Chapter 8 - The Breach
I stared at the motionless thermal outline on my tablet screen, my heart stopping completely as I tried to identify who had just been shot.
I immediately deactivated the sonic deterrent and the blinding strobe lights, returning the ruined living room to a dead, heavy silence.
The emergency backup lights flickered on dimly, casting long, terrifying shadows across the bullet-riddled walls of my home.
The scarred man was standing in the center of the room, panting heavily, with his automatic weapon still raised and smoking in the dim light.
Lying entirely motionless in a rapidly expanding pool of dark blood was my younger brother, Keaton.
My mother let out a blood-curdling, agonizing scream that shattered the silence, completely ignoring the danger as she crawled frantically toward her bleeding son.
The scarred man aimed his hot weapon directly at my mother's head, completely unfazed by the horrific tragedy he had just caused.
I did not wait another single second to watch this monster execute my family on a digital screen.
I grabbed a heavy steel tire iron from the trunk of my car and sprinted through the dense forest toward the back entrance of my property.
I bypassed the locked exterior doors completely and used a hidden keypad to open the secret basement hatch I had installed for emergency egress.
I moved silently up the wooden basement stairs, my adrenaline completely overriding the exhaustion of my fourteen-hour hospital shift.
I carefully pushed the basement door open just an inch, peering into the living room where the sheriff was currently locked in a tense standoff with the scarred man.
The sheriff had his recovered weapon aimed squarely at the scarred man's chest, but the other three mercenaries had their guns aimed directly at the sheriff's head.
My father was desperately pressing his hands against Keaton's bleeding shoulder, frantically trying to stop the massive hemorrhage while my mother sobbed hysterically.
The scarred man laughed coldly, telling the sheriff that he had exactly three seconds to drop his gun before the entire room was slaughtered.
I knew the sheriff could not possibly shoot all four heavily armed men before they returned fatal fire.
I gripped the heavy steel tire iron tightly in my right hand, kicked the basement door completely open, and charged aggressively into the room.
I swung the heavy metal bar with absolutely every ounce of strength in my body, striking the scarred man squarely in the back of his right knee.
He screamed in sudden, blinding agony as his leg violently snapped backward, sending him crashing heavily to the hardwood floor.
His automatic weapon skidded harmlessly across the room, far out of his immediate reach.
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Before his three associates could even turn their weapons toward me, the heavy wooden front doors of the house were violently kicked open.
A heavily armored tactical SWAT team flooded aggressively into the living room, screaming commands and instantly neutralizing the remaining mercenaries with overwhelming force.
