Chapter 41 - Gunfire in the Storm
Outside Jared’s residence, the thunderstorm reached its apex. Lightning ripped across the sky in violent violet arcs, turning the torrential rain into curtains of silver fire.
Jared emerged from the concealed crawlspace hatch hidden beneath the cedar deck boards on the eastern flank of the house. He was drenched to the skin, his boots finding traction in the wet mud as he moved around the perimeter of the detached garage.
He checked the thermal optic mounted on his carbine.
Two heat signatures remained active. One was near the rear kitchen patio, holding position behind the heavy outdoor brick fireplace. The second—larger, cooler, moving with steady, deliberate tactical pacing—was circling toward the front entryway.
Marcus.
Jared didn't give Marcus the chance to consolidate his position. He raised his weapon, braced his shoulder against the corner of the garage, and fired three rapid suppression rounds into the brickwork near the patio. Concrete dust and water sprayed into the air.
"Marcus!" Jared’s voice boomed over the thunder, hard and resonant. "Your man upstairs is choked out cold on nitrogen! The breach failed! Put the weapon down before you join him!"
A cold laugh answered him from the shadows near the covered front porch.
"A nitrogen suppression system in a residential home?" Marcus shouted back, his voice drifting through the curtain of rain. "You really turned this place into a fortress, didn't you, Jared? All to protect two kids who aren't even tough enough to survive the real world. You're raising them to be weak, just like you!"
"They know what family means," Jared retorted, slicing the angle toward the front steps, his eyes scanning the darkness beneath the porch roof. "Something you and Melissa never understood. You think family is a bank account to bleed dry and throw away!"
Suddenly, the headlights of an approaching vehicle cut through the downpour at the bottom of the long gravel drive. High-intensity LED spotlights swept across the lawn, illuminating the open, sheared wrought-iron gate.
Marcus swore violently.
Sheriff Higgins had arrived—not from a silent beacon, but because Noah had keyed the external emergency transponder wired into the safe room's secondary circuit, overriding the local jammer through the direct underground copper land-line Jared had laid by hand three years ago.
"Sheriff's department! Drop your weapons!" a booming voice echoed over a cruiser's PA system from two hundred yards down the drive.
Marcus didn't surrender. Instead, he spun toward Jared’s position, bringing his carbine up with murderous intent. "If I go down, you don't get the satisfaction, little brother!"
He pulled the trigger, spraying automatic fire across the face of the garage. Wood splinters exploded outward, sharp shards slicing across Jared’s forearm as he dove behind the reinforced steel frame of his John Deere tractor parked in the breezeway.
Jared rolled, came up on one knee, and returned fire.
May you like
Two rounds struck Marcus directly in the center of his tactical vest. The kinetic impact hit him like a freight train, knocking him off the porch steps and sending him sprawling backward into the mud of the flowerbed. His weapon flew from his grip, splashing into the flooded grass.
***
