Chapter 8 - The Creek Bed Ambush
We crawled through the narrow concrete culvert one by one, the rough stone scraping against our shoulders as we dragged ourselves through the freezing mud. The tunnel sloped sharply downward, the sound of rushing water growing louder with every foot we advanced.
When I finally pushed my way out of the iron pipe, the cold night air hit my face like a physical blow. We tumbled out into a shallow drainage ditch hidden beneath a thick canopy of weeping willows, fifty yards behind my mother’s backyard.
Crouched low in the mud, I raised my pistol and scanned the perimeter through the dark. The house was a dark, silent silhouette against the grey sky, but near the driveway, two heavy black SUVs sat with their engines idling, doors open. Armed figures in tactical gear were moving methodically around the perimeter, their flashlights sweeping the grass.
“They know we’re out,” Hayes whispered, pulling my mother down beside a thick clump of briars. She was shivering uncontrollably, her face pale, but she nodded bravely, refusing to make a sound.
“They don't know which way we went yet,” Vance replied, checking his magazine. “The culvert exit was masked by the brush. But they’ll check the cellar hatch soon enough when they realize nobody suffocated down there.”
“We need a vehicle,” I said, tracking the movement of the guards near the front of the property. “Our transport was disabled. But Michael kept his old departmental pickup truck parked in the detached metal shed behind the garage.”
“The keys?” Hayes asked.
“In the kitchen desk,” I replied grimly. “Which means we have to go back inside.”
Before anyone could argue, a sharp click of a radio echoed from twenty feet away in the darkness to our left.
“Sector One, check the drainage ditch behind the garden. I thought I saw movement near the culvert,” a rough voice barked over the encrypted channel.
The beam of a high-intensity tactical flashlight cut through the willow branches, sweeping directly toward our position.
“Get down!” I hissed, shoving Vance and Hayes flatter into the mud.
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The light washed over the reeds inches above our heads. Footsteps crunched heavily on the gravel path just beyond the ditch, stopping dead only a few feet away from where my mother was hiding.
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