“There is no back door,” Sophia said, her eyes wide with sudden panic.

I looked toward the rear wall.

She was right; it was solid log, save for a small ventilation grate near the ceiling.

“The window,” I said, pointing to the narrow frame on the side.

“It’s too small,” she said.

“We make it fit,” I said.

A loud crack echoed through the room as the wooden bolt on the front door began to yield.

A sliver of flashlights cut through the widening gap.

“They’re breaking through,” I said.

The laptop chimed again, a double beep this time.

“It’s done,” Sophia said.

She slammed the laptop shut and shoved it into her backpack.

She grabbed her service weapon from her holster.

“I’ll cover the door,” she said. “You get the window open.”

I rushed to the side window and smashed the glass with the iron poker.

Cold rain and wind rushed into the room, showering my face with sharp shards.

I cleared the jagged edges from the frame with the metal rod.

Behind me, the front door gave way with a deafening crash.