Page 16 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Owen’s grin died, replaced by a hard, obedient line. He slung the rig and nodded.

Rena’s grip tightened around the pistol until her knuckles whitened. She wanted them to pay, too. She looked at Gage and saw the same hard-set line was on his face. Owen’s jaw clicked as he readied the flamethrower.

They’d show no mercy tonight.

Noah was still crouched over Lily, body shielding the kid like he could physically absorb the threat for her. Ruby strode over, shoved another pistol into his hand without ceremony. “You good?” she asked.

He nodded. “Good enough,” Noah assured her.

The smoke was thinning, slowly, reluctantly, leaving the hangar exposed in patches of dim, flickering light. Shapes began to take form again. Crates, overturned tables, the slick gleam of spent shell casings on the floor.

Noah’s voice cut through the haze. “Rena, Gage—you take the right side. Ruby, Owen—you’ve got the left. I’ll hold center. Anyone comes through that smoke, they don’t walk out.”

Orders, crisp and clear. Rena’s body reacted before her mind caught up, muscle memory kicking in. She nodded, and Gage did the same beside her. Then they moved.

Their boots scuffed over grit and broken glass as they fanned out. The air was hot against her skin, the sound of the fires behind them a low roar. Rena risked a glance sideways. And swore under her breath. Blood was running freely down Gage’s arm, dark against his camo sleeve, his hand slick on the rifle grip.

“Dammit,” she muttered. “You’re bleeding like hell.”

He didn’t even look down. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

He cut her a look, half-grin, half-grit. “Fine enough to shoot. Keep moving.”

She wanted to argue, but there wasn’t time. The smoke shifted again, revealing movement on the far edge of the hangar.

Rena swallowed hard, tightened her grip on the pistol, and fell into position at Gage’s side. The chaos had gone eerily quiet again. Too quiet. Somewhere out there, in the gray and the glow, the next wave was waiting.

They moved tight to the wall, using stacked crates and a row of laser-tag barricades for cover. The rafters still hissed with smoke, and the floor was slick with ash and overturned decorations. Every shadow felt like it could hide a man with a rifle.

“Hear that?” Gage mouthed, head tilting toward the center of the hangar. A sharp, staccato stutter of fire answered him, too steady to be anything but deliberate. Someone was picking off the overheads.

They followed the sound, low and fast, slipping between tool chests and a toppled obstacle. The shooter was halfway up the next bay, silhouetted against a strip of light as he crouched and aimed at the fixtures. He looked up when their movement caught his eye, and for a second the world stopped. His rifle leveled directly at them as he pivoted.

Gage didn’t hesitate. He rose just enough, fired, and the man folded without a scream, his weapon clattering to the floor. The echo of the shot hung for a long beat before the hangar swallowed it.

They kept moving, boots grinding over debris, lungs burning. From the other side of the hangar came two sharp double shots and a cry that could have been either anger or pain.

Rena’s throat tightened. “Ruby?” she whispered to herself, then to Gage. “Owen?”

He only nodded, his jaw tight. The kids were somewhere in the maze of culverts and alcoves, and the idea of them huddled and terrified made Rena’s hands shake. If they wanted those kids to live, there was only one way.

Eliminate the threat now.

Keep moving. Keep quiet. Keep killing until the hangar stopped echoing with the sound of men coming for children.

Another shot cracked from somewhere along the right flank, close enough that Rena felt the percussion in her ribs. She froze, scanning the haze, heart slamming in her chest. Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. She swung her Glock up, breath locked, ready to fire—

—until she saw the small, wide-eyed face staring back at her.

A teenage boy. One of Lily’s friends. His chest was heaving, his laser-tag vest still blinking useless lights against his hoodie. He looked like he was trying not to cry, trying not to move.

Rena’s stomach dropped. She crouched low, gestured sharply, flat palm, stay down, stay quiet. The boy nodded, lips trembling.

Gage touched her shoulder, just once, then pointed forward. They moved again, slower now, sweeping past the crates toward the front of the hangar.

The air was thick with dust and cordite. Overhead, half the lights were blown out, the rest flickering in random bursts. Each one cast jagged shadows across the floor, turning the debris into a shifting field of cover and threat.