Chapter 21 - The Deflected Bullet
The gunshot detonated against the timber walls like a crack of thunder, filling the damp air of the hayloft with the sharp, acidic sting of cordite. In that split second, my life seemed to stop. Time dilated into agonizing, gelatinous frames. My body moved entirely on primal instinct, slamming into Arthur just as the muzzle flashed.
The heavy iron pry bar Mia had hurled from below clanged violently against the underside of the floorboards at the exact instant Arthur pulled the trigger. The violent shudder of the joists, combined with the sheer momentum of my tackle, jerked his arm upward.
The lead slug bypassed Mia completely, ripping through the rotting spruce plank inches from her shoulder and embedding itself into the concrete floor below with a shower of sparks and pulverized stone.
"Mia!" I screamed, my voice raw and serrated.
"I'm okay! Mom, look out!" her voice piped back, breathless, trembling, but fiercely alive.
Arthur let out an animalistic roar of rage. He was nearly twice my weight, his muscles hardened by years of bitterness and physical labor. He twisted beneath me, driving a bony elbow hard into my bruised ribs. The agony was blinding, sending white-hot ribbons of fire radiating through my torso. I gasped for air, collapsing onto my side as Arthur scrambled to his knees, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of hatred. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead where the flying splinter of wood had grazed him.
"You miserable bitch," he spat, his hand searching frantically across the hay-covered floorboards for the dropped pistol. "You should have died at the bottom of the ravine!"
His fingers brushed the cold steel grip of the semi-automatic.
Before he could wrap his fist around it, the barn doors burst open completely, rattling on their iron tracks. A beam of blinding white halogen pierced the darkness, accompanied by the urgent, throbbing strobe of red and blue police cruisers barreling up the muddy driveway.
"Drop the weapon! Hands where I can see them!" a booming voice commanded from the lower level. It was Marcus, flanked by two county deputies with their service weapons drawn.
Arthur froze. For a fleeting second, his eyes darted toward the high hayloft window that looked out over the stormy forest, calculating his odds. His chest heaved like a cornered wolf’s. He looked at me, then down at Mia, who was gripping the wheels of her racing chair, her knuckles bleached bone-white, glaring up at him without a single tear of surrender.
"This isn't over, Vance," Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, his voice barely louder than the howling wind outside. "My father was only the beginning. You think you survived County Road 9? You haven't seen anything yet."
With a sudden, violent kick, he knocked the ladder down toward the deputies below, bought himself two precious seconds, and threw his body straight out of the low loading door onto the sloped roof of the tool shed outside. Metal screeched as his weight slammed into the corrugated tin, followed by a thud into the mud below.
"Suspect is heading toward the north woodline!" Marcus’s voice echoed sharply through the barn.
I dragged myself to the edge of the loft, leaning over the ledge despite the fire in my ribs. Down on the sawdust floor, Mia looked up at me, her chest heaving, the rain blowing in through the shattered door spraying over her face.
"Mom," she whispered, her lips trembling as the adrenaline crashed. "We held the line."
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I crawled down the access stairs that Marcus rushed to secure, collapsing onto my knees in front of her chair, burying my face into her wet hair, and weeping into the damp fabric of her racing jersey while sirens filled the night.
***
