Chapter 4: Blood and Thunder
Silas didn't drop his gun. Instead, he kicked the fuse box on the wall, plunging the hallway back into absolute darkness. Chaos erupted.
Gunfire flashed, deafening in the tight space. Silas moved purely on instinct and fury. He slammed the barrel of his shotgun into the nearest attacker, dropping him, then ducked a wild punch from another. Big John and Rusty fought like feral animals, using the narrow walls to their advantage.
A bullet grazed Silas’s shoulder, tearing through his leather jacket and flesh. He didn't even flinch. The pain was nothing compared to the agony of the last eight years. He threw his weight against the iron door, firing a point-blank blast into the heavy padlock. The metal shattered.
Silas burst into the freezing, damp basement. In the corner, chained to a pipe, was a frail woman huddled in a thin sweater. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sudden beam of Silas’s flashlight.
"Anna?" his voice broke.
She stared at the towering figure, her bruised face pale. "Dad...?"
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Before they could embrace, the last standing thug appeared in the doorway, raising a pistol at Silas's back. A gunshot rang out—but it wasn't aimed at Silas. Doc stood behind the thug, a smoking revolver in his hand. The thug collapsed.
"We need to move, now!" Doc yelled over the sound of approaching sirens. The waitress back at the diner had called the county sheriff. The cavalry was here. Silas scooped his daughter into his arms, carrying her out of the darkness and into the rain.
