Chapter 43 - The Dead Phone in the Blizzard
Vance threw his body over Arthur just as a high-caliber round tore through the drift, spraying frozen dirt into their eyes.
The gunshot cracked across the frozen lake like rolling thunder.
"Get to the cruiser!" Vance shouted, hauling Arthur to his feet by sheer adrenaline.
Arthur stumbled, his crushed ankle screaming in white-hot agony as he dragged his weight against Vance’s shoulder.
Another bullet splintered the trunk of an oak tree six inches above Vance’s head.
They scrambled toward the tree line where Vance’s unmarked police sedan sat idling, its amber parking lights cutting the gray mist.
Vance shoved Arthur into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
Arthur collapsed against the dashboard, clutching his chest as he struggled to draw a single complete breath.
Vance dove behind the steering wheel and threw the gearshift into reverse.
The rear tires spun frantically on the sheet ice, howling in protest before catching traction.
The cruiser lurched backward into the narrow logging trail, the doors rattling in the violent gale.
Vance reached for the squad radio mounted beneath the dash.
"Dispatch, this is Vance! Shots fired at Blackwood Point! Officer down, civilian critically injured!"
Static roared from the speaker.
A sharp, rhythmic pulse of interference drowned out the channel, buzzing like a hornets' nest.
"Cellular is completely jammed," Arthur whispered, glancing down at his trembling hands.
On the radio console, a small red LED blinked rapidly.
It was an electronic frequency scrambler, magnetically clamped beneath the dashboard of Vance’s own vehicle.
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Someone had tampered with the car while they were inside the boathouse.
Before Vance could touch the brake, the rear glass exploded into a million shimmering shards.
