The War Cloud

30

Jennifer crouched beneath the kitchen window of her Aunt Dina’s house for almost ten minutes in terror, staring at Carla’s body, aware of the red lasersights probing through the dark.

She crawled into the adjoining laundry room and rummaged through Carla’s purse and found her cellphone. It was a simple Nokia candy bar phone. She dialed her mom’s number. Then she heard a crash in the kitchen and froze.

They were in the house.

She could hear the soft, quick shuffles of their shoes fan out looking for her. She held her breath and looked around. Her only way out was through the dog’s door.

She glanced back in time to see a red laser target beam probe the kitchen. She pushed her body through the narrow door, wishing Aunt Dina’s dog Admiral were here right now and not at the kennel. She was halfway out the or when her foot caught on the other side. She tried to shake it loose when she felt a gloved hand grab it and she screamed.

She began kicking furiously and succeeded in shaking the hand loose, but she lost her boot. She scrambled to her feet and crashed through the outdoor patio furniture, all covered for the winter, and ran for the barn out back. But her stocking foot slipped in the snow and she fell to her knees, cell phone in hand.

She started to cry as the Green Beret kicked out the laundry room door and stood there in the doorway, starting straight at her with his glowing night vision goggles. He thought he was so cool with his M-16 with the attached laser site and grenade launcher. She knew what he was packing from her hundreds of hours playing the War Cloud game, and the one place he was now vulnerable. She jumped up and snapped his picture with Carla’s cell phone camera, the flash blinding him in his overexposed goggles for a few seconds. Then she ran like hell toward the barn.

She rounded the back of the barn, opened the small side door and ran inside and opened the big double doors. Then she grabbed her saddle off the stake in the wall and ran to Punk’s stall. She strapped the saddle on his back, her freezing hands fumbling with the buckles, trying to get it tight. She slipped her socked foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up. Punk stamped his hooves and coughed. He didn’t want to go out into the cold.

“Please, Punk. Please.”

She kicked him again with the heel of her boot and Punk bolted out of the barn and knocked over the goon with the M-16, and it went off with a loud crack into the dark skies. She looked back and saw him slip onto his back on the ice while his partner rounded the house and raised his M-16.

She slapped Punk’s neck with the reins, and the horse leaped onto the adjoining trail.

Punk slipped on the snow and for a moment Jennifer thought he was going to fall on top of her. But he regained his balance and quickly galloped through the two feet of powder along the neighbor’s wooden fence.

Suddenly the fence seemed to move and Jennifer heard a loud crash. A black Suburban crashed through the wooden rails onto the trail behind her.

“Oh, God!”

Jennifer kicked Punk as hard as she could, almost breaking the horse’s skin with her boot. She screamed in frustration.

The Suburban, its high beams on, was only a yard or so away, its engine groaning loudly.

Punk picked up his pace with a new surge of momentum.

Jennifer looked back to see the Suburban fall behind momentarily. Then with a grunt and a spin of its wheels, it dug into the snow and zoomed up toward her with no intention of stopping.

Jennifer rode Punk along the narrow trail, the Suburban closing the gap as Punk started to tire, his powerful neck bulging with the strain. Just a little more, she thought, steering him toward the old McAllister place near the country club.

“You know where we’re going, boy,” she told him as he galloped. “We placed second in the Fall Hunter Pace, remember?”

They were riding along Guard Hill Road now, following a low stone wall, the Piney Woods Preserve on the other side, familiar territory to both her and Punk.

But the Suburban was moving up faster from behind.

Jennifer counted her paces. There was a break in the wall coming up. But it was hidden by the piled-up snow. Punk could leap through the gap and break through the snow, but he couldn’t clear the wall if she misjudged the distance.

She kicked Punk and they picked up speed, the break coming up fast.

“Jump, Punk!”

She turned into the wall, gave Punk the right tug on the reins, and closed her eyes. She felt the horse leap into the air and crash through the snow. The ice stung her face, but when she blinked her eyes open, they were into the trees of the preserve, Punk

digging through the snow, his legs working furiously.

Behind her the Suburban tried to stop but slid past the break in the wall on the trail. She heard a crash of metal. But she didn’t dare look back, and galloped on into the woods.