Convoy

The sun hung low in the sky as Jenn sat on the roof of the ice cream truck, hanging onto the giant plastic cone on the roof as the truck ambled through Suburbia. A dozen more identical trucks followed, with an increasing hesitance.

"Any sign of customers, Jenn?" said Walter, poking his head out the driver's window. Jenn shrugged, gesturing at the stillness of the lawns, the identical houses. Walter sighed.

"Mitta, I thought you said this place would be a goldmine," he grumbled. The third member of the Ice Cream Vanguard stared forward through the windshield, as she had since the journey began.

"The gods foresaw wealth here, but it must be claimed," she murmured. "Before us. It begins." Walter began to ask what she could possibly mean by that, but was distracted at Jenn's exclamation from above. Ahead stood a single boy, clad in a leather jacket.

"Hello, young man!" said Walter a few minutes later, once again the smiling businessman. "What flavor do you want? Fudgesicle? Neapolitan?"

"We'll be taking all of it," said the youth. Only now did Walter notice the others, hidden in the shrubbery and the shadows between houses. Slingshots in their pockets, T-ball bats slung over their shoulders, all with leather jackets. Their leader grinned a ghoulish smile, half his baby teeth missing, as he waited for a response.

"Bring your armies," said Mitta with a sneering grin, pushing Walter out of the way. "And we'll feast on your pocket change!"