John raised the shotgun and flipped off the safety. With his left hand, he pulled both the shades and ear protectors from his head and dropped them into the ammo bag.
Dual shotgun blasts came from both the front and back doors as the intruders blew away the hinges.
“The Feds are so predictable,” he transmitted.
Caitlin had pushed the mattress to one side and was aiming at the rear door. John faced the front door just as the first man kicked it off its shattered hinges and stood silhouetted against the swirling snow.
As he stepped to one side of the door, the second agent appeared. The shotgun bucked in his hands as John shot the second man in the knees. The Remington smoothly chambered another round, and John popped the first man the same way even as he turned toward his position.
Both men collapsed. The second man fell outside the house while the first fell face down in the foyer.
The night was suddenly filled with screaming, bleeding bodies, the deep-throated boom of another shotgun, and automatic fire from a dozen weapons.
“Got one of mine,” Caitlin transmitted. “The other ducked back outside as soon as he heard your shots.”
“All right, give them a second to empty their magazines into the house. Ha, damn nice to have these thick logs. When there’s a pause, they’ll probably try to get us to surrender, that’s when we’ll pop the charges and hit the back door.”
“Ready when you are.”
He backed down the hall, keeping his gun sighted on the front door until he bumped into her. A few seconds later, the gunfire suddenly ceased.
The tinny shout of a bullhorn broke the silence. “You in the house. John Blalock. We are Federal Agents. You are surrounded. Surrender now. You won’t be offered another chance.”
“That’s our cue,” John transmitted.
He picked up the end of the orange power cord and plugged it into the wall outlet.
Shattering explosions filled the night with one thousand, one-inch long, steel brads. Suddenly there was confusion, screaming, and more gunfire.
“That’s our cue to skidoo,” John transmitted.
He ran through the kitchen and onto the back porch. The man Caitlin had shot was still sprawled on the porch, clutching at the mangled mess of his legs, and screaming. Another man slumped beside the steps. He had the misfortune to hide not five feet from the Pyrodex powder charge. His flak vest bristled with scores of the small nails, but the ones that reached his head and limbs had sunk in.
John had an unexpected memory flash of the Nails character in Wes Craven’s Hellbound.
He scanned both sides of the house, but he could not see any movement through the thick snow.
“Come on,” he transmitted. “Allie allie all in free.”
Caitlin came through the door and ran past him without giving either of the fallen men more than a moment’s inspection.
He gave her a three-second head start, and when there was no sign of pursuit, ran after her.
The wind against his face was cold. He could feel his nose starting to run, and his eyes watered. It reminded him of learning to ski at Copper Mountain, nearly twenty years before.
It amazed him what the memory dragged up at the oddest times.
Ahead of him, Caitlin was climbing into the Jeep. He yanked opened the driver’s door as Caitlin closed her door. Taking the key from beneath the floor mat, John inserted it in the ignition.
Caitlin was staring back toward the house.
John turned the key, and the engine fired to life.
Automatic fire pinged through the Jeep’s sheet metal.
Caitlin ducked beneath the windows.
“Damn, I didn’t think anyone saw us leave. Get on the floor,” John said, slamming the transmission into gear, and goosing the accelerator.
The Jeep shot forward as a second automatic opened up from the opposite side of the house.
“Son of a bitch!”
The Jeep was already aimed at the narrow path he’d picked through the woods. He left the lights off as they rushed toward the trees.
Glass shattered as bullets whined through the interior.
He crouched low in the seat and tried to estimate how long he had before they reached the tree line.
John leaned over Caitlin’s head and flipped open the glove box. He fumbled his night goggles out of their case and slipped them over his eyes just in time to avoid the thick pine they’d been about to skewer. The goggles didn’t function as well in the snowy landscape as on a clear night, but there was enough light to make out the darker shadows of the trees.
The window next to John’s head shattered in a burst of flying glass. Shards of the safety glass peppered the side of his face like the spray from a shotgun.
Then they were into the trees and swerving to avoid the nearer pines. Out of sight of the house, the gunfire died.
“You can get up now. You should get your safety harness on,” John said aloud as he pulled his own harness across his body and clicked it into the buckle.
Caitlin climbed onto the seat and struggled to pull out the belt.
They reached the down slope, tipped over the edge, and picked up speed. The lumps of rock he’d spotted during the daylight were invisible in his goggles. He flicked on the parking lights. The added light provided more contrast, but he still couldn’t overdrive the lights. He was forced to stay below thirty.
The tires struck something beneath the snow, and the Jeep bounced roughly to the side. Caitlin grunted. John turned his head far enough to see that she had bounced off the ceiling and into the side door.
“Damn,” she said and tugged on the harness again. For a moment, it wouldn’t release as the rough
