Old Jesse stood behind the door, cautious, leaning forward. Marcus stood, but Jesse waved him back. “¿Quién es?”

The man’s voice from the other side of the door said, “I’m looking for my dog; she’s wandering around out here somewhere.”

Tia stepped quietly to the little kitchen, where there was a window view of the front door. Peeking behind the corn-cob drapes, Tia recognized the man’s Asian features, one of the two men in the white car. She ducked down.

Maria stepped up to her father from behind. “There’s no dog here; we haven’t seen it.”

There was an extended, frightening pause before the man said, “Are you sure? We’re…I’m really worried about him.”

Tia’s imagination ran through the litany of possibilities. They must have found the car. Were there footprints leading to the field, and then up to the house? Are they that good? Have Marcus and I gotten that old and sloppy?

“I’m sorry,” Maria said to the man on the other side of the door. “Good luck.”

Tia glanced around, knowing there was a second man with him. Is he prowling around the property while his partner distracts us?

“Well, okay,” the man said, his footsteps creaking on the front porch and getting softer fast. Once the quiet of the encroaching evening returned, Marcus turned to Tia. “We have to leave.”

“Agreed. That was too close; these two shouldn’t be involved in any of this.”

Marcus nodded. We’ll give them a few minutes to move on down the block, let it get a little darker, head up into the hills.”

“The hills? How’re we supposed to survive up in the Andes Mountains?”

“I’ll get us through. It won’t be easy—”

“No, there’s gotta be a better way,” Tia said. “Can’t these folks just call the local police now, have ‘em come and pick us up?”

Bam-bam-bam-bam! The gunshots blasted into the little house from seemingly every angle. Marcus and Tia both ducked down and so did their hosts, the old farmer wrapping his arms around his daughter to protect her, a futile defense against the barrage of sudden and deadly gunfire.

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam! Windows shattered, glass flew into the house, drapes fell, cabinets were torn apart. Marcus pulled out his gun and peered up and around, cocking the weapon and getting ready to fire.

“I shot out a bunch of those,” Tia said. “Load the fresh clip.”

“Good thinking,” Marcus said, replacing the clip with the other in his pocket. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Let’s not find out.”

There was a pause in the fire, enough for old Jesse to crouch low and cross the living room to the closet where his shotgun sat waiting. Tia crossed over to Maria and pulled her in, wrapping her protective arms around the girl and pulling her head in, down and low when the gunfire returned.

Bam-bam-bam-bam!

Maria screamed and recoiled into Tia’s embrace while Marcus and Jesse peered around, trying to decipher where the shot were coming from. It was two directions, but there was much more gunfire than from only two guns.

Bam-bam-bam-bam!

Tia pulled Maria down farther, ducking her own head down while the bullets flew overhead, chips of wood floating in the mist of airborne debris. The shower of gunfire was followed by a creeping quiet, the return of a panicked fright. Nobody dared move inside the little house, flecks of wood falling everywhere. Marcus and old Jesse glanced at one another, each waiting and wondering, Tia clinging to their teenage hostess.

The front door flew open, practically disintegrating with the kick. The assassin stepped into the room, a semi-automatic handgun in each hand, scanning in that blistering second for the nearest target, locked and loaded, armed and deadly.

But Jesse was perfectly positioned near the door, shotgun in his hands, his old face a dispassionate mask as lethal as any trained killer. Tia recognized him in that second: a man protecting his home, his daughter, his life. There were centuries of survival behind that split second between life and death, and the old man didn’t even flinch.

Bang! The assassin bolted forward as if in slow motion, a black hole bursting open in his gut. He shot idly, the twitch of his death nerves as his arms went slack, and he fell forward, shooting harmlessly into the floor as he fell onto his face with a hideous thud.

Maria cried out and buried her face deep into Tia’s shoulder. Tia stroked her head, whispering into her ear, “Shshshshsh, it’s okay, it’s all right.” Rocking the girl gently in her arms, Tia felt a whole new sensation, beyond care and concern and love to a kind of parental nurturing she’d never had as a child and never thought to engage in as an adult.

But things were changing fast, and even in the midst of death, Tia felt a new appreciation for life, and for new life.

Marcus crept toward the door, but Tia reached out to him. “Marcus, no!”

“There’s a second shooter out there somewhere,” Marcus said. “We have to take him out.”

“He’s waiting for you, Marcus; you’ll be walking into an ambush!”

“Not if I don’t go through the front door.” Marcus called to Jesse, “¿Dónde está la puerta trasera?”

“A través de la cocina.”

Marcus turned to Tia. “I’ll exit through the kitchen, creep around, take him out.”

“Marcus, no, I’m…I’m worried.”

“I know,” was all he said, giving her a kiss and crossing the shot-up little house toward the kitchen and then to the back.

Tia was tense in the nerve-wracking silence, looking out the window but unable to spot anything worth seeing. But she knew she had to keep her head down lest she draw fire into the house. Jesse was doing the same thing, trying to peer inconspicuously out one of the living room windows.

Tia noticed the two guns in the dead assassin’s hands, facedown on the floor not far from her. Without abandoning Maria, Tia reached over and grabbed the two guns, pulling herself back and checking the clips, handing one to Maria. “Can you shoot?” Maria nodded. “Don’t do it until you have to; we don’t want any friendly fire, right?” Maria looked up at Tia, confused. “Just be careful and hold fire until you’re the last one left, how’s that?” Maria nodded, tears streaming down her face.