Ethan stepped back inside and slammed the door. "Now." Ayla grabbed the wire buried in the floor and yanked hard. The explosion was massive. The first charge detonated in a fountain of dirt and fire, right in the center of the advancing line. Men and horses screamed, bodies flying through the air like rag dolls.
The shockwave rattled the windows, and for a moment the world was nothing but smoke and noise. Then the shooting started. Ethan moved to the window, sighting through the frame. The militia was scattered, some riders thrown from their horses, others trying to control panicked mounts. He picked his targets carefully.
Center mass. Exhale. Squeeze. The Winchester barked, and a man toppled backward off his saddle. Another shot, another body.
Across the room, Ayla fired through the doorway, her hands steady despite the chaos. She missed her first shot, adjusted, and hit the second. A rider clutched his shoulder and fell. "They're regrouping." she shouted over the gunfire. Ethan saw it, too.
Vance was already rallying his men, pulling them back behind a low rise where the ranch's defenses couldn't reach. Smart bastard. He wasn't charging blind into the kill zone. He was adapting. "Fall back." Ethan ordered.
"Kitchen. Now." They moved fast, grabbing rifles and ammunition as they went. The kitchen was small and cramped, dominated by a heavy wooden table and an iron stove. In the corner, hidden under a threadbare rug, was a trapdoor leading down to the cellar. Ethan hauled it open.
Below, a ladder descended into darkness. "Go." he said. Ayla didn't argue. She slung her rifle over her shoulder and climbed down. Ethan followed, pulling the trapdoor shut behind him.
The darkness swallowed them whole. The cellar smelled like earth and old potatoes. Ethan lit a lantern, the flame casting jagged shadows on the dirt walls. The space was narrow, barely 8 feet across, with crates of supplies stacked against one wall and a low tunnel mouth on the other. "They will burn the house." Ayla said, her voice tight.
"Let them. We're not in it." Above, the sound of boots thundered across the floorboards. Shouts echoed, orders barked. Then came the crash of furniture being overturned, glass shattering, the heavy thud of doors being kicked in. Ethan crouched near the tunnel entrance, rifle ready, listening.
"Spread out." Vance's voice called from somewhere above. "Check every room. Find them." Footsteps moved through the house, slow and methodical. Someone entered the kitchen. Ethan heard the scrape of a chair being shoved aside, the clatter of pots being thrown.
Then silence. Ayla's breathing was shallow beside him. Ethan raised a hand, signaling her to stay quiet. The footsteps moved away. Voices faded.