Chapter 4 - Ghost of the Division
The woods were a labyrinth of shadow and slick mud. Beatrice moved through them with an expertise that defied her years. She knew how to use the terrain, how to control her breathing so she didn't leave a heat signature for anyone with thermal gear, and how to stay downwind of Lucas.
He was blundering through the underbrush, his flashlight beam swinging wildly. He was frustrated, panicked, and most importantly, he was alone. Without the Sheriff to bolster his courage, the facade of the powerful District Attorney was rapidly crumbling.
Beatrice watched him from a distance, her eyes narrowed. She had spent years analyzing targets just like him. He was a predator who thrived on power and control. Strip those away, and he was nothing but a frightened child.
She decided to play with him a little longer before the final strike. She moved ahead of him, planting a series of small, low-yield flashbangs she had scavenged from her basement supply. She rigged them to be triggered by pressure plates.
As Lucas pushed through a dense patch of ferns, his boot hit the first plate.
BANG!
The woods exploded in a blinding white light. Lucas screamed, falling to his knees and shielding his eyes.
"Beatrice! Come out and fight like a woman!" he shrieked, his voice echoing through the trees.
Beatrice stepped into the light, but she didn't approach him directly. She stayed in the shadows, her voice projecting from a hidden speaker she had placed earlier.
"Is this what you expected, Lucas?" she called out, her voice amplified and cold. "Did you think you could just destroy my family and walk away? Did you think you were the only one who knew how to handle a weapon?"
Lucas spun around, his gun drawn and pointed at the empty air. "I know it’s you, Beatrice! I saw you in the kitchen! You’re just a crazy old woman playing soldier!"
"I was a soldier long before you were a prosecutor, Lucas," she said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "And I have seen men like you dismantled in places you couldn't even find on a map."
She watched as he continued to fire blindly into the trees. She wasn't just stalling him; she was wearing him down. She needed him to exhaust his ammunition. She needed him to reach the point of total desperation.
Suddenly, she heard a sound—the distant hum of a helicopter.
Federal intervention? No, it was too early for that. It had to be someone else. Maybe one of Lucas’s associates, alerted by the failure of the police presence.
She looked at her watch. She had to expedite this.
She emerged from the trees, standing in a small clearing about twenty yards from him. She wasn't hiding anymore. The moonlight caught her face, revealing the calm, cold mask of the Colonel.
Lucas saw her and stopped firing. He stared at her, confused. He had expected to find a frail woman, not a woman standing with a tactical stance, her weapon leveled at his heart.
"Beatrice?" he stammered.
"Drop the gun, Lucas," she commanded, her voice steady as a rock.
"What... what are you doing?"
"I'm giving you a chance to surrender," she said. "If you drop that weapon and walk toward me with your hands in the air, I will let the law handle you. If you don't, I will ensure that you never hurt another living soul."
Lucas laughed, a brittle, manic sound. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't shoot your son-in-law."
"You aren't my son-in-law," she replied, her finger tightening on the trigger. "You're a man who killed my daughter and tried to kill my grandson. To me, you are just a target."
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The helicopter was getting closer. The sound of its rotors began to shake the trees. Lucas looked up, then back at Beatrice. He looked at the gun in his hand, then at the woman who had suddenly become his worst nightmare.
He lunged.
