Scorched Earth

Caleb handed her his backup pistol, a Glock 19. She checked the chamber and racked the slide in one fluid motion. It was like watching a statue come to life.

"There are propane tanks on the south wall," Caleb said. "For the heater."

"I know," Lena said. "I filled them yesterday."

"If we blow the intake valve," Caleb said, "the gas will fill the upper floor in two minutes. One spark..."

"And the cabin becomes a bomb," Lena finished. "We go out the storm doors."

"To the lake," Caleb nodded. "It’s open ground. Bad tactical position."

"Not if they're watching the cabin burn," Lena said.

She moved to the south wall of the cellar. There was a pipe leading up. She found the valve and twisted it with a grunt. The hiss of gas was audible.

"Let's go," Caleb said.

They moved to the external storm doors. Caleb counted down. *Three. Two. One.*

He kicked the doors open.

They surged out into the snow. The cold air hit them like a hammer.

Above them, mercenaries were shouting. "Movement! South side!"

Caleb turned and fired a single round into the kitchen window above them. The muzzle flash ignited the gas.

*BOOM.*

The cabin disintegrated. A fireball rolled into the night sky, turning the snow orange. The shockwave knocked the mercenaries flat. Logs and debris rained down.

"Move!" Caleb roared.

They sprinted toward the frozen lake. The snow was deep, slowing them down. Behind them, the survivors of the blast were already recovering. Gunfire zipped past them, kicking up sprays of ice.

"The chopper!" Lena shouted, pointing.

Silas’s helicopter was hovering low over the ice, its searchlight sweeping the darkness.

They reached the edge of the lake. The ice was windswept and slick.

"We can't outrun a bird!" Caleb yelled.

"We don't have to," Lena said. She stopped running.

"What are you doing?"

"Trust me," she said. She dropped the gun. She raised her hands.

"Lena!"

"Get down, Caleb! Stay in the blind spot!"

Caleb hesitated, then dove behind a ridge of snow at the shoreline.

Lena stood alone on the ice, illuminated by the blinding spotlight of the helicopter. She looked small, fragile. The domestic woman again.

The helicopter descended. The side door opened. Silas sat there, wrapped in furs, looking down at her.

He spoke over the loudspeaker. "Smart girl! Come to me, Lena! The ledger, and you live!"

Lena walked toward the chopper. The wash from the rotors whipped her hair and clothes. She looked terrified.

Silas smiled. He signaled the pilot to touch down. The skids hit the ice. Silas reached out a hand.

Lena took another step. She was ten feet away.

She stumbled. She fell to her knees, looking up at him, pleading.

"Help me!" she screamed over the engine noise. "He’s crazy! He blew up the house!"

Silas laughed. "The Fool served his purpose."

He beckoned her closer.

Lena crawled forward. She reached into her pocket.

Silas expected a flash drive. Or a hand.

Lena pulled out a road flare. She struck it on the ice. It hissed to life, a blinding red phosphorus torch.

Silas’s smile vanished. "Pull up!"

Lena didn't throw it at Silas. She threw it into the exposed turbine intake of the engine.

The engine sucked the flare in.

*GRIND. CRUNCH.*

The turbine shattered. The engine screamed, dying instantly. The helicopter lurched violently to the right. The rotors clipped the ice.

*SHATTER.*

The machine spun out of control, the blades tearing themselves apart, sending shrapnel flying. It skidded across the ice, metal screaming against frozen water, before crashing onto its side fifty yards away.

Silence returned to the Yukon, save for the crackling of the burning cabin and the dying whine of the turbine.