Chapter 35 - Blood on the Threshold
Daniel struck with the blind, ferocious momentum of a cornered animal.
He didn't aim for the tactical vest; he drove his entire body weight into the operative’s side, slamming him into the hallway wall. The knife struck the gap beneath the operator’s armpit, piercing Kevlar seam and flesh. The man let out a wet, muffled choke as the rifle was knocked from his sling.
The second operator swung his suppressed rifle toward the scuffle, but Daniel dragged the dying man into the line of fire.
*Thwack. Thwack.*
Two subsonic rounds thudded into the first operator's backplate with dull, concussive thuds. Daniel hooked his leg behind the falling man’s knee, throwing the deadweight directly into the shooter’s legs. The second operator stumbled backward over his partner’s body, his weapon canting toward the ceiling.
Daniel lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the carbine with both hands, twisting it with every ounce of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Metal screamed against metal. Daniel drove his forehead directly into the bridge of the shooter’s tactical goggles.
The glass cracked. The operator grunted, blood spraying from broken nasal cartilage. Daniel ripped the rifle from the man's grip, flipped the selector switch, and fired a burst directly into the center of the operator's chest. The man collapsed back into the living room, motionless.
The house went dead silent, save for the hiss of rain through the shattered windows.
Daniel stood in the smoky hallway, chest heaving, his hands slick with sweat and cordite. His vision was still swimming with spots, his ears ringing violently.
"Daniel?" Evelyn’s terrified voice came from behind the pantry door.
"Get out! Out through the back storm cellar!" Daniel shouted, coughing through the acrid smoke. "Move!"
He kicked open the pantry door. Evelyn scrambled out, pulling Noah by the wrist. Noah’s eyes were wide with shock, staring at the bodies on the floor, but Daniel physically blocked his son's line of sight.
"Look at me, Noah. Look at my eyes," Daniel commanded, grabbing his son’s shoulders. "Run with your grandmother down the cellar stairs into the tree line. Do not stop until you reach the old dairy barn on Route 9. Do you hear me?"
"Where are you going?" Noah sobbed.
"I have Lily. I am right behind you. Go!"
Evelyn didn't hesitate; terror gave her seventy-year-old legs unnatural speed as she hauled Noah toward the back pantry exit.
Daniel turned to grab Lily.
She was kneeling beside the first downed operator.
"Lily, what are you doing?!" Daniel lunged, terrified another squad was breaching the rear. "Get away from him!"
Lily wasn't looking at the blood. Her small, pale fingers had unzipped the operator’s tactical chest rig. In her tiny palm, she held a laminated clearance badge recovered from the dead man's pocket.
The badge bore no Department of Homeland Security logo. It bore the crest of the Cook County District Attorney’s Office—Special Operations Division.
And clipped to the lanyard was a small, titanium key stamped with the number: *742.*
"Mom's locker," Lily said softly, looking up into Daniel’s eyes amidst the drifting smoke. "He took it from our house before it blew up."
From outside, the roar of a heavy diesel engine signaled the approach of the third SUV circling to the rear of the farmhouse.
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"Hold on to me," Daniel said, hoisting Lily against his shoulder and gripping the captured carbine in his right hand. "We're taking Mom’s truth back."
***
