Page 147 of New Storm Rising
A resounding thud came from above.
“Pity.” Mama Dumant smirked. “You’re missing something.”
The thud was followed by an ear-splitting crack.
“My, oh my.” I smirked. “Now they’re getting frisky.”
“That wasn’t them.” Mr Ambrose’s deadly serious, ice-cold voice made me freeze in place. “And it didn’t come from upstairs, either.”
I frowned. “What do you mea—”
KA-BOOM!
The whole building shook from the explosion. A glass teetered on the edge of the table, then crashed to the ground, splintering into a thousand pieces.
“What the…!” I leapt up from the table. But I hadn’t taken even a single step before the door to the dining room flew open, and one of the guards who were supposed to be guarding the Spaniards came stumbling into the room.
“Have to…leave!” he gasped, clutching his chest with one hand. “Th-they’re coming!”
And, keeling forward, he slammed to the ground with a heavy thud. An instant later, a pool of red started to spread from beneath him.
Attack at Night
Mr Ambrose, Karim and I moved instantly, like parts of a well-oiled machine. We reached the front door nearly simultaneously. His arm jutting out to block my path, Mr Ambrose stepped forward.
“Step back.”
“What happened to ladies first?”
“It went out the window the moment guns and explosions began to be involved. Nowstep back.”
The steel in his voice brooked no argument. So I didn’t argue. I just waited for him to open the door and then peeked under his arm.
Instantly, another explosion rocked the town. Silhouetted against the sunset, I saw a dark plume of smoke rising into the distant sky.
“What the heck is that?”
“That,” Mr Ambrose said, “is the direction of the judge’s house.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. I swallowed. “Who on earth would have the guts to blow up ajudge’s house? What the hell is going o—”
Bam!
I was cut off by a bullet slamming through the front door about three inches from my face.
“Whatever is going on, it’s coming in this direction.” Expression icy, Mr Ambrose drew his revolver, twirling the cylinder to check for bullets. “And it’s probably not coming for tea and biscuits. Move!”
Grabbing hold of me before I could move, he dragged me away from the door, Karim shielding the both of us. Several of Mr Ambrose’s people who had been standing guard outside rushed into the house behind us, some bleeding, some limping. Still, their faces were expressionless, their steps swift and sure. These were professionals, and every movement showed it.
“Form a line!” Mr Ambrose barked. “Anyone who comes through those doors dies!”
“Yes, Sir!”
That taken care of, he proceeded to cross the hall with long strides. “At least ten men,” he muttered as his eyes flicked from left to right, counting the shots still coming from outside out of different directions. “Maybe a dozen. Heavily armed, too. That bullet tore right through the door… Nothing but the latest rifles would have that kind of punch.”
“So, Dear…” I enquired sweetly while being dragged along behind my husband like a sack of pig feed. “Who do you think could have suddenly decided it might be a good idea to off you?”
“Don’t know. Any one of three dozen candidates.”
