Chapter 7 - The Extraction
I didn’t scream. Adrenaline instantly overrode my terror. I grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove and sprinted in the dark toward Olivia’s room.
“Liv! Get up! Now!” I hissed, violently shaking her awake.
She bolted upright, disoriented in the pitch black. “Claire? What’s wrong?”
“Preston is out. The house is compromised.”
Olivia didn't freeze. The six months of peace had healed her, making her fiercely protective of her son. She leaped out of bed, scooped Leo out of his crib, and strapped him to her chest in his baby carrier in under ten seconds.
Downstairs, the sound of shattered glass echoed over the thunder. They were breaking in through the patio doors.
“Dad’s panic route,” I whispered.
When my father bought the house, he had the contractors install a reinforced steel door in the master closet that led down a narrow maintenance shaft to the subterranean garage. We rushed into the closet, locking the heavy bedroom door behind us. I punched the code into the keypad, and the hidden door slid open.
As we descended the dark, narrow stairs, I heard the bedroom door upstairs splinter under heavy kicks.
We burst into the underground garage. My father’s vintage, analog Land Rover—a vehicle with no GPS, no computer systems to hack, and a reinforced chassis—was waiting. I threw Olivia the keys and grabbed my father’s emergency shotgun from the lockbox on the wall.
“Start it!” I yelled.
Just as the engine roared to life, the stairwell door burst open. Two massive mercenaries dressed in black tactical gear stepped into the garage, raising their weapons.
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I didn't hesitate. I pumped the shotgun and fired at the concrete ceiling above them, raining sparks and debris down on their heads. They ducked, and I dove into the passenger seat.
Olivia slammed her foot on the gas. The heavy steel garage doors shattered off their tracks as the Land Rover burst into the raging storm, leaving Preston’s men in our dust.
