“Negative. We sent you everything we have… ”
Which isn’t much these days.
“… and now we need you to deploy at the first opportunity to see if there are any survivors on those MH-6s.”
“Seriously? You want us to go out there? They were coming to rescue us.”
“And they were downed by enemy fire. Ms. Elkins, you’ve had more combat experience in the past two years than anyone I could possibly send your way. I repeat, can you deploy for any survivors? We have no one else available.”
“We’ll see.” Lana ends the call. Ludmila’s staring at her.
“They’re sending the local police chief and Deputy Dawg.” The cartoon reference means nothing to the Russian. “And they want us to see if there are any survivors.”
The back door flies open. Ludmila is targeted by at least two more men bursting into the house. Maybe three. It’s hard for Lana to keep count as she upends a coffee table, using it to shield her advance.
Ludmila hits one man, who pitches forward as Lana wings a second. He drops his AK-47. She abandons the table and runs to the short wall once more. Peering over the top, she sees him grabbing his shot-up arm and nails him twice with the Glock.
“Just two?” she shouts to Ludmila, who shrugs and shakes her head.
We gotta know. But Ludmila’s view has been hampered by the stove she’s keeping between her and the men trying to take back the house.
An explosive blows open the front door about fifteen feet behind Lana. She pivots and sees a rifle poke through the smoke and dust. Before Lana can shoot, the Russian delivers a burst from her M16 that knocks the attacker back out the opening. The border collie cowers behind her.
Six down, fifteen more to go. But Lana knows a single heat-seeker could blow up the whole place.
She hears a siren growing louder and races to the gap where the door stood until seconds ago. She spots a Hayden Lake Police SUV and two pickup trucks with heavily armed men in the beds covering their flanks. The three vehicles brake about a hundred feet away, no doubt to give the chief a chance to assess the situation before drawing his men any closer. But blasts of gunfire behind the vehicles force all of them to speed toward the house.
The SUV’s rear window explodes and a bullet exits the center of the windshield, narrowly missing Lana’s arm.
She throws herself behind the doorframe as the vehicles skid to a stop feet away. The armed men jump over the body of the jihadi Ludmila just killed and dash inside. Using the doorframe for cover, the chief pumps a shotgun and fires at the first hostile who’s foolish enough to pursue them at close range. The man falls to the gravel drive with a gaping stomach wound.
With his eyes now scanning the front area, the short, barrel-chested chief asks, “Why didn’t you answer my call? We almost got killed out there.”
“I didn’t get any call. Been a little busy here.”
“They out back, too?” he asks, looking at her for the first time.
“All over,” she replies. “They took down two choppers. Fourteen of them left, we think. Is the county sheriff coming?”
“He’s thirty minutes out. We’ve got my posse here.” He eyes the men.
So does Lana. Some have got to be in their sixties. “Do you guys have any experience? This is war.”
The chief points to the older gents. “They’re Vietnam combat vets. Those guys,” he indicates the other five, “are from Operation Iraqi Freedom. They’ve got more medals for bravery than you’ve got bullets, so maybe some gratitude’s in order.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize that.”
“Who’s she?” the chief asks, glancing at Ludmila.
“Russian army vet. She’s real good.” Ludmila nods at him. “Command wants us to go out and look for Delta Force survivors.”
“I know. They briefed me. And ISIS and Al Qaeda want this house back for a webcast so they can slaughter you guys online, right?”
“Exactly.”
“These guys are gonna be some mighty disappointed monsters. Can you handle that search and rescue?”
“I’ve got my daughter hiding downstairs. I’m not leaving her.”
“We can hold this place,” the chief says. “Guaranteed. If you and the Russian are willing to go after the downed soldiers, Will here can go with you.” He glances at a tall, light-haired man. “He knows these woods like the back of his hand.”
Lana studies the men before her. They look loaded for bear. Not weekend warriors. Real protection for Emma, thank God.
“You up for this?” Lana asks Will.
“I’m ready,” the younger man replies.
“I’ll leave one of my guys with your kid,” the chief says. “And the rest of us will set up a perimeter here. They’re not taking this place or your daughter. This is America. This ain’t Mosul.”
Lana hates to leave Emma, but the chief’s posse is already fanning out like a steel curtain around the house. And if any of the soldiers or pilots on those choppers survived… well, she knows what it’s like to be taken captive — and two years ago she also knew what it meant to be saved by heroes in helicopters.
It’s payback time, she tells herself.
In so many ways.
Minutes ago, during the most recent spate of shooting, Emma heard heavy footsteps overhead. She hears more now and someone pounding into the house. Then, almost as quickly, there are other footfalls and a grotesque moan that makes her stiffen. Somebody falls to the floor right above her.
In seconds, a jihadi with a gun and bloody knife slips through the cellar door, spilling enough daylight to let her to know she’s facing a killer all on her own.
Was it also long enough for him to notice her crouched in the corner? She doesn’t think so. Emma definitely can’t see him in the dark. She can’t even hear him. Since he came down the stairs he hasn’t made a sound. She’s trying to be super quiet, too, but worries even breathing will give her away. She starts taking short breaths, but can’t stop shaking as she holds the gun. Maybe he can hear that. Maybe he’s right there. She stares at the darkness in front and to the sides of her.
“I see you,” he says softly.
How?
But she doesn’t doubt him. And he sounds close.
You’ve got a gun, she reminds herself over and over. But he’s moving closer. He just took a step and made a squishy sound. Blood. Gotta be. She tenses. She’s wildly tempted to shoot, but holds her fire. If he doesn’t know where she is, she’d be giving herself away.
There… she hears him again.
Oh, God. Does she ever.
He’s coming closer.
Lana, Ludmila, and Will run to the woodpile. Pine scents riddle the air. So does smoke. The drought-stricken forest is burning up ahead. At least one of those fiery choppers must have crashed into the trees.
Will peers over the thick stack. “There’s a deer trail over to the right,” he says. “We might even get around most of the smoke heading that way. We got us a little onshore breeze that comes up in the afternoons around here. It’s going to push the smoke and fire this way. Away from wherever those birds crashed.”
Lana looks around. Smoke’s plenty thick where they are. Up ahead it’s so dense it looks clotted.
Will leads them to the trail. Lana has to choke down the urge to cough. Ludmila’s doing the same. But the smoke also gives them cover. Taking the good with the bad.
They draw closer to the fire as they move along the meandering trail, and hear the eerie crackle of flames shooting up towering firs fast as squirrels. The boughs are brilliantly red, spilling cones that look like splashes of fire as they fall. On the ground, they spark the brittle underbrush. Heat wafts over them.