Chapter 2 - THE AMBUSH IN DISTRICT 9
"Hey!" Ethan’s voice rang out through the narrow passage, sharp, authoritative, and surprisingly steady.
The two men stopped instantly. The tall one—the man named Vance—wore a heavy leather tactical jacket with no insignia, his face scarred across the bridge of his nose. His partner was shorter, broader, carrying a heavy metal crowbar and a red plastic canister that reeked of industrial kerosene.
Vance narrowed his eyes, peering through the dim yellow light streaming from the distant streetlamp. "Who the hell are you? This is a restricted municipal clearance zone. Get lost."
Ethan didn't stop walking. He kept his pace slow, deliberate, stepping directly into the center of the narrow corridor, blocking their path to the door.
"I’m an independent officer of the Public Records Bureau," Ethan lied smoothly, pulling a leather credential holder from his breast pocket and flashing it so quickly in the gloom that the metal badge inside glittered without revealing his actual title. "This structure is currently under federal archival review for historical preservation. Any interference with the occupants or the physical structure prior to 8:00 AM tomorrow constitutes a class-one felony under State Municipal Code 104."
The broad man with the kerosene canister paused, looking uncertainly at his partner. "Vance? He talking about the law?"
Vance stared at Ethan for three long seconds. Then, slowly, a nasty, yellow-toothed smile spread across his scarred face.
"Federal archival review?" Vance sneered. "Nice try, suit. But Mr. Valentine owns the Municipal Records Bureau. He owns the building inspectors, he owns the precinct captain, and he owns every square inch of dirt under your shiny leather shoes. You’re not a federal officer. You’re just a busybody who walked down the wrong dark street."
Vance reached into his leather jacket. The distinct, metallic click of a flick-blade knife echoed off the brick walls.
"Drop the camera, suit," Vance growled, stepping forward. "And maybe we let you limp back to the bright side of town."
Ethan’s mind raced. Logic was useless here. Authority was a myth. The law was a tool bought and paid for by the man whose signature was currently sitting on the floor inside that room.
"Look behind you," Ethan said flatly.
Vance didn't even blink. "Oldest trick in the book—"
FLASH!
Ethan slammed his thumb down on the Leica’s manual flash override. A blinding, high-intensity burst of white light exploded in the narrow alleyway, searing through the darkness and striking both men directly in their dilated pupils.
Vance roared in pain, dropping his knife as his hands flew to his blinded eyes. "My eyes! Kill him, Bob!"
The broader man swung the heavy iron crowbar blindly through the air with a terrifying, whistling sound. Ethan ducked low, the iron bar missing his head by inches and smashing violently into the brick wall, sending a shower of sparks and red dust into the air.
Ethan didn't think. Instinct took over. He drove his shoulder straight into the broad man’s midsection, leveraging his entire body weight. The man, unbalanced from his wild swing, stumbled backward into the kerosene canister, tripping over his own heavy boots and crashing hard onto the wet cobblestones. The plastic cap on the canister popped off, spilling cold, pungent fuel across the alley floor.
Ethan turned and sprinted back toward the wooden door.
He threw it open. "Get up! We have to leave right now!"
The sick woman gasped, drawing the four children behind her blanket. Lily stood her ground, grabbing a rusty iron pipe from the floor and holding it up with shaking arms.
"Who are you?!" Lily demanded, her voice sharp with fear.
"I’m the guy who gave you the rice!" Ethan shouted, scooping up the youngest boy in his left arm and grabbing the heavy, crumpled eviction paper off the floor with his right hand. "There are men outside with gas and knives. They’re going to burn this place down! We have three minutes!"
The sick woman looked into Ethan’s eyes. She saw no cruelty, no greed—only pure, unadulterated panic and an absolute determination to save them.
"Help me up, Lily," the woman said, her voice instantly hardening despite her frail body. "Children, take his hand. Now!"
Ethan didn't waste another second. He wrapped his right arm around the woman’s waist, supporting her frail frame, while Lily grabbed the coat tails of the two middle children.
"Is there another door?!" Ethan hissed, hearing heavy, angry footsteps recovering outside in the alley.
"The back window," the woman rasped, pointing toward a small, square opening near the ceiling covered by a rotting wooden shutter. "It leads to the drainage canal."
"Vance!" the broad man’s voice roared from the alley. "Burn it! Burn the whole damn box!"
A sudden, terrifying WHOOSH of fire erupted outside the front door. Bright orange flames instantly licked beneath the peeling wood, the smell of burning oil filling the tiny room within seconds. Black, toxic smoke began billowed from the ceiling.
"Go! Go!" Ethan yelled, shoving an old wooden crate beneath the back window.
He lifted the middle children up first, hauling them through the small opening into the dark freezing night beyond. Next came Lily, who moved with agile, desperate speed.
"You next," Ethan told the mother.
"I’m too heavy... I can't climb..." she gasped, coughing violently as the thick smoke filled her lungs.
"You’re not staying here to die!" Ethan roared. He hoisted her up with every ounce of strength in his legs and shoulders, pushing her through the square opening just as the front door buckled inward under a heavy kick, raining burning embers into the room.
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Ethan grabbed his Leica camera, lunged up onto the crate, and threw his body through the window just as a hand reached through the flames to grab his ankle.
He kicked back wildly, his heavy shoe connecting with something hard, and fell four feet down into the cold, knee-deep sludge of the Lower Canal.
