Shadows moving in the tree line. White camouflage. Night vision goggles glowing faint green. Three of them. Maybe four. They are approaching the cabin in a tactical wedge formation. They know we are here. They followed the blood trail. They are coming to collect the Asset.
I look back at Alaric. He looks peaceful. For the first time, the lines of tension on his face are smoothed out.I protect what is mine.He said it to me a thousand times. Now it’s my turn.
I check the SIG. One magazine. Twelve rounds. I check the flare gun. One shot. I look around the room. I see a can of kerosene for the old lamps on the shelf. I grab it.
I make a plan. It is reckless. It is chaotic. It is something Alaric would hate. But Alaric plays structure. I play jazz.
I pour the kerosene on the floor in front of the door. A puddle. I trail it back to the hearth. I don't light it yet. I move the table. I flip it onto its side, creating a barricade in front of the mattress where Alaric sleeps. I crouch behind it.
The footsteps are closer. They are on the porch. The wood creaks.
I aim the SIG at the door. My hands are rock steady.Breathe in.Breathe out.The silence between the notes.
The doorknob turns. It’s locked. A whisper outside."Breach it."
BAM.A boot kicks the door. The wood splinters.BAM.Again. The latch gives way. The door swings open.
A figure fills the doorway. White camo. Assault rifle raised. Night vision goggles reflecting the dying firelight. He steps in. "Clear left," he says into his comms. "Contact right. I see the..."
He steps into the kerosene puddle.
I raise the flare gun with my left hand. I fire.WHOOSH.
The red flare screams across the room. It hits the kerosene.FOOM.The floor erupts in a wall of fire. The man screams as the flames lick up his legs. He stumbles back, firing blindly. Bullets chew up the ceiling.
"CONTACT!" someone yells outside.
I drop the flare gun. I grip the SIG with both hands. Through the wall of fire, I see silhouettes. I fire.Bang. Bang. Bang.
I don't aim for the head. I aim for the center of mass. One shadow drops. Another returns fire. Bullets punch through the wooden walls of the cabin, sending splinters flying like shrapnel. I duck behind the table. Debris rains down on Alaric. He stirs, groaning.
"Stay down!" I scream at him.
I pop up. The fire is spreading fast. The cabin is filling with smoke. If we stay here, we burn. If we go out, we get shot.
But the fire has surprised them. They are retreating from the door, regrouping. This is my chance. My only chance.
I run to Alaric. "Wake up!" I slap him hard. "We have to move!" He opens his eyes. He sees the fire. He understands instantly. "Back door..." he wheezes. "There’s a... wood chute."
I drag him up. The adrenaline gives me hysterical strength. I haul him toward the back of the cabin. There is a small hatch near the floor used to bring in logs. I kick it open. Cold air rushes in.
"Go," I order him. "Crawl."
He crawls. He drags his wounded body through the snow and mud. I push him through the hole. I look back at the room. The fire is climbing the walls. The front door is a furnace. The Syndicate mercenaries are shouting, trying to flank.
I climb out the chute. We are behind the cabin. The snow is falling heavily again, masking us. "The car," Alaric whispers. "The winch..."
"The car is wrecked."
"The winch..." he insists. "Hook it... to the support beam."
I look at the car. It’s crashed against a tree, but the front winch is intact. I realize what he wants. He wants to bring the house down.
I run to the car. I’m exposed. I grab the winch cable. I pull. I run back to the cabin. I wrap the steel cable around the main corner post of the porch foundation. I run back to the car. I smash the window to reach the remote control for the winch.
The mercenaries are coming around the side. "I see her!" one yells.
I hit the retract button. The cable tightens. The winch motor whines. The G-Wagon groans, acting as an anchor. The corner post of the burning cabin snaps.
