Chapter 43 - The Breach at Black Oak
We hit the floor as a volley of automatic fire ripped through the pine siding. Splinters rained down like hail. The smell of cordite instantly obliterated the scent of woodsmoke and rain.
"Back door is compromised!" Miller yelled over the deafening crack of gunfire. She returned three controlled shots through the shredded drywall, her muzzle flash illuminating the white fear and hard resolve etched into her face. "They have three shooters on the front porch and an interception vehicle blocking the gravel turnout."
I grabbed the titanium box from the wall cavity, its cold weight bruising against my ribs. "The root cellar," I said, coughing through the white plaster dust. "My grandfather built a drainage flume that runs three hundred yards down into the limestone wash."
"Move!"
A flashbang detonated in the living room just as we dropped through the trapdoor into the darkness below. The shockwave rattled my teeth in their sockets and set my ears ringing with a high, piercing whine.
In the subterranean crawlspace, water ran ankle-deep. I dragged Miller along the slick rock, feeling my way by memory. Behind us, heavy boots hit the floorboards above, followed by a voice that turned the blood in my veins to frost.
May you like
It was Eleanor’s voice. Sharp, aristocratic, and completely devoid of human warmth.
"Check the root cellar, gentlemen," she called down through the smoke. "And shoot her in the legs. I still need her thumb on the biometric pad before Arthur cuts the international transfer."
