Chapter 11 - The Unseen Ally
Victor spun around instantly, raising his handgun toward the tree line just as a second figure burst from the brush, tackling the man on his left to the ground in a tangle of limbs and mud.
“Run!” a familiar, gravelly voice roared through the rain.
It was David. He was battered, bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead, and covered in soot from head to toe, but he was alive. He wrestled fiercely with the syndicate enforcer in the mud, driving a hard right hook into the man’s jaw before scrambling back to his feet.
“Clara, grab Lily! Go!” Mark shouted, seizing the momentary chaos to lunge forward and grab Victor’s gun-wielding wrist, shoving it upward just as a deafening gunshot cracked through the night sky, sending a spray of lead harmlessly up into the canopy of the pine trees.
Victor cursed, kneeing Mark hard in the stomach. Mark doubled over, gasping for air, but managed to keep his grip on Victor’s wrist, twisting it sharply until the heavy handgun slipped from his fingers and splashed into the shallow water by the shore.
Clara didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lily’s hand and ran as fast as her legs could carry her along the rocky shoreline, away from the burning boathouse and deep into the tangled underbrush of the forest.
“Mommy, my shoes!” Lily cried out as one of her pink sneakers slipped off her foot and sank deep into the sucking mud.
“Don't look back, keep running!” Clara urged, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the sharp pine needles whipped against her face.
Behind them, the sounds of a violent struggle echoed through the trees—shouts, heavy thuds, and the splashing of water. Clara risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Through the curtain of falling rain, she saw Mark and David fighting side by side against Victor and his men, but they were vastly outnumbered and exhausted.
They couldn't stop. If they were caught here, there would be no second chances.
Clara spotted an old, rusted hunting cabin nestled among a grove of moss-covered boulders just a few yards ahead. Its front door hung loosely off a single rusted hinge, offering a temporary hiding spot from the men pursuing them through the woods.
She kicked the door open, pulled Lily inside, and slammed it shut behind them, throwing a heavy wooden beam across the brackets to secure the door from the inside.
The cabin was pitch black, smelling of damp earth and old canvas. Clara pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight feature to check their surroundings.
As the narrow beam of light cut across the room, it illuminated an old wooden table in the center of the cabin. Resting right in the middle of the table was a small, dusty cardboard box with a handwritten note taped to the lid.
May you like
Clara walked closer, her hand trembling as she read the bold letters written on the note in fresh blue ink: FOR MARK’S FAMILY. THE END IS NEAR.
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