THE STORM

The theater was bustling, it was friday night, and the air was filled with the laughter of carefree joy of humanity. Beca was leaning against a wall in the distance away from all of the people running up and down the lobby. She hated the movies, she hated the theater, but looking over at Jesse who was casually walking up to her with the stupid big goofy smile of him she figured, there could be worse things in life. He was happy, and that made her happy.

He leaned in, and gave her a very quick, kiss hello, they'd been dating a while and it was still a little jarring and a little uncomfortable but she hated to admit that she liked how he didn't care what anyone thought, he was Jesse, affectionate and unapologetic about it, "Hey sorry! Have you been waiting long?"

"Annoyingly long?" Beca said as she tried her hardest to keep her trademark frown.

"Really?" Jesse's eyes widened, genuinely apologetic.

"Every minute that I'm here, is annoyingly long"

"Oh!" Jesse felt relieved, it was just Beca being Beca. "You're just messing with me,"

"I'm just messing with you, yes," Her frown broke into that small smile she saved for only a lucky few.

"Come on, it's going to be great! The musical director in this movie is one of the best in the business trust me!"

"Yeah Beca! It's John Williams, he scored almost every Spielberg movie, including Star Wars so you know it's going to be good!"

Beca damn near jumped out of her skin when Benji just appeared next to them from out of nowhere. "Benji! You scared the crap out of me dude! How the hell did you get here!"

Benji gave her a goofy smile and said, "A magician never reveals his secret Beca."

"Dude! What are you doing here, you know it's date night!" Jesse gave his best friend a frown that looked so foreign in his usually friendly face.

"Sorry! I just really wanted to see this movie!" Benji apologized with a smile.

Beca rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, as she glared at her boyfriend then felt her phone vibrate, she pulled out her phone while Jesse and Benji bantered. It was a text from Chloe, she gave the name on her phone that smile she saved for a lucky few and read the text, "Hey! Movie start yet?"

Beca quickly typed back, "No. Dumb Benji just showed up too."

"Aw bet he was lonely!"

"Whatever."

"Well want me to come over? I can bring Emily and run interference for you so you can have some privacy with Jesse!"

Beca's smile grew wider, that's Chloe alright, selfless to a fault, "No it's alright, thanks though,"

"Boo! I'm bored!"

"You'll just have to come up with your own fun tonight. I'll be home soon though," Beca replied, though in all honesty she would rather be back at the Barden House, working on their latest composition while the redhead waits patiently on her bed to listen to whatever the DJ comes up with.

"Hey, I'm sorry, is it cool if Benji tags along for a bit?" Jesse asked slightly embarrassed.

Beca looked up from her phone, unamused and rolled her eyes but she couldn't help it and smiled gently at the eager goofball next to the other eager goofball, "whatever, the more the merrier I guess."

Benji jumped excitedly, "Yay! Thanks! I'll even get the tickets!" Benji didn't wait and ran towards the line.

Beca yelled after him, "And the snacks!"

Jesse suddenly said, "Hey, I gotta run to the bathroom before the movie, keep an eye on him will you?" and he ran towards the bathroom.

Beca rolled her eyes and said, "Fine, I guess I'll keep an eye on him." And she started walking towards Benji. As she walked towards the young man with a silly smile and a Star Wars t-shirt everything turned to black.

I guess I'll keep an eye on him…

Beca awoke suddenly in a cold sweat. She looked over at the naked redhead sleeping peacefully next to her and she relaxed, relieved that she hadn't disturbed her sleep. She remembered that day vividly now, it felt so long ago, and yet now that she'd seen Benji it all came flooding back as if it had been yesterday. That had been the last time the three of them were all together, just before Jesse left for California and just before they broke up.

"I'll look after him," Beca whispered and carefully slipped out of bed and got dressed. She needed to check on Benji.

Paula kept a careful eye on Benji as she cleaned her Henry Lever Action rifle with a rag, making sure the lever mechanism was smooth. The boy's breathing was shallow, but steady, a small comfort in the chaos around them. She looked up when she heard the creak of the stairs. Beca was making her way down, her expression a mix of determination and anxiety. The tension between them was still fresh, the memory of their fight hanging in the air like smoke.

"Any—" Beca started to say, her voice tight, but Paula cut her off.

"No, his pulse is steady but still weak," Paula replied, her tone more gentle than usual. "Boy's fighting a hell of a fight to stay alive."

Beca's shoulders slumped as she walked over to Benji, placing a hand on his forehead. He was warm and sweaty, a small fever beginning to set in. "He's got a fever," she said quietly.

"I'm not surprised," Paula said as she set the rifle down and stood up, watching Beca carefully. "Who knows what's going on inside the poor kid's body?"

"I wish we could have gotten him to a doctor," Beca murmured, her eyes not leaving Benji's face.

"Me too, Beca," Paula said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She could feel the tension in the girl's muscles, the fear that she was trying so hard to hide. "But you're doing your best, kid. This ain't on you."

Beca gave her a sideways glance, her expression conflicted. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—anger, fear, maybe even guilt. "I said I'd keep an eye on him," she said softly, almost to herself.

"You are keeping an eye on him," Paula reassured her. "You're doing everything you can."

Beca hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry about—"

"I know," Paula interrupted, sighing. "I am too. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard." She paused, watching Beca closely. The girl was trying to play it tough, but Paula could see right through her. Beca was scared—hell, they were all scared. But Beca was trying to put on a brave face, trying to be strong, and Paula respected that.

Paula gave a small, knowing smile. Beca was just like her in some ways: stubborn, determined, all heart. And that was both her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. She knew Beca was right, the girl wasn't a soldier, she wasn't built for war, but here she was, ready to fight. And for some reason right now that felt wrong to her. Paula found herself wishing she could protect Beca and Chloe from what was coming.

"When do you think they'll come?" Beca asked, trying to sound calm, but Paula could hear the tremor in her voice.

"Boy said a day, and since we didn't get hit too bad last night, I'm guessing this Tommy's been trying all night to get to us. So I think we got till daybreak," Paula said, trying to keep her own voice steady.

Beca nodded, though she still looked uneasy. She went over to the table, grabbed her gun belt, and then picked up the Glock 19. She ejected the magazine and saw it was empty, so she grabbed the nearest box of 9mm rounds and started loading it. Without looking up, she asked, "So, what's the plan?"

Paula smirked a little, though her heart ached. She walked over, grabbed another empty magazine, and started loading it with 9mm rounds as well. She glanced at the empty bottles next to one of Beca's cans of gasoline and said, "In the 19th century or somethin' like that, there was an old Prussian strategist who once said, 'No plan of operation reaches with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main force'—basically, no plan survives first contact with the enemy."

Beca loaded the magazine into her gun and holstered it, then turned to Paula, her brow furrowed. "Is there a point to all this?" she asked, trying to sound tough, but Paula could see the fear behind her eyes.

"The point is, wiseass…" Paula handed her the fully loaded magazine, but didn't let it go. When Beca looked up, she saw the same fire in Paula's eyes that she felt burning in her own. "That the plan is we're gonna hit 'em hard and fast!"

Beca rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Good. I hate overly complicated plans anyway," she said, trying to mask her fear with bravado.

Paula watched her for a moment longer, her heart heavy. She wished she could keep these girls safe, keep them out of this fight.

The kitchen was filled with a heavy silence, the kind that settled in the bones and stayed there. The only sound was the clink of mugs against the wooden table as they were set down, the bitter aroma of chicory coffee filling the air. Beca took another sip of the dark, bitter brew. It was vile at first, the taste harsh and earthy, but after two days, she found she had adapted to it. Now, she even welcomed the sharp bite, as if the bitterness was a reflection of everything they were feeling.

Chloe sat across from Beca, holding her cup of tea with both hands, her fingers trembling slightly. She had tried to keep up her usual upbeat demeanor, but it had frayed at the edges, leaving her quiet and introspective. She glanced up at Beca and offered a small, strained smile.

Beca returned it as best as she could. She could feel the weight of what was coming pressing down on her, and she could tell that Chloe could as well. In front of them the guns were laid out on the kitchen table, Beca's Glock 19, Mary's twin colt revolvers, and her Henry Lever Action Rifle, Mary's Remington 700 rifle her daddy left for her and her back up rifle the more modern Savage Arms 110 rifle in classic hardwood. All of them were cleaned and ready, unlike them. And nobody reached for them yet. They were all just sitting, drinking their chicory coffee and tea, waiting.

Paula's gaze drifted back out the window. She'd seen this before, this what the calm before the storm. She had seen it in war, the way people changed when they were faced with violence. And it scared her. Not for herself, but for the two young women sitting at her table. They were strong, they were capable, and they loved each other fiercely. But Paula knew what war could do to people, how it could taint even the brightest souls.

She looked at Beca and Chloe, there was a quiet determination in their eyes, the resolve that had kept them going through everything. But beneath it, she saw the vulnerability, the fear they were trying to hide.

Paula sighed, the sound heavy and weary. She reached for her own mug, taking a sip of the bitter brew as if it might fortify her for what she was about to say. She set the mug down and looked directly at Beca and Chloe, her voice soft but firm.

"Listen, girls," Paula began, her Texan drawl thickened by the weight of what she was about to ask. "I need you both to go downstairs and check on Benji. Make sure he's still stable."

Beca looked up sharply, the weariness in her eyes giving way to a flicker of suspicion. "Paula…"

Chloe, more trusting, was already nodding, ready to follow any instructions that would help keep Benji safe. "We'll check on him, make sure he's okay," she said, her voice steady, even as she glanced nervously at the guns on the table.

Paula's gaze softened when it met Chloe's. She appreciated how quickly Chloe wanted to help, how despite everything, she still held onto her innate goodness. But Beca… Beca's skepticism, her reluctance to leave, was something Paula respected too.

"Just go on," Paula urged, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone as she gestured toward the door leading to the basement. "I need to know he's still with us."

Beca held Paula's gaze a moment longer, searching for something in her expression, but eventually, she nodded. "Okay," she said, standing up. She reached out for Chloe's hand, and Chloe took it, the two of them moving toward the basement door.

As they descended the stairs, Paula watched them go, a heaviness settling in her chest. She knew what she was doing was for the best. Keeping them away from the coming violence, away from the guns and the bloodshed, was the only way she knew to protect them. She couldn't bear the thought of those bright souls being dimmed by the horrors they were about to face.

The basement door slammed shut above them, and the could hear the tell tale sounds of the door being locked. Beca's eyes widened. "Wait… no!" she shouted, sprinting up the stairs. She grabbed the handle, rattling it frantically, but it wouldn't budge. "Paula! What the hell are you doing?" she yelled, pounding on the door.

"What the hell?" Beca muttered, pounding on the door. "Paula! What's going on?"

Chloe's eyes widened in panic as she realized what had just happened. "Did she… did she lock us in?"

Beca slammed her fist against the door again, frustration and anger boiling up inside her. "Paula! Let us out!"

But there was no answer. They could hear faint movement upstairs, the shuffle of feet, but the door remained closed.

Chloe's heart raced as she backed away from the door, panic rising. "She's trying to keep us safe," she muttered, realization dawning but doing little to calm her nerves. "But… why like this?"

Beca leaned her forehead against the door, trying to steady her breathing. "She doesn't want us to be part of the fight,"

Paula stood in the dim light of the hallway, her hand still on the door handle after locking it. She leaned her back against the door, her eyes closing as a wave of guilt washed over her.

Mary stood a few feet away, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. She watched Paula, seeing the turmoil in her wife's eyes, the heaviness in her stance.

"Paula," Mary began softly, stepping closer, "why the change of heart? You were the one who taught Beca to shoot, who pushed her to learn how to defend herself. What's different now?"

Paula exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping as she turned her gaze to the floor. "I taught them to shoot to defend themselves, Mary. Not for this." she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. "When the kid told us this was coming, I tried to push Beca to become like me, a soldier. I thought it would help… but I was wrong. I see that now."

Mary's brow furrowed slightly, her eyes searching Paula's face. "What do you mean?"

Paula met Mary's gaze, her eyes reflecting the depth of her regret. "Beca and Chloe, they're not soldiers. They're survivors. They've got that fire in them, that drive to keep going, to protect what they love. But they're not built for this kind of fight. I don't want them to have to carry the weight of what's coming. I've been there, Mary. I've seen what it does to people. I've—you've seen what it's done to me."

Mary nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "So, what you're saying is… you want to help them survive, but not at the cost of their souls."

Paula's throat tightened, and she blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. "Exactly. I don't want them to end up… I don't want them to be haunted by this for the rest of their lives. I was trying to protect them. This is the only way I know how."

Mary's face softened, her heart aching for Paula. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "You big old softie, I love you for wanting to keep them safe. But we can't lock them away like this. We can't make their choices for them, no matter how much we want to."

Paula nodded, her resolve weakening as Mary's words sunk in.

Mary gave Paula's arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. "Now, I'll take the rifles upstairs and get set up," she said softly. "And I trust you'll do the right thing."

Paula watched as Mary turned, walking towards the table, grabbed her two rifles and a box and went upstairs. Paula took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the guilt gnawed at her.

Paula stayed where she was for a moment longer, leaning against the door that separated her from Beca and Chloe. She pressed her hand flat against the wood, feeling the vibrations of their desperate attempts to get out, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Fire, humanity's oldest weapon against the beast in the night. Effective for warding off even the deadliest of predators. So when the first molotov flew out of the attic window and exploded against the open door of the second truck, the flames engulfed everything it touched. The mixture of fuel, Vaseline, and alcohol ignited quickly, burning bright. It ate through cloth, snow, and flesh indiscriminately. The men who were caught in the blaze screamed, a horrifying pitch that pierced through the night as their bodies were consumed by fire.

But fire had another purpose, psychological warfare. Fear has struck the hearts of the men.

Paula watched from the living room window, her breath held tight in her chest. Three trucks had come down the snowy road, rumbling towards the farmhouse. The first truck, equipped with a snowplow, led the convoy. Behind it, two more trucks lined up, each one filled with armed men ready to unleash hell.

As the flames spread, Paula saw the chaos unfold. The men inside the lead truck scrambled to escape, their panicked movements only hastening their demise. She could see them flailing, their arms beating uselessly against the inferno that was rapidly devouring them.

"Now!" Paula screamed, snapping into action. She raised her Henry Lever Action Rifle, taking aim at the first and third truck. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, sharpening her focus to a razor's edge. With quick, practiced movements, she began to fire through the window of her living room. Paula was an award winning sports shooter, and each one of her shots was deliberate and deadly. The crack of the rifle echoed repeatedly through the house.

Meanwhile, from the attic, Mary noticed a second convoy in the distance, her scope trained on the drivers as they began to drive down the road. She wanted to keep them at bay, she wouldn't let them reinforce the ones Paula was fighting. Her sniper shots were effective and she killed the first driver and forced the two following to swerve and crash into each other. The men had no choice but to get out of their vehicles and try to get to cover but under Mary's careful sharpshooting she had them pinned.

She switched from target to target with calm precision, her years of hunting and sharpshooting coming into play as she picked her targets, her breath steady between each pull of the trigger.

Paula fought the ment by three vehicles parked in front of the house, the second one of them still ablaze, while Mary fought against three more further up the road. Both committed, those men would not make it into the house.

"Jesus fuck! Tommy!" The man driving the third vehicle screamed as the vehicle in front of him went up in flames. He immediately tried to back up but was stuck in the snow. In a panic, he opened his door.

"No, wait!" Tommy screamed from the passenger seat, but he was too late. The second the man opened the door, he was gunned down by the woman shooting from the house. Tommy ducked and scurried out of the vehicle, falling onto the snow. He crawled on all fours and took shelter behind the wheel of his car. He looked up just in time to see one of his men—his friend—engulfed in flames run past him, screaming a high pitch gurgling haunting sound. Tommy's eyes went wide with horror, knowing he'd never forget that scream.

With scrambling hands, Tommy grabbed his walkie-talking and called, "Johnny! Send the second wave!"

He looked as the rest of his men grouped behind the safety of the first truck. He counted 6 men left. Turning to look up towards the road, he saw the other three trucks starting to come down. Then he saw the driver's head turn into a mist of red and the truck crashed, causing the rest of the vehicles to crash behind him. So much for the second wave.

"Fuck!" Tommy gasped as he looked up at the snowless sky.

Maybe an attack in broad daylight wasn't the best idea.

"Tommy! What do we do?" The man cowering behind the first vehicle yelled through the flames.

"Fucking shoot!" Tommy said as he grabbed his shotgun off the snow, and with what courage he had left, he pulled up to shoot at the front of the house.

Above them, all hell broke loose. The not-so-distant tell-tale popping of gunfire echoed through the house, sending shockwaves of fear rippling through Beca's chest. She sat in the cold, dim basement, anxiously biting her nails as she tried to make sense of the chaos upstairs. The sounds of shouts and gunfire were almost drowned out by the pounding of her own heart.

Beca glanced at Benji, the Treblemaker was still unconscious on the bed, his cheeks still gaunt and pale. She walked over to him and placed a hand on his forehead, he still had a fever. The fear in her chest tightened.

Behind her, Chloe, who was sitting on a nearby chair, deep in thought, suddenly nodded to herself, then stood up. As she donned the military coat, she said, "Beca?"

Beca turned to see Chloe, wide-eyed. Chloe looked scared, but there was a steely determination in her gaze that Beca hadn't seen before.

"What?" Beca asked.

"We have to go help them," Chloe said, her voice becoming steady.

Beca blinked, looking up at the ceiling as more gunfire echoed through the house. Paula and Mary were up there, fighting with everything they had, risking their lives to protect them.

"I know you're right, but—" Beca stammered, hating the way her voice shook, hating how weak and scared she felt. This didn't feel like her at all. "Chlo, what if I can't protect you?"

Chloe didn't hesitate. "Then I'll protect myself," she said, her voice firm and unwavering. There was no doubt in her eyes, just a quiet confidence that struck a chord deep within Beca. Chloe had grown so much in such a short time—learning to shoot, hunting, becoming someone who could survive in this world.

Beca wanted to trust her, to believe that they could do this together, just as Paula and Mary did. Chloe had been through so much already, and she had come out stronger each time.

Chloe smiled softly and offered her hand. "Come on. We can do this."

Beca hesitated for a moment longer, her fear still clinging to her, but Chloe's words sparked something inside her. They'd survived so much already, and they couldn't just sit here waiting to die. They had to fight. They had to be strong, not just for themselves, but for the women who had risked everything for them.

"Can you promise me you'll be careful, at least?" Beca asked, her voice steady now.

"I can," Chloe replied, the fear in her own eyes carefully hidden beneath a brave smile. "Can you promise me you won't do anything reckless?"

Beca managed a small smile in return. "As long as you aren't in danger, I won't do anything stupid."

With that, she took Chloe's hand and stood up, feeling the weight of the Glock 19 in her holster. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Fuck it," she muttered under her breath. Better than sitting here waiting to die.

With her signature groan and an eye roll for good measure, she drew the handgun. Just as Paula had taught her, she slid the slide back just a little bit to make sure the round was exactly where she last left it—it was ready.

"Okay," Beca said, her voice more confident now. "Let's go help them."

They walked over toward the cellar doors. It was chained, but together, they pushed open the heavy wooden doors and squeezed through the narrow gap into the cold night air. As they emerged into the open, Beca felt the cold not just on her skin, but in her blood. This was it. They were in this fight, whether they liked it or not. And she wasn't going to let fear hold her back.

Tommy just barely managed to avoid one of Paula's bullets. And he got an idea, he looked at one of the guys and gestured to try to go around, he was trying a flanking maneuver. One of the men nodded and when the remaining five men popped up to fire on the house, one was immediately killed. But the rest opened fire, forcing Paula to take cover. As the man in the corner ran as fast as he could to circle the house.

The sounds of the battle grew louder, more terrifying. Beca and Chloe crept around the side of the house, every nerve in Beca's body was on edge.

The cold air was sharp, and the snow crunched beneath their boots.

They hadn't gone far when Beca's finely tuned ears picked up the crunch of snow behind them, it was footsteps. Beca's heart pounded in her chest as she spun around, just in time to see one of Tommy's men rounding the corner, and he looked just as surprised and just as scared as them, and he fumbled to raise his rifle.

Panic surged through Beca as he saw the man raising his rifle, he was now a threat. A familiar train of thoughts popped in her mind.

Whatever happens, whatever I have to do, and with everything I have… I'll protect her.

Without a second thought, with her shoulder she shoved Chloe aside, away from danger. Everything clicked into place, everything Paula had taught her drawing, breathing, aligning the sights, acquiring the target, and squeezing the trigger.

She squeezed the trigger twice, as she aimed squarely at the man's chest.

The shots rang out, and as the bullets struck the man's body jerked violently. The first bullet struck, hit his lungs. His eyes widened in shock, and before he could react, the second round went just above his heart. He staggered, his rifle slipped from his grip, and then collapsed onto the snow.

Did I just…Beca's eyes widened with horror. Beca stood frozen, her Glock still aimed at where the man had been standing. Her hands slowly began to shake violently as the weight of what she had done began to sink in.

She had killed him—she had actually taken a life. The reality of it hit her like a freight train, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs.

Chloe, having fallen on the snow, looked up at Beca, she saw what had happened and her thoughts mirrored Beca's. For a second she wondered if getting out of the basement had been the right decision. She noticed how Beca's hands started to tremble and her caretaker instinct took over, Beca had saved them, again and she needed her help to get through this.

Beca was transfixed by the sight, she could hear the man gasping, struggling to breathe as blood filled his lung. His chest heaved, his eyes wide with fear and desperation as he clung to the last threads of life.

Chloe grabbed her arm and started to pull her away, past the dying man, towards the kitchen door. Beca's body fell limp as she let herself be pulled away.

As they moved past him, Chloe, noticing Beca slowing, grabbed her arm tightly and urged, "Don't look, Beca. Keep moving!"

But it was too late—Beca's gaze had already locked onto his. She saw the agony and fear in his eyes. His breaths were wet and ragged, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he fought a losing battle for air.

Beca's legs became lead, heavy and sluggish but Chloe pulled her forward, her grip firm yet gentle. "Beca, we need to go," Chloe whispered urgently, her voice trembling with the weight of the situation. The sound of gunfire and chaos still filled the air, but Beca couldn't tear her eyes away from the man's face until Chloe finally yanked her around the corner.

Chloe shoved her against the side of the house, and reality snapped back into focus. Chloe's voice cut through the fog in Beca's mind. "Beca, look at me," Her hands gripped Beca's shoulders, grounding her. "You did what you had to do. You protected us."

With everything I got?Beca nodded her eyes still in a daze but trying to regain their focus. The man's gasps for breath still echoed in her ears, but she forced herself to push it aside. There was no time to fall apart now. She swallowed hard, blinking back tears as she met Chloe's eyes. "I'm sorry... I..."

"Don't be sorry," Chloe said, her voice soft but firm. "I need you with me. We have to keep going. Paula and Mary still need our help."

Beca took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. "Okay," she whispered, more to herself than to Chloe. She squeezed Chloe's hand, drawing strength from her presence, and followed as they made their way into the house through the kitchen door.

The attack had started with two waves, three trucks per wave, eight men in each wave. A total of sixteen men came to Paula's house with the intent to kill the women inside. Seven men remained. Four in the front, and three up the road. For now.

Chloe and Beca cautiously entered the kitchen, their breaths visible in the frigid air. The home, once a place of warmth and comfort, was now riddled with bullet holes, shattered glass, and splintered wood. As they rounded the corner into the living room, Paula instinctively swung her rifle toward them but quickly lowered it when she recognized who it was.

Beca's hands were still trembling, and her face was pale.

"What in the hell are y'all doing here?" Paula demanded, her voice sharp with urgency, a mix of shock and frustration.

Beca didn't immediately respond. Her mind was racing, replaying the scene over and over again.

Chloe noticing the faraway stance gave Beca a gentle nudge and gestured to Paula.

"What the hell do you think! Can't believe you locked us in the basement!" Beca finally shot back, her voice strained, trying to cover the turmoil inside her.

"Well, I'll apologize for that later!" Paula snapped, her frustration bubbling over but now there was no time to argue.

"We want to help!" Chloe yelled back, fire in her eyes, determination etched across her face.

Beca caught Paula's eye, the fear in her gaze tempered by determination. She held the Glock with the two-handed grip Paula had taught her, but her hands were still shaking slightly, but despite everything, Beca was here, ready to fight.

Paula's eyes softened for a brief moment. She could see that Beca was scared but also willing to stand her ground. This was not what Paula had wanted. But the situation had left them with no choice.

"Y'all are dumber than hell, but fine, I could use the help! Red, get upstairs and back up Mary. And for God's sake, keep your head down! Beca, on me." Just as Paula spoke, a bullet shattered the window, sending shards of glass and wood flying. Both women flinched, instinctively ducking down.

"Got it!" Chloe said, but as she turned to go, Beca grabbed her hand, her voice shaky.

"Be careful!" Beca shouted over the gunfire. Chloe gave her a quick, reassuring kiss.

"You too, babe," Chloe whispered before bolting toward the stairs, her head low as she moved.

Paula groaned inwardly. They were cute, but a gunfight was not the time and place for PDA. Paula turned back to Beca, signaling her to take position on the opposite side of the window. Beca nodded, her grip on the Glock tightening as she crouched low beside the wall, trying to steady her nerves.

"Beca, listen up!" Paula's voice was firm, cutting through Beca's anxiety. "When you pop up, don't just stand there like a target. You pop up, shoot, and get back down—immediately! Got it?"

Pop up, shoot, and duck. Beca repeated the instructions in her head, trying to push away the image of the man she left in the snow. "Got it."

"Damn it, Beca, I ain't kidding. You keep your head up too long, and you're dead. Understand?"

"I—uh…" The weight of Paula's words hit her hard. Dead. This was real, and the reality of it all was soul crushing. She was suddenly overcome with doubt.

"Beca, either shit or get off the pot!" Paula snapped, her tone both impatient and encouraging.

"I'm here. Pop up, shoot, duck. I got it," Beca said, her voice steadier now, though her nerves still felt raw.

"Good. Now, remember: both eyes open, and don't just empty your mag. Controlled shots—fire a couple rounds, then duck. You're not trying to kill 'em, just keep their heads down so I can get an angle on em."

Paula cursed under her breath. She'd taught the girl a lot in the last two days, but this was something else entirely. This wasn't a training exercise. This was life or death, and Paula was painfully aware of the difference. She'd have to keep an eye on Beca while staying focused on the enemy outside. Paula quickly brought her Henry Lever Action Rifle up to the window, peering out for less than a second before ducking back down just in time to avoid a barrage of bullets.

"There's two of 'em close by, hiding behind the truck on the far right," Paula said, her voice low and steady. "You ready?"

"No!" Beca shook her head, and then added, "But let's do it anyway," Beca replied, her breath evening out as adrenaline took over. The fear that had gripped her moments ago began to recede, replaced by a cold, calculated calm. This felt familiar—the same clarity she'd felt when facing the wolf, the same adrenaline when she'd dealt with the truck. Hell it was almost the same adrenaline she felt when she was about to take the stage, and face a giant crowd. Her body was preparing for the fight. She rolled her shoulders and tightened her grip on the Glock 19.

Paula noticed the change in Beca and allowed herself a brief nod of approval."Knew there was a reason I liked ya."

The gunfire outside lulled for just a moment, and Paula's finely tuned ears caught the distinct sound of reloading from their attackers. It was the perfect opening. She signaled Beca with a quick nod, and in sync, both women popped up from their cover.

Beca's training kicked in. She aimed the Glock, both eyes open as Paula had instructed, and fired two shots in rapid succession. She didn't wait to see the results—she ducked back down immediately, her heart hammering in her chest. A glance at Paula showed her methodically firing the Henry Lever Action Rifle twice, each shot precise and deadly, and the men fell quickly. When the rifle ran dry, Paula smoothly transitioned to her revolvers, not missing a beat as she continued to lay down suppressive fire.

"Good work," Paula muttered. "You did good! Now stay sharp—this ain't over yet."

Beca nodded, her breath coming in controlled, measured bursts as she prepared for the next round. The battle was far from over, but with Paula by her side, she felt more capable, more ready to face whatever came next.

"Mary I'm coming in,"

"Come on in red! Join the party!" Mary yelled. Chloe found her firing from the kneeling position of the top window in the was a dresser next to her, she had boxes of ammo on top of it and her back up rifle.

Mary pulled the bolt back and squeezed, the echo of the shot made Chloe wince, she didn't expect it to be this loud.

"Got'im" She exclaimed.

"How can I help?"

"Here," Mary handed her a small set of binoculars, "very carefully call 'em out, 12 o clock, 1 o clock so and so forth."

Chloe nodded, "12 o clock!"

"Keep an eye for any stragglers trying to sneak past us, we can't let them get into the house!"

"Alright." Chleo screamed, but her nerves were getting more and more frazzled.

"Chloe," Mary grabbed Beca's arm and said softly, "I need you to be very careful and very clear but more importantly I need you to focus, Whatever happens, got it?"

"Yeah, totes." But she wasn't sure, she wanted to be confident for Beca, but more importantly for herself. This was her chance to be fearless, to prove to herself and to Beca that she could survive in this world. That Beca didn't always have to put herself in danger for her sake, because she was more than capable of doing that all by herself. Chloe grabbed the binoculars and carefully peeked out the open window enough to get a good look.

"New truck coming down the ridge line, 3 o clock!" Chloe yelled, by her count that's seven trucks,just how many trucks do these guys have?She wondered but her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Mary's rifle going off. With the binoculars she had a clear view of the bullet going through the windshield, killing the driver and veering into another truck.

"Oh god," She whispered, she could see the remnants of the man's head thrown back against his seat. She averted her gaze from the horrible sight.

"Chloe! Get back in the game girl!" Mary shouted, her tone was almost unrecognizable from the sweet older woman she'd met a few days ago. Chloe shook herself out of it and looked through the binoculars once more. The passenger had gotten out of the vehicle and was aiming a rifle towards them.

"Rifle! 2 o clock!" Chloe yelped and ducked, Mary did the same and gave her a side-eye.

"Both eyes open girl, now that boy's got a fix on us,"

"I'm sorry!" Chloe apologized as another bullet whizzed over their head.

"Sorry's no good if we're dead! It's alright, just need to think of something." Mary looked around the attic, there wasn't much other than boxes and old furniture. But something in a far corner caught her eye. A box labeled "Trophies"

"I have an idea, Chloe, go bring me that box over there,"

Chloe looked at what she meant and scrambled to her feet and while still low moved fast to get it. It was big and heavy but she was able to push it closer to Mary.

The sniper by the truck pulled the bolt of his rifle and leaned into his scope, holding his breath, he was trying not to think about the fact that he had bits of blood, and brain matter that once belonged to his friend all over his coat. He had to stay focused. He had to get them back for him, for Tommy, for Jimmy, for the Mountain Man.

Suddenly a flash of light came from the window and it distracted him, he focused his sight on it, trying to make it out, it was a giant golden trophy glinting against the sun. Then he heard two distinct rapid-fire shots coming from the position the women were in. The force of the second shot threw him back and as his blood painted the snow red. As he died he wondered why he listened to Tommy and the rest of them in the first place.

"He's down! Oh my god! I can't believe that worked!" Chloe shouted excitedly as she saw the man down through her binoculars. It felt different this time, it didn't bother her as much as it did before. That man bleeding out in the snow, had tried to kill her. Seeing him fade away, almost felt righteous, and for a second Chloe worried that the apocalypse was making her callous and cold.

"That was pure dumb luck!" Mary said as she started to reload her rifle. Chloe turned her gaze downward to check on the shooters below them. They were all ducked down, she could see the fear in their eyes except for one man, the tallest of them all, wearing a red plaid shirt and a trucker hat, he was yelling orders and holding a shotgun. Chloe looked at Mary and went to grab the back-up rifle, she wasn't sure if she could take them down from this angle but she could try.

"Don't," Mary grabbed her hand and shook her head, "Keep your eye on the ridgeline girl!"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Tommy cursed, his voice a frantic blend of rage and fear. The battle had turned into a nightmare. The flames from the molotovs still roared, casting a hellish glow and the acrid smell of burning rubber and flesh filled the air. There were only three men left on his side, scattered and hiding behind the wreckage of the trucks. They were supposed to overwhelm the farmhouse, but now they were the ones being picked off, one by one.

Tommy's heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the battlefield. He could see the bodies of his men, lifeless in the snow, their faces twisted in pain and horror. The screams had faded, replaced by the eerie silence of death. They were supposed to have the advantage—the firepower, the numbers—but the women inside that house were fighting back with a ferocity he hadn't anticipated.

He was supposed to be in control. He was supposed to be the one giving the orders, but now he was crouched behind a snow-covered truck, hiding like a coward.

"Goddamnit!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the truck door in frustration. He grabbed the walkie-talkie, and screamed into it, "Johnny! Come down! I need backup, goddamn it! We're getting slaughtered here!"

The radio crackled to life with static, and then Johnny's voice came through, "Sit tight Tommy, we're about to come down!"

He could feel his grip on the situation slipping away. He glanced around at the remaining men—just three of them, crouched low, their eyes wide with fear. They were looking at him for guidance, for a plan, but Tommy had nothing to offer them. His quest for vengeance had killed them all and he knew it.

Tommy's heart pounded in his ears as he clung to the radio, waiting for any sign of Johnny's movement. He knew they were running out of time. The women in the house weren't going to stop—they were going to keep fighting, keep killing, until every last one of his men was dead.

"Stay low and hold tight," Tommy ordered the men around him, his voice steadier than he felt.

The men nodded, their faces pale but determined. They had no other choice.

The second Chloe looked back up towards the ridgeline she saw what Mary was talking about, a final truck was barreling down the hill. It smashed into one of the trucks and kept going.

"One more Mary," That's eight trucks? Jesus… is this an Army?Chloe thought, Mary immediately positioned herself back on the window and looked down her scope.

"Wait," Chloe noticed that the truck on the rear had something attached to the bed. "Mary that truck has something on the bed..."

Mary looked closer and whispered, "Shit!" then she yelled out. "Paula! 50. Cal!"

Mary quickly jumped on top of Chloe and pushed her down as the heavy machine gun opened fire towards them. The rounds tore through the wall that had been protecting them like paper mache.

"Stay down!" Mary yelled through gritted teeth, her hand on Chloe's head, trying her hardest to protect her.

"What the hell is happening! Oh my god! Beca!" Chloe was terrified as the rounds flew inches over her head and so she screamed for her, her pitch high and loud enough that it cut through the deafening rhythmic chatter of the heavy machine gun.

With trembling hands Beca slid a fresh magazine and pulled the chamber forward. She'd done exactly as Paula instructed, she popped up with a spring fired and then ducked down. It worked enough to make them duck and Paula would then take care of the rest. She hadn't hit anybody yet but it wasn't for a lack of trying though she did find some relief in that. An image of the man looking up at her as he struggled to breathe popped in her mind again and she shook it off.

Can't think about that right now. Gotta stay focused.

She ran her hand over her belt, feeling through the ammo pouches, she still had two more magazines left. She hoped that was enough.

Paula gasped as she heard Mary scream "50. Cal!" and she saw it, the truck with a heavy machine gun attached to the bed. It fired on the position of their girls in the attic.

Then Beca heard Chloe's unmistakable voice scream out for her through the deafening chatter and her eyes widened and without a second of hesitation she whirled around about to run upstairs.

"Beca wait!" Paula yelled after her.

Beca froze for a second and turned to look at her, madness in her eyes. Paula understood those eyes better than anyone.

"Hold your position, or we're dead!

"Chloe needs me!" Beca barked.

"I need you— to trust me!" Paula barked back just as intensely.

Beca wanted to yell, to tell her to go fuck herself. Because Chloe needed her, she was screaming for her, and Beca was the only person on the planet who could help her. But looking into the equally determined eyes of the woman she felt this unspoken bond and she understood what the woman was telling her and for now she decided to trust her.

She took a shaky breath, nodding as she forced herself to stay. "Fine! What's the plan?"Hold on Chloe.

The sight of Johnny manning the machine gun on the bed of the truck was a sight for sore eyes. Tommy could kiss them man right now and he didn't care who saw it.

"Yeah! Light 'em up!" Tommy yelled as the Browning 50. cal machine gun continued to tear apart the attic. The truck lined up next to the third vehicle. Tommy approached them, the relief for the backup clear in his face. He was about to signal the machine gunner to open fire on the front of the house towards Beca and Paula's cover.

"Count exactly to 20," Paula instructed, her voice urgent. "Pop up and unload on 'em. I don't care if you hit 'em—just make 'em duck so I can do my job."

"Unload on them? But you said—" Beca asked, perplexed, she now understood some of the mechanics, unloading on them meant being exposed, putting herself in danger.

"I know what I said girl!" Paula snapped, "It's called suppressive fire damn it! You will have an opening! Trust me!"

Beca recoiled a little bit, swallowed hard and nodded, though her fingers trembled. "Okay, sorry, 20 seconds."

Paula gave her a small nod and darted out of the room, leaving Beca alone to count down. She forced herself to breathe, keeping the rhythm steady as she counted in her head.

"20, 19, 18, 17…"

"5, 4, 3," Beca whispered, her heart pounding as she counted down.

Outside, the machine gunner was lowering his barrel, ready to unleash another deadly barrage. The tension was palpable, every second stretching into an eternity.

"2—"

Beca's breath hitched, her grip tightening on the Glock in her hands.

"1!"

Paula burst out from the side of the house, a fierce yell tearing from her throat. Her revolvers barked in rapid succession, each shot delivered with the precision of years of competitive shooting. She moved like a well-oiled machine, every movement calculated, her aim deadly accurate.

The remaining men hiding behind the trucks had no time to react. They fell one by one, caught in the deadly crossfire. Tommy stood frozen, his eyes wide with shock as he watched his men—his friends—drop around him like flies..

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Paula's fierce determination, the fear in Tommy's eyes, the chaos of the battlefield—all of it crystallized into a single, harrowing instant.

"1!" Beca shot up from her cover, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She saw the machine gunner swiveling toward Paula, and without hesitation, she fired. The first bullet struck the gunner in the neck, sending a spray of blood. The second hit his shoulder, and the third punched through below his armpit. The man crumpled over the weapon, dead before he hit the ground.

Unload on em!Those were Paula's orders, and so she did. Beca didn't stop with the gunner down, she acquired the next targets, the shadows behind the trucks and kept firing, bullets punched holes through the side, and chattering windows. She fired until her gun clicked empty and just as she practiced, she dropped the magazine and quickly reloaded.

Beca's eyes widened, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She'd done it. She'd killed him. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she froze, her Glock still raised. She did it again.

Paula, her revolvers smoking, turned to see Beca standing there in shock, by the now glassless window in front of her house and yelled, "Good job, kid, but stay sharp! We ain't do—"

Paula didn't get to finish her sentence. Beca barely had time to process her words before a gunshot rang out and she saw Paula getting knocked back, a shotgun blast hitting her square in the chest. Beca's heart leaped into her throat as she watched Tommy, who had been hiding beneath the corpse of one of his men, rise to his feet. He turned his shotgun on her, his face twisted in rage.

Beca ducked just in time, the buckshot spraying the wall behind her. She instinctively covered her head as wood and glass fell on top of her. The fear of death temporarily freezing her.

Tommy was beyond pissed; everything had gone to shit. His men were dead, the trucks were fucked, and the bitches responsible were still alive. He intended to take every ounce of his anger out on them. He fired another shot over Beca's head, ensuring she stayed down as he approached. Each shot sent debris flying, and forcing her to cower.

Tommy didn't give her a chance to react. He jumped through the open window and Beca looked up and saw him. His presence was terrifying. Beca had never faced anything like this—a towering 6'3", 250-pound wall of anger and muscle glaring down at her.

He kicked Beca's hands before she could reach for her gun. It flew from her grasp and disappeared. Then, with all his strength, he kicked her in the stomach. The impact was devastating. Beca felt the air rush out of her lungs, her vision blurring as pain radiated through her body. She doubled over, gasping, struggling to breathe. She had never felt so helpless, so small.

"You fucking—" Tommy's voice was a guttural snarl as he lifted her off the floor by her hair. Beca screamed in pain from having her hair yanked.

In a flash of desperation she reached into her jacket and pulled out her hunting knife and sliced the air, barely missing Tommy. The man stared wide eyed as the small girl almost sliced open his stomach. Beca brought the knife back, this time aiming for his face, Tommy caught her hand and with his devastating grip, he crushed her wrist, forcing her to drop the knife. With his other hand he grabbed Beca's neck, he slammed her against the floor. The blow almost knocked her unconscious.

Beca desperately grabbed his hands trying to get him to release her, but her strength was fading fast. She tried everything, she punched him but she had no strength, she tried to go for his eyes but he lifted his head away from her reach, she used her legs to try to push him off but he repositioned his own legs over hers, crushing them. Tommy's face contorted with so much horrifying hatred towards the woman, and he said, "Where's your fucking flare gun now, bitch!"

"I don't— I can't." Beca wheezed, her voice barely a whisper. She realized with horror that this was the man from the truck, the one she'd shot with a flare gun. The regret was instant and overwhelming.

How stupid could I have been?She thought, panic set in as her vision darkened.

Chloe, Paula, Mary—anyone, help!

She wanted to scream for help but she couldn't, there was no way to scream, or breathe. Her desperate thoughts faded with her vision as her arms grew limp and weak.

Tommy's face was twisted with sick satisfaction as he watched the life drain from Beca's eyes.

Suddenly a loud wet and dull whack sound echoed in the room and Tommy's grip on Beca loosened just enough for her to gasp for air as he got off the girl and turned to face his attacker. His hand instinctively went to the back of his head, feeling the wetness of his own blood. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Benji standing there holding an empty bottle of whiskey, dripping with Tommy's blood,

Benji barely able to keep himself upright, gasped, "Tommy… leave… her… alone."

Every word was a struggle he was so cold, so weak, but somehow he had managed to drag himself up here and using what little strength he had he clobbered Tommy in the back of the head with the bottle.

Beca rolled to the side, still trying to catch her breath, but her throat was in so much pain, and everything was a blur, it felt like she was about to pass out.

For a moment, it was just the three of them and there was silence in the living room.

Tommy's face contorted with a mix of emotions—confusion, anger, betrayal. "Little bird?" His voice was almost gentle, confused

"Why?" Tommy's voice was a low, wounded growl as he slowly walked over and grabbed Benji by the collar and slammed him against the wall. His eyes, once full of twisted affection, now burned with a dangerous intensity. "How could you do this to me? I saved you! I rescued you when everyone else wanted you dead!"

Benji's breath was shallow, his body trembling with the effort to stay conscious. He looked into Tommy's eyes, those eyes that had haunted him for so long and felt nothing but hatred. There was no fear left in him, no hope, just a deep, burning resentment.

"You didn't save me," Benji whispered, his voice weak but filled with venom. "You used me. You abused me. You're nothing but a monster… and a rapist. I hate you. I wish I had died in the snow before I ever met you."

Tommy's expression twisted in agony, his mind reeling from the words. He was a man who had never truly understood love, never known how to express it without violence and control. The truth in Benji's words cut deeper than any knife ever could, but Tommy's mind couldn't process it as anything other than betrayal. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, not from any physical injury, but from the realization that the one person he thought he had power over, the one person he had twisted into his own warped version of affection, had turned on him.

His hand trembled as he raised it, fingers tightening around Benji's throat. "You ungrateful little—" His voice was a growl, the pain in his heart fueling his anger. As he resolved himself to kill his little bird a single tear escaped his eyes. And his grip on Benji's throat tightened.

Benji's vision began to blur, and as he felt his life fade away, he smiled. He would be his little bird in a gilded cage, no more. He finally stood up to him, and he finally said no. Even if it meant his life, he was finally not afraid. He helped his friend, and he stood up for himself, he reclaimed a part of himself that he thought was lost when the snow fell, he was a hero. And he felt at peace.

I'm not afraid of you anymore, he thought, his grip loosening on Tommy's wrist.

I'm free.

And in his head, he sang the song that kept him moving forward through the blizzard,

Here we are, don't turn away now. We are the warriors that built this town…

Suddenly there was a dull thud, and a sharp, wet exhale.

Tommy froze, his eyes went wide with shock and horror, he tried to breathe but he couldn't. He could feel his lungs filling with blood. He looked down and saw the blade of Beca's hunting knife protruding from his chest. The air escaped from his lungs in a gurgling wheeze as blood bubbled from his chest.

Beca, still gasping for air, in a surge of adrenaline and desperation, had found strength where there was none. She didn't hesitate. She saw Tommy's back turned to her, saw her hunting knife lying on the floor, and she acted on pure instinct. She drove the blade into Tommy's back with all the strength she could muster.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her vision was still blurry, but the hatred she felt was sharp and clear. This was the man who stalked them, who drove them off the road, who made her crash Bertha, who made Chloe scream and have freeze. This was the man who almost ran her over. As she held the grip of the blade as tight as she could, she spat through gritted teeth,

"Where's your truck now… motherfucker?"

The 6'3, 250-pound wall of muscle fell to his knees.

Tommy's breath hitched, a sharp, wet sound as his lungs struggled to take in the air. His eyes still wide with shock looked down at the blade sticking out of his chest, the realization of what had happened dawning on him too late. He released his grip on Benji, who slumped against the wall, barely able to keep himself upright.

Beca stood there, her chest heaving, her hand still gripping the hilt of the knife buried in Tommy's back. Her eyes were wide, her mind struggling to process what she had just done, and she was surprised to find that there was no guilt this time, no panic, only hate.

Tommy tried to reach for the knife on his back, his fingers brushing the hilt weakly but he stopped, when his eyes, filled with a mixture of pain, confusion, and something that almost resembled regret, locked onto Benji one last time.

Just like that the anger was gone, there was only longing, regret and his own version of love. Somewhere in the deep recess of his mind something else was happening, as he looked at Benji's eyes so full of hatred, a vision formed, and he was seeing an alternative distant future.

He was a young man, his blonde hair was long and full of life, and he was having a beer in a quiet bar somewhere, life felt good, and sitting next to him was an even younger Benji, and they clinked their beers together. And Benji grimaced as he drank his beer and Tommy laughed and teased him lightly. They were laughing, they were free and Tommy wasn't scared anymore. A tear fell down his eyes as he thought,If I was… If I had been. Someone else. In another life, could I have? Could you have?If I asked you nicely… would you have sung for me? My little bird.

Beca could barely see straight, but through her hazy vision, she saw a familiar set of boots enter the room. Paula, her expression hardened with resolve, marched into the house. Without a word, she raised her revolver and shot Tommy in the back of the head. The beautiful image of what could have been, disappeared and the last thing he saw before everything went dark was Benji's eyes filled with hatred for his abuser.

His body collapsed to the floor, finally still.

The room fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of Beca and Benji. Beca's legs were weak and shaky. She looked down at Tommy's lifeless body, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—relief, horror, guilt.

She turned to look at the woman standing over the corpse, her vision was still blurry she was still gasping for breath, and her voice was still horse and painful she said, "How?"

"Plates, really big fucking military plates" Paula grunted, opening her duster to reveal the military vest she wore beneath. "Hurt like a sonbitch though." That was a hell of an understatement, Paula was sure she had a few broken ribs, and it was a miracle she was standing right now. She leaned against the nearest wall to catch her breath and ignore the pain.

Of course, you had body armor, you crazy bitch,Beca thought, grateful and extremely relieved her friend and teacher was alright.

Beca and Paula turned to Benji, who was barely holding on, his body slumped against the wall, his eyes half-closed. "Benji," Beca whispered, her voice trembling. She scrambled to be beside him, her hands reaching out to support him.

"Benji, you alright, son?" Paula asked, her voice softer now.

Benji's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of recognition, a hint of relief. "Beca…" he whispered, his voice weak and broken.

"Benji, you saved me," Beca said, tears welling up in her eyes as she gently cradled his head in her hands. "You saved my life."

A small, sad smile tugged at Benji's lips, but it quickly faded as the weight of everything crashed down on him. His body shuddered, the pain too much for him to bear.

Beca held him close, her tears falling freely now as she rocked him gently. "It's okay, Benji," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's over. He can't hurt you anymore. It's over."

But even as she said the words, she knew it wasn't over—not really. The scars Tommy had left on Benji, on all of them, would never truly heal. But in that moment, as she held a now unconscious Benji in her arms, she allowed herself to believe, if only for a moment, that they had won.

To be continued.

Notes:

Author's Note: It's been four hours since I posted this, and I got enough sleep that I can articulate some thoughts for this note. By the time I was done with this chapter was impossibly long, 18K!. I've cut and trimmed so much and yet even the most seemingly innocous paragraph has a part to play. interestingly enough I wrote most of this chapter a long time ago, I think... months actually but it's gone through some massive reshaping as Tommy, Paula, and Benji became more complex.

There were several challenges with this chapter, how do I get Beca to pull the trigger realistically? and can I capture the intensity of the action accurately and on character?

My other biggest challenges was Paula, I think she's fascinating. I wanted her internal reasoning for locking the girls in the basement make sense, even though she's the one that taught Beca how to use the handgun.

Also how can I make that one "motherfucker" hit as hard as it possibly can lol. Beca was always going to kill Tommy and she was always going to use that line lol.

Anyway what did you guys think? What was your favorite part? I want you to know how grateful that you guys took the time to read my story. It means the world to me.