Chapter 14: The Siege
The first breach was silent. No shouting, no dramatic kicks to the front door. Just the soft, terrifying shatter of the kitchen’s reinforced glass giving way under a specialized breaching tool.
I was crouched behind the heavy granite island, the Glock 19 gripped tightly in my hands, my breathing slow and measured. The rain outside masked the sound of their footsteps, but the beam of a tactical flashlight cut through the darkness of the kitchen, sweeping across the hardwood floor.
A figure in black tactical gear vaulted quietly through the broken window. He didn't even have time to steady his boots on the floorboards.
I stood up, aimed, and fired twice.
The suppressed shots from my weapon were deafening in the confined space. The intruder dropped instantly, his armor catching the brunt of the impact, but the sheer force knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him crashing into the stainless-steel refrigerator. Before he could recover, I stepped forward and delivered a brutal kick to his temple, rendering him unconscious. I kicked his rifle out of reach.
"Kitchen is compromised, but clear for now," I whispered into the radio headset Marcus had given me.
"They're probing the perimeter," Marcus's voice crackled back, calm but strained. "Two just tried the back patio. I pushed them back, but they know exactly where we are now. They're going to converge on the main hall. They want the basement access."
The basement. Where Elena, Chloe, and five other women were huddled in the dark, praying for a miracle.
"I'm moving to the hallway," I replied.
I crept out of the kitchen, moving like a ghost through the home I had built. The lodge was a labyrinth of heavy timber and shadows. As I reached the main corridor, a sudden explosion rocked the front of the house. They were done playing quietly. The heavy oak front door was blown off its hinges, splintering into the foyer.
Three men poured into the entryway, their rifles raised.
From the mezzanine above, Marcus opened fire with the AR-15. The deafening roar of the rifle forced the attackers to scramble for cover behind the overturned foyer tables.
"Izzy, flank them!" Marcus shouted over the gunfire.
I moved to the side corridor, lining up a shot, but a fourth man had slipped in through the side window. He saw me raise my weapon and fired. Wood chips exploded from the wall inches from my face as I dove behind a thick oak pillar.
Suddenly, a sharp, choked gasp echoed from the mezzanine. The rhythm of Marcus's covering fire abruptly stopped.
"Marcus!" I screamed, my heart dropping into my stomach.
"I'm fine," he grunted over the radio, though his voice was tight with agony. "Grazed my shoulder. I can't hold this angle. Izzy, they're pushing the basement door."
I peeked around the pillar. Two of the men had broken away from the firefight in the foyer and were sprinting down the corridor toward the heavy steel door that led down to the storm shelter.
Panic, raw and blinding, flared in my chest. But the panic was immediately swallowed by a fierce, maternal rage. They were not taking my sister. They were not taking Chloe.
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I stepped entirely out of cover, raising the Glock. I didn't think about the recoil, or the noise, or the danger. I just focused on the space between the men and the steel door.
I fired until the magazine clicked empty.
