Chapter Thirty-Five #2
Knox and Michelle move through the station together, checking sight lines, counting ammunition, discussing approaches and
choke points. She knows the terrain, knows where attackers would likely position, knows the weaknesses and how to compensate
for them.
Liam works the radio equipment, boosting the signal to reach a bar in a nearby town.
“Armed hostiles incoming,” he tells whoever answers. “Anyone with a gun, we’ll pay whatever you ask. Get here fast.”
“Long shot,” Michelle says when he hangs up. “But people up here help each other. Bill at the Rusted Moose knows everyone
within fifty miles. If anyone’s coming, he’ll send them.”
We wait. We fortify.
I help Michelle gather anything useful—flares, gasoline, kitchen knives. She moves through her supplies with practiced efficiency,
handing me things without needing to explain what they’re for.
“You’ve done this before,” I say. “Not the mercenary thing. But the survival thing.”
“Grew up out here.” She pulls a box of ammunition from a high shelf. “My dad was a trapper. Mom was a bush pilot. I learned
to shoot before I learned to drive.” A quick smile that transforms her whole face. “City people think the wilderness is peaceful.
It’s not. It’s constantly trying to kill you in creative ways. You either learn to handle that or you don’t last long.”
“Why stay?”
She pauses, considering. “Because it’s honest. The wilderness doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. It’ll kill you, sure,
but it won’t lie to you first.”
She opens a gun cabinet and pulls out a second rifle, checks it, hands it to me. “You know how to shoot?”
“Yeah.” I take the rifle, feel its weight, check the safety out of habit.
“Good. It’s a bolt-action, so take your time between shots. Make them count.” She hands me a box of rounds. “We don’t have
unlimited ammo.”
The weight of it feels good in my hands. Solid. Useful. I’m done being the person who hides and waits.
Michelle spots them first. She’s at the window, coffee mug still in hand, when her whole body goes still.
“Incoming. Six machines.” A pause. “No, seven. There’s another one hanging back.”
Marlena. Of course she’d stay out of the initial line of fire.
She dismounts and walks forward until I can see her face. We’ve cost her time, resources, reputation. She’s done playing.
“Ms. Parker. Mr. Bishop. Mr. Calloway.” Her voice carries clearly. “Come out. Return what’s mine. I’ll make your deaths quick.”
Michelle sets her coffee down and picks up her rifle. “That her?”
“That’s her.”
“She always this dramatic?”
“You have no idea.”
Michelle moves to the window. “Not happening,” she calls out. “These people are under my protection. Turn around and leave,
or things are going to get ugly.”
Marlena laughs. “How charming. The park ranger thinks she’s in a Western.” She gestures at her people. “Twelve professionals
against four? I admire the spirit, but let’s be realistic.”
“Five minutes,” Michelle says calmly. “Then I start shooting. Your choice how this goes.”
She steps back and checks her ammunition. “She’s going to attack. People like that don’t back down.”
“You sure about this?” Knox asks.
Michelle’s eyes are steady. “I told you. I don’t hand people over. Not ever.” She moves to her position. “Besides, I don’t
like her. The dramatics are annoying.”
Despite everything, I almost laugh.
Knox takes the main window. Liam takes the side. Michelle guards the back. I position myself at the smaller window near the
door, rifle braced against my shoulder.
Five minutes pass.
Marlena signals.
Her people open fire.
Bullets punch through the boarded windows and thud into walls. I duck below the sill, then rise just enough to sight down the barrel. A figure is moving between trees, trying to get closer. I track him, steady my breathing, and squeeze the trigger.
He drops.
“Nice,” Michelle calls from across the room.
Knox returns fire with measured precision—no panic, just methodical targeting. Liam covers his angle.
“Two o’clock, behind the big spruce,” Michelle calls out. “He keeps poking his head up.”
Knox adjusts, fires. The man crumples.
Glass shatters. Boards splinter. I work the bolt, chamber another round, and wait for my next opening.
“They’re flanking left!” Liam shouts.
“I see them.” Knox shifts, fires twice. One of them drops.
“Nice shot,” Michelle says. “The one behind him is mine.”
Her rifle cracks. He goes down.
Movement at my window. Two of them now, using the chaos as cover. I sight on the one in front, fire, work the bolt, swing
to the second. He sees me aiming and tries to dive behind a snowbank. Too slow. I squeeze the trigger and he collapses into
the snow.
My ears are ringing. My hands are steady. Funny how that works—I’m calmer now than I’ve been in days. Something to do, finally.
Something I can control.
The siege stretches on. Marlena’s people try to advance, get driven back. They flank again, find every approach covered. But
Knox is rationing shots now, his jaw tighter every time he pulls the trigger.
An hour in, two hours, ammunition running low.
“We need those townspeople,” Liam says during a brief lull. “Where the hell are they?”
“Takes time to mobilize.” Michelle’s changing position, covering a gap. “Bill has to call around, people have to gear up,
drive out here. Could be another hour.”
“We might not have another hour.”
“Then we make it stretch.”
I check my rounds. Six left.
Engines. New ones. Coming from the north.
Everyone freezes.
Knox risks a look and his whole body relaxes. “It’s them. Dozen machines, maybe more.”
I scramble to see. A convoy of snowmobiles is roaring in from the tree line, rough-looking men and women with hunting rifles
and the kind of expressions that say they’re not here to negotiate.
“Bill came through,” Michelle says. There’s satisfaction in her voice. “Told you. People help each other up here.”
The locals don’t ask questions. They see attackers shooting at the ranger station and they open fire. Marlena’s crew gets
caught in a crossfire, outgunned and outflanked.
Three of her people go down. The others break and run, engines roaring as they disappear into the forest.
Marlena stands her ground.
Even with everything falling apart around her, she doesn’t move. She’s staring at the window where I’m visible through a gap.
Our eyes meet.
I see rage. Calculation. She’s already planning her next move.
Then she turns and runs.
The gunfire stops.
Michelle heads outside to talk to the locals. Through the window I watch her move among them, shaking hands, clapping shoulders,
her curls bright against all the dark winter gear. They clearly know her, respect her. One grizzled old guy actually picks
her up in a bear hug that makes her laugh.
Knox, Liam, and I stay inside.
I set the rifle down carefully—my hands are shaking now that it’s over—and lean against the wall. Slide down until I’m sitting.
Liam sits beside me. Knox follows.
“She’s still out there,” Liam says.
“I know.”
“She’s not going to stop.”
“I know.”
I pull the Snowflake Diamond from my pocket and hold it up. Even here, it catches the light.
“So what do we do with this?”
Knox looks at it. At me. At Liam.
“Later,” he says. “Right now I just want to sit here and be alive.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. Liam’s hand finds mine.
The door opens and Michelle steps back in, stomping snow off her boots. “RCMP’s twenty minutes out now. Locals are going to
stick around until they get here, make sure your friend doesn’t circle back.” She looks at the three of us on the floor. “You
did good. All of you.”
“We didn’t do anything,” I say. “You and your neighbors saved us.”
“You survived long enough to get here. That counts.” She picks up her coffee mug, finds it empty, and sighs. “I’m making more.
Anyone want some?”
We all nod.
She moves to the kettle, humming something under her breath, and I watch her for a moment. Untamed curls, steady hands, easy
confidence.
“Hey, Michelle?”
She looks over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
She smiles, and it reaches her brown eyes. “That’s what neighbors are for.”
Outside, I can hear helicopter rotors approaching. Help coming. Statements and paperwork and eventually, maybe, home.
But Marlena is still out there.
This isn’t over.