Page 75 of A Forgotten Heart
Nick couldn’t take the time to look over his shoulder, see where the danger was coming from.
Another bullet whizzed past his ear. Too close.
With his last bit of energy, he forced a final burst of speed into his legs, ducking behind the corner of the bunkhouse as bullets slapped into the building. It was dark here. He’d be harder to see.
He put his back to the wall, hot pain swelling through his shoulder. Letting the can drop to the ground, he gripped his arm. His head whirled as he fought to catch his breath. Elsie had told him what the doc had said about pushing too hard. Pain pierced behind his right eye.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Memories of Elsie pressed in. The way she’d believed in him when she’d saidYour family needs you. That’s your role.The emotion in her eyes just before she’d kissed him.
The night had gone quiet, the men no longer firing. His harsh breaths were the only sound.
Were the men moving on the house? Surely Clare and David would be firing on them if that was the case.
He couldn’t stop moving. He had to finish this.
Determination pushing him, he bent low and crawled to the opposite corner of the building.
This side of the bunkhouse had been dried out by the sun. The snow had even melted in blotches around the foundation. It was the best chance to start the fire.
The pungent oil of the kerosene assaulted his nostrils as he drenched the dried timbers at the base of the bunkhouse.
He pulled out a match, his fingers trembling. Once lit, he wouldn’t have a lot of time to get away from the inferno.
A man’s voice shouted from somewhere nearby. Nick was out of time.
He struck the match and flicked it into the puddle of kerosene. The tiny flame burst into a much larger one, illuminating the darkness with an orange glow.
Illuminating Nick.
A bullet thunked into the ground not far from Nick’s boot. A second one slapped into the wall just past his side.
With fire crackling between him and the building, he made to run for the woods—but a spray of bullets blocked his path.
He zigzagged and ran around the side of the bunkhouse, conscious of the fact that there could be another man waiting there to take him out.
Behind him, the fire crackled hotter. He could feel the heat radiating off it now.
Before he reached the corner, more shots echoed from in front of him.
He was surrounded.
The bunkhouse door was just in front of him—his only escape.
He knocked into it with the full force of his body, almost falling inside as a bullet blasted into the wood just above his head. He kicked the door shut behind him.
Inside, he scanned the room for any way to escape. Smoke swirled in the long room lined with bunks. The blaze lighting up the sky outside hadn’t caught inside yet.
The glass from the window opposite him shattered and he ducked. Bullet? Or had heat from the fire caused it to break?
It was warm inside. Too warm. He started sweating underneath his coat. Rubbed the back of one hand across his forehead, almost knocking his hat off.
He coughed once, squinting against the flickering, shadowy light coming in through the window. The smoky air burned his throat.
If he’d hoped for some magic answer to appear, he was sorely disappointed. How could he get away from the bunkhouse when it was surrounded, when the men outside wanted him dead and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot?
He briefly considered whether he could lift one of the straw tick mattresses, use it as a shield?—
Another bullet cracked through the wall, leaving a round hole behind, though luckily it was wide of Nick.
