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done,” Gabe says.
    They share another intense look. 
Their energies are so even keeled. Almost identical in color and speed.
    “Don’t get hurt,” I tell them. And
I mean it. Even Tarren.
    “Let’s go,” Tarren whispers, and
the three of us make our way toward the house.
    There is no dramatic music. No
bolts of lightning. Not even a nice gust of wind to blow back our hair and
press our clothes tight against our bodies. It’s still hot and sticky as hell,
and our boots scuff beneath the long grass. Tarren nods at me, and I break off,
making my way to the barn.
    I position myself on the left side
of the structure with a clear view of the front and side door of the adjacent
house. Tarren and Gabe keep just inside the woods, then dash and crouch behind
the SUV closest to the house. Their heads bend together for a quick whispered
conference, and then a second dash brings them to the side door. Gabe tries the
knob and nods to Tarren.
    My vision gets a little bendy, and
I realize it’s because I haven’t been breathing in…hell, maybe since I first
felt those auras in the barn. Now that I’m closer, I can distinguish different,
unique flavors of energy from within; each a bare wisp of life. The putrid
smell of decay that assaults my sensitive nose tells me exactly what these
walls hide from me. The dying. The dead.
    Someone is whimpering softly
within. I know they can’t hear me from the outside, but I put my hand on the
barn and whisper “We’ve come to rescue you…Oh shit!”
    The metal is molten hot from the
sun, and my bare fingertips scream with pain.
    Sucking on my fingertips, I watch
Gabe and Tarren slip into the house. I force myself to breathe, counting each
breath in my head loud and clear. I take singed fingers out of my mouth and
wrap both hands around the gun, holding it out and down.
    The sudden explosion of gunfire
scares the living shit out of me even though I was expecting it. Somehow it
never seemed so loud before when the boys practiced at their makeshift firing
range in the backyard. The firing starts and stops with singular, precise shots
ringing out, now joined by a woman’s perfect horror movie scream. Something
crashes. A running blur of limbs and bright clothes passes by the window.
    Another shot. The scream cuts off.
    I keep my eyes on the door, aware
that the gun is swaying in my grip, a mini-pendulum, propelled by the deep,
full body shivers that have taken over my limbs. The sudden quiet is unnerving.
Then I see smoke drifting from one of the open windows. Thick, black smoke
followed by the rancid odor of flames devouring fabric and rubber and perhaps
skin.
    The front door of the house bursts
open and a figure stumbles out from the smoke. He is short and hairy.
Hendricks. That arrogant smirk is wiped clean off his face, and he is heaving
in large, terrified breaths. He stands for a moment, head swinging between the
barn and the line of vehicles parked along the driveway.
    I press myself against the searing
metal of the barn, raise my gun, though it’s rattling in my hand, and fixate on
Hendricks’s thick, bull moose chest. My finger finds the trigger, and I…can’t
fire.

Chapter 7
    Coward. Coward. Coward.
    Here he is, right in my crosshairs,
a despicable killer, and my trigger finger is frozen. All of me is frozen. Fear
coiled so tight around me that I can’t breathe. Can’t even blink.
    Hendricks sees me, and bounds for
the line of cars.
    Another figure bursts through the
smoke-filled doorway, his body swathed in a cloud of aural colors—all violent
oranges and bloody reds. Gabe. He pauses a moment, sees the fleeing angel and
raises his gun.
    His shot hits Hendricks in the
chest. The angel kicks forward with a pained cry, but then stumbles up and
keeps moving for the cars. Gabe squeezes off another round, but his gun replies
with an impotent click. It must have jammed, and I have his other gun in my
frozen hand.
    With a curse, Gabe drops his gun
and pulls a long, serrated blade