Chapter 45 - A Mother’s Velocity
"Faster, Campbell! Faster!" I screamed, leaning forward against the dashboard as the heavy Suburban tore through the rural checkpoint at the base of the mountain.
The gate was smashed open. Deputy Miller’s cruiser was spun sideways into a snowbank, its windshield spider-webbed with bullet impacts. Campbell didn't slow down; he rammed the Suburban through the splintered wooden post, throwing snow forty feet into the air as we crested the winding driveway toward the farmhouse.
"Stay down until I clear the breach!" Campbell commanded, drawing his service weapon and flicking off the safety. "We don't know how many mercenaries Caleb brought with him!"
"My child is in that house!" I snarled, ripping open the glove box. My fingers wrapped around the spare Glock 19 Campbell kept in the lockbox. I racked the slide, chambering a nine-millimeter round with mechanical fury.
Eleanor had spent twenty-five years molding me into an obedient, quiet daughter who swallowed insults and smiled through domestic cruelty. She had tried to prune away every sharp edge of my spirit until I was as meek and compliant as she wanted me to be. But the moment she called my daughter a burden on Christmas night, that obedient girl had died. And the woman who rose in her place was ready to burn the world to the ground to keep Lily safe.
The Suburban skidded to a halt in the circular clearing in front of the cabin.
The front porch was engulfed in flames. Molotov cocktails had shattered across the timber siding, sending black, oily smoke billowing into the night. Through the blown-out living room windows, the flashes of muzzle fire strobed against the dark.
"Sarah!" I screamed, kicking my door open before the vehicle had even stopped rolling.
"Emma, hold your fire!" Campbell shouted, bounding out behind me.
Two men in black tactical gear broke through the smoke on the porch, assault rifles raised. Campbell fired three rapid, disciplined shots, dropping the first man instantly into the snow. The second man turned toward me, but a mother's adrenaline bypassed fear entirely. I leveled the Glock with two hands, squeezed the trigger twice, and watched him collapse over the porch railing.
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I didn't stop to breathe. I vaulted over the burning porch railing, kicking aside the flaming debris, and plunged directly into the smoke-choked hell of my family's sanctuary.
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