Chapter 6 - The Red Barn on the River
The thunderstorm struck the coast of North Carolina with apocalyptic fury.
Torrents of gray rain lashed against the windshield of Sarah’s unmarked police SUV as we tore down Highway 74 toward Wilmington at ninety miles an hour. Sirens wailed softly behind the grille, cutting through the roaring wind.
I sat in the back seat with Lily, holding her tight against my chest. She was wearing a oversized warm hoodie Sarah had given her, her small hand tucked safely into mine.
“You don't have to come inside, Claire,” Sarah said from the driver’s seat, her eyes fixed on the rain-slicked highway. “When we hit the perimeter, my agents will keep you and Lily secure in the armored transport.”
“I’m not leaving her side,” I said, my voice steady for the first time all night. “And I want to see him put in chains.”
Twenty minutes later, the SUV turned off the main road onto a desolate, unpaved gravel track that wound through dense cypress swamps toward the river.
Up ahead, through the wall of rain, loomed the dark silhouette of an abandoned industrial complex. At the edge of a rotting wooden pier sat a massive, weathered red barn with a faded silver metal star painted on the peak of its roof.
Two black vans—identical to the one that had chased us from our house—were parked near the dock. A forty-foot commercial trawler rocked violently against the pilings in the surging river current.
“We have visual,” Sarah said into her tactical radio headset. “All units, hold perimeter until Coast Guard Tactical arrives.”
Suddenly, a sharp CRACK echoed through the storm.
The front passenger tire of our SUV exploded. The vehicle swerved wildly across the mud, skid sideways, and slammed into a rusted shipping container near the tree line.
The airbags deployed with a deafening bang.
Smoke and the smell of gunpowder filled the cab.
“Down! Stay down!” Sarah yelled, drawing her service weapon as automatic gunfire began to rake the side of the SUV, shattering the windows into rain-swept spray.
Through the broken window, I saw two men in tactical rain gear advancing across the mud, firing short bursts from submachine guns.
Behind them, standing on the covered deck of the red barn under a single floodlight, was Daniel.
He was wearing his black coat, holding a heavy leather briefcase in one hand and a silver pistol in the other. Beside him stood Marcus Reed, directing the shooters.
“Claire!” Daniel’s voice carried over the roar of the rain and the gunfire, amplified by a bullhorn. “I know you’re in there! Give Sarah the ledger and step out with Lily! I’m leaving on that boat in five minutes! You don't have to die for this!”
Sarah wiped blood from a small cut on her forehead, her eyes tracking the two shooters through the side mirror.
“I’m taking the two shooters,” Sarah whispered to me, popping the catch on her door. “When I open fire, you and Lily scramble out the rear hatch and get behind that concrete barrier. Do not look back!”
“Sarah, no!” I cried.
“Go!” Sarah screamed.
She kicked her door open and fired four rapid shots, dropping the lead shooter instantly.
The second shooter pivoted toward her, spraying automatic fire. Sarah took a hit to her shoulder, staggering back against the frame, but raised her weapon with her left hand and fired twice more, neutralizing the target.
“Go, Claire! NOW!”
I grabbed Lily, shoved the rear hatch open, and threw ourselves into the mud behind a massive concrete engine block half-buried in the tall grass.
Rain stung my face like needles.
Fifty yards away, Daniel saw us movement in the floodlights.
May you like
“Marcus, get the girl!” Daniel yelled, his voice laced with manic desperation. “Kill the mother!”
Marcus Reed leaped off the deck, pulling a long hunting knife from his belt as he sprinted through the mud straight toward our position.
