hoped that Michael hadn't killed the men, as he had Agent Pierce. Not for the agents' sakes, but for Michael's. Max knew his friend was still paying a heavy price for what he had done to Agent Pierce in order to save Max and the others.

Max felt a flood of relief when he saw the two agents move. They were lying on their backs, clearly dazed, but they were both shaking their heads and feeling around with their hands. That told Max that Michael had gained a lot of control over his energy.

Suddenly there was a blur of movement, and then Agent Spellman was spinning around while he was still lying on the ground. In the same movement he raised his gun, which Max could see was oddly shaped.

Again, Max reacted immediately. This time, he didn't put up the force field. Instead, he threw out pure energy and directed it at the gun in Agent Spellman's hand. There was a flash when the energy made contact with the weapon, then small pieces of metal went flying and Max had to duck when one flew past his head. He did the same with the other agent's gun, which was lying on the road a few yards away. This time, he made sure the force of the

mini-explosion took the pieces away from himself and his friends.

"Everyone okay?" he called, without taking his eyes off the two agents.

Each of his friends responded with a yes or a fine, and Max nodded, keeping his hand in the air. He was ready to act, and he wanted the agents to see that he was ready for them. Maybe that would keep them from trying anything else.