A figure at the window. He's climbing through with combat gear and a suppressed weapon coming up. The weapon is aimed at the doorway, at where Marc would be coming through.
I fire center mass. Multiple rounds. Glock's recoil is familiar, controlled. This is target shooting with lives on the line.
The figure falls back through the window. I don't know if I hit him or if body armor stopped the rounds. I don't care. I just bought Marc a few seconds.
I'm already moving away from the window towards the door. My ears are ringing but starting to clear enough to hearshouting. Marc's voice. A sharp command I can't make out over the tinnitus.
The bedroom door flies open. I swing the Glock towards movement. Stop myself a fraction of a second before firing on Marc. The way he moves is unmistakable even through adrenaline haze.
Blood stains his left sleeve but he's not favoring it. Adrenaline is keeping him functional.
"Move!" He grabs my arm, pulls me out of the bedroom. "Back door. Now. They're breaching the front."
We cross the main room at a run. I see muzzle flashes through shattered windows. Incoming rounds punch through walls. One passes near enough that I feel air displacement along my cheek. Another hits the stove. Sparks fly.
Marc returns fire without breaking stride. One hostile goes down in the treeline. The body drops hard.
We reach the back door. Marc kicks it open, scans the area beyond. It's clear for now. I hear sounds from the front. They must be focused on the main entry, expecting us to be pinned inside.
"Truck. Stay on my six. If I go down you run. Straight to the truck. Keys are in it. You drive south until you hit the highway then call Rhys. Understand?"
"Yes."
Marc leads. I follow right behind him, Glock up, scanning our flanks. My hands don't shake. Breathing is steady despite my heart hammering. Training and adrenaline are working together.
Gunfire intensifies at our backs. The pattern changes. They're inside now, searching. Any second they'll realize we're gone and figure out we went out the back.
I catch movement to our right. Marc sees it first. Pivots, fires. The hostile goes down before I even register the threat. Marc's already moving again, pulling me with him.
We reach the truck. Marc yanks the driver's door open, shoves me across to the passenger seat. He's in and starting the engine before I'm fully seated.
Rounds impact the truck bed. Metal strikes metal. They've found us. More rounds incoming. The rear window spiders with cracks but doesn't shatter.
Marc guns the engine. We lurch forward, tires spinning on frozen ground before catching. Headlights stay off. He just drives by moonlight and whatever ambient glow filters through the trees. He's navigating by instinct and memory.
A figure steps into our path with a weapon coming up. Marc accelerates straight through. Impact throws the hostile aside. The body hits the ground as we pass with a sickening thud.
Then we're on the access road, driving hard. Marc has one fist on the wheel, the other keying his radio.
"Finn. We're mobile. Vehicles in pursuit."
Finn's voice crackles through. Calm. Steady. "Copy. I'm in position on the access road. Lead them to me."
"En route."
Marc drops the radio. Both hands are on the wheel now. He's pushing the truck hard on a road that shouldn't handle this speed. Trees flash past. I brace one palm on the dashboard.
Behind us, headlights appear. Pursuit vehicles coming fast.
Marc sees them in the rearview. Adjusts his route, heading straight for Finn's ambush point.
My grip on the dashboard starts to shake.
Not during the firefight. Not during the run to the truck. Now. When we're mobile. When immediate threat has passed and my body realizes what just happened.
I almost died. We both almost died. Men with guns tried to kill us in a cabin in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness and now we're running through the night with hostiles on our tail.
Marc's fingers cover mine and squeeze.
