Status: Updates are sporadic and may occur at whim, but I do try to add chapters regularly.
Silent Nights
Breach in Security
“I am so sorry,” the girl breathes. Her eyes are wide as she stares at the shattered frame. I don’t actually care about the thing, it was just something the prior occupants of the house left here, but the noise from downstairs has me worried.
“Hit the car,” I tell the boy by the front room. He must know what I mean, because he immediately turns around. A second later I hear the window open, and a moment after that a shot is fired off and the car alarm starts up. I look at the floor and see the glass spread across the carpet. I edge closer, but I’m not wearing shoes and I don’t want to cut my feet up again.
“Here,” the older boy says. He steps halfway across the mess and holds out a hand, meaning for me to step on his boot. I take his hand to step across, and then drop it quickly and approach the top of the stairs. The car alarm should draw them off, but it sounds like there’s still something at the door. I turn into the study and pick my boots up from where that guy kicked them earlier.
I grab a pair of socks off the coffee table and shove them and my boots on my feet. The cuts on my right foot sting, but I ignore the pain and start throwing all my stuff into a duffel bag that was under the table. My holster is sitting there, so I sling it over my shoulder and clip it in place. The two-minute timer kicks the car alarm off. I zip the bag shut and dump it on the couch.
The three strangers are standing at the top of the stairs. I join them, listening to the groaning of my barricade. Why aren’t they moving away? The one boy still has my rifle. I tap him on the shoulder as I walk past him into the front bedroom. I step to the nearest window and look at the street. It’s not as full as I’d like, meaning a good number of them are on the porch where I can’t see them. That and the fact that the crowd around the alarm car is quickly thinning as they move back toward the house has me worried.
“Again,” I order as the others come up behind me. I pull the window up as the boy lowers himself into a crouch. He fires off another shot at the car, but the noise isn’t drawing many of them away for some reason. This goes against everything I’ve observed of their behavior. Is there something downstairs that’s more interesting than a wailing car alarm?
“Hit it again when it goes off.” The boy nods and I push past the other two. From the top stairs I can still hear the porch groaning over the noise of the alarm. What’s attracting them? It can’t just be from the picture frame, can it? One of the boards pops alarmingly. Clearly now is not the time to ponder this dilemma.
“Hit the car,” I tell the boy by the front room. He must know what I mean, because he immediately turns around. A second later I hear the window open, and a moment after that a shot is fired off and the car alarm starts up. I look at the floor and see the glass spread across the carpet. I edge closer, but I’m not wearing shoes and I don’t want to cut my feet up again.
“Here,” the older boy says. He steps halfway across the mess and holds out a hand, meaning for me to step on his boot. I take his hand to step across, and then drop it quickly and approach the top of the stairs. The car alarm should draw them off, but it sounds like there’s still something at the door. I turn into the study and pick my boots up from where that guy kicked them earlier.
I grab a pair of socks off the coffee table and shove them and my boots on my feet. The cuts on my right foot sting, but I ignore the pain and start throwing all my stuff into a duffel bag that was under the table. My holster is sitting there, so I sling it over my shoulder and clip it in place. The two-minute timer kicks the car alarm off. I zip the bag shut and dump it on the couch.
The three strangers are standing at the top of the stairs. I join them, listening to the groaning of my barricade. Why aren’t they moving away? The one boy still has my rifle. I tap him on the shoulder as I walk past him into the front bedroom. I step to the nearest window and look at the street. It’s not as full as I’d like, meaning a good number of them are on the porch where I can’t see them. That and the fact that the crowd around the alarm car is quickly thinning as they move back toward the house has me worried.
“Again,” I order as the others come up behind me. I pull the window up as the boy lowers himself into a crouch. He fires off another shot at the car, but the noise isn’t drawing many of them away for some reason. This goes against everything I’ve observed of their behavior. Is there something downstairs that’s more interesting than a wailing car alarm?
“Hit it again when it goes off.” The boy nods and I push past the other two. From the top stairs I can still hear the porch groaning over the noise of the alarm. What’s attracting them? It can’t just be from the picture frame, can it? One of the boards pops alarmingly. Clearly now is not the time to ponder this dilemma.