THE GHOST OF KEARNS RIDGE: THE SOLDIER WHO CAME HOME FROM A GRAVE THAT WAS NEVER DUG

The small black canister hummed violently in Mark’s palm, the digital display pulsing a frantic, blinding red.

"Get out!" Mark roared, turning toward Clara and David with a ferocity that left no room for argument. "Get out of the house right now!"

David didn't hesitate. Adrenaline and sheer terror fueled his movements as he scrambled across the shattered glass, grabbed Clara by the arm, and hauled her to her feet. "Come on, Clara! Move!"

"Lily! Toby!" Clara screamed, her voice cracking as she bolted toward the stairs, abandoning the kitchen entirely.

Mark looked down at the intruder, who was smiling a bloody, broken smile from the floor. "You can't outrun the containment grid, Captain. The whole block is already locked down."

Mark didn't answer. He hurled the black canister out through the shattered kitchen window into the backyard just as a muffled, concussive thump rocked the foundation of the house. The shockwave blew out the remaining windowpanes in the kitchen, showering the floor with a fresh wave of glass and filling the room with a thick, acrid cloud of white chemical smoke.

Through the haze, Mark saw the suited man reaching for a secondary weapon concealed in his shoulder holster. Mark didn't hesitate; he brought the heavy heel of his tactical boot down hard on the man’s wrist, hearing the distinct crunch of bone before the man slumped backward, unconscious.

Mark turned and bolted from the kitchen into the hallway.

Upstairs, Lily and Toby were screaming in terror as David herded them toward the front door, pulling them down the staircase with frantic urgency. Clara was hyperventilating by the entryway, her red slip dress torn at the hem, her eyes wide with a manic, feral panic.

"The car!" David shouted, pointing out the front door toward the street.

Parked at the curb wasn't just the one unmarked sedan anymore. Two additional black SUVs had pulled up, blocking both ends of the suburban street. Men in full tactical gear—black helmets, body armor, and suppressed carbines—were pouring out of the vehicles, establishing a rapid perimeter around the house.

"They're federal," Mark said, appearing at the bottom of the stairs with a cold, hardened look in his eyes. He reached out and grabbed David by the collar of his shirt, shoving him backward into the hallway just as a stream of suppressed gunfire chewed through the front door frame, showering the foyer in splinters.

"Get down!" Mark yelled, throwing his body over Clara and the children as they huddled against the base of the stairs.