Marcus stepped over to the pipe and grabbed it with both hands.

He grunted, his muscles straining against the old iron.

The metal groaned, a screech of dry threads turning in stone.

“Hurry,” I said, looking up the dark staircase.

A shadow fell across the top of the stairs, blocking the faint light from the kitchen.

A beam of a high-powered flashlight swept down the wooden steps, cutting through the smoke.

“Marcus,” I urged.

With a loud crack, the iron pipe snapped away from the wall.

Marcus stumbled backward, holding the three-foot length of heavy iron.

He scrambled toward the wooden door at the foot of the stairs.

Daniel stood behind him, his weapon raised, aiming into the darkness of the stairwell.

“Freeze!” a voice barked from the top of the stairs.

Daniel fired twice.

The muzzle flashes lit up the stone walls, casting long, distorted shadows.

The wooden stairs splintered as the bullets struck.

A heavy body fell backward at the top of the landing, followed by the sound of boots sliding across the kitchen floor.

“They’re coming in force!” Daniel shouted, his voice echoing in the confined space.