Page 58 of Crossfire Creek Siege

“Keep moving.” Cal’s voice crackled in her ear, barely audible over the static and ringing.

Rena and Gage swept forward, backs to each other. Every shadow looked like a threat, every sound too close. Then movement. Two more figures breaking through the fog, advancing fast.

One went for Gage, tackling him hard. The other aimed straight for Sheriff Chase.

Rena fired before the man could, the blast so close it jolted through her arm. The man went down hard, weapon clattering across the concrete.

She spun back just in time to see Gage locked in close combat with the other attacker. Fists and elbows slammed, grunts, the metallic rasp of armor. Gage’s movements were brutal, efficient. He got an arm around the man’s neck, twisted, and dropped him to the floor.

The thug didn’t get back up.

“Clear,” Gage rasped, catching his breath.

But the victory was short-lived. From the other side of the hangar came the sound of more gunfire. Short, rapid bursts followed by the unmistakable thud of hand-to-hand fighting.

“Cal, Garrett, report,” Sheriff Chase barked into the comm.

Static. Then Cal’s strained voice, “We’re engaged, north wall. At least three hostiles.”

Rena’s pulse kicked harder. They weren’t alone in this smoke-filled tomb. The hangar was crawling with enemies, trained, organized, and ready to die before giving up whoever sent them.

The comm hissed with static before Noah’s voice cut through, steady but edged with urgency. “Status?”

Cal’s reply came fast, sharp. “Multiple hostiles, at least a dozen still active. We’re boxed in. Can you give us a diversion?”

“On it,” Noah said.

A heartbeat later, the world outside exploded in light and noise.

Searchlights from the helicopter blazed through the night, slicing across the windows and seams of the hangar like white fire. The rhythmic roar of the chopper blades shook the metal walls, and then came the gunfire, controlled bursts from above, slamming into the tree line just beyond the structure.

The entire building shuddered.

The thugs hesitated. Rena felt it, saw it in the way one of them faltered mid-step, torn between fighting and fleeing.

The mix of sound and motion disoriented them, the vibrations rattling through the floor, through her bones. It was chaos, bright, deafening, calculated chaos.

“Move,” Cal shouted through the comm. “Use the distraction, neutralize them.”

Rena darted from cover, gun raised, Gage at her side. The haze still burned her throat, but she ignored it, using the blinding pulse of the chopper’s lights to mask her movement.

A thug appeared from the false floor. Too slow. Rena fired, the recoil jolting her arm. Another man broke from the shadows, and Gage dropped him with two quick shots.

The hangar rattled again under the helicopter’s downwash, a rain of dust and smoke falling from the ceiling.

Gunfire cracked again—sharp bursts echoing through the haze—then, abruptly, silence. Not the calm kind. The kind that meant something was about to happen.

Rena froze, heart pounding against her ribs. The air inside the hangar was thick with smoke, sweat, and adrenaline. Then came a new sound. Harsh, angry voices cutting through the static of the comms.

“… you said it wouldn’t fucking go down like this,” one man snarled, his voice muffled but distinct through the mask. “You said they wouldn’t be expecting us.”

Another voice snapped back, lower, furious. “Shut up and keep firing before they—”

He didn’t finish. Somewhere metal clanged, someone moving fast.

Rena met Gage’s gaze through the haze. He nodded, silent understanding passing between them. Sheriff Chase motioned left, her weapon raised, and they started toward the sound, taking slow, deliberate steps through the maze of stacked crates and weapon boxes.

They crept closer, inching around a stack of crates taller than a truck. Rena edged closer, the smoke shifting just enough to give her a glimpse. Two figures ahead, both in full tactical gear. One of them was pacing, agitated. His voice carried low and angry through the gas masks.