Chapter 7 - The Ring of Fire
The glow of the torches cast long, terrifying shadows across the cabin walls. I could smell gasoline permeating the cold night air. They were truly going to burn us alive. Noah clung to my leg, hiding his face in the thick wool blanket. "We have exactly one minute before this place is an inferno," Vincent stated calmly. He checked the loaded police pistol and handed me a small hunting knife he found on the table. "If anyone gets too close, you don't hesitate," Vincent ordered. "I have never stabbed anyone," I whispered, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "Tonight is a good night to learn," Vincent replied. Suddenly, the front window shattered inward. A flaming bottle of gasoline rolled across the wooden floorboards. The dry wood caught fire instantly, sending thick, choking smoke into the air. "Out the back window!" Vincent yelled. He grabbed a heavy wooden chair and smashed it through the rear glass pane. Vincent climbed through first, ignoring the pain in his bleeding shoulder. He reached back in and pulled Noah through the jagged frame. I scrambled up just as the cabin's roof began to cave in from the intense heat. We tumbled out into the deep snow just as a massive explosion ripped through the building. The blast knocked us flat against the freezing ground. "There they are!" a voice shouted from the tree line. Gunfire erupted, kicking up snow all around us. Vincent returned fire, dropping two of Carlo's men in rapid succession. "Run toward the police cruisers!" Vincent commanded. We sprinted through the blinding snowstorm while bullets whizzed past our heads. I felt a sharp, burning graze across my cheek as a bullet missed me by an inch. We reached Chief Miller's idling police cruiser. Vincent shoved us into the back seat and jumped behind the wheel. He threw the car into reverse, slamming on the gas pedal. The heavy car smashed into a group of armed mercenaries, clearing a path to the dirt road. Vincent spun the steering wheel, and we shot forward down the dark mountain trail. I collapsed back against the seat, gasping for air. "We made it," I cried, wiping the sweat and snow from my face. Vincent looked into the rearview mirror. His face was completely devoid of hope. "No, we didn't," Vincent said grimly. I turned around to look out the back window. An armored military transport truck was charging down the mountain road directly behind us. And standing up through the sunroof of the truck, holding a massive rocket launcher, was Carlo Moretti.
