Chapter 12: The Perimeter Breach
The deadbolt rattled sharply in its iron housing as a heavy shoulder slammed against the exterior wood of the cabin door. Dust sifted down from the pine rafters, settling in Clara’s hair and coating the shoulders of her dark blue uniform dress.
"Leo, get behind the woodstove," Clara whispered urgently, her voice hard as steel. She stood up, her eyes darting around the cabin for a weapon.
There was no fireplace poker here, but leaning against the stone hearth was a heavy iron splitting maul with a thick hickory handle. Clara crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the heavy tool, and gripped the handle with both hands, adopting a balanced, defensive stance facing the door.
"Open the door, girl," a harsh, muffled voice growled from the other side of the wood. "We know you're in there. You can't outrun the storm, and you certainly can't outrun us."
Clara said nothing. She kept her breathing steady and deep, her eyes fixed on the iron deadbolt as it vibrated under the steady pressure of someone trying to force the latch.
With a deafening crash, the exterior wooden frame splintered. The deadbolt tore clean out of the rotten timber, and the door swung violently inward. A large man in a dark tactical coat stepped into the cabin, snow swirling around his boots, a suppressed pistol raised and ready in his right hand.
He didn't expect to see a young woman in a waitress uniform standing dead center in the room, holding a heavy iron splitting maul poised to strike.
Before the enforcer could adjust his aim or issue another threat, Clara swung the maul with every ounce of raw fury and adrenaline she possessed. The heavy iron head caught the barrel of his pistol, deflecting it upward just as a muffled shot exploded into the ceiling, raining plaster dust and wood splinters down over the hearth.
The enforcer stumbled backward from the sheer impact, cursing violently as he tried to regain his balance on the slippery snow tracked across the threshold. Clara pressed her advantage, stepping forward and bringing the handle down in a sharp, defensive jab that caught him squarely in the chest. He gasped for air, dropping to one knee.
"Don't move," Clara commanded, her voice ringing with an authority that left no room for argument, the heavy iron maul still raised.
The enforcer glared up at her, blood trickling from a small cut on his temple where the backswing had grazed him. He reached slowly toward his inner jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the grip of a secondary weapon.
May you like
Before he could draw it, a brilliant flash of amber light cut through the falling snow outside the shattered doorway, followed by the deep, unmistakable roar of a heavy-duty engine tearing through the drifts.
***
