Chapter 6 - THE SNIPER IN THE PINES
The deafening roar of automatic gunfire shattered the peaceful silence of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Wood chips and shattered glass rained down on us as Dante shoved Clara and me behind the heavy oak dresser in the bedroom.
“Marco! Status!” Dante barked into his tactical radio, pulling his pistol and returning blind fire toward the shattered front window.
“We’re taking heavy fire from the tree line!” Marco’s voice crackled back over the radio, punctuated by the sharp pop-pop of his own weapon. “At least three shooters with suppressed rifles! They tracked us here!”
“They aren't just here to kill us,” Dante realized, his jaw tightening into a hard line. “They’re trying to destroy the box Clara gave us!”
I looked down at the weathered wooden box clutched tightly in my hands. Inside was the master cryptographic key that could save the shipping port from catastrophic destruction.
“Dante, the girls are still in the SUV!” I yelled over the deafening din of the gunfight outside.
“Marco has them covered!” Dante shouted back, checking his magazine. “Stay behind this dresser! Do not move!”
Before I could argue, a massive explosion rocked the front of the cabin.
The heat of a petrol bomb washed down the hallway, licking at the edges of the bedroom door with hungry, orange flames. The cabin was catching fire.
“They’re burning us out!” Clara gasped, coughing from the thick, acrid black smoke that quickly began billowing into the room.
Dante didn't hesitate. He stood up, firing three rapid shots through the broken front window to suppress the sniper, then turned back to us.
“Clara, grab her hand! We’re getting out through the back root cellar!” Dante commanded, kicking open the small wooden door in the corner of the bedroom that led down into the dark earth.
I hauled Clara to her feet, keeping the wooden box clutched securely against my chest. We scrambled down the narrow, damp stone steps into the root cellar just as the ceiling of the main bedroom began to collapse in a sheet of fire.
Dante covered our retreat, firing his last few rounds into the hallway before diving down the stairs and slamming the heavy cellar doors shut above us.
Pitch blackness enveloped us, pierced only by the faint, orange glow of the burning cabin filtering through the cracks in the wood. The air down here was cool, smelling of damp soil and stored potatoes.
“This way,” Clara whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. She grabbed my arm and led us through the labyrinth of the underground dirt tunnels.
A minute later, we pushed open a rusted iron grate and tumbled out into the freezing night air, landing in a thick snowbank fifty yards behind the burning cabin.
The SUV was idling in a clearing near the tree line. Marco was standing by the passenger door, firing his assault rifle into the dark woods, while keeping the rear doors locked tight.
The moment he saw us, Marco waved frantically.
“Boss! Over here!”
We scrambled across the snow, diving behind the armored side of the SUV. Dante yanked the rear door open to check on the girls.
Sophie and Lily were awake, crying in sheer terror from the sound of the gunfire, but they were unharmed.
“Daddy!” Sophie screamed, throwing her arms around Dante’s neck as he lifted her into the vehicle.
“I’ve got you, girls. We’re safe,” Dante panted, bundling Lily in as well. He slammed the door shut and turned to Marco. “Are the shooters neutralized?”
“One is down in the tree line!” Marco shouted over the roar of the burning cabin. “The other two fled on snowmobiles toward the valley!”
“Let them run,” Dante ordered, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Our priority is the port. Marco, get in the back. Emily, take the passenger seat.”
I climbed into the front, clutching the wooden box like a holy relic.
Dante slammed the accelerator, and the heavy SUV fishtailed in the snow before rocketing down the mountain trail, away from the burning ruin of Clara’s home.
I looked back through the rear window. The cabin was fully engulfed in flames, lighting up the dark mountain sky like an angry torch.
“Clara,” I suddenly realized, turning around. “Where is Clara?”
Everyone froze.
Dante slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding to a halt in the snow. He stared into the backseat.
Clara wasn't there.
“She didn't come out of the root cellar,” Marco swore, slamming his hand against the door panel. “In the dark, amidst the smoke… she stayed behind.”
“No,” Dante whispered, staring back up the trail toward the fire.
“She didn't want to run anymore, Dante,” a calm, gentle voice echoed from the handheld radio on the dashboard.
Dante grabbed the mic. “Clara? Can you hear me?”
“I’m too old to start a new life on the run, my boy,” the old nurse’s voice crackled through the speaker, faint but clear. “I’ve lived my life. The box is safe with you. That’s all that matters. Now go. Save the city.”
Before Dante could answer, a massive secondary explosion echoed from the top of the mountain. The root cellar had caved in.
Tears glistened in Dante’s dark eyes. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
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Then, he slammed his foot on the gas.
We raced down the mountain toward the port, carrying the final piece of the puzzle that would either save thousands of lives—or watch them burn.
