With her other hand, Aly killed the gas to the stove.
Her eyes scanned the area outside the window, but she saw nothing more.
She listened.
No sounds.
Except for Aly moaning.
Jessica knew she had to act fast.
She moved rapidly to the bedroom, grabbing the rifle where it leaned against the wall in the hallway and slinging it across her back.
“Aly,” she said, grabbing a handgun from the nightstand. “You need to take this. Someone’s here.”
Aly’s eyes were barely open. It was almost impossible to think she’d be able to defend herself with a handgun in that state.
But Jessica figured that if it’d been her in that bed, she’d have wanted to have a gun. After all, if she and Rob died, Aly would be helpless and alone in bed, unable to stand up.
Maybe there was a chance she could raise a gun and get one last shot.
“Here, grab hold of this,” said Jessica, taking Aly’s hot to the touch fingers and wrapping them around the gun.
Jessica turned on her heel and left the room. There was nothing more, after all, that she could say. Nothing that could help.
In her mind, she counted up the Carpenters. There were the parents. Two of them. And three of the adult children.
Five in total.
Five against two.
Not exactly a fair fight.
But since when had fighting, or anything, been fair?
And Rob, despite his efforts, wasn’t anything close to being an expert shot. Or even a competent shot.
Jessica paused by the door, listening, with her ear against it.
Nothing. No sounds.
Her heart was pounding and her grip on her Glock instinctively tightened.
There was only one door to the house. Two would have been better.
If she were going to invade the lake house, how would she do it?
Probably come in through the door.
She could post up near the door, ready to shoot anyone who came through it.
But Rob was out there.
She couldn’t leave him alone.
Jessica threw the door open, staying back and out of the way.
A gunshot rang out from somewhere outside the house. It sounded close.
Another gunshot.
Jessica flattened herself against the wall.
Now there was nothing but silence.
She had to move. Rob was out there.
She poked her head around the corner, looking out the open doorway.
Nothing. No one was there.
Where was Rob?
If only she’d had some way to communicate with Rob. A radio. Or a cell phone.
Something moved in the trees.
It wasn’t the same color she’d seen out the other window. This was a khaki color, like dirty khaki pants.
Rob wore jeans. No khaki. Jim too. It wasn’t one of them.
Jessica didn’t hesitate.
She raised her Glock and squeezed the trigger, tracking the target as it disappeared again into the thick trees, out of view. She anticipated its movement and trajectory.
Two quick shots, and a shout of pain.
Jessica’s ears were ringing as she threw herself back inside the house, out of view of the open doorway.
She waited, counting the seconds.
It sounded like she’d hit whoever it’d been out there.
But there was no way to know if they were dead or not. They’d fallen out of view, hidden by the evergreens. It’d be best to find them, finish them off. As of now, they were still a potential threat.
But there were four more Carpenters out there. She couldn’t waste any time. Best to get them all as far out of commission as possible.
Jessica weighed her options.
Stay in the house. Go out the door. Or go out the window.
Self-preservation told her to stay.
Her duty told her to get out there. Help Rob.
If Rob fell, she knew she and Aly wouldn’t stand a chance. They’d be outnumbered.
Jessica knew that overestimating her own ability could easily see her dead.
She needed to be cautious. But more importantly, she needed Rob alive.
There were five Carpenters. Down to four now, probably. That meant someone was probably out there. They’d heard the gunshots. They’d expect her to be coming for the door.
Now they’d be in position.
Jessica made a split second decision to go for the window on the other side of the house.
She threw the door closed, threw the deadbolt, and pushed a chair up against it, tilting it so that it rested underneath the doorknob. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
She opened and got herself out of it, but not without checking the surroundings. She saw no one and heard nothing.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she reached up and closed the window. It wasn’t locked, but it was better than nothing to have it closed.
She broke into a run heading straight for the trees.
The house was the target. But if she stayed close to the house, she’d be out in the open while the Carpenters picked her off from the trees.
The only thing to do was to get into the trees herself, and then pick off the Carpenters as they tried to approach the house.
Easier said than done, though.
She was running as hard as she could. The rifle stock was slapping against her back painfully.
She was tired and exhausted and sleep deprived, but adrenaline was coursing through her. Her body was doing everything it could to give her the strength she needed to survive another minute, another hour, maybe even another day.
She was almost to the trees.
Her sneaker caught on something.
A root.
She tripped and fell forward.
Her left hand dampened the fall. But not enough.
Her face hit a rock. Hard. Pain flared through her. She tasted blood. It was flowing freely from her face.
She got up quickly, ignoring everything, and made it behind a drooping evergreen bough.
Good. She was out of view.
She heard the noise too late.
She saw him too late.
It was one of the Carpenters. One of the sons. She recognized his mean face, plastered with that mean look. The look that said he was going to do whatever he had to do, kill whoever he had to kill, in order to feed his family.
That look would be on faces across the nation now. That look would be the last look that countless saw before they died.
He was already raising his rifle.
She reacted without thinking, pivoting slightly and unloading three quick rounds from her Glock without taking aim, shooting almost from the hip.
Two of the bullets missed.
The third struck Carpenter. Or grazed him. She didn’t know.
It wasn’t a good shot.
The bullet had hit his forearm. Blood was coming out.
He yelped in pain, a high-pitched sound that didn’t seem fitting for the situation.
He got off a shot with his rifle.
It missed. But not by much. She felt a whoosh as it passed her.
Jessica was raising her Glock for a good clean final shot.
But he wasn’t going down without a fight.
He screamed something unintelligible as he rushed her, sprinting forward at her with everything he had.
He got to her before she could get off another shot.
It was all happening so fast.
This wasn’t like at the firing range.
Nothing in her training had prepared her for this.
His tall body, much bigger than hers, crashed into her, knocking the Glock off track.
Her finger pulled the trigger. The Glock kicked. But the bullet went off into the air.
Her back hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.
There was blood on her face and blood on his arm, all of it mixing together in the struggle.
His mean face was inches from hers.
They struggled together for position.
But he was bigger. And stronger.