Chapter 4 - Lead and Blood in the Snow
The second shot tore through the door just inches from Caleb’s shoulder, embedding itself deeply into the pine wall behind him.
Caleb didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger of his Winchester, firing blindly through the thick oak panel right where Harlon’s voice had sounded a moment before.
CRACK.
A sharp, agonized yell echoed from the porch, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the frozen snowboards.
“Fisk is hit!” a frantic voice yelled from outside. “Spread out! Surround the windows! Burn the son of a bitch out!”
The shatter of glass echoed as a heavy rock wrapped in an oil-soaked rag crashed through the front window, landing on the braided rug near the hearth with a hissing hiss of roaring flames.
Cora reacted instantly. Before Caleb could move, she lunged forward, grabbed a heavy woolen blanket from the cot, and smothered the burning rag before the fire could catch the dry pine floorboards.
“Good girl,” Caleb muttered, pivoting toward the back window where shadows were moving against the moonlit snow.
He pumped the lever of his Winchester, chambering a fresh round, and fired twice through the glass. A muffled grunt signaled a hit, but the return fire was instantaneous. Slugs hammered against the exterior log walls, sending showers of wood chips and white dust flying across the room.
“They’re coming through the roof!” Cora gasped, pointing upward.
Heavy boots were stomping across the cedar shake shingles directly above their heads. The old framing groaned under the sudden weight.
Caleb didn't look up. He dropped his rifle, drew his Colt revolver with his left hand, and fired three rapid shots straight up through the plank ceiling.
A loud curse rang out from above, followed by the sound of a booted foot slipping on ice and a heavy body sliding down the steep pitch of the snowy roof, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
“That’s two,” Caleb murmured coldly, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled room.
“Caleb!” Cora cried out, pointing toward the front door.
The heavy iron bar had been loosened by the barrage of bullets, and a heavy shoulder slammed against the exterior panels with bone-crushing force. The wood splintered around the hinges. The door was about to give way.
Caleb lunged across the room, grabbed a heavy oak dining table, and dragged it across the doorway just as the door burst inward, sending wood fragments flying in all directions.
Standing in the shattered frame was Harlon Fisk, clutching a bleeding left shoulder with one hand, a double-barrel shotgun gripped tightly in the other, his face twisted into an ugly mask of murderous rage.
“I’m gonna carve your heart out, Holt!” Harlon roared, raising the shotgun barrels.
Before Harlon could pull the trigger, a small, dark shadow lunged from the floor near the hearth. Cora had grabbed a heavy iron skillet from the ash rack, sprinting forward with the desperation of a cornered animal, and brought the cast iron down across the back of Harlon’s skull with every ounce of strength she possessed.
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Harlon’s eyes rolled back into his head. The shotgun dropped from his trembling fingers, and he collapsed face-first into the snow piled inside the ruined doorway.
Silence descended upon the cabin once more, broken only by the crackling of the wind and the heavy, ragged breathing of Caleb and Cora.
