Chapter 5 - Night of the Hunter
"Emily," I whispered, rushing into her small bedroom.
She woke up instantly, her eyes wide with alarm. "Dad?"
"Quiet, baby. I need you to do exactly what I say," I said, pulling her out of bed. I led her to the small pantry in the kitchen. Beneath the bottom shelf was a small trapdoor that led to the crawlspace under the cabin—a place my father used to store potatoes. "Hide in here. Do not make a sound, no matter what you hear. Do you understand me?"
She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't leave me, Dad."
"I am not leaving you. I am going to protect you. Now get in, baby."
I closed the trapdoor and pulled a heavy wooden rug over it.
Just then, the front door of the cabin was kicked open with a splintering crash.
Two men in dark tactical gear stepped inside, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. Behind them stood Jason. He held a heavy iron crowbar in his hand, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He had lost his polite, wealthy appearance; he looked like a feral animal cornered.
"Michael!" Jason shouted, his voice echoing in the small cabin. "I know you're here! You stole my property, and now you’ve brought her to this dump!"
I stepped out of the shadows, aiming the shotgun directly at his chest. "Get out of my house, Gregory."
Jason froze. When he heard his real name, his eyes narrowed into slits. "So, you’ve been doing some reading. It doesn't matter. No one is alive to care about Gregory Vance. And no one is going to care about Michael Vance either."
"You're a con artist, Jason. You killed that woman in Colorado, and you were going to kill Sarah," I said, keeping my finger on the trigger.
"Sarah was weak," Jason sneered, taking a slow step forward. "Just like you. You think that old gun scares me? You don't have the guts to pull the trigger."
"Try me," I growled.
One of his hired thugs lunged from the side, grabbing the barrel of the shotgun.
BANG!
The gun fired into the ceiling, showering us with wood splinters and plaster. The second thug tackled me to the floor, slamming his fist into my jaw. The shotgun flew out of my hands, sliding across the wooden floorboards.
I fought like a wild animal, kicking and biting, but the two men were younger and stronger. They pinned me to the ground, my face pressed against the rough wood.
Jason walked over, looking down at me with a sickening smile. He raised the iron crowbar.
"Where is she, Michael?" Jason asked, tapping the crowbar against his palm. "Where is the little dog?"
"I'll never tell you," I spat, blood pooling in my mouth.
"That's fine. We'll burn this place down with you inside it. She'll have to come out then," Jason said coldly. He turned to one of his men. "Get the gasoline from the truck."
As the man turned to leave, a small, fierce voice broke through the chaos.
"Leave my dad alone!"
I gasped, looking toward the kitchen. Emily had crawled out of the trapdoor. She stood there, her small frame shaking, but her eyes were filled with an ancient, fiery courage. In her hands, she held my father’s heavy cast-iron skillet, raised high above her head.
Jason laughed, a chilling, mocking sound. "Look who decided to come out. The little liar."
He turned toward her, stepping away from me.
That distraction was all I needed. I threw my weight to the side, knocking the thug holding me off balance. I scrambled across the floor, my fingers finding the cold metal of the shotgun.
"Jason!" I screamed.
He turned just as I leveled the barrel at his leg.
BANG!
The blast took him in the knee. Jason screamed in agony, collapsing to the floor, clutching his shattered leg as blood began to soak through his trousers. The other thug, terrified by the sudden turn of events and the sound of the blast, bolted out the front door, leaving his boss behind.
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I stood up, my body aching, and rushed to Emily, pulling her into a tight embrace. The shotgun was still in my hand, aimed at the groaning monster on the floor.
"You're done, Jason," I whispered, my chest heaving. "It's over."
