Louisiana, the town of Revell—this was where his mother and sister had been living since assuming their new identities.
Revell was a quiet, remote town far from any major city. In essence, it was classic rural America. Life here moved slowly, without the hustle and noise of urban areas. The town had both an elementary and a high school, and the work and life pressures were minimal. It was an idyllic place.
Owen and Amanda had to first fly into New Orleans before driving to Revell. As they exited the airport terminal, their mother and McCall were already waiting outside, enthusiastically waving to them.
Owen smiled and embraced his mother, then McCall. Amanda hugged her mother and fist-bumped McCall, immediately chattering away like an excited little bird.
McCall took Amanda's luggage, and the group headed to the parking lot, laughing and chatting along the way. Owen noticed how affectionately McCall looked at his mother—it was clear their married life was going well.
"How are things on your end?" McCall asked casually.
Owen shrugged. "The same as always—fight after fight after fight…"
"Oh, still busy saving America?"
"Haha, yeah. Busy saving America."
They both laughed. Ever since learning about Owen's work with CTU, the family would often joke about his heroic duties. Owen had long gotten used to it.
They got into the car—McCall drove, and the vehicle pulled onto the highway, heading for Revell.
The scenery was quite pleasant, though the journey was long—it took over four hours to drive from New Orleans Airport to Revell. Amanda had been chatting non-stop at first but soon tired out. The car grew quiet. Owen had also been traveling all day—flying from Washington to New York, then New York to New Orleans. He was exhausted, and once he relaxed, he drifted off to sleep.
His mother and McCall had only recently moved to the town. After their decoys were taken out during a previous incident, they'd relocated again—this time to a place McCall had found. His mother loved it, and while Amanda clearly preferred the city, since she spent most of her time at college in New York, her time in the town felt more like a vacation.
Half-asleep, Owen felt the car jolt slightly. He opened his eyes to find they'd arrived in the town and were driving down a rural road. This was his first time in Revell, and it looked charming.
McCall showed no signs of fatigue despite driving for four hours. Owen rubbed his face and sat up in the front seat. Glancing back, he saw Amanda was still sleeping. He cracked the window open slightly to let the wind in.
"Let me take the wheel—give you a break," Owen offered after the cold air helped clear his head.
"I'm good. Besides, you don't know the way," McCall replied with a smile.
That was true. Owen didn't even know where their new house was—only had a photo his mother had sent him.
Ahead, a gas station came into view. McCall slowed down and pulled in to refuel.
The gas station was small, with only one pump. A pickup truck was currently refueling—standard fare in rural areas where almost every household owned one. In front of them was an old Ford sedan. McCall slowed to a stop behind it.
Sensing the car had stopped, Amanda stirred in the back seat. "Are we there yet?"
"Not yet, sweetheart. Almost," their mother replied with a smile.
At the wheel, McCall rolled down the window and waved. "Hey, Nick."
"Hey, McCall," replied a burly man in coveralls with long hair, waving back with greasy hands. The gas station doubled as a repair shop, and the man—Nick—was struggling to get a stalled car running.
Owen leaned on the window, bored, watching the man in cowboy attire pumping gas into the pickup. He wore a baseball cap and looked completely ordinary. A little girl, probably under ten and also wearing a baseball cap, sat in the passenger seat—presumably his daughter.
Then the door of the red Ford sedan behind them opened. Two men who looked like trouble staggered out, leaving the door open behind them. They glanced briefly at Owen's group, then started approaching the cowboy at the pump.
Owen immediately sensed something was off and sat upright. Beside him, McCall made a hand signal. In the back, their mother gently nudged Amanda awake while reaching into her purse to grip the handle of her Ruger LC9s. After several past crises, the family had developed a habit of staying alert—mother and Amanda especially never went anywhere unarmed. This time, Amanda had left her gun at school since she'd had to fly.
"Hey, stranger. I need gas~~~" the lead man, with short hair, slurred as he leaned against the pickup, inches from the cowboy's face. His tone was aggressive.
The cowboy didn't even look at him. He simply stepped back a bit, clearly not looking for trouble. "Just a sec—I'll be done soon."
"But I need it now."
The short-haired man pushed further. The cowboy's calm attitude was irritating him. Behind him, the long-haired thug stepped forward, looking ready to escalate.
Still, the cowboy said nothing. He kept his face turned sideways, not even glancing at the aggressor. If Owen had been the short-haired guy, he'd have thought twice—this kind of reaction was not normal. But the thug didn't pick up on any of that.
"Okay, you're done. Move your truck. My turn," the short-haired man said, smirking. His long-haired buddy moved to shut off the gas flow and looked on smugly.
Finally, the cowboy looked the thug in the eyes. He reached into the cab and gently pushed the curious little girl back inside, then let out a sigh—clearly trying to stay calm. "Whatever you're planning—think twice."
The thug burst out laughing. "He wants me to think twice! You hear that? Haha!"
The cowboy ignored him and turned the gas flow back on. That was the last straw for the short-haired guy. He stormed forward, with his friend close behind.
"How about we take this over there and have a little chat? I'll teach you some manners," the thug snarled, getting in the cowboy's face.
The cowboy finished pumping gas and stepped to the side, but the long-haired man blocked his path. Both thugs looked smug, as if they had everything under control.
Now the three of them stood face to face.
The cowboy stepped back slightly. The short-haired guy took it as a retreat and reached for the gas nozzle—only to be blindsided.
Without warning, the cowboy yanked the nozzle and smashed it into the thug's stomach. As the man doubled over in pain, the cowboy grabbed his head and slammed it hard into a fire safety box.
Glass shattered. Blood sprayed across the pavement with shards of broken glass. The thug cried out and crumpled to the ground.
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