Chapter 3 - The Tactical Withdrawal
The psychological warfare had worked. The sound of his victim’s voice, projected from the darkness, had shattered Lucas’s composure. He was backing away from the front door, his eyes darting frantically toward the tree line.
"Hammond, check the woods!" Lucas yelled, pointing toward the dark canopy of the forest behind the house. "Someone is messing with us!"
Sheriff Hammond, far less eager to face a phantom than a kidnapping suspect, hesitated. "Sir, it’s pitch black out there. We should wait for backup."
"There is no backup!" Lucas snapped. "My backup is you! Go!"
As the Sheriff reluctantly turned toward the shadows, Beatrice moved. She didn't drop from the roof; that would be too loud. Instead, she retreated back through the window, navigated the hallway to the service entrance, and slipped out the side of the house.
She moved with the silence of a ghost. Thirty years of retirement hadn't dulled the muscle memory. She knew that the Sheriff was a weak link, a man who had traded his conscience for a pension. She had to take him out of the equation before he could call in a real tactical team.
She skirted the edge of the property, staying in the deep brush. She could hear the crunch of the Sheriff’s boots as he struggled through the wet leaves. He was holding his flashlight out in front of him, making himself an easy target.
Beatrice stayed behind him, matching his pace. She didn't need to kill him. She just needed to neutralize him.
She picked up a heavy pinecone and threw it into the thicket to her left. The sound—a sharp crack—made the Sheriff spin around.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice trembling.
Beatrice didn't wait. She lunged from the shadows. She didn't use the gun; she used her forearm to strike the base of his neck, a precision move that would drop a man instantly. The Sheriff crumpled to the ground before he could even let out a grunt.
She quickly patted him down, retrieved his radio and his sidearm, and dragged him behind a thick oak tree. She bound his hands with a zip tie she kept in her utility pouch—a habit from the old days—and stuffed a rag into his mouth.
"Sorry, Sheriff," she whispered, her voice cold. "But you chose the wrong side."
She took his radio and tuned it to the local police channel. It was silent, save for the occasional static. Then, she heard Lucas’s voice.
"Hammond? Do you see anything? Respond!"
Beatrice grabbed the radio, modulated her voice to sound like a distorted, stressed version of the Sheriff’s, and replied, "Found a trail, Mr. Kincaid. She’s heading toward the creek. I’m in pursuit."
"Good. Don't lose her. I'm coming with you."
Beatrice switched the radio off. She had lured Lucas away from the house. Now, she had a choice: finish it here in the woods, or lead him further into the trap she had been setting for years.
She looked back at her home. The lights in the kitchen flickered as the power finally surged back on. She had one more thing to do. She had to ensure Leo was absolutely safe.
She sprinted back to the house, entered through the side door, and ran to the pantry. She tapped the code into the keypad. The heavy steel door slid open with a hiss of pressurized air. Leo was there, his eyes wide, clutching a blanket.
"Grandma?" he whispered.
"I'm here, Leo," she said, kneeling to look him in the eye. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. The bad men are gone for now. But I need you to stay here. Don't open this door for anyone but me. I have a secondary signal. Do you see the red light on the panel?"
He nodded, tears streaming down his face.
"If that light turns green, you can come out. If it stays red, you stay behind this door. No matter what you hear. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Grandma."
She kissed his forehead, a rare show of vulnerability, and then stood up. The Colonel was back in control. She grabbed a tactical vest from the floor of the panic room—a remnant of a life she thought she had buried—and strapped it on.
May you like
She stepped out into the night, the rain now a downpour. Lucas was out there in the dark, and he had no idea that he wasn't hunting an old woman. He was hunting the woman who had trained the people who were currently hunting him.
She reached the edge of the woods again, the Glock 19 back in her hand. The hunt had only just begun.
