The Last Straw

The first bottle hit the snow outside the window with a wet, heavy smash. Matthew had thrown it, his aim uncanny even in the dark. A second later, the chemicals mixed, and the snow wasn't white anymore. It was fire.

A sheet of blue and orange flame erupted, creating a wall between the cabin and the tree line.

"That won't hold them forever," Aris shouted, typing furiously. "Upload is at 15 percent. We need more time."

"We'll give you time," David said. He was crouching by the door, holding the rifle Claire had taken from the barge. He looked at her. "You take the back. Matthew, the chemicals. Aris, don't stop typing."

Claire moved to the rear of the cabin. The kitchen window looked out onto a steep drop—a ravine filled with snow and rocks. It was their only exit if the house fell, but it was also a vulnerability.

She peered into the darkness. Shadows moved against the white of the snow. They were circling.

"They're flanking us!" she yelled.

David fired two shots through the front window, shattering the remaining glass. He wasn't aiming to kill; he was aiming to suppress. He needed them to think they were walking into a fortress, not a wooden box filled with desperate people.

Outside, the Syndicate team returned fire. Bullets chewed through the wood of the cabin, sending splinters flying like shrapnel.

Claire ducked as a round punched through the kitchen cabinets, shattering a jar of pasta sauce. Red liquid splattered across the floor.

She crawled to the sink. Matthew was there, mixing another batch. His face was calm, almost serene, lit by the flickering firelight.

"Bleach and ammonia," he whispered. "Chloramine gas. Heavier than air. It will sink into the low ground."

He handed her a plastic jug.

"Throw it," he said. "Hard."

Claire took the jug. She stood up, just enough to clear the sill, and hurled it into the darkness.

It landed in the ravine.

A moment later, she heard coughing. Choking. The sound of men gasping for air.

"It's working," she said.

But the front of the house was taking a beating. The fire Matthew had started was dying down, and the men were advancing.

"Aris!" David shouted. "Status!"

"30 percent!" Aris yelled back. "The satellite link is garbage!"

"We can't hold them for twenty more minutes," David said. He looked at Claire. "We have to draw them in. Funnel them."

"How?"

"We give them what they want," David said.

He looked at the key on the table. The master key.

"No," Claire said. "If we give them the key, they kill us."

"Not if we give it to them on our terms," David said.

He grabbed the key. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the counter. And he grabbed one of Matthew's chemical cocktails—a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid.

He taped the vial to the key.

"What is that?" Claire asked.

"Nitroglycerin," Matthew said from the floor. "Unstable. Very unstable."

David looked at the front door.

"Cover me," he said.

He opened the door.

"Hey!" he shouted into the night. "You want the key? Come and get it!"

He threw the key. It arced through the air, landing in the snow ten yards from the porch.

The firing stopped.

A figure emerged from the trees. He was dressed in black tactical gear, his face covered by a mask. He walked toward the key, his weapon trained on the door.

He reached down.

He picked up the key.

And the vial shattered.

The explosion wasn't large, but it was violent. It took the man's hand off at the wrist.

He screamed.

The firing resumed, more intense this time. They were angry now.

David slammed the door and locked it.

"That bought us two minutes," he said, sliding down the wall. "Maybe three."

Claire looked at him. He was bleeding again, the wound in his side reopening. But he was smiling. A grim, terrifying smile.

"We're going to die here," he said.

"No," Claire said. She looked at Matthew. "We have more chemicals. We have more tricks."

"I'm out of oxidizer," Matthew said. He held up an empty bottle of bleach. "The next batch won't burn."

Claire looked around the room. Her eyes landed on the wood stove. The propane tank connected to it.

"We have gas," she said.

She looked at David.

"If we disconnect the line... and fill the room..."

"Suicide," Aris said, not looking up from the screen. "45 percent."

"Not if we're not in the room," Claire said.

She pointed to the floor. To the rug.

"This cabin," she said. "Mary built it. She told me once it has a root cellar. With an external hatch."

David pulled the rug back. There it was. A wooden trapdoor.

"It leads to the ravine," Claire said. "Under the snow."

"Go," David said. "Take Aris. Take Matthew."

"What about you?"

"Someone has to light the match," David said.

"No," Claire said. "We do it together. Or not at all."

She looked at the propane line.

"We can rig a timer," Matthew said. "A candle. A fuse."

He grabbed a candle from the mantle. He placed it on the floor near the stove.

David disconnected the gas line. The hiss of escaping propane filled the room.

"Get in the hole," David said.

Aris jumped down first, clutching the laptop. "55 percent! Don't lose the signal!"

Matthew followed.

Claire looked at David.

"Come on," she said.

They climbed down into the cellar. David pulled the trapdoor shut above them.

They huddled in the darkness, the smell of earth and potatoes replacing the smell of gas.

Above them, they heard footsteps. The front door kicked in.

"Clear the room!" a voice shouted. "Find the computer!"

Boots thudded on the floorboards.

"I smell gas," someone said.

"Check the stove!"

A pause.

Then, a voice filled with sudden, dawning horror.

"Run!"

The explosion was deafening. The ground shook. Dust rained down on them.

Then, silence.

Aris opened the laptop. The screen glowed in the dark.

*Upload Complete.*

"It's done," he whispered. "It's all out there."

Claire looked at David. He was staring at the ceiling of the cellar, listening to the crackle of the fire above.

He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at Aris.

He was looking at the trapdoor.

"They're gone," Claire said. "We won."

David didn't answer. He stood up and pushed the trapdoor open. Smoke poured in.

He climbed out.

The cabin was gone. Just a charred frame and a foundation.

But the bodies... there were bodies in the snow.

And sirens in the distance. Real sirens.

David walked to the edge of the ravine. He looked down at the spot where the black sedan had been parked.

It was empty.

He turned to Claire. His face was unreadable.

"They took the truck," he said. "Mary's truck."

"Mary?" Claire asked. "But she left hours ago."

"She came back," David said. He pointed to the tire tracks in the fresh snow. "She came back for us."

He looked at the empty spot where the truck had been.

"And they took her."