The naked edge

23

Cavanaugh's face was streaked with soot and sweat as he and William hurried down the staircase.

Angelo remained by the front door, peering out. "No sign of them."

Cavanaugh pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt. "Jamie? Mrs. Patterson?"

The staticky voices quickly responded that they didn't see anyone.

"What about the security monitors?"

"They're not working now," Mrs. Patterson's voice reported.

"What?" Angelo flicked a light switch on the wall. Nothing happened. The electricity had been cut.

"The fire's spreading too quickly," Cavanaugh said. "We'll soon need to leave."

"But they'll pick us off," William objected. "The basement. Can we hide down there?"

"No. The fire would suck out the oxygen. We'd suffocate. Or the building would collapse and crush us."

"The helicopter."

"Too far," Cavanaugh said.

"Hey, I'm doing my best!" William complained. "If you don't like my ideas, come up with one of your own."

At the back of the hall, Jamie heard parts of what they said. Her voice came from the walkie-talkie. "The car's closer. It's armored."

"There," William said. "What do you think of that idea?"

Smoke came down the staircase, the fire crackling on the upper level.

"If we stay here much longer," Cavanaugh decided, "we'll need to soak our hair and clothes and breathe through wet towels."

Mrs. Patterson heard in the kitchen. From the walkie-talkie, she said, "Without electricity, the pump for the well won't work. We can't get water from the taps."

William moaned.

Mrs. Patterson's sixty-year-old voice continued unsteadily from the walkie-talkie. "The toilet tanks. The only place there'll be water is in the toilets."

"Where are they?" William asked.

"One off the kitchen," Cavanaugh explained. "Another next to my office. Angelo, I'll watch the front. Go with him. Bring me a vest from the munitions closet when you come back."

Braced behind the log wall next to the front door, Cavanaugh saw the Taurus parked in front of the lodge. The passenger side was toward him. It was only twenty feet away. If he kept low…

Angelo returned with a soaked towel wrapped around his neck. Water dripped onto his clothes. "Here's the vest. I assumed you wanted body armor, not Kevlar."

Cavanaugh understood. Kevlar fibers were designed to block pistol bullets but were useless against high-powered rifles. Only the metal plates of true body armor could stop the latter.

He took the vest from Angelo and hefted it in despair. So much weight.

"While you're standing here thinking, you're cooking," Angelo said.

"What?"

Turning, Cavanaugh discovered that he'd been too preoccupied to realize that the fire was starting down the stairs. Flames licked the ceiling. The heat became overwhelming.

"No time. Jamie," he said into the walkie-talkie. "Mrs. Patterson. Get to the front. We're leaving. William, take my rifle."

"I don't want it." He had a wet towel around his neck, his once-beautifully tailored suit a drenched mess.

"For God's sake, do what I tell you. I need my hands free." Cavanaugh strapped on the bulky vest. "There's a round in the chamber. All you need to do is point and pull the trigger. Just don't shoot any of us."

He yanked his car keys from his pocket and pressed a button on the remote control, unlocking the doors. When he pressed another button, the engine started. He took a deep breath so hot it warned him that he couldn't wait any longer. A flaming chunk of wood crashed onto the stairs.

Go! he told himself.