Gunfire and Flames

The atmosphere of the banquet plummeted from its feverish peak to a frozen abyss the instant the gunshots rang out. The fine wine in the glasses lost its aroma, the delicacies on the plates lost their flavor, and the celebration and arrogance that filled the air were instantly replaced by the pungent smell of gunpowder and the chilling aura of death.

"Boom!"

The first muffled thud from the southeast caused the crystal glasses on the long dining table to tremble uneasily. Then—

"Bang! Bang bang bang--!!!"

"Da da da da--!!!"

A short, crisp, rhythmic symphony of single shots and long bursts ripped through the tranquil night sky of Eagle Creek without warning. The sound was so clear, so close, it was not a shotgun malfunction or children's play, but a close-range exchange of fire between well-trained, powerful automatic weapons! The source of the gunfire was the direction of the ranch owner's entrance, and further out in the workers' quarters and the first patrol line!

"God!" Judy's scream caught in her throat, turning into a short gasp, and the silver fork in her hand clattered onto the porcelain plate with a jarring sound.

Emily's carefully maintained perfect smile and the deliberate disdain on her face shattered instantly, like a glass mask broken by a heavy hammer.

The color drained rapidly from her cheeks, revealing a pale undertone beneath the powder. She abruptly raised her hand to cover her mouth, her meticulously manicured nails digging almost into her flesh. Her deep blue eyes widened in utter terror, reflecting the flickering flames of the fireplace, which now seemed like the raging inferno of hell.

"Wah--!" Young Benjamin was terrified by the sudden, frightening noise. He opened his mouth and let out a sharp, piercing cry, instinctively burrowing into his mother's arms.

Luke reacted the most violently. "Damn it!" he cursed rudely, leaping up from his chair so violently that the heavy oak chair creaked as it scraped against the floor. His drunken flush turned a deep, furious purplish-red, his muscles bulging, his eyes darting frantically towards the window where the gunshot had come from. "Gunshot! What's going on?! What are Hank and the others doing?! Hunting deer?!"

"Shut up, Luke!" Old Johnson roared, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. The smug red on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a deathly stiffness. The numbness and excitement brought on by the alcohol were instantly dispelled by the cold gunshot, and a long-forgotten alarm bell, a survival instinct for the wilderness, rang wildly in his mind. This was no accident, no internal discharge, no joke. The density and rhythm of the gunfire clearly indicated a fierce firefight between two or more armed squads! There was absolutely no such firepower inside Eagle Creek Ranch!

He thought about the phone call that afternoon, about the eerily calm tone of the young man from the East, and about his own vicious sarcasm and threats.

But he never imagined that the retaliation would come so quickly, so... directly and violently! This was not the kind of business tactic, nor even the style of gangster revenge; this was a fucking military raid! It was annihilation!

A chilling coldness shot up his spine and into his head, instantly freezing his blood.

"Madman! These Asia Madman!" Old Johnson spat out a hoarse curse filled with fear and disbelief through clenched teeth. He shoved aside the plate in front of him, spilling greasy food and wine onto the pristine white tablecloth, but he didn't care. Like an old wolf cornered in a corner, he lunged at the walkie-talkie main unit hanging on the wall next to the fireplace, which was connected to the ranch's internal security system.

The black plastic body slipped from his violently trembling hand, almost slipping out of his grasp. He gripped it tightly, his rough thumb slamming down the call button, roaring into the microphone, his voice distorted by extreme tension and fear:

"Hank! Tom! What the hell's going on outside?! Where's the shooting?! Answer me! Answer me right now!!"

The walkie-talkie's speaker was initially silent, with only a hissing background noise. This silence was more unsettling than the sound of gunfire.

Immediately afterward, a sharp, piercing electrical crackling exploded, almost bursting eardrums. Then, a scream filled with extreme terror, painful gasps, and the chilling, increasingly clear and approaching sound of gunfire in the background tore through the deathly silence of the living room:

"Boss! It's... it's a group of Asians! Dressed in black military uniforms! Faces covered! They came out of the woods to the east! There are so many of them! Automatic weapons! They're shooting at anyone they see! Pablo's pickup truck... it's been blown up! We... we can't hold them off—ah!!!"

Hank's voice—the calm and collected cowboy leader who had followed Old Johnson for over a decade—came to an abrupt halt. In its place came a short, piercing scream, almost inhuman, followed by a heavy thud, like flesh crashing to the ground.

"Sizzle... sizzle..."

The walkie-talkie was filled with only monotonous, continuous electrical noise, like a requiem for death. Meanwhile, in the distance, the bursts of automatic weapons, a sign of impending death, not only didn't cease, but grew clearer and more intense, and... were steadily and efficiently advancing towards the main house!

"Hank! Hank! Answer me! Fuck him!" Old Johnson roared furiously into the completely silent walkie-talkie, his eyes bloodshot and veins bulging on his forehead. But the only response was the suppressed, near-collapse sobs and gasps of his family in the living room, and the increasingly close and indistinguishable sounds of killing outside the window.

He knew Hank was finished. The outer patrol team was probably in grave danger as well.

"Quick!" He threw down the walkie-talkie, turned to face his completely terrified family, and with all his might let out a beast-like roar, his voice shrill with despair, "Everyone! Immediately! To the basement! Into the refuge! Through the secret passage! Hurry! Hurry!!!"

His last illusions shattered, and the instinct for survival overwhelmed everything. Twenty-eight million, family honor, local power—all seemed as fragile as a sheet of paper in the face of stark, overwhelming death. All he wanted now was for his family to live!

Judy was the first to react. Her maternal instincts gave her an amazing burst of strength. She picked up little Benjamin, who was crying his heart out, and staggered toward the heavy, iron-clad wooden door at the back of the living room that led to the basement.

Luke also came to his senses, his arrogance vanished, replaced by boundless fear. He roughly grabbed Emily's arm, whose legs were weak from shock and who could barely stand, and practically dragged her along with her mother towards the basement door.

Old Johnson lunged at the well-maintained Winchester M1894 lever-action rifle, passed down from his grandfather, hanging above the fireplace. The cool walnut stock brought a faint, illusory sense of security. He frantically reached for the leather belts filled with.30-30 ammunition on the nearby ammunition rack.

Hurry! Faster! As long as we get into the underground shelter, there's a sturdy steel door, independent ventilation, enough food and water for a week, and a hidden escape route leading to the woods behind! If only we could get in...

Just as Judy's trembling hand finally turned the heavy brass handle of the basement door, Luke, dragging a screaming and struggling Emily halfway through her body, squeezed to the doorway. Old Johnson had just loaded the first bullet into the rifle magazine—

"What is that?!" Luke, who had been looking back in terror, suddenly let out a distorted scream filled with extreme fear. He pointed at the huge floor-to-ceiling window in the living room that faced the wide front yard, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

Everyone, including Old Johnson who Chief General a bullet, instinctively looked out the window in the direction he was pointing.

Outside the window, the ranch's front yard was dimly lit by scattered ground lights. Further away, the boundless, deep night seemed to swallow up all light.

In the depths of the night, a bright, intensely hot meteor, trailing an orange-red tail, was hurtling through the dark sky at an astonishing speed, silently yet with an overwhelming determination to destroy everything, heading straight for the main house—for the French windows where they were!

The orange-red tail flame left a brief but deadly trail in the darkness, like a javelin hurled by death.

Time seemed to stretch out and freeze at that moment.

Old Johnson's pupils suddenly contracted to pinpoints. The color, anger, fear, and even the last glimmer of hope on his face evaporated instantly before that rapidly enlarging beam of death. He opened his mouth wide, but no sound came out. He recognized it—he had seen simulated firing of this weapon during National Guard training in his youth.

R... P... G...

Rocket-propelled grenade.

These three letters were like a red-hot branding iron, searing into his retina and into the depths of his consciousness, which was on the verge of collapse.

"No..."

A faint, almost inaudible syllable escaped from his chapped lips.

It's too late.

"Boom--!!!"

That orange-red kiss of death landed with perfect precision on the thick stained-glass window. Without the slightest obstruction, the glass instantly shattered into billions of sharp fragments shimmering with the glow of death, mixing with the twisted and broken wooden window frame, violently colliding with and detonating the warhead!

An indescribable, terrifying roar, accompanied by a blinding flash of white light, erupted in the center of the living room—above the long dining table that had just moments before been laden with a feast and echoed with malicious laughter!

Unimaginable high temperature and high pressure shock waves spread wildly in all directions in a spherical shape, sweeping and engulfing everything!

An expensive solid wood dining table, exquisite crystal tableware, a table littered with food, a burning fireplace, family portraits on the wall, a soft Persian rug, a leather sofa... and those figures beside the table who, just a moment ago, were frantically fleeing or trying to resist...

Everything—all the pride, scheming, greed, contempt, fear, and despair of the Johnson Family Clan —was utterly and mercilessly erased in that instant by the extreme violence and destructive force of the flames and impact.

The explosion sent flames soaring into the sky, instantly illuminating half of the night sky over Eagle Creek Ranch, and also the edge of the distant mountains where several silent figures in black combat uniforms and wearing skull masks stood, having just stopped to change magazines and were silently watching the final fireworks.

A scorching wind, carrying ashes, debris, and the smell of burning, poured out of the ruined windows.

The starry sky remained silent, coldly gazing down upon the land below, which had just been thoroughly cleansed by flames and death.

The gunfire had ceased completely at some point.

Only the crackling of burning wood and the faint, mournful cries of frightened livestock in the distance remained, drifting away on the night wind.