Chapter 4 - The Sniper in the Dark
I violently jerked the steering wheel to the right.
The massive SUV careened off the paved road and crashed through a heavy wooden fence.
A high-caliber bullet shattered the driver's side window exactly where my head had been a fraction of a second earlier.
Glass rained down onto my lap as the vehicle bounced aggressively over the rough terrain of an empty cornfield.
"Keep your head down, Dad!" I screamed over the roaring engine.
My father was hyperventilating, his hands tightly gripping the dashboard.
I killed the headlights, plunging us into total darkness to avoid being an easy target.
I navigated purely by the faint moonlight reflecting off the dried cornstalks.
Another massive bullet ripped through the trunk of the SUV, destroying the rear axle.
The heavy vehicle violently spun out of control and slammed sideways into a deep drainage ditch.
The airbags deployed with a deafening blast of white powder.
I coughed violently, blindly unbuckling my seatbelt and kicking the jammed door open.
I dragged my father out into the freezing, muddy trench.
"We have to keep moving," I whispered urgently.
We crawled through the thick, freezing mud while heavy footsteps approached our crashed vehicle.
I peered cautiously over the edge of the ditch.
Three men wearing advanced tactical night-vision goggles and holding suppressed assault rifles were surrounding my SUV.
These were not local cops or federal agents.
These were highly trained private military contractors.
"Target is not in the vehicle," one of the mercenaries said into his headset.
"Sweep the tree line and execute on sight."
My blood ran completely cold.
They weren't trying to capture my father for the psychiatric ward anymore.
They were simply going to murder us and bury the evidence in the mud.
I checked my service weapon, realizing I only had fifteen rounds against three heavily armed commandos.
I pressed my back against the muddy embankment and prepared to fight to the death.
Suddenly, my father reached into his pocket with trembling hands.
May you like
He pulled out a heavy, rusted antique compass and shoved it into my hand.
"It's not a compass, Maya," he whispered as a red laser dot appeared on my shoulder.
