Chapter 18 - The Ghost in the Woods
The flashbang detonated with a blinding white flare and a high-pitched whine that instantly stripped away my hearing, leaving my ears ringing with a hollow, oceanic roar. The small room filled with thick, choking white smoke that burned my eyes and throat.
Through the haze, dark, armored figures poured through the shattered doorway like liquid shadows, their suppressed weapons sweeping the room with tactical precision.
"Go! Now!" I screamed, lunging forward and hurling the heavy oak bench directly into the legs of the first incoming operator.
The man went down with a heavy crash, his rifle clattering across the wooden floorboards. But two more stepped over him immediately, their weapons tracking toward my chest. I didn't wait. I spun around, grabbed the boiling kettle from the woodstove, and hurled its scalding contents directly into the face of the second operator.
A muffled scream of agony echoed behind his tactical visor as he stumbled backward, clutching his face.
Behind them, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Miller wrenching open the root cellar door in the kitchen floor and dropping silently into the dark void below before pulling the heavy wooden hatch shut behind her.
A heavy blow struck me across the back of my shoulders—the butt of a rifle wielded by the lead operative. The impact knocked the wind completely out of my lungs, sending me crashing face-first onto the wooden floorboards. My vision blurred, edges darkening into a tunnel of gray static.
"Secure the perimeter! Check the cellar!" a harsh, raspy voice barked from above me.
Strong hands grabbed me by the collar of my coat, hauling me up roughly and slamming my back against the stone fireplace. My head swam, the room spinning wildly on its axis.
A tall man in a matte-black tactical uniform stepped into the center of the room. He didn't wear a helmet like the others; instead, his face was scarred by a jagged burn mark running from his jawline up to his ear—a face I recognized from the security logs at Riverside Medical Center. It was Commander Vance—Margaret's brother, the ruthless head of Vanguard’s private security division.
"Well, well, well," Vance muttered, stepping closer and looking down at me with a cold, predatory grin. "The good doctor. You’ve been a massive thorn in my sister’s side, Julian. And now, you’ve cost my employers millions of dollars in compromised assets."
I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floorboards, forcing a tired smile through swollen lips. "You... you're too late, Vance. Miller has the drive. The data is already in the cloud."
Vance’s smile vanished. He grabbed me by the throat, hoisting me an inch off the floor with terrifying strength, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Where did she go?"
Before I could answer, a muffled, distant sound echoed from deep within the woods down by the creek bed—the sharp, unmistakable *crack* of a satellite uplink beacon transmitting a high-bandwidth data burst.
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Vance froze. He dropped me onto the floor, where I coughed violently, gasping for air.
"Find her!" Vance roared into his shoulder radio, turning away from me and drawing his sidearm. "Sweep the ravine! If she transmits that file, we are all dead men!"
