Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
The ground next to me explodes with bullets, but I keep moving, keep squeezing the trigger. Their armor protects them, but it also slows them down, buying me precious seconds. Even when I don’t kill them, my bullets knock them down and out.
Five enemies left now.
All the weapons I prepared are in our car, with only a Glock strapped to my leg, so when my borrowed gun clicks empty, I throw it aside and dive behind two fallen agents, grabbing one’s weapon on the way.
Fire punches at my left arm, but I ignore it.
I can still hold the gun, so the wound can’t be that bad.
The SWAT van is now just a dozen feet away, so I throw myself toward it, both for cover and because that’s as far from the house as I can manage. As I hit the ground, I squeeze off another few rounds and get lucky with my angle, catching two agents underneath their face shields.
Fire bites at my right calf, but the adrenaline keeps me moving.
More bullets pepper the ground around me, though I’m now behind the car.
The chopper.
Flopping onto my back, I squeeze off a round in its direction, and a rotor blade explodes, causing it to tilt sharply in the air. I fire again, and it swerves away, disappearing behind the trees a couple of blocks over.
Without pausing, I roll under the van and come out on the other side, facing the three remaining agents.
Only there are two of them in front of me.
One is running toward the house.
30
Sara
Everything happens in a flash. One moment, I’m standing behind Peter as the agent is about to cuff him, and the next, there’s a thunderous crack and the man’s helmet explodes, blood and brains spraying all over as Peter springs into action, snatching the dead man’s gun.
“Sara, get in!” Mom grabs my arm, yanking me backward as deafening gunfire erupts, mixing with the roar of the chopper.
“No, you go in!” I yell, twisting out of her hold. I can’t leave Peter out here. “Get inside now!”
“Your baby!” Dad shouts over the noise, grabbing my wrist as I’m about to lunge forward. “You’re pregnant, remember?”
The reminder is like a bucket of ice water thrown in my face.
I’d forgotten about the tiny life inside me, the child Peter wants so badly.
“Get inside, Sara. Now!” Mom yanks on my other wrist, and this time, I obey, stumbling into the house as the street turns into a war zone.
“We have to… get away… from the windows,” Dad wheezes, bending over in the foyer. “The bullets, they—”
“It’s okay, Dad. Just breathe.” I grab his elbow as he starts to collapse, but he’s too heavy for me to hold and I just manage to soften his fall.
“Where are your pills?” My voice rises in panic as his face begins to turn blue. “Mom, where’s his medication?”
“The k-kitchen.” She sounds like she’s going into shock. “T-top cabinet on the right.”
“Okay, be right back.” The living room window explodes as I sprint past it, but I barely register the fragments of glass peppering my skin.
I have to get Dad’s medicine.
I can’t think about Peter right now, can’t focus on the toxic terror squeezing my chest.
He’ll make it.
He has to.
Opening the cabinet, I grab Dad’s nitroglycerin pills and a bottle of aspirin, then sprint back as the noise of the chopper fades away and the gunfire stops.
Mom is kneeling over Dad’s unconscious body, her face a mask of terror as she looks at me. “He’s not breathing. Sara, he’s not breathing.”
I’m already on my knees, pushing on Dad’s chest as I count under my breath, then bend over to breathe into his mouth.
His chest rises with the air I give him, then falls and remains unmoving.
Fighting my growing panic, I begin the chest compressions again.
One, two, three, four—
The door flies open, and two wrestling men tumble in.
It’s a SWAT agent and a blood-covered Peter.
31
Peter
I fire before the agents do, squeezing off two rounds that hit them right under their face shields. Fueled by adrenaline, I jump to my feet, only vaguely aware of the burning pain in my arm and calf.
I have to stop the fleeing agent.
I can’t let him hole up with Sara and her family inside.
Putting on a burst of speed, I catch up with him by the entrance and tackle him as he spins around, ready to fire. The weapon clatters across the porch, and we crash into the door, pushing it open with our momentum.
I only have a split second to take in the scene inside, but it’s enough for me to angle to the right and avoid tumbling into a kneeling Sara and her parents.
We crash into the couch instead and roll across the floor together, struggling for the Glock tucked into his belt. I land on top of him and yank the weapon out, but he rams his elbow into my injured arm, knocking the gun out of my hand.