Chapter 7 - The Desperate Stand
The men instantly raised their rifles, the red laser sights dancing across my chest.
Marcus stepped forward, a smug, arrogant smirk on his face. "Ah, the new husband. David, isn't it? You've got guts, I'll give you that. Where is the child?"
"He's inside," I lied, stepping slightly off the porch to draw their attention away from the door. "Emily is wrapping him up. We don't want any trouble, Marcus. We just want to live."
"A wise decision," Marcus chuckled, adjusting his expensive leather gloves. "You know, David, I almost feel sorry for you. You married damaged goods. Emily was always so dramatic. Did she tell you I was a monster?"
"She mentioned it," I said flatly.
The smell of propane was slowly drifting out the open door behind me, mingling with the scent of pine. I needed to stall just a few more seconds.
"It's a shame Julian got sick," Marcus sighed, shaking his head as if discussing the weather. "Leukemia is a terrible thing. But fortunately, biology is a beautiful tool. I just need the cord blood and a little marrow. Don't worry, the baby will survive the procedure. Mostly."
"You're a psychopath," I spat.
Marcus's smile vanished. "Go inside and get the baby," he ordered his men.
Two of the armed mercenaries moved past me, stepping onto the wooden porch and walking through the open front door of the cabin.
I waited three seconds.
"Now," I whispered to myself.
I reached into my pocket, struck a match against the strike pad, and flicked it backward through the open doorway.
The explosion was deafening.
The accumulated propane in the kitchen ignited in a massive, terrifying fireball. The concussive shockwave blew the roof completely off the front half of the cabin. The two men inside were instantly engulfed in flames and thrown backward.
The blast wave hit the porch, knocking me flat onto the grass and sending Marcus flying into the side of his SUV. The sheer force of the explosion shattered the windows of their vehicles.
My ears were ringing violently, a high-pitched whine drowning out the sound of the crackling fire. I scrambled to my feet, my vision blurry. The cabin was ablaze, but the back half—where the bathroom was—remained intact.
Marcus was on the ground, bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead, struggling to reach a pistol tucked into his coat.
I didn't give him the chance. I charged forward with the iron fire poker.
One of his remaining men raised his rifle, but he was disoriented by the blast. I swung the heavy iron bar like a baseball bat, striking the rifle out of his hands, then brought the heavy end down across his knee. He collapsed with a scream.
I turned just as Marcus aimed his pistol at my chest.
Before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot rang out from the trees.
Marcus screamed, dropping his gun as a bullet tore through his shoulder. He fell to his knees in the dirt.
I spun around. Standing at the edge of the woods, illuminated by the burning cabin, was Emily. She was holding a hunting rifle she had hidden in the bathroom, her hands completely steady.
"It's over, Marcus," she said, her voice echoing with absolute authority.
In the distance, the faint wail of police sirens began to rise over the mountains. The silent panic button I had pressed on my phone back at the hospital had finally brought the authorities to our GPS location.
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Marcus looked at the approaching lights, then up at Emily. The arrogant smirk was gone. He looked small, broken, and defeated.
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