Chapter 6 - Shadow over the Kitchen
The sound on the roof was precise, weightless, like the footsteps of a cat walking along a fence wire. Whoever was up there knew exactly where the structural supports lay beneath the rusted tin roofing of the diner.
Frank motioned with his left hand, signaling Martha and Lily to stay low beneath the counter. He moved with silent, terrifying grace toward the kitchen door, his weapon raised, the black steel barrel reflecting the faint orange light bleeding through the window blinds.
CRASH.
The high-mounted glass window above the kitchen sink exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards. A black canister bounced twice across the stainless-steel prep table, rolling onto the tiled floor with a metallic hiss.
"GRENADE!" Frank roared, dropping his heavy frame back into the dining area and slamming the swinging wooden door shut just as a dense cloud of acrid, white tear gas detonated inside the kitchen.
Thick chemical smoke poured through the cracks around the door, filling the diner with the sharp, suffocating smell of burning capsicum. Martha began to cough violently, her eyes burning as tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Cover your mouth!" Frank yelled, grabbing a pitcher of ice water from the counter and dumping it over a clean cloth napkin. He shoved the wet cloth into Lily's hands, forcing it over her mouth and nose. "Lily, don't breathe the smoke! Stay low!"
From the front of the diner, the heavy glass doors shattered as a iron battering ram slammed through the deadbolt. Three figures dressed in dark grey tactical uniforms, wearing full-face respirator masks and carrying compact submachine guns, vaulted through the broken frame into the dining room.
They didn't speak. They didn't issue commands. They moved in a synchronized tactical wedge, their weapon-mounted flashlights cutting clean, blinding beams through the dust-choked darkness.
"CLEAR LEFT!" a voice muffled by a respirator barked.
Frank didn't wait for them to clear right.
He leaned out from behind the corner of the counter, his heavy pistol barking three times in rapid succession—BANG! BANG! BANG!
The deafening reports echoed inside the enclosed diner like thunderclaps. The lead tactical operative caught two heavy rounds directly in the chest plate, the force of the impact knocking him backward off his feet, crashing into a row of chrome stools.
The second operative swung his weapon toward Frank, opening fire with a suppressed burst—thwt-thwt-thwt-thwt!
Plexiglass menu holders shattered. Vinyl booth cushions erupted in showers of yellow foam. Bullets chewed into the stainless-steel counter, sending jagged sparks flying through the dark.
Frank ducked back behind the counter, brass shell casings clinking musically as they bounced across the checkered floor.
"Back door!" Frank yelled to Martha over the roar of gunfire. "The gas is clearing out the back alley! Take Lily and run for the gulch!"
"I ain't leaving you, Frank!" Martha screamed back, her throat raw from the tear gas, clutching a heavy iron skillet she had grabbed from under the counter like a club.
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"Go, Martha!" Frank growled, his gray eyes burning with wild, lethal resolve. "I'll draw 'em in!"
Frank stood up, exposing his massive upper body over the counter, firing his remaining rounds directly into the smoke-filled entrance to keep the operatives pinned down, buying two precious women the seconds they needed to escape into the dark.
