Page 56 of Crossfire Creek Siege

The place was full. Crates stacked chest-high, weapon racks lining the walls. Rifles, ammo boxes, tactical vests, explosives, field kits. Enough firepower to supply a war zone.

Cal gave a low whistle. “Someone’s been busy.”

“Or preparing for something big,” Sheriff Chase said, her voice hushed.

Rena and Gage stayed at the entrance, weapons trained outward, covering the others as they moved deeper inside. The silence outside pressed in against the sound of boots on concrete and the dull thud of boxes being opened.

Cal pried one open, lifted a box lid, and cursed under his breath. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Gage risked a glance over his shoulder. Cal was holding up a manifest sheet taped inside the lid, company logos stamped at the top.

“Same supplier Rhett Danner used to buy those choppers,” Cal said. “These are direct shipments.”

Rena’s jaw tightened. “Then it could be him who set all of this up.”

Gage frowned, unease twisting in his gut. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Or maybe someone wants us to think it’s him. Plant the gear, leave the paper trail. Same move they pulled with his DNA.”

No one disagreed with that. They’d need more proof than this if they wanted to put Rhett in a cage.

Outside, Noah’s helicopter circled again, its light flashing across the open hangar doors like a warning.

They spread out through the hangar, flashlights cutting through the dim light, beams glancing off steel crates and rifle barrels. The smell of oil and gunpowder was heavier here.

Cal and Sheriff Chase moved methodically, checking along the back wall while Garrett ran another sweep with his scanner. “Too much gear,” he muttered. “If there’s anything hidden, we’ll have to move half the damn place to find it.”

“Do it,” Cal insisted. “Check for false walls or floors. Anything that looks out of place.”

That quiet pressed in on them again. Only the faint echo of their footsteps and the low hum of the portable jammer filled the space.

Then… something.

A faint thunk, metallic and hollow, from somewhere deeper inside the hangar. Everyone froze.

Rena looked over her shoulder, whispering, “What was that?”

Before anyone could answer, another sound. Rolling metal. Then the hiss.

“Tear gas,” Garrett shouted.

The canisters clattered across the concrete, spewing thick, white smoke that swallowed their lights in seconds. Gage’s lungs seized as the acrid burn hit his throat.

“Masks, now,” he barked, dragging Rena toward cover as chaos erupted in the haze.

Chapter Seventeen

Rena yanked the mask from her vest pouch, coughing hard as her eyes burned and watered. The gas was thick, choking, turning the air to fog. She fumbled to secure the straps, blinking through the sting that made her vision swim.

Then darkness. The overhead lights went out in an instant, plunging them into black.

Rena dropped low, using her shoulder to guide herself behind a stack of crates. Gage’s silhouette was beside her, solid and steady even through the swirling haze.

Her pulse hammered. Every sound—every scuff of a boot, every breath through the mask filter—felt magnified.

“Everyone check in,” Cal’s voice came through the comm, quiet but firm. One by one, they answered. All accounted for.

Rena wiped at her eyes beneath the mask, trying to force her focus through the tears. “Can anyone see movement?” she whispered.

“Negative,” Garrett said. “But it’s thick. Can’t see more than a few feet.”