Chapter 8 - Crossfire at Midnight
"Sniper!" Claire shouted, firing her shotgun through the front window before diving behind an overturned oak table.
The sound of shattering glass erupted into the cabin as high-caliber rounds tore through the cedar logs. Wood splinters flew like shrapnel. Clara instinctively threw herself onto the hardwood floor, shielding Lily beneath her body. The child was burning up, her small hands clawing weakly at Clara's arms as her tiny chest convulsed.
"Mark! The syringe!" Clara screamed over the deafening cracks of rifle fire.
Mark didn't duck. He moved with cold, mechanical efficiency, stepping through the hail of bullets toward Clara and Lily. A round grazed his left shoulder, spraying crimson across his collarbone, but his hand never wavered. He dropped to his knees beside Clara, sliding the needle into Lily’s IV port on her arm and depressing the plunger smoothly.
"Flush it with saline," Mark ordered, his voice steady despite the blood soaking his chest. "In four minutes, the receptor binding will reverse. Her temperature will drop."
Across the room, old Arthur Vance hadn't moved. He stood calmly in the hallway shadow, completely unbothered by the gunfire. "Trent doesn't want me, Alan. He wants you. He wants your access codes to the Cayman reserves. Give them to him, and he might let the woman and child walk."
Suddenly, the front door was kicked off its hinges with an explosive breach charge.
The blast wave threw Clara and Mark backward. Smoke, acrid sulfur, and blinding white flashbang light flooded the living room. Trent stepped over the splintered threshold, clad in full tactical body armor, carrying an automatic carbine.
"Family reunion," Trent yelled over the ringing silence, his eyes manic and bloodshot. He didn't look at his father. He didn't look at his sister. His weapon was locked dead center onto Mark’s forehead. "You took Claire from me. You took my inheritance. Now I take everything you love."
"Trent, don't!" Claire screamed from behind the overturned table, her shotgun empty. "Arthur is alive! Look at him! Dad set all of us up!"
Trent didn't even glance toward the hallway. A chilling, horrific smile spread across his lips.
"I know Dad is alive, Claire," Trent whispered. "Who do you think hired him to finish the job?"
Arthur stepped out from the shadows, placing a weathered hand gently on Trent’s armored shoulder.
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Clara looked at Mark in sheer horror. The father and son were working together from the very beginning. Mark was never the hunter; he had been the prey for five long years.
"Give me the master key, Alan," Trent said, stepping toward Lily’s twitching form on the floor, the muzzle of his carbine lowering toward the child. "Or I start by taking her other lung."
