Chapter 5 - Fire in the Pine Valley
The collision sent Elena crashing forward against the seatbelt harness, the violent deceleration driving the breath from her lungs in an agonized gasp. Glass spider-webbed across the passenger window as armored rounds hammered the frame. The smell of scorched rubber and leaking radiator fluid filled the cabin instantly.
Julian was already moving. He kicked his door open, using the armored chassis as a shield, returning fire with measured, double-tap bursts from his Glock. Two men in black tactical gear collapsed onto the rain-slicked asphalt, their rifles clattering away.
“Out! Elena, crawl out my side!” Julian yelled over the deafening cacophony of gunfire.
She unbuckled the harness with shaking fingers, sliding across the center console toward the driver’s door. Julian reached in, seizing her by the collar of her ruined gown, dragging her out into the frigid mountain downpour. The rain instantly plastered her blonde hair to her scalp, chilling her to the bone.
Down the road, Mikhail’s sedan had pinned a cruiser against the cliff face, but smoke was billowing from under its hood. Mikhail was pinned behind the trunk, returning fire with his submachine gun against three heavily armed hostiles advancing from the tree line.
“Julian, there’s too many!” Elena cried out, crouching low behind the SUV’s rear tire, the pistol Julian had given her held uselessly in both hands.
“Mikhail! Retreat to the treeline!” Julian bellowed into his comms.
Instead of an answer, an explosion illuminated the gorge in a horrifying burst of orange light. Mikhail’s vehicle erupted into a fireball, the shockwave throwing Julian against Elena and slamming them both into the embankment. Mud splattered over Elena’s pale silk dress, staining it black and brown.
Through the ringing in her ears, Elena looked up to see a man stepping through the curtain of smoke and rain. He was tall, heavily built, holding a short-barreled shotgun loosely in his right hand. Across the left side of his jaw, pale in the flashing emergency lights, was the horrific, jagged expanse of a burn scar.
Victor Vance smiled, his yellowed teeth gleaming in the firelight.
“Good evening, Mrs. Julian,” Vance drawled over the hiss of burning rubber. “Your husband has terrible road manners.”
May you like
Julian stepped out from behind the wreckage, stepping directly into Vance’s line of fire, his weapon raised, his eyes burning with absolute murderous intent. But Vance didn't raise his shotgun; he simply held up his left hand, dangling a small, red knitted mitten soaked in water.
Elena’s scream was ripped straight from her soul.
