Chapter 10 - Into the Timberline
The sharp crack of the tactical officer’s warning shot still echoed off the distant hills as Jax stepped completely out from behind the safety of the truck, his hands raised high to catch the enemy's attention. Half a dozen red laser sights instantly painted his dark shirt, dancing across his chest like angry fireflies.
“Hold your fire!” the man in the suit commanded, walking closer with a triumphant smirk. “Don't kill the hero quite yet. Let him watch his family get dragged back into the system piece by piece.”
While all eyes and gun barrels were fixated on Jax, Mark used the distraction to absolute perfection. With a powerful kick, he shattered the rotting wooden planks of the backyard fence, clearing a path into the dense, shadowed underbrush of the towering pine forest.
“Go, Sarah! Keep running and don't look back!” Mark urged, shoving his wife and son through the gap just as a shout erupted from the tactical squad.
“They’re escaping through the fence! Cut them off!” the lead officer roared.
Three tactical operatives broke formation, pivoting toward the broken fence and raising their rifles toward the fleeing mother and child.
Jax didn't wait another second. With a fierce roar, he lunged sideways, crashing hard into the nearest operative and sending both of them tumbling violently into the burning debris near the ruined garage. Flames licked at their clothes as they rolled across the dirt, fighting savagely for control of the tactical rifle.
“Get him off me!” the operative screamed, striking Jax across the face with the heavy butt of the weapon.
Blood welled instantly from a split above Jax’s left eyebrow, but the big man refused to let go, gripping the operative’s throat with one hand and slamming his head against a concrete block until the man went limp.
Mark fired a single, deafening shot from his hunting rifle into the hood of the nearest black SUV, puncturing the radiator and sending a massive cloud of hissing, superheated steam billowing across the driveway, completely blinding the remaining tactical team.
“Mark! Watch out!” Sarah screamed from the treeline.
Through the thick steam, a shadowy figure emerged directly in front of Mark. It wasn't a tactical officer; it was the man in the suit, holding a small, suppressed pistol aimed squarely at Mark’s chest.
“End of the line, old friend,” the man whispered coldly, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Before the bullet could leave the barrel, a small eight-year-old boy darted out from the edge of the treeline. Leo hurled a heavy iron horseshoe he had picked up off the ground, striking the man in the suit squarely across the wrist. The pistol flew from the man’s hand, clattering harmlessly into the gravel.
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Mark grabbed his son by the hand, turned, and vanished into the dark, welcoming shadows of the forest just as a hail of bullets shredded the tree bark right above their heads.
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