Chapter 8 - The Blizzard’s Teeth
Marcus looked at the gun in my hand, then looked at the open delivery door behind him. He wasn't done. He spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor, his eyes wild with animal cunning.
“You can’t watch her forever!” he snarled.
Before I could close the distance, he threw himself backward through the open doorway, rolling into the snowdrift outside!
I bolted to the door frame, raising my weapon. But the blizzard was an impenetrable white wall. The gale-force wind blew snow directly into my eyes, stinging like needles. In three seconds, Marcus had vanished into the swirling whiteout behind the diner.
I didn't pursue him into the storm. Tactical rule number one: never abandon your principal to chase an adversary into unfavorable terrain.
I slammed the heavy steel door shut, jammed the crossbar lock into place, and wedged a heavy metal prep cart beneath the handle.
I hurried back through the swinging kitchen doors into the dining room.
The gunshot had terrified everyone. The two truckers were standing by the front door, one of them holding a tire iron, while Martha stood behind the counter with her shotgun leveled at the kitchen door.
“Daniel!” Lena cried out from beneath the counter.
Rex emerged first, his tail giving one sharp wag upon seeing me, followed closely by the girl. She threw her arms around my waist, burying her face into my jacket. She was shaking so violently I could feel her teeth chattering against my ribs.
“Are you hurt?” she sobbed.
“I’m fine,” I said, resting a hand gently on the back of her hood. “He’s gone. He ran back out into the storm.”
“The phone lines are completely dead,” Martha said, lowering the shotgun slightly, her face pale in the candlelight. “I tried the landline after the power went out. The line was cut out back. That son of a bitch planned this.”
“What about the radio?” I asked.
“CB radio in my truck,” one of the truckers spoke up. “I’ve got a high-output unit wired directly to the dual batteries. If anyone can punch through the storm chatter, it’s my rig.”
“Go,” I told him. “Tell the state police we have an attempted kidnapping, an armed assailant on the loose, and an injured child. Tell them we need an escort as soon as the plows break the drift.”
The trucker nodded once, pulled his heavy coat tight, and hurried out into the parking lot.
May you like
Lena looked up at me, her blue eyes reflecting the flickering candle flame. “Daniel… what if the police don't come in time?”
“They will,” I promised. “And until they do, you have Rex. And you have me.”
