Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

T he latest boom came from right on top of Derrick.

Followed by a scream. Camilla?

Jasmine shouted. She was upstairs, dealing with it.

These things weren't bombs but flash-bangs, intended to create chaos but do little to no damage.

That was what Grant had said through the walkie-talkie, and Derrick figured he knew what he was talking about.

Still, he itched to run up there, to make sure everyone was all right. Which was exactly what the terrorists wanted. He stayed at the door, waiting for someone to breach it.

So far, so good.

Gunshots still came from above, a constant barrage.

How many people were out there? What was their plan?

Sophie had come downstairs with Leila. Then Eliza and Levi.

Zo? and Mom had followed.

Per Michael's instructions, Sam had sent them all into the basement. With the explosions, it would be safer down there. Three of the four walls were built partially or completely into the hillside, where the only access came from the bulkhead doors on either side. The fourth wall had windows and a sliding glass door, but because it was beneath the patio, it was somewhat protected.

The women would take cover in the storage room in the back. They were armed, should anybody get in. They should be safe there.

Grant had talked about keeping all the women in the basement from the start, and Derrick had been all-in on that suggestion. Ultimately, Grant had decided he wanted their help fending off the attack.

Obviously, he hadn't counted on the terrorists bringing rocket launchers.

Upstairs, Derrick assumed Summer was still shooting, as were Dad and Bryan in the attic. What was Jeremy doing? Couldn't he help his mother?

Jasmine needed to get into the basement. Now.

"Hold your position." Grant had maintained his calm demeanor, as if nothing had surprised him. "Mike and Dan, you have the north. I'll be in position to intercept Khalid in thirty seconds."

"Got it," Michael said.

"In position," Daniel said.

A moment passed, and then Jasmine spoke. "Camilla is hurt." She sounded slightly panicked.

"Hurt? How?" That was Daniel, of course.

"I think she's…"

"I'm fine." Camilla spoke over her, her voice coming from a distance away. "It's nothing. I'll be back at the window in just a sec."

The scrape of furniture sounded over Derrick's head.

He wanted to go up there, to check. And to drag Jasmine downstairs and hide her in the storage room, where she'd be safe. Safer, at least, than …

"He's got a launcher!" Dad shouted. "Down, do?—"

Another explosion. Did that hit the attic?

"Dad! Bryan!" Sam sounded like Derrick felt—terrified. "What happened?"

Had that been another flash-bang? Or something else?

"Came from the south." Dad sounded out of breath. "We're okay. We're not going to be able to hold them off."

"Derrick." Grant sounded, for the first time, a little…ruffled. "I want you on the patio. Stay low, shoot through the slats. Take out the one with the launcher. As soon as you do, move. Stay out there and take out any enemies you see. Whatever you do, don't let anybody into the house."

"On it." Thank God, Derrick was finally joining the fight.

"Good, Sam, you're gonna…"

Derrick lowered the volume on the walkie-talkie and shoved it in his pocket. He crouched low, opened the kitchen door, and stepped out into the cold, cold night.

The snow that covered everything gave the world a strangely luminous glow.

Even so, he paused to let his eyes adjust. The patio tables were covered for the winter with weatherproof fabric. The chairs were stacked near the house, also covered. Everything had an inch of powdery snow on top.

The briny scent of the ocean mixed with a chemical stench from the flash-bangs. Normally, he'd hear little but the surf against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, but gunshots reverberated in the night. Dad and Bryan had recovered, apparently.

Derrick peeked through the slats in the patio searching, searching.

There. A man clad in dark clothes was silhouetted against the sky. The apparatus he held was long like a rifle, but its barrel was far too thick.

Derrick aimed and fired.

The man went down.

Derrick shifted a few feet along the patio seconds before a bullet splintered the wood where he'd just stood. It'd come from near the stairs at the top of the cliff.

Derrick waited for the man to show himself again. When he did, Derrick fired. Hit him.

Scooted along the deck a few yards.

Looked for another enemy. One came from the woods on the west. Derrick lined him up and fired and moved. He kept at it. They didn't stop. He wouldn't either.

The sky turned from black to gray as the sun inched toward the horizon. Morning was coming. This couldn't last forever. There would be an end to it.

With each bullet he fired, he prayed God would protect his family and all those they loved.

He lined up another shot and squeezed the trigger, but the chamber was empty. He leaned back on his haunches to reload.

Heard rustling, then a chuckle. "It was just a matter of time." The words were whispered with a thick Arabic accent.

Derrick dove to the side, expecting a gunshot in his ear. But it didn't come.

The man tackled him. An arm came down, hard.

Pain exploded on Derrick's temple. Then a second time.

Derrick's face smacked on the hard wood deck. The world spun, his head pounded.

The man bent over him, his hot breath in Derrick's face.

"Everything you have done, she will be punished for. I will let you live with that." He stood, kicked Derrick in the back, forcing air from his lungs, then stepped into the house.