Even as the old man stumbled to his death, a mental switch flipped in Zack Chambers’s head. A call to battle, and suddenly he had shed his civilian skin, revealing the warrior within. No way you get away with this. Not on my watch. There was one constant in Zack’s complex personality—his moral compass and the physical yearning to protect the innocent. It was that fundamental truth to his nature that had altered his life previously, and it was that truth, once again, that spurred him into immediate action. He didn’t care who or what these men were. All that mattered was that they be stopped, and he was likely the only one in the entire subdivision that had a chance of doing it. Jesus Christ, who murders an old man? But he’d known others who’d done worse, and he pushed it out of his mind.

The tree that had cracked in half like a rifle shot was just to his left. It had startled him, but he’d remained in position until the impersonating officer shot the old man. As the horrified shrieking intensified, Zack crept forward and unslung his SIG Sauer semiautomatic MPX submachine gun. He preferred to have a full-size AR platform, America’s semiautomatic long gun of choice, but the folding stock of the MPX made it a better choice. While he would never in a million years have thought that he’d have to engage in close-quarters combat at home, Zack still lived by one motto above all others—It’s better to have a gun and not need one than to need one and not have one. Some habits die hard. Or don’t die at all.

The scene before him was chaos. A few people ran back toward their homes, a few tried to start their vehicles to escape, but most stood in shock and fear, transfixed to the ground. He’d seen that reaction before also.

He moved next to a tree a few feet shy of the edge of the woods, standing to ensure he could shoot over the stopped cars in the circle. He braced the MPX against the trunk and placed the red-dot reticle of the EOTech holographic sight on the impostor who’d killed the old man. At just more than one hundred and fifty feet, he was accurate to within a few inches, and he’d run more than two thousand rounds through the MPX to guarantee it.

Well, there goes the neighborhood, he thought wryly, and began to squeeze the trigger as a teenage boy tackled the impostor from behind, driving the shooter face-forward into the grass. Zack eased off the trigger, recognizing the boy. He’d seen him with Sam but couldn’t recall his name. Okay, kid. Good luck for a few seconds while I take care of other business.