Chapter 11 - The Escape from the Homestead
The deafening roar of the generator vibrated through the wooden floorboards of the cottage, filling the backyard with a chaotic, concussive hum. Inside the hallway, Miller dropped the utility knife onto the floorboards with a sharp clatter, his headlamp swinging wildly toward the kitchen windows as he realized his cover had been blown.
"What was that noise?" Julian’s voice snapped through the comms earpiece with razor-sharp urgency. "Miller, report! Did someone trip an alarm?"
"Negative, Boss. Some piece of yard equipment just fired up near the back fence," Miller growled, abandoning the torn ledger on the floor as he drew a heavy-duty sidearm from his tactical holster. "Sounds like someone's trying to draw attention. I'm checking the perimeter."
Clara didn't wait to see him reach the door. The moment the generator caught, she bolted from the shed, her old joints aching against the sudden exertion, and sprinted blindly across the wet lawn toward the edge of the property line where she had left her car.
The side door of the cottage burst open with a loud splintering crash.
"Hey! Stop right there!" Miller shouted, his deep voice cutting cleanly through the roar of the generator as the beam of his tactical flashlight swept across the grass, missing Clara by mere inches as she dove behind a thick row of hydrangeas.
Her breath came in ragged, burning gasps. Her knees scraped sharply against the gravel border of the flower bed, but she didn't dare make a sound. Through the leaves, she watched the heavy boots of the intruder march across the grass toward the shed, his flashlight cutting white swathes through the misty drizzle.
"Clear out of the shed, whoever's out here!" Miller yelled, kicking the wooden door of the outbuilding wide open.
This was her only chance.
Clara pushed herself up from the flower bed, keeping low as she scrambled over the low picket fence and dashed across the open street toward her parked sedan. She threw herself into the driver's side door, slamming it shut behind her with a breathless gasp.
In the passenger seat, Leo sat bolt upright, his wide eyes reflecting the flashing dashboard lights. "Grandma! I heard someone shouting! Are you okay?"
"We have to go, right now," Clara wheezed, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she shoved the key into the ignition and twisted it hard. The engine roared to life, drowning out the generator across the lawn.
Without turning on her headlights, Clara threw the gearshift into reverse, backed out of her parking spot with a sharp squeal of tires, and accelerated down the dark suburban street just as Miller rounded the corner of the house, his flashlight beam slicing through the darkness behind them.
As they sped away into the foggy night, Leo looked back through the rear window of the sedan, watching the dark cargo van in the driveway grow smaller and smaller until it vanished into the mist.
"Grandma, where are we going?" Leo asked, his voice trembling as he clutched the fleece jacket tighter around his chest. "We can't go back to the penthouse, and we can't stay at your house. Where is safe?"
Clara gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned entirely white, her eyes fixed on the empty highway stretching out ahead of them into the grey dawn.
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"We're going to the federal courthouse downtown," Clara said, her voice dropping into a hard, unyielding tone that brooked no argument. "It's time to put an end to this once and for all."
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