Page 155 of Strays
Jay checks our situation as we hit the state line. “No guns. No tools to break in. Plan?”
“Brute force. Make do with whatever we find,” Shane answers. “There’s no other option.”
He’s right. We couldn’t carry weapons into the courthouse; we didn’t eventhink to grab any when we left home this morning. The only tools in the Bronco are a cheap roadside kit, good for a flat tire, and not much else. But there’s no time to fix it. Every minute Jo gets farther away. Every second gives Aranya a better chance to disappear.
So we go in raw. Whatever happens, we handle it as it comes.
Aranya’s estate isn’t easy to find. It’s set back from the road by at least a quarter mile. Thick forest on either side. No visible mailbox, no address plaque, just black iron gates, tall, curved and ornate, with cameras mounted on either side.
I don’t stop. I aim straight for the gates and press the gas until the engine snarls under me. The Bronco lurches forward like she wants this too. Jay tense in the passenger seat, and Shane grips the handle by the door, but neither of them says a word.
We hit the gates at full speed. The impact rocks through us like a bomb. Metal twists and hinges explode. One side tears free; the other bends inward as the Bronco smashes through. For a second, all I hear is screeching metal and broken earth, then the tires catch again, and we’re in.
Gravel sprays under us as I push the Bronco forward, a guttural rattle rising under the hood. Ahead, the house looms in the distance.
Then the gunfire starts. But we already expected it. There’s no way Aranya didn’t keep guards on this place.
It slams into us like a wave. First, from the hedgerow near the drive. I hear the rounds ping against the armored body of the Bronco, the windshield shivering and cracking like ice.
I don’t stop.
Rounds hit the hood, the doors, the tires. One rear wheel kicks out slightly, but the Bronco holds. Steel groaning, engine growling. Every shot makes her sound like she’s dying, but she keeps going.
We’re thirty feet from the front of the house when I kill the engine.
Jay throws his door open and Shane’s out at the same time. I follow, rifle fire still cracking behind us. We move fast, using the doors as shields and the Bronco as cover.
One guard rushes from the right flank, rifle raised, shouting something I don’t bother listening to. I meet him head-on. My fist lands first, and I don’t hold back. I feel bone shatter and his skull caves in beneath my knuckles like brittle tile. The crack is wet and final. He drops without a sound, dead before he hits the gravel.
I rip the rifle from his hands.
Another guard fires from the other side. Jay dives over the hood, slams into him shoulder-first and wrestles him down. Shane’s already there. His boots land on the man’s chest with full weight, and bone cracks under him, loud and brutal, ribs folding into lungs.
Two bodies down, two rifles in our hands.
Shane takes point as we move forward, clearing the outer walkway. I spot motion behind a stone pillar: another rifle rising. I shoot first. The guard spins and drops, blood smearing the stone. One less problem, one more rifle for us.
I hear a shout from above, someone on the balcony trying to move. Jay doesn’t hesitate. He drops to one knee, steadies the rifle, and fires. The shot punches straight through the guard’s forehead. He folds backward, disappearing from sight.
Then silence.
We hold position. Scan for movement. Listen.
Nothing.
Shane sweeps the left side of the house, quick and methodical. Jay checks the far end of the drive. I scan the front elevation and the treeline. No more shadows, no more voices.
We regroup at the door. It’s locked. Jay kicks hard, just beneath the deadbolt. The wood splinters and the door gives. We’re inside.
The empty living room has fancy stone floors, dim lights and high ceilings. We pause and sweep the space. Shane takes left, Jay moves right. I go center, checking corners and sightlines.
When I get close to the stairs, a scent hits me: a pack. Aggressive pheromones, thick in the air, concentrated upstairs. I stop for a minute, senses tuning in. There’s someone else with them. Human. Female. Only one. No one else in the house.
The pack isn’t here to protect the property, or they would have attacked us already. They’re guarding her personally. That means she’s important.
It must be Aranya’s wife.
The scent trail is easy to follow. We take the stairs, heading west. Corner bedroom. They're trying to make it a last stand.
