Rifle strapped over his shoulder, Abel Farrelly ran along the fence line of the driveway, climbing over onto the barren ground around the cottage after a dozen metres. In one hand he carried the can of accelerant.
The storm was overhead, and he used caution when crossing open areas to avoid the flashes of light.
Rain had already made the ground muddy in parts which worked to his advantage. Years of regular running in the mountains prepared his body for the unexpected. If they escaped the house he’d hunt them down in seconds.
His mind was clear of everything other than the job at hand.
Elation buoyed his spirits.
These moments made his life bearable.
