Chapter 2 - The Storm Outside, The Siege Within
The impact was violent. Mark went down, not through the stairs, but sliding sideways as the structure tilted, throwing him hard against the concrete floor. The heavy flashlight skittered across the floor and rolled into the shadows beneath the furnace.
Richard didn't wait. He scrambled up the remaining intact steps, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He reached the kitchen and slammed the basement door, sliding the heavy oak chair back under the knob. He knew it wouldn't hold forever, but he needed time.
He sprinted to the kitchen wall, grabbing the landline. Dead. He checked his cell phone. No service. The blizzard had taken out the local tower. He was truly isolated.
He ran back to the basement door. Mark was slamming his shoulder against the wood, a rhythmic, booming sound that shook the floorboards. "Open it, Richard! I’ll kill you both!"
Richard ignored him, his mind racing. He went to the hallway closet. He grabbed the emergency kit he had given Claire for her housewarming gift three years ago. Inside was a satellite phone—a "just in case" purchase he had insisted on. He hadn't checked the battery in months. He prayed to God it still held a charge.
He dialed the emergency line, his thumbs trembling. The screen flickered, searching for a signal. Searching... Searching...
"Come on," he hissed. "Find me."
Behind him, the basement door splintered. A piece of the wood gave way, and Mark’s hand reached through, clawing at the air. Richard backed away, the satellite phone finally chirping as it locked onto a frequency.
"Hello? This is Richard Miller. I need assistance at 412 Pine Ridge Road. My daughter is unconscious, my grandson is endangered, and I have an intruder!"
"Sir, stay calm," a dispatcher’s voice crackled, distant and thin. "The storm is severe. Rescue is at least an hour out. Can you secure the perimeter?"
"I'm trying!"
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Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the front of the house. The front door had been blown open by the wind, or perhaps someone else was trying to get in. Richard’s blood turned to ice. Was it the police? Or did Mark have an accomplice?
He stepped into the living room, gripping a heavy fireplace poker. He saw a figure standing in the doorway, coated in white snow, the wind howling behind them.
