Chapter 67

Holy shit, fuck... fuck! My breath sifted in and out unevenly. They were here! We feared they would find us, and somehow, they have. Maybe I should just kill myself now so they won't get the pleasure. Because how in the world were we going to get out of here?!

Well, panicking only wastes time. Living another day meant being smart and careful. I had to suck up my fear and shock. Good fucking luck to me. Who knows how, but I needed to act. Needed to do something, but what?! Though I didn't know what to do, the first step was Francis.

Without a second thought, I snagged the handgun from the bedside table drawer. They could be in the house. Be quiet. Slowly, I stepped into the hall and eased towards the bathroom door on the balls of my feet. I peeped left to the stairs. Nobody in sight. Reaching the bathroom door, I swung it open. Rushing inside and latching the door gently shut, light flooded my dark-adapted wide eyes.

Francis was shaving, eyes unmoving from the mirror. Gliding the razor under his chin, it dragged the remaining shaving cream with it. "You're a little late if you wanted some shower acti—"

"We need to go! Right now, they are here, we need to get out," I hissed, stepping forward. As he turned to me, I snagged the shaver from his hand and threw it in the sink.

"Where are they? You sure?" Eyes growing, he hastily wiped away the rest of the shaving cream and shut off the sink.

Giving him my handgun, I turned to the small bathroom closet. Flinging it open, I towed out a shotgun and box of shells from the top shelf. "I looked out my window, saw all these people. There were sounds. I-I don't know what they are doing. They could be in the house so don't get too loud." With fast hands, I grabbed five shells from the box I set on the counter. "I don't know how we're getting out."

Tilting the gun up and slipping each into the magazine tube, I let the front end drop into my other hand. My grip on the slider allowed me to rack the gun. Here we go.... And yes, I know. How freaking badass can I get. Thankfully, Luke prepped me and showed me how to handle a shotgun.

"Jesus fuck," he groaned. "Maybe we can get out if they aren't in the backyard yet." Francis cautiously walked over to the small bathroom window. "Never mind."

"They back there too?" I sighed, heart sinking.

"Yeah," he groaned, striding back to me. "They are standing around talking."

A few more thumps and clanks reached my ears – either from outside or downstairs. Trying to ignore it, I shoved a handful of shells from the box into my cotton shorts pocket. Grabbing another two handfuls, I roughly shoved them into Francis's sweatpants pockets. "We'll just shoot out way out then, I don't know," I shook my head. "If they aren't in the house, maybe we can grab my phone—" Suddenly, a musky odor of dead nature and decay reached my senses. The nasty stench came in a strong wave. "What's that smell?" I cringed.

Taking in Francis's freshly shaved face, his brows lowered in confusion. But as his lips parted to speak, he immediately erupted in a coughing fit. "Shit," he choked out in a wheeze.

Over his coughing, my mouth, nose, and throat started to sting. The air seemed to be fading, replaced by something toxic. Something that burned us as we breathed it in. What the hell were these people doing?! It soon became obvious. My eyes stopped and zeroed in on the source.

The vent on the floor was releasing a green smoke. Funneling into the air, it created a green haze around the vent. One that quickly grew. And expanded. After just a few seconds, the green smoke was becoming thick.

The sight punched my gut and flooded dread through my body. "They're gassing us!" I exclaimed. No, no, no!?! If we don't get out now, we could suffocate. If we do go flying out of the house, we will get shot down. Wonderful options! Where the fuck were we suppose to go?! Suppose to do! What if we were already dead by breathing this shit in?! When my wide eyes flew back to Francis, the air around us already supported a green tint.

Chest tight as I resisted inhaling, I spun around to the door. Whipping it open, before my eyes, the green haze flushed out from the bathroom. The hallway offered some relief since we weren't contained, but not much. The ventilation was throughout the whole house.

We both rushed out, taking a needed deep breath. Though the air was clearer, we still cringed and coughed. It burned and cemented to our throats. The smell was more distinct too.

"Is there any way out we wouldn't get caught?" he asked, gripping his chest with his free hand, face scrunched.

His question boggled and depressed me. In or out, we die! Could we call the cops? Fucking hate them and they couldn't get us in time. Jackson? Too long! We needed out now. Going out shooting was the only possible way and it would not end with us alive.

Then, our only possible solution crossed my mind. "We have... a car," I coughed, turning and rushing to the stairs. It was all my lungs allowed me to say, but it offered hope. Thank fucking god I remembered. Kept hidden in the garage was that red car.

Gripping the shot gun tighter, I felt there was nothing else we could do. We needed to get out, even if that meant getting caught. Even though that meant racing down the stairs, in full view through the windows. Soon enough, it would kill us. Suffocate us.

"We have only minutes," Francis said with a hand clasped over his mouth as he followed me down.

"Just follow me to the garage," I let out through tight lips, eyes beginning to burn. "I don't even know if the keys are in it."

The gas was still strong if not worse! On top of the nasty green shit we were trying to not breath in, the strong smell of exhaust was flushing in too. Perfect. But what mattered was we had a way out – and I was ready to take it when we reached the bottom of the stairs. Racing off the last step, I turned to my right towards the garage door.

Bang, bang, pshhhh!

Before I could reach the door, two gunshots rang into the air from outside. The sound triggered me to drop to the floor. Just in time too. The third bullet shattered the window directly to my left. Glass falling around me, shards clapping to the wooden flood, I blinked hard. Francis! Oh god, where is he? I could hardly breathe and now they were firing at us. It burned. God, it burned and my lungs ached in need! Another bullet fired through the window, embedding into the inside of the house. He better not get shot or I would kill him – and everyone else!

When I rolled onto my back and glanced over, my stinging eyes captured him. Through the deep green smoke, Francis was on his back next to me. Breathing hard, he cupped his mouth and nose, brows low at the pain of breathing. His eyes were shut for a long moment and I couldn't blame him. This shit was burning my eyes and making them water.

Both of us below the windows and out of sight, the gunfire subsided. Staring up above our heads, the window frame held only a few pieces of glass. It offered full access to air. The thick green haze above me swirled from the contact of outside air. It was not enough for any fresh air to reach us though.

The surprise sound of men laughing outside and even chatting reached my ears. "You finally gonna die and give us a break, sweetheart?" one of the men shouted, causing more laughter.

"Suck my dick," I mumbled. Rolling over onto my stomach, shotgun still in my hands, I propped myself up. Sharp stabs penetrated my skin as my elbows pressed onto the glass covered floor. I grunted hard through clenched teeth, which only forced the poison to filter deeper into my lungs. Ugh, it was getting even worse.

"Crawl to the car, get out," Francis coughed, rolling onto his side and facing me.

We were in trouble and Francis knew it. The lack of clean air forced us to breathe deeply, harder with desperation. Which only made us cough more, get weaker, feel sicker. But I wasn't leaving him. And even if I did, getting to the garage only to not find the keys... that could cost us our lives. We could be dead by then. We needed to buy time.

"No, I'll shoot and cover for you," I said, squinting up through the smoke and towards the front door where there was another window. One identical to the shattered one. "Smash out the window by the door when I start shooting. Get as close to it as you need to and get some air. They will be focused on me in this window. Then, get to the garage," I coughed, getting to my knees. I stayed low and a few feet back from the window. We needed air, need air so damn bad! Enough that we needed to take this chance.

He immediately tried protesting, but we had no fucking time. "Albany—"

"Find something to break that damn window before I waste a bullet on it. I'm doing this," I hissed. Easing up, I stopped once my eyes were even with the window. Men walked across the dark property, chatting casually. A few stood, waiting. There was no missing the white pick-up truck parked horizontally in my lawn. Long hoses ran from the truck. Jesus, what the fuck?

The haze and my teary eyes didn't help, but I spotted easy targets. Two men leaned against the passenger door of the truck, facing my direction. I wedged the butt of the shotgun near my armpit. Lowering my red face, cheek by the stock, my squinting eyes directed my aim. I pulled the trigger.

The gunshot cracked the air. It echoed loudly in my ears, kicking back as I fired. My shoulder absorbed it while the man fell to the ground. They didn't expect it, and it gave Francis enough time. He smashed out the window to my left. I could see him rest his face against the window sill, breathing in deep and long breaths. Jealousy flushed over me to hear his relieving gusts of air. I needed it, needed air so fucking bad.

Commotion erupted, but I was ready. Racking the gun, the empty shell flung from the gun. I raised the weapon, fired again towards the other man. Missed him. Quickly racking again, I fired. The second man dropped. Yelling filled the chilly night air. Most of the men backed off, firing back from a distance, making me duck. There were a few brave ones still too close to comfort.

Francis went unscathed by the time he took enough air. From my side vision, he dropped to the floor. "You think the keys are in the car?" he coughed, scrambling on his knees.

"I don't know, find them," I cried, racking the gun again and staying low.

"You get air, I'll cover—"

"Find the keys, we need out!" I shouted in desperation through my scorching throat.

Eyes strictly focused, the swift shuffling of glass along the floor told me Francis was crawling towards the garage. Hopefully the damn keys were in it! Jesus, we were close enough to dying as it was!

A man reached my sight, closer to the porch steps. Pulling back the slide with a satisfying lock, I pointed and fired out the window. My burning throat was closing! He dropped with a bullet in the back. Another figure was running towards the truck. Oh god, I could hardly breathe! Pumping the gun, raising it, I fired and missed. My brain was pushing through my skull!

I needed air. Coughing, my tongue burning, nostrils shut off. I was choking and suffocating. The pressure was building! I was fucking drowning!

I had no choice. Shakily shoving two more shells in, I racked it, and fully stood up. Rushed forward. Launching my upper half out the window, I fired the gun towards another. Risky? I'm going to get shot. But my head, lungs... had access to fresh air! I could breathe!

Gasping, I didn't care about hitting anyone. All I needed was to keep them at bay so I wouldn't get shot. Seeing a figure darting, I fired the gun in their direction. Racking, the empty shell spun out. All the while basking in my strength returning! Oh, it was the most wonderful feeling! Breathing hard over and over, my sore arms didn't quit. Even as shots were returned, my obsessive shooting made them back off. Bang... bang... bang... before I was out. That was my signal it was time to get back into the poisonous house.

One more breath, I flung myself back inside, landing on my stomach in the glass. Finished firing at them, the shouts were getting closer again. They fired back heavily, making me shimmy fast. While wincing in pain at the digging glass and my burning senses, I gagged and coughed. The green smoke was dense. I couldn't even see the garage door. Just a few feet in front of me and the floor.

Then, Francis reached my sight, offering me assistance. He stumbled over and I was staring down at his feet before he dropped on his knees. Wrapping an arm around my back, he helped me stand. Guiding me, flinging the door open, he dragged us into the garage and shut the door.

The difference was as big as a shock as the party going on outside. I could see fully across the garage. Green haze swirled and thickened in the air, but not like in the house! We could still breathe, despite the difficulty from the nasty gas and coughing on it. With the garage having no windows, it saved us from bullets. But offered zero chance for air.

The gun fire stopped, replaced by muffled shouts and chatter. Breathing hard, he grabbed my hand and guided me around the red car. The one that's already seen some blood and a few dents. The only difference is this car was about to help us, not screw us in the ass like it did before.

My hectic mind was still racing with everything a blur. But I was on point and ready – I had to be. The world was crumbling beneath me and all I could do was continue running without a second thought. Until the painful blur becomes safety.

"Keys?" I asked.

"Found them, but we have an issue." He opened the passenger door for me.

Instead of getting in, I turned to him. We had no time to beat around the bitch. "Issue?" I snapped in panic, stepping closer to him.

"Shhh, we don't want them knowing we are in the garage," he whispered, eyeing the little distance between us. The disgusting green air made the hazel in his gaze pop. "We can't just floor it through the garage door."

"Why?" Holding the shotgun with one hand, I dug my free hand into his deep pocket. He flinched in surprise as I withdrew five more shells. I slid them into the magazine tube.

"We won't make it. There is shit in the drive-way—"

"Yeah, I know our trucks are in the way." Cupping the gun with my other hand again, I pumped the slide. Then, I sat down in the passenger seat. "We are on like vehicle fucking 20. Our trucks would have somehow got smashed eventually. And when we do crash into the trucks, we'll just back up and drive—"

"I'm not talking about the trucks," he interrupted before coughing. Face red, he rushed around and jumped into the driver's seat, shutting the car door quietly. "When I was at the window, I saw they laid a spike strip in front of the garage door. Our tires will blow out."

My heart sunk – and not just from the toxic gas burning my chest. I sighed, closing my car door. Obviously, they smartened up and were sick of us getting away. Guess who was smarter? "Reverse it then." Maneuvering myself, I got on my knees in the seat. We were leaving this garage one way or another. And we would be doing it with me shooting.

"Reverse?" he asked with an incredulous voice.

"Where else then?" My chest shook, mouth burning. It was seeping into the car, taking us over faster. "Most everyone is in front. They won't expect us to fly out the back of the garage. Just do it. Start the car and floor it in reverse. If there is anyone in the backyard, I'll kill them," I said, gesturing to the gun.

"Then what?!"

"Then we... we will have to run or hide," I shook my head. "There is no way to drive around the house. Reverse until you hit the river. We have no time, no choice."

Cringing from the thickening green air in the car, he snatched the keys from the cup holder. Fumbled them into the ignition. "I need you to be okay."

"I'll be fine if you just don't get shot. I'll fucking lose it, Francis," I warned. "Stay safe."

"Don't worry. Full speed backwards until we hit the river sure makes me feel safe," he mumbled sarcastically. Then, with surprise on our side, no time was wasted. Francis started the car, shifted it to reverse, and stomped on the gas.

Engine humming loud, the car launched backwards. Francis's right arm flew out in front of me, keeping me in place before I could be thrown forward. A loud crashing sound erupted and the car shook. We plowed through the wall. I shot out the windshield as we flew into the backyard. Glass shattered. The picture of our garage shrank as we rushed back.

Three shocked men reached my vision. They stood near the sliding door. Before they could draw weapons, I raised the front of mine, pumped, aimed through the open windshield. Shot. Missed. The men grew small. We were going to hit the water! Racking the gun, I shot, missed again. Shit! They began firing back, but only hit the car body. Racking the gun, raising it, firing, one man dropped dead. My sight of his body hitting the ground was cut off once the car hit the dark water.

The instant resistance jolted us. Water splashed against the car, fighting off its speed. We stopped after we were a few feet in, the dock on our left. The river swallowed the car to the middle of our doors.

"Get out, get out, run!" Francis demanded.

The remaining two men were running towards us! Frantically, Francis and I pushed open our heavy doors. The resisting water flushed in, swelling all the way up to our seats. The interior light turned on and put a target on me. Then, the car sang with bullet dings and dents.

Flinching, ducking, I flung myself out of the car and into the freezing night water. My knees brushed the muck bottom as I scrambled. Scrambled and rushed. Being away from that freaking spotlight didn't seem to help. Bullets zipped into the water only feet, inches, away! No, no, get on your feet and kill them!

Closer shots and rough stomps of feet made me yelp in fear. Wait, wait, no! Stumbling unevenly to my feet, the dark water pooled around my kneecaps.  I'm going to get hit, why wasn't I shot yet?! I flung the gun up from the water and into position.

There was one man next to the dock on shore, but the moment my eyes rose, a bullet pierced his chest. The clearing sky allowed me to witness blood spatter around him. It sprinkled and disturbed the water before he fell forward, creating a loud splash. He landed next to the other man who was also apparently dead.

My eyes darted to Francis, who stood knee-high in water near the front of the car. The hand gun I gave him was raised in their direction. Thank the fucking lord.

Racing up through the shallow water, shouts were growing closer. My eyes darted up to the house. A few more shadows of people rounded the house. "Come on," I said, meeting his wide eyes as we I rushed out of the water.

Staying on the water edge, we turned and full out sprinted. Looking up towards the house as we moved, the shadows materialized. Several were coming into sight, racing down towards us. Pumping the gun as we ran, I fired up towards the house. Hopefully it would keep them back.

Flying fast on our feet beside each other, we past the line of brush and crossed onto the neighbor's property. Several yards ahead was their pontoon, tied up to their dock. The flat boat rested on two large silver cylinders, keeping it afloat – and therefore offering space below the boat's floor. If we can get under there, between those big metal tubes....

"Under the boat," I said over my panting. It was hide now or get chased down. Call me dumb, stupid, but I would do anything so you couldn't call me dead. We had to take the opportunity before they spotted us. Or heard us. "Run up the dock, get in the water."

Glancing over my shoulder, one man was ahead of the rest. He ran up and rounded the property line of small trees and brush. He was the only one who could see us – and it needed to stay that way. Before he could raise his gun, I was faster. Turning, running slowly backwards, I racked the gun. Fuck, he was close! This was not a good time to use a shotgun! Raising the gun, I fired. He fell dead.

Turning back ahead, Francis already sprinted down the dock. But he didn't get in the water yet. The dumbass was waiting for me!

Full out sprinting to the dock, I made a choice when I got there. Swinging myself up on the dock, I whipped the shotgun through the air towards the next neighbor's house. A shotgun wasn't good in close fighting – and especially when it needed reloading. Hopefully throwing it further down would fool them.

Running up the dock towards him, he finally jumped into the water. I spared one more glance. Thankfully, nobody rounded the thick brush just yet. I jumped down into the water next to him, making sure not to splash much. I sure wanted to though once I was in. Oh god, that's cold. Sharp icy needles stung my skin. Touching the rocky slimy bottom with socked dirty feet, I could stand. The water rested above my chest.

The pontoon was on the left side of the dock, closest to my infested property. We jumped off the right, which proved helpful. The boat and dock blocked us from being seen – for now.

The second I was in the water, shouts grew louder, closer. It triggered Francis to grab my arm through the water. The open night sky allowed me to see the intense panic and worry in his eyes as he pulled me closer. He tugged me under the low dock. We didn't stop. Slowly crossing under the dock, we faced the side of the pontoon. One of the silver beams holding up the boat was before us. Then, Francis folded an arm around me, pulling me close. There was no light under the dock; he was a black shadow. The power in his voice alone though painted a clear picture of the man.

He leaned in, taking my hand in his shaky one. Francis whispered as softly as possible in my ear. "No sudden movements. No noise. Hold your breath," his voice grew higher, cracking just the slightest. "We're going to be okay."

Hearing him say that strangely helped. Nodding, I tightened my hand in his. We both sucked in a breath at the same time before letting our legs give out. Immersing entirely under the water, my head rushed cold. Better than that poisonous gas though. However, we needed to be careful. Very fucking careful. They were closer and the night was quiet. That's why when we eased under the floating metal tube, we didn't touch a thing, didn't make harsh movements.

Surfacing under the pontoon, we had to be even more careful. Because the moment we breached the water, voices could be heard. Close. We could not make one damn peep. Our vulnerable position tripled my fear and anxiety.

Between where we were hidden between the two pillars, Francis pulled me close. He wrapped his hand holding the gun around my back, flattening me against his chest through the ice water. Oh my god, they are so close. So close. Our lives, our futures, depended on staying still, quiet, and unknown. It ripped apart my insides.

With the front end of the boat open and facing out to the river, the water bounced moonlight against our faces every few moments. And each time, it reassured me. Simply knowing Francis was here, close, and with me helped. Staring into his hazel eyes inches away helped. Because this became the scariest part of the night.

Being vulnerable, surrounded, and hidden with nothing to do but hope they don't find us... it tore me. It really did. Up until now, it was rush, rush, rush. It was all a messy dangerous blur. Dodging bullets, firing back, our little cruise in the car.... yes, all could have led to our deaths. But now, we were frozen in fear with no way we could fight. Voices were too close. And there were more voices up and down the shore! Too many. Footsteps reached the freaking dock! Dear god, please, please, please don't find us.

Francis slowly raised his other hand from the water. Gently, he placed his hand against my mouth. Until now, I hadn't realized I was breathing harshly through parted lips. It encouraged me to calm down. Breathe quietly through my nose. Light catching his eyes behind his dripping glasses, he stared at me in faith and worry. Honestly, I would rather go back to our gunfight. This was fucking torture. Especially when booted footsteps were only inches away.

"I'm not doing the fucking reporting, I'll tell you that right now," a boyish voice said with a snort.

Through the water, I instantly grabbed Francis's side. Shaky fingers pressed against the fabric of his shirt, my hand clenched up into a tight fist around the material. His arm tightened in support and care. Gradually, he lowered us even more into the water, letting it pool around our lips. The water offered a sense safety, but who were we fooling. We move too much on these rocks, we're dead. We knock into the metal sides, we're dead. If we fucking sneeze... well, then we deserve to be dead.

"Fucking drama queen," someone said in response with a gruff voice. It sounded like an older gentleman. "We'll find her."

"We better. We come back without her, we're going to be slaughtered," he said, scoffing humorlessly.

"She's a fucking kid; we deserve to be slaughtered if we can't find her."

More footsteps occurred. A different voice popped in. It was farther away and muffled. He was only maybe a few feet up the dock. "Our little lady lost her toy. We recovered the shotgun she was using. No doubt she's defenseless."

My heart was racing. I could feel Francis's was beating just as hard. His hand remained over my mouth; we didn't dare move a muscle.

"She's hiding out there somewhere then," the gruff voice chuckled. "We will expand our search. The cops are going to show up soon anyway. Have one or two guys stay close to the house and keep an eye out."

"You got it," came the voice farther away as he strode away.

The first two men were still on the dock. And yes, still scaring the shit out of us with how close they were. You would think they were mind readers though with what happened next. The pontoon shook, the floor above us tipping! Did they know? Did they find us? I jumped slightly at the swaying boat, ducking lower in the water until it was up to my nose. My eyes clamped shut. Let Francis be okay if we're found.

Thankfully, whoever stepped onto the boat was just walking around. Shuffling a few things around. Probably checking every possible spot. Which I had to give credit for; these sick assholes were thorough. Yet... I was literally right under their nose. I would have taken amusement from it... if I wasn't internally freaking out. They were searching a random boat, they might look under it; they easily could.

"Weird enough, they're saying a man is with her," said the younger one still on the dock.

My ears peaked at the mention of Francis. Unclenching my eyes, opening them to his, I could only stare at him. His dripping glasses, low and worried bushy brows. The man's wavy hair now straight and stuck to the side of his face.

The gruff man directly above our heads scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I guess some dude was with her."

"Well, maybe she's fucking the neighbor kid because Prenta is still in the hospital."

My jaw dropped against Francis's hand. What? What?

"Well, it's a good thing we didn't kill him then, right?" said the young voice. "He's always been good bait."

"Yeah, yeah," the older man grumbled. Floor shaking above us, he stepped off the boat and back onto the dock. The two men started walking back. "I give it 12 hours before he leads us to her. Or she goes to him. Make sure we have eyes still on him. And I...." said the man, voice fading as they walked away.

What the hell? I didn't come unhinged yet. I couldn't. There were still voices, still people. They began fading, but even then, we didn't budge. I just kept staring at Francis, eyes wide with his now.

Minutes passed. And slowly, with the threat of being heard out of range, we welcomed a dose of reality. Francis slowly dropped his hand, and against him, he untightened his arm. His body relaxed and he closed his exhausted stress-filled eyes. His long lashes dripped water down his already wet face.

It coaxed me into untensing. And when I did, my physical and mental reality returned. The soreness near my shoulder was intense thanks to each time the shotgun kicked. My elbows and knees... they tingled and stung from where the glass shards penetrated my skin. The awful sensations from nearly getting gassed to death left their marks. Throat and nose burning, a faint taste of dirt and rot danced in my mouth. That shit in the air was still affecting my head too because it swarmed and pounded.

Those uncomfortable sensations... were all surrounded and within freezing water. I was surprised I could feel anything considering my entire body felt numb. For the first time, I allowed my body to shake from the chills. It turned into full out trembling though once I replayed what those men said...

"Luke will be fine, right?" I whispered into his ear.

Francis closed his eyes, allowing himself to take deeper, even breaths. Arm retightening, he guided me back against him. Our paranoia and fear was still understandably strong. Though we weren't feet away from anyone, we were still sitting ducks.

His mouth brushed my soaked hair as he whispered. "From the sounds of it, he's safe. We'll just need to find a phone and tell Jackson. He will have to find some way to get Luke out of their sight before we can see him."

I pursed my lips. This whole night, in the back of my head, I was thankful Luke was in the hospital. It was quite a blessing. Imagine how things would be if I was home with Luke when they tried gassing us and not Francis. With him on crutches, it would not be good.

That was the only comfort I had. That he wasn't here, being dragged through hell. I was grateful. The fact that these disgusting killers know he's in the hospital tainted my relief. How couldn't it? They were fucking watching him, watching his every move. They man said he was good bait and they did not kill him because of it. But knowing it could happen, knowing they were once again leached onto him, it hurt. It flicked at my brain. Who knows, maybe they will be angry and just take pleasure in killing the man I love.

"Well, thank god we heard what we did," I whispered.

Quiet chatter reached our ears and we immediate shut up and froze. Their voices came from down the shoreline more. The muffled voices struck dread through me – as it should. We knew damn well they were looking for us. A lot of people were out, scattered in the wilderness nearby, looking for us.

As the voices faded with distance, I was back at attention. Alert, scared, and fucking focused. Francis voiced what I unfortunately realized. "Luke is the safest. We need to worry about getting us out of this alive. I have a feeling the night isn't over yet."

Unfortunately, Francis was right. Tonight's war with these losers was just getting started.

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This chapter took a while to write. It's actually 4 in the morning right now! I was dedicated to having it up before going to sleep. You're welcome (as if anyone is still up to read it :P)

Crazy action happening! What do you guys think? I wanted to make it as real as possible, keeping the pace fast when it needed to be. Let me know what you think or if things were too fast.

I really enjoyed writing this one and hope you all liked it! Please let me know 😊