Chapter 8 - Ambush On The Cliff
The smell of burning rubber and deployed airbags filled the cabin. My ears rang with a deafening whine.
""Sophie! Leo!"" Dante’s voice tore through the smoke.
""We're here! We're alive!"" I gasped, coughing through the haze. I had thrown my body over Leo the instant the impact occurred. The little boy was sobbing hysterically, his hands clamped over his ears, his tiny frame vibrating with terror. The chaos had triggered his worst sensory nightmare.
""Stay down!"" Dante roared.
Outside, automatic gunfire erupted like a storm of hail against the armored plating of the SUV. The driver was already slumped over the wheel, lifeless. Dante kicked his door open with immense force, using the heavy metal door as a shield as he returned fire with lethal, terrifying precision.
Muzzle flashes illuminated the foggy night. Three masked gunmen collapsed onto the pavement under Dante's steady aim. But more headlights were approaching through the mist. The Volkovs had anticipated our route; Bianca had provided them with our secondary escape protocols weeks ago.
""The gas tank is ruptured!"" Dante yelled over his shoulder, his face smeared with soot and blood. ""Sophie, you have to get Leo out through the rear hatch! Now!""
I kicked the crumpled emergency latch of the back hatch. It groaned and popped open. I scrambled out into the freezing rain, pulling Leo into my arms. The boy was hyperventilating, completely paralyzed by the concussive sound of the gunfire.
""Run into the woods!"" Dante shouted, firing his last magazine at an advancing black van. ""Follow the deer trail up the ridge! I will hold them off!""
""I won't leave you!"" I screamed against the howling wind.
""Go, Sophie! If you die, my world ends!"" Dante bellowed, his voice carrying the ferocity of a wounded lion. ""Take my son and run!""
Tears blinding my eyes, I gripped Leo tightly against my chest and bolted toward the dense treeline. The thorny underbrush tore at my clothes and scratched my skin, but I didn't slow down. Behind me, the gunfire grew more sporadic, punctuated by the dull thud of hand-to-hand combat.
Leo was screaming, thrashing in my arms, his mind completely shattered by the sensory assault of explosions, shouting, and thunder.
I tripped over an exposed root, tumbling down a muddy embankment. We landed hard near the base of a massive hollow oak tree. My ankle flared with excruciating pain—sprained, or worse.
Leo curled into a fetal position in the mud, shrieking, pounding his head against the ground.
""Leo! Look at me!"" I begged, grabbing his small hands, pulling him into my lap. ""Look at my eyes! You are safe! Sophie is here!""
He couldn't hear me. The screams inside his head were too loud.
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Footsteps crunched through the underbrush above the ridge. A heavy Russian voice barked, ""Find the woman and the brat! The boss wants them alive for leverage!""
We had seconds before they spotted us.
