Chapter 7 - SIEGE AT THE OLD BARN
The engines roared outside the cottage like angry hornets. Shawn didn't hesitate. He grabbed Nancy by the hand, dragging her through the back door into the attached garage.
"Get in the truck, Nancy! Stay down on the floorboards!" Shawn commanded.
He leaped into the driver’s seat of the vintage 1985 Chevy K10, shoved the heavy key into the ignition, and pumped the gas pedal. The starter motor whined twice before the massive 350 V8 engine roared to life with a deafening rumble that shook the garage walls.
Outside, shouting erupted as Vance's men heard the engine.
Shawn slammed the transfer case into four-wheel drive, threw the transmission into reverse, and floored the accelerator.
The heavy steel rear bumper of the truck smashed through the wooden garage doors in an explosion of splintered timber and flying snow. One of the gunmen diving to cut them off was forced to leap into a snowbank to avoid being crushed. Shawn spun the steering wheel hard, shifted into drive, and the chained tires bit into the icy gravel with a vicious screech.
Bullets shattered the rear window, spraying tempered glass across the truck bed. Shawn ducked low over the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the narrow farm trail that cut behind the railroad tracks directly toward George’s property.
The snowmobiles pursued them relentlessly, their lightweight frames skimming effortlessly over the deep drifts, matching the truck’s speed. Vance pulled alongside the driver’s side, raising an automatic shotgun.
Shawn saw the movement in his side mirror. Instead of swerving away, Shawn jerked the heavy steel truck sharply to the left. The truck’s quarter panel slammed into the side of the snowmobile with brutal momentum. The machine spun out of control, flipping three times in the air before burying itself into a massive snowdrift, tossing Vance into the brush.
The second snowmobile hesitated, its driver slowing down to retrieve his boss. Shawn used those precious seconds to hammer the throttle, putting distance between them as the truck barreled toward George’s farm.
Ten minutes later, the Chevy slid to a halt behind George’s barn.
The scene that greeted Shawn chilled him to the core. The barn doors had been forced open. Blood drops stained the pristine snow near the entrance.
"Nancy, stay in the truck! If I’m not out in five minutes, drive to the State Police barracks in Mercer!" Shawn barked.
He leaped from the truck, grabbing a heavy tire iron from behind the seat, and slipped into the dim, shadowy interior of the barn.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and fresh blood. Mr. George lay on the hay-covered floor, clutching his shoulder where a bullet had grazed his collarbone. Nearby, Joseph stood in front of Maria, holding an old pitchfork with his one good arm, his eyes wide with defiant fury.
Standing over them were two of Vance’s enforcers, their pistols drawn, laughing at the old man's futile defense.
"Put the fork down, old man, or I'll put a hole in the woman first," one of the thugs sneered, raising his weapon toward Maria.
Before the trigger could be pulled, Shawn dropped from the upper hayloft like a thunderbolt.
He landed squarely on the lead gunman, his two-hundred-pound weight driving the man’s face violently into the frozen dirt floor, knocking him instantly unconscious. The second thug spun around in shock, raising his gun, but Shawn swung the heavy steel tire iron in a vicious upward arc, striking the weapon from the man's hand with a sickening crunch of broken fingers.
The man screamed in agony, backing away, but Shawn closed the distance instantly. He grabbed the thug by his tactical vest, hoisted him off his feet, and slammed him against the heavy oak support beam of the barn.
"Who sent you?!" Shawn roared, his forearm pressing against the man's throat until his eyes bulged.
"Vance... Vance and your sister!" the man choked out, terrified by the raw, lethal power in Shawn’s gaze. "They’re at the main house right now... preparing the gasoline! They're going to burn all the records and leave for the airstrip in an hour!"
Shawn threw the man to the floor, knocking him out cold with a single, precise punch to the jaw.
He rushed to his parents, checking their pulses and wrapping them in warm dry coats. "Mom, Dad, George... you're safe now. Nancy is outside in a four-wheel-drive truck. She's taking you straight to Mercer County Hospital."
"Shawn, what about you?" his mother cried, clutching his hands with tears streaming down her face. "Don't go back to that house! Let it burn!"
Shawn looked out through the barn doors toward the ridge where his childhood home stood. A dark, toxic pillar of black smoke was just beginning to rise into the gray morning sky.
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"I have to go back, Mom," Shawn said softly, his voice trembling with deep, sorrowful resolve. "Brenda is still my sister. And I am going to end this today."
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