Chapter 5 - The Siege
I ran to the shattered front window and peered through the rotting wooden blinds.
A convoy of four matte-black SUVs was silently rolling up the long dirt driveway.
They cut their headlights, trying to use the cover of darkness to surround the farmhouse.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I had survived dangerous dogs, but I was not equipped to fight a heavily armed cartel hit squad.
I turned back to Tessa, who was clutching her little brother tightly.
"Tessa, I need you to be braver than you have ever been in your entire life," I whispered.
I lifted a heavy rug in the corner of the room, revealing the hidden trapdoor to the root cellar.
I handed her a flashlight and told her to stay completely silent, no matter what she heard above her.
I lowered them into the dark, damp earth and gently closed the wooden door.
I was entirely alone, armed with nothing but my wits and the environment.
I ran to the kitchen and turned on all four burners of the old propane stove without lighting them.
The heavy smell of gas immediately began to fill the confined space.
I grabbed a rusty crowbar from the hallway closet and crouched behind the overturned living room sofa.
The front door exploded inward, splintered by the force of a tactical battering ram.
Three men dressed in dark tactical gear poured into the living room, their rifles raised.
"Find the ledger and kill the husband!" the lead gunman barked in Spanish.
They moved methodically, sweeping their weapon lasers across the dusty walls.
I held my breath, waiting for them to step closer to the kitchen archway.
When the lead gunman reached the threshold, he sniffed the air and froze.
"Gas!" he yelled, frantically lowering his weapon to avoid a spark.
I struck a match and threw it directly over the sofa toward the kitchen.
The propane ignited instantly, sending a massive fireball rolling through the center of the house.
The explosion blew the three gunmen off their feet, throwing them through the shattered windows.
The farmhouse immediately caught fire, flames licking up the ancient wallpaper.
I scrambled back to the trapdoor, throwing it open to pull my children out of the cellar.
We had to escape through the back door before the roof collapsed on top of us.
We burst into the cool night air, running blindly into the dense, dark woods.
We ran until my lungs burned and my legs felt like lead, finally reaching the edge of the state highway.
A single police cruiser was idling on the shoulder, its red and blue lights flashing comfortingly in the dark.
I waved my arms frantically, screaming for help as we stumbled out of the treeline.
The officer stepped out of the cruiser and slowly unholstered his weapon.
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It was not a state trooper.
It was Detective Miller, my oldest friend on the local police force, and he was pointing his gun directly at my daughter.
