“Basement positions,” Otis ordered calmly. “Let them think they’re winning.”
The defenders withdrew.
Eventually, Wade’s men forced their way inside.
Heavy boots thundered across the floor above. Furniture crashed. Hateful words were shouted as the attackers moved through rooms that had belonged to the Freeman family for generations.
Then the lights went out.
Total darkness swallowed the farmhouse.
The attackers immediately lost their confidence.
Otis and the defenders knew the building.
Wade’s men did not.
That difference became decisive.
Otis moved carefully through the darkness, intercepting attackers one at a time. His age and injuries slowed him, but experience allowed him to use only the movement necessary.
Dre worked from another section of the house.
The gang quickly realized they had entered a space controlled by people who knew exactly where they were going.
“What the hell?”
A frightened voice echoed through the darkness.
Gunfire followed, wild and undisciplined.
The shots struck walls and furniture instead of defenders.
Panic spread.
Otis encountered another attacker in a narrow hallway. The man rushed him, and Otis controlled the confrontation quickly despite the pain radiating through his injured arm.
Another man came from behind.
A blow caught Otis across the jaw.
He stumbled.
For a moment, the years caught up with him.
His ribs hurt.
His shoulder burned.
His breathing had become heavier than it would have decades earlier.
But his mind remained clear.
The attacker came forward again.
Otis waited.
Then he used the man’s momentum against him and put him on the floor.
“Dre, status,” Otis said quietly into his radio.
“Six secured down here,” Dre answered. “They’re getting sloppy now.”
“Scared,” Otis replied.
Through the darkness, Otis spotted Wade.
The gang leader had found one of the Freeman family’s farm cats and was using the frightened animal as another threat against the family.
“Come out!” Wade screamed.
His voice was raw now, stripped of the confidence he had displayed at the town meeting.
Otis watched him for a moment.
The hidden cameras were still recording.
Wade’s face.
His threats.
His prejudice.
His cruelty.
Everything.
Then Otis moved.
The confrontation was fast.
The cat escaped safely, and Wade suddenly found himself restrained by the man he had spent weeks dismissing as old, fat, and helpless.
“You’re on camera,” Otis said quietly.
Wade struggled.
“Everything.”
Every word.
Every threat.
Every act of destruction.
Wade’s confidence disappeared.
“You can’t prove anything.”
“Already have.”
Otis released him and stepped back.
“Go home while you still can.”
Wade stumbled toward the men who remained with him.
The second attack collapsed.
One by one, the gang began retreating.
Through the windows, Otis saw phone lights appearing along the edge of the property.
Community members had gathered.
They were recording.
This time, Wade could not control the story.
Phones captured the attackers leaving the Freeman property.
They captured Wade’s anger.
They captured the damage.
They captured injured defenders.
They captured the weapons and evidence left behind.