Chapter 4 - The Escape
The heavy footsteps stopped dead in the hallway, mere inches from the closet door.
"Did you hear that?" the large man muttered.
"Check the coat closet," Vance ordered, his footsteps approaching from the living room.
Time slowed down. I felt the surge of adrenaline flood my system, flushing away every trace of the grief that had kept me paralyzed for weeks. I wasn't just a grieving husband anymore; I was a father, and my daughter needed me to survive.
Before the heavy man could lay a hand on the closet brass knob, I lunged forward with all the force in my body.
I slammed the wooden closet door outward with my right shoulder, striking the man square in the chest. He stumbled back with a grunt, losing his footing on the smooth floorboard. Without stopping to look, I broke into a dead sprint toward the kitchen.
"Hey! Get him!" Vance roared behind me.
I sprinted past the counter, snatched the truck keys off the hook near the refrigerator, and kicked open the back screen door. The cool night air hit my face like a slap. I scrambled down the wooden deck steps, cradling April securely against my chest with both arms.
"Stop!" a voice yelled from behind as a flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the overgrown grass of the backyard.
I didn't turn around. I ran down the side alley toward the driveway, my bare feet cutting against the gravel surface. Behind me, I heard the sound of heavy boots tearing through the yard, followed by the metallic click of a firearm slide.
"Don't shoot the baby!" Vance shouted frantically. "We need the samples intact!"
I reached my old Ford truck, yanked the driver's side door open, tossed the brown folder onto the passenger seat, and slid inside with April. I slammed the door shut, rammed the key into the ignition, and turned it over. The engine sputtered, groaned, and finally roared to life.
CRACK!
A bullet shattered the rear windshield, sending spray of tempered glass across the truck bed. April began to scream, terrified by the sudden noise.
I threw the truck into reverse, stomping on the accelerator. The vehicle lurched backward, smashing into the front bumper of Vance’s parked black SUV, shoving it out of the way with a sickening crunch of metal. I slammed the shifter into drive, spun the steering wheel wildly, and peeled out down the dark suburban street, tires screaming against the asphalt.
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In the rearview mirror, I saw the two figures running out into the middle of the road, but they were quickly swallowed by the night as I accelerated into the darkness.
I reached down with one hand, resting it gently over April’s shivering frame. "It's okay, April," I whispered, tears blurring my vision as I drove blindly toward the highway. "I've got you. Daddy's got you."
