Kill him. They were coming. All of them. I lit the flare. It sparked to life a brilliant red magnesium fire. I tossed it into the room filled with leaking oxygen. I slammed the storm door shut and ran. Boom. The explosion was contained but massive. It blew the basement windows out. It shook the foundation of the house.
Smoke poured out of the vents. The fire alarm started wailing. I ran back to the hedges. The baby was crying now, startled by the noise. I rocked the card gently. “It’s okay,” I said. “That was just the fireworks.” I looked back at the house. The basement was an inferno, but the fire was spreading up. They would be forced out.
They would have to run out the front door, right onto the lawn where I was waiting. The trap was sprung. I wasn’t the hunted anymore. I was the one holding the match. The front door burst open. Victor and the remaining sons stumbled out, coughing, eyes watering from the smoke. They were disorganized, panicked, and blinded by the smoke.
