Page 36 of The One that Got Away

He didn't need to look at her to understand; their connection ran deeper than words. They shared a glance, and in his nod, she found the unspoken promise that they would do everything to return to their children.

The cabin walls creaked ominously, and the splintering sound of wood pierced the night air. Someone was at the door, pulling the doorknob. Hearing this, Lisa gasped. Then, the person kicked the door hard, and it splintered. An intruder was using brute force, trying to break through their sanctuary's defenses. Oliver's stance shifted, the gun becoming an extension of his will to protect. His fingers wrapped around the weapon with a craftsman's familiarity, but now it wasn’t the curve of a chair or the smooth finish of a table he sought—it was the preservation of life.

"Stay behind me," he instructed, his voice low and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Lisa pressed herself against the wall, her heart aching with a cocktail of fear and gratitude. She knew without a doubt that Oliver would lay down his life for her and their family. But was she willing to lose him? Absolutely not. He moved with quiet intensity, inching closer to the door, ready to unleash a storm upon whoever dared to threaten their last bastion of safety.

The door buckled under another heavy blow, splinters flying like desperate escapes from the inevitable invasion. A gun came into sight; it was held by the intruder and pointed at them. And then, as if in slow motion, Oliver raised his gun. The small room seemed to contract, focusing all energy on the space between the man and the door that was about to give way.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, not to Lisa but to himself, to the universe, to the very fabric of fate that held their lives in its unpredictable grip.

The remains of the door burst open with a violent crash, and Oliver fired—the shot deafening, echoing through the cabin and into the night.

The gunshot’s echo faded, replaced by a haunting silence that wrapped around Oliver like a suffocating shroud. He stood motionless, the gun's weight in his hands now mirroring the heaviness in his soul as he stared at the body on the floor in front of him. Each breath he drew seemed to quiver with the tremors of their predicament, and for an instant, the world outside the splintered door ceased to exist.

Oliver's eyes, dark pools reflecting the chaos he had just unleashed, searched the room's shadows—a room that had transformed from sanctuary to battlefield in mere heartbeats. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession, each inhale sharp with the sting of gunpowder and fear, each exhale a silent plea for safety, for resolve, for the children who were his entire world.

"Oliver," Lisa's voice pierced the fog of his paralysis, her tone threaded with urgency and the ironclad will to survive that he had come to know—no, to revere—in her. Her hand, warm and trembling, found his, a lifeline amidst the storm of uncertainty that threatened to claim them both.

"Oliver, we have to go. Now." Her words were a clarion call, snapping him back to the grim reality they faced.

He blinked, his gaze locking onto hers. Those hazel eyes held within them the fires of determination and the softness of love—all that was worth fighting for. And in that moment, it wasn't the practiced calm of a woodworker or the stoic strength of a fisherman he summoned; it was the raw, unyielding spirit of a man driven by love and the primal instinct to protect his family.

"Right," he muttered, the single syllable carrying the weight of his renewed resolve. The gun still in one hand, he allowed her to lead him, her grip on his hand firm and sure, toward the back door—a promising escape from the closing jaws of danger, while the sound of approaching footsteps fueled their fear.

Their flight was a dance of shadows, a silent choreography of desperate hope as they slipped out into the cool embrace of the night air. Lisa steered them away from the looming threat, her maternal ferocity a force unto itself. Oliver’s heart raced, syncing with hers in a rhythm of shared purpose: to live, love, and fight another day for their family’s tomorrow.

The forest swallowed them, its towering trees casting long fingers of shadow that crisscrossed their path. Oliver and Lisa's breaths came in gasps, white puffs spiraling into the blackened air as they plunged deeper into the woods. Overhead, the moon carved a silver swath through the tangle of branches, offering scant pools of light by which to navigate the perilous terrain. Each step was a gamble, each rustle a potential herald of danger lurking just beyond the next tree.

Lisa's shoulder-length hair whipped behind her like a battle standard, her senses heightened to every snap of twigs beneath their feet. The cool night air did nothing to soothe the burning in her lungs, but she pushed on, her hand a lifeline entwined with Oliver's, anchoring him to the urgency of their flight.

Suddenly, the sharp trill of her phone cleaved through the silence, and Lisa's heart lurched. She stumbled, nearly losing her footing on the uneven ground, but Oliver's grip steadied her. Fumbling with the device, her eyes widened as she registered the name illuminated on the screen—Oliver's phone.

"Hello?" Her voice was a whisper thrumming with hope and fear.

"Mom?" The single word, so fraught with emotion, had her heart constricting painfully. It wasn't Ava, yet hearing Ethan’s voice was both a balm and a torment, a reminder of what was at stake.

"Where are you? Are you safe?" Lisa pressed the phone hard to her ear, straining to hear over the pounding of her own blood.

"I think so, but…" Ethan replied, his voice small against the backdrop of the wild. He went quiet.

"Ethan?" Lisa's voice was barely above a whisper, an undercurrent of fear lacing her words as she clutched Oliver's arm.

"Mom!" Ethan's voice cracked over the line, his breaths coming in frantic gasps that tugged at Lisa's soul. "Ava and Daniel—they took them."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the moonlight suddenly too harsh, the shadows too deep. Lisa's knees weakened, but Oliver's grip was steady, unwavering.

"Who, Ethan? Who took them?" Her voice rose in panic, each word sharp with terror.

"I—I don't know," he sobbed, the sound of his cries twisting like a knife in her chest. "We were hiding, and they just… grabbed them and ran."

Lisa's mind reeled, images of her children—terrified and alone—flashing before her eyes. "And Julia? Is she?—"

"She's with me," Ethan rushed to assure her, a small solace amidst the chaos threatening to consume her. “So is Abigail.”

"Where are you now?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady for her son’s sake.

"At the creek," he sniffled, his voice a light in the oppressive darkness. "We're at the creek, Mom."

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