Chapter 6 - The Invasion of Haven
Z
The rain felt like needles stinging my skin as I stepped off my back porch into the pitch-black void of the driveway. The wind roared through the narrow gap between our houses, whipping the oak trees into frantic, thrashing silhouettes against the dark sky.
I carried a heavy iron spade from my garden shed in my right hand and a high-powered LED flashlight in my left. My boots sank three inches into the flooded lawn as I crossed the property line onto Theresa’s grass.
For eight years, I had mowed this lawn with meticulous care, keeping the edges crisp, making sure not a single weed survived near her porch. Now, the grass felt like a treacherous swamp, pulling at my feet, trying to slow me down.
I reached the back fence where the two sunflowers stood.
They were tall, thick-stemmed giants, their broad leaves heavy with rainwater. Theresa had planted them side-by-side every spring—one for Harold, and one so he wouldn't be lonely. Looking at them now through the blinding rain, I realized they weren't just a tribute to a dead agent; they were a headstone marking the grave of the evidence that had cost my father his life.
I dropped to my knees in the mud, sinking the iron edge of the spade into the saturated earth directly between the two stalks.
Clang.
The spade struck something hard six inches below the surface—not a rock, not a tree root, but the solid, metallic ring of heavy metal.
My heart surged with adrenaline. I began digging frantic scoops of mud, tossing brown sludge over my shoulders into the wind. Rain poured off the brim of my hat, blinding my eyes, but I kept digging, clawing at the earth with my bare fingers when the shovel became too clumsy.
Eight inches down, my fingers closed around the handle of a heavy, air-tight pelican case—a military-grade, waterproof hard case sealed with heavy duty steel latches.
I pulled it from the mud with a wet, suctioning pop.
Suddenly, the floodlights on Theresa’s back porch burst into brilliant, blinding life.
I slammed my hand over my eyes, blinded by the sudden glare. Shadows danced across the wet lawn as two heavy figures stepped off Theresa’s back porch, their boots crunching loudly on the gravel walkway.
"Well, look at that," a voice called out over the roar of the wind. It was the same raspy, sandpaper voice from the bank vault. "The lawn mower boy actually found it."
I scrambled to my feet, clutching the muddy pelican case against my chest like a shield, backing up against the wooden fence line.
The two men approached slowly. The leader was the tall man from the bank vault, his broad shoulders covered in a wet leather jacket, his dark eyes cold and void of emotion. Beside him stood a younger, thick-necked man holding a silenced semi-automatic pistol pointed directly at my throat.
"I have to hand it to Theresa," the leader said, wiping rain from his jaw. "She played the long game. Hiding the ledger under the nose of the clueless neighbor. And you... you actually mowed over fifty million dollars worth of state secrets every Saturday morning for eight years without having a damn clue."
"My father died because of you," I spat, my voice shaking with rage, my knuckles turning white around the handle of the pelican case.
"Your father died because he was stupid, Justin," the man sneered, taking another step forward. "Arthur thought he could play hero. He thought he could take down Senator Vance with a ledger and a couple of phone calls to the newspaper. He ended up at the bottom of a ravine in a crumpled sedan. Don't make the same mistake Arthur made. Hand over the case."
"If I give you this case, you kill me anyway," I said, eyeing the distance between myself and the dark corner of my garage fifteen feet away. "You'll kill me, and then you'll go into that house and kill my wife and my kids."
The man grinned—a cruel, horrifying flash of white teeth in the floodlight darkness. "Smart boy. You really are Arthur’s son. But you see, Justin, you don't have a choice. You don't have a gun. You don't have leverage. You're just a guy who cuts grass."
"You forgot one thing," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.
"Oh yeah? What’s that?"
"I know this yard better than anyone alive."
I didn't run toward the garage. I didn't try to fight them. Instead, I kicked my heavy boot backward with all the strength in my leg, driving it straight into the exposed copper pipe of Theresa’s ancient, heavy-duty underground sprinkler main—the pipe I had spent three summers fixing, the one that ran directly off the high-pressure city line.
The aged copper pipe snapped violently under the impact.
A roaring, explosive geyser of high-pressure water and mud burst out of the ground directly beneath the two men, blasting a blinding torrent of gravel, rock, and water straight into their faces.
The gunman screamed as high-pressure water struck him full in the eyes, sending his handgun flying into the dark, muddy bushes. The leader stumbled backward, blinded, slipping on the slick grass and crashing heavily onto his back.
"Shoot him! Shoot the bastard!" the leader roared, wiping mud from his eyes.
I didn't wait. I threw myself over the low wooden fence into my own yard, clutching the pelican case, and sprinted blindly toward my house through the torrential rain.
May you like
Behind me, gunshot cracks echoed through the night—muffled thuds of suppressed rounds snapping through the branches of the apple trees overhead. Wood splinters exploded off my back porch rail as I threw my shoulder against the kitchen door, burst inside, and slammed it shut, throwing the deadbolt home.
"Olive!" I screamed, gasping for air, mud and blood pouring down my face where a wood splinter had grazed my cheek. "We go NOW!"
