Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE OF CUMBERLANDThe front glass doors of the Cumberland County Animal Center shattered inward with an explosive crash.
"Federal authority! Nobody move!" Agent Vance's voice echoed through the lobby, accompanied by the clatter of tactical boots and the aggressive barking of two trained Belgian Malinois attack dogs.
Inside the quarantine room, Sheriff Miller calmly turned off the overhead lights, plunging the back hallway into pitch-black shadow.
"Daniel, take the girl and the dog through the crawlspace," the old sheriff commanded, resting his shotgun across a stainless-steel table. "I'll buy you ten minutes."
"Uncle Tom, you can't take on four armed men by yourself!" Daniel protested.
"Son, I've lived sixty-five years in this county, and I'll be damned if some corporate suit from Nashville comes into my town and shoots a little girl's dog," Miller barked, chambering a round. "Now go! Move!"
Daniel grabbed Mia by the hand. Together, they heaved Cooper’s heavy, recovering body up between them, dragging him through the narrow, damp maintenance tunnel while the sound of gunfire suddenly erupted in the front office.
Bang! Bang!
The sharp crack of the shotgun echoed through the metal ducts, followed by shouts of confusion and the furious barking of guard dogs.
Dragging Cooper through the mud of the creek bed in the freezing rain was an agonizing ordeal. Cooper’s paws dragged limply, but as soon as he felt the cool night air and heard Mia’s voice sobbing his name, a fierce, primal instinct took over. The old mixed-breed let out a low, determined whine, dug his claws into the wet earth, and pushed himself forward on his own four legs.
They reached Daniel’s battered old pickup truck parked hidden behind the overgrown tree line. Daniel hoisted Cooper into the truck bed, layering old horse blankets over him, while Mia scrambled into the cab, clutching the ragged blue doll tightly to her chest.
Just as Daniel slammed his door and turned the ignition, the beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight cut through the rain.
"There they are! Cut them off!"
Agent Vance burst out from the side maintenance door of the shelter, his pistol drawn, sprinting directly toward the truck. Behind him, two massive Belgian Malinois strained against their handlers' leashes, snarling viciously.
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Daniel slammed his foot down on the gas. The truck's tires spun wildly in the mud, throwing rooster tails of clay and gravel into the air before catching traction and rocketing forward down the dark country lane.
As they sped away, Daniel glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a sight that made his blood run cold: Agent Vance was pulling out a heavy-duty submachine gun from the trunk of his sedan, aiming directly at their rear tires.
