Chapter 21 - The Slicing Cold
A heavy thud echoed from inside the cabin, followed by the sound of tearing wood.
Mark turned around instantly.
John had dragged his weight forward, snapping the aged iron leg of the cast-iron stove straight off its base. Hot embers spilled out onto the hardwood floor, instantly igniting the dry rug and the edge of the curtains.
Smoke began pouring out of the cabin window, thick and black.
"Sam!" Mark yelled, taking two fast steps toward the porch.
Sam stumbled out of the front door, coughing violently, her shoulder covered in soot. "He’s got my backup piece!" she yelled. "Mark, look out!"
A gunshot shattered the cabin's front window.
The round caught Mark high in the left shoulder, knocking him sideways off his feet. He hit the wet earth hard, his gun slipping from his fingers and sliding five feet into the dark brush.
John stepped out onto the porch, trailing smoke, the broken iron stove leg hanging from the handcuff on his left wrist like a shackle. In his right hand, he held Sam’s small snub-nosed .38 revolver.
His face was black with soot, his eyes completely bloodshot.
"You always had to be the hero, didn't you, Mark?" John choked out, stepping down the stairs, his limp dragging his broken leg behind him. "You couldn't just let us leave!"
Mark squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hand against his shoulder. Hot blood was pouring through his fingers, freezing as soon as it hit the air.
He didn't look for his gun. He knew he couldn't reach it in time.
John raised the .38, aiming directly at Mark’s head.
"Goodbye, little brother."
CLICK.
The hammer fell on a spent chamber.
John’s thumb twitched, cycling the cylinder again.
CLICK.
Sam hadn't reloaded her backup weapon after cleaning it at the table. She’d only had two rounds in the cylinder when she grabbed it off the shelf.
John stared at the empty gun for one long, agonizing second.
Mark didn't hesitate. He lunged up from the mud, grabbing the heavy, iron-bound shackle hanging from John’s wrist, and yanked it down with everything he had.
John lost his balance, tumbling over Mark's shoulder into the freezing mud. His head hit a exposed tree root with a sickening, solid THUD.
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He didn't get back up.
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