Chapter 41 - The Crossfire of the Empire
Panic flared in Marcus's eyes. For all his cold calculation and meticulous planning, he hadn't anticipated that my tactical relay had a secondary, localized backup transmitter independent of the mainframe.
"Drop the weapon! Drop it now!" Sarah screamed, advancing across the concrete floor with her tactical rifle raised, flanked by heavily armed federal agents advancing in a tactical wedge formation.
Marcus cursed fiercely, his grip tightening on the pistol pressed against my neck. Instead of surrendering, he grabbed the handles of my wheelchair and violently wrenched it backward, using my body as a human shield as he scrambled toward the rusted iron staircase leading down to the lower level.
"Stay back, or I put a bullet through her spine!" Marcus yelled, dragging my chair backward down the first three steps, the metal wheels bumping violently against the risers.
"Marcus, don't be a fool!" I shouted, twisting my torso as much as the seatbelts allowed, using my weight to throw off his balance. "You can't outrun the federal government!"
"Shut up, you old witch!" Marcus snarled, shoving the barrel harder against my neck as he tried to reach the lower landing.
From across the mill, Sarah raised her rifle, tracking his movement with absolute, icy precision. She didn't have a clear shot; my body was directly in the line of fire. But Sarah wasn't aiming at Marcus.
With a sharp crack, Sarah’s rifle fired a specialized high-velocity breaching round directly into the rusted iron support beam supporting the staircase landing just three feet above Marcus's head.
The heavy steel beam shattered under the impact, sending a shower of hot sparks and jagged metal shrapnel raining down onto the stairs. Startled by the explosion, Marcus lost his footing on the icy, dust-covered step.
His grip on the wheelchair slipped.
The heavy chair careened backward down the remaining steps, the wheels spinning out of control as I threw my weight forward, bracing myself against the armrests.
Marcus lunged forward to grab the chair, but his boot caught on a protruding iron bolt. With a sharp cry of shock, he lost his balance entirely, tumbling headfirst over the edge of the open staircase and crashing hard onto the concrete floor ten feet below.
The suppressed pistol flew from his hand, clattering noiselessly across the frozen sawdust.
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Within seconds, four federal agents swarmed the fallen man, slamming him face-down onto the concrete and snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists before he could even draw another breath.
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