Read Online House by Frank Peretti - Free Book Online Page A

chairs, mildly interested. Stewart sank onto the couch, a comfortable spectator.
    Jack went after him. “Randy.”
    â€œStay back. This’ll only take a second.”
    Leslie followed as far as the archway, then turned back to the living room and said, “Take cover. He’s really going to do it.”
    Before Jack could stop him, Randy had reached the front door, set the lamp on the floor, and taken aim.
    Jack wasn’t concerned about the door, just Randy and all human bystanders. “Randy, be sure you know—”
    Boom! The shotgun spit white fire, and the percussion rattled the house. The lead shot shattered the stained glass.
    To Jack, the hole looked large enough to squeeze through. “That should do it. Why don’t you put the gun down—”
    Randy pumped and fired again, peppering the door, the jamb, the bolt. In the living room, Stephanie screamed. The door quivered as chips of wood flew into the room. The foyer filled with blue smoke.

    Randy grunted as he chambered a third cartridge. He leveled the shotgun at his hip and centered the barrel on the lock. Fire, lead, and smoke exploded from the barrel; the recoil bruised him. The doorjamb shattered. The dead bolt fell free.
    He knew even as he pulled the trigger that his crazy display was asinine given their predicament, but he couldn’t stop himself. His own fear had taken over. The realization only steeped his anger.
    Try to mess with my mind . . .
    One more round rattled the windows, and the door’s hinges creaked. He pumped the action, ready to go again—
    The chamber was empty. He patted his pockets, then hollered over his shoulder at Jack, “Give me more shells.”
    Jack just stood there, almost hidden behind the lamp-lit smoke. Randy knew he had more rounds in his pockets, but he wasn’t digging after them. “Randy,” he said, “the door’s open. Give it a rest.”
    â€œYou bet your life the door’s open! Give me some shells before that creep crawls in here!”
    Jack still didn’t move.

    Jack knew Randy’s point was valid; they were vulnerable now to danger from outside. But that didn’t mean things weren’t dangerous inside too. Give me one dead body . . . “Why don’t you let me take the gun for a while?”
    Randy put his face within an inch of Jack’s. “Gimme those shells! That creep’s still out there!”
    â€œRandy. Just take a short break. Let me have the gun.”
    Randy wrapped both hands around the weapon. “ I’ve got the gun!” He shouted toward the women, “Come on! Let’s move, let’s get out of here! The shells, Jack! Let’s have ’em!”
    Leslie spoke from the shadows, “Randy, just let Jack hold the gun until—”
    â€œShut up! I’m in charge here!”
    Jack heard an engine rev. Through the open front door he could see headlights playing about the front yard.
    â€œAll right,” Leslie conceded, her voice controlled. “You’re in charge, Randy.” She and Stephanie stepped into the foyer. Leslie went to Randy and put an arm around him. “You’re in charge.” She stroked his shoulders. “You’re the one, Randy. Good job.” It seemed to settle him, at least make him reasonable.
    Stephanie stood alone in the haze, clutching herself in fear. Her eyes were on those headlights sweeping around out front—
    With a lurch, a rattle, and the growl of a half-muffled engine, the headlights lumbered over a flower bed, through a hedge, and onto the flagstone walk. From the fenders and the roundish cab stark against the stone wall, Jack realized it was an old pickup truck. It turned toward the house, disappearing behind the blinding headlights, backlighting a curtain of pouring rain. The light beams blasted through the front door, cutting a rectangular tunnel of brilliance through the smoke.
    Jack found himself in that rectangle,