Dead Silver

32

We left my cabin around sundown and went to town to stay the night at Renee's. She was going to drive back to Seattle tomorrow, and she needed to pack and get an early start. She'd be returning in a few weeks; she still had business to settle in Helena.

But the question of whether we'd even see each other again remained in a silent limbo.

Her house was dark when we arrived there; neither of us had thought to leave on a light, not realizing we'd be gone so long. With no streetlamps nearby, the yard and surroundings were immersed in gloom, and the silhouette of the old mansion added a Gothic edge. I still felt a touch melodramatic climbing the porch steps with the.45 in my hand, but I was glad to have it. Finding the dead pack rat last night made the possibility of an intruder seem all too real.

I took the key from Renee, opened the door, flicked on the light switch inside, and stood there a few seconds, letting my eyes adjust. I started to step in, intending to take a walk around like we'd done last night.

Just as my foot crossed the threshold, I heard a sound come from the hallway ahead that divided bathroom, kitchen, and back bedrooms-a stealthy rustling, like a small animal might make. Those rats was the first thought that flashed across my mind-the little bastards had gotten in here, too.

Then came a distinct metallic click.

Along with it, the large figure of a man appeared in the hallway entrance, lunging into view from where he'd been hiding behind the wall. All I could grasp in that split-second take was that he was wearing a ski mask and combat fatigues, and that his hands were swinging up to point at me.

I threw myself back against Renee, knocking her out of the way as hard as I could, and tried to shout at her to get the hell out of there. The sound I made came out something like, "Gaaahhh!"

Gunshots exploded from inside the house and splinters from the doorjamb sprayed against my face.

I managed to chamber a round in the.45 and take rough aim at his shape, but I was still off balance and my vision was blurred. As I started pulling the trigger, he dropped into a crouch.

His next shot hit me like a sledgehammer to the right side of my ribs, spinning me around. I tripped over my own clumsy feet, crashed against the porch railing and down to the floor. For a couple of seconds I was too stunned to move. Then I rolled to face the door, forcing my body into position to again take shaky aim.

But the man inside the house had vanished.

I got hold of the porch railing, pulled myself up to my knees, and tried to stand. But Renee was beside me with a hand on my shoulder, firmly holding me in place.

"You just settle down," she said.

"Get out of here, he might still be inside."

"He ran out the back. I saw him."

I stopped struggling against her hand. "You sure?"

"Positive," she said. "And I called the police."

I coughed, or maybe wheezed. "He was running, huh?"

"Shhh."

"Not limping or anything?"

"No. Now shut up, dammit."

She helped ease me down onto my left side, as the first distant cries of sirens came to my ears.