Chapter 5 - Blood In The Pines: The First Strike
The heavy oak door of the cabin shuddered under the sudden, brutal impact of a heavy tactical boot kicking it inward with explosive force.
The splintered wood cracked, but the reinforced deadbolt held firm, buying Elena and Julian precious seconds in the confined space of the living room.
“Clear the perimeter! Check the side windows!” a gruff, muffled voice shouted from the front porch through the thick timber.
Inside, Julian crouched behind the heavy oak dining table, his sidearm raised and aimed directly at the center of the splintered front door.
Elena stood silently in the dark shadows of the kitchen alcove, her suppressed rifle leveled at the side window where glass was about to shatter.
The tactical operatives outside made their fatal mistake: they assumed the cabin was occupied by a terrified, cornered fugitive with nowhere left to run.
The side window exploded inward as a black-clad operative vaulted through the opening, rifle raised to sweep the room.
Before his boots even hit the wooden floorboards, Elena’s rifle hissed softly twice, sending two precision rounds through his tactical vest.
The operative dropped instantly, collapsing into a crumpled heap beside the kitchen counter without firing a single shot.
Outside, the lead commander realized they had walked into a prepared ambush rather than a simple capture operation.
“Contact! Window two is down! Fall back to the treeline!” the commander roared over the radio static.
Julian didn't hesitate; he stood up from behind the dining table, sprinted toward the front door, and fired three rapid shots through the wooden panels to pin them down.
“They’re retreating to regroup,” Julian announced, his breathing heavy as he hurried over to check the fallen operative for identification badges or radio frequencies.
“They won’t retreat for long. That was just their scout team,” Elena warned, lowering her rifle and checking her remaining ammunition clips with icy calm.
“Who trained you, Elena? That wasn't just survivalist target practice,” Julian asked, pulling a secure tactical radio off the dead operative’s belt and tossing it aside.
“A very bad husband in a very powerful syndicate,” Elena answered flatly, her eyes darkening with painful memories she had buried in the woods. “Let’s just say I learned how corporate executioners operate from the inside.”
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Julian looked at her with a profound, unspoken understanding passing between them, realizing they were both survivors of high-society monsters.
“They’ll be back with heavier ordnance within the hour,” Julian said, walking over to the window to watch the tree line. “We need to move before they burn this cabin to the ground.”
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