Darkness Fell chapter 1 part 2

Pacing the darkening living room, the tall, broad shouldered, young man kicked a chair, swearing under his breath. The last rays of light caught on his dusty brown hair and reflected the fury in his green eyes. A sound outside made him freeze, his hand automatically going to his hip and the small .22 hand gun. A cat streaked past the window and his muscles slackened and he fell, suddenly drained, into the chair he'd just kicked, cupping his hands around his forehead. Six foot two, he was strongly built and, despite his size, normally calm. Now, however, he felt as if he was about to go insane. Where was Gage? He lifted his eyes, looking toward the light switch bitterly. He didn't dare turn it on in case the house was being watched and, thanks to Gage, he didn't have a way to get out of town. Even more bitterly, he thought of the hunter green Nova, his pride and joy, in the garage, not running. He'd almost kicked the door when he'd found out Gage really had dismantled the engine. "I shoulda paid attention in shop." He grumbled, glowering around the room. For once, he actually wished he had a neighbor closer than two miles so he could borrow a car or, better yet, have someone fix his. The sound of movement had him on his feet once again, his hand reaching of the gun on his hip. The sound stopped. Heart hammering a tattoo in his chest, he backed slowly until he was in the darkest corner, next to one of the doors into the room, his gun in hand, pointed at the floor. Somewhere in the small house, a floor board creaked. His numb fingers pulled back the hammer of the gun as he steadied his breathing. One, two, three, one, two, three. Something moved in the doorway across the room. Lifting the gun to aim roughly chest level, he waited.
Sudden impact brought him to his knees, the gun discharging a shot that buried itself deep into the far doorframe. An arm was wrapped tightly around his neck, strangling him, cutting off all air. Gasping, he lifted his gun free hand to the arm, fighting desperately for the next breath. The other hand of the person holding him reached for the gun, lungs screaming for air, he pulled it away and brought it, hard, over his head. There was a low yelp of pain and a fraction of a moment where the grip on his next loosened. Not much, but enough. Ducking out, he turned and kicked, hard. The person in the shadows went down with a moan of pain, clutching his stomach as blood from where the gun had struck him, trickled down his face.
"Are you alone?" the young man asked, glancing around. Where was Gage and what was going on? This wasn't Bane's style. Bane had always singled out Gage, unless he himself were in the way. Never had he tried to ambush him. All fights between him and Bane had been even enough. This was a downright dirty game to the death now.
The man didn't respond. Snarling furiously, he turned to the far door, where the noise had originally come from. There was no way Gage could have guessed about this. He'd never have dismantled the Nova if he had.
Looking toward the window, he bit his lip. He needed to get out but the window wouldn't open enough and breaking it would just cause more noise. Grabbing the chair he threw it, with all of his strength, out the window. Glass sprayed into the room and yard beyond. Ducking back into the shadows, he slid along the wall to the couch, sliding behind it, gun ready and ever muscle on end. His throat still ached from the strangulation though he was sure the attackers head would hurt more. Pity, however, wasn't one of the emotions he felt at the moment. Whoever else was in the house would know from the discharge that he was armed and think, hopefully, that he'd jumped through the window. Unless they had someone outside and a radio. A radio! Glancing at the prone figure he strained to make out if he wore a headset. Cursing modern technology for the knack of making things abnormally small and hard to see, he lowered himself to the ground and slid back toward the figure. Reaching out, he grabbed at the man's head, satisfied to see that he was now unconscious. Groping around the man's ear in the dark he found it at last, a single earpiece with a small receiver. He laid his gun down, slipping it over his ear, and was rained in a deluge of plaster as bullets tore apart the wall above his head. "Damn!" he snatched the gun off the floor and fired once out of the broken window, where a dark shape was disappearing. Swearing, he climbed back to his vantage behind the couch, sliding his back against the wall and putting his feet against the soft fabric. How was it that, in movies, the hero always got out of these situations and was wearing shoes? Shoes would look a lot better than the torn socks. Shaking the useless thoughts from his head, he waited, ears straining, .22 hand gun pointed at the ceiling. A footstep, cautious and slow. A second set. He guessed them to be about four feet away from the couch to the left and nearer the far wall. The two began speaking in low voices and he smirked as he picked up enough of their voices to hear the edge of fear. They had liked it better, no doubt, when he was being strangled to death and being shot at. Now, hidden, in the unknown, he was scary. Everything unseen was a danger. Their footsteps came closer. Come on, come to the couch, just a little bit further…come on…there! He shoved, with all his strength and six foot two height, sending the couch flying through the air. There was a yell and a muffled gun shot before they were thrown against the wall, under the couch. Smiling, and getting to his feet, he started for the door, turning on lights as he went. Who cared if they knew where he was? He wasn't going to be ambushed in the dark again.
"We're down. Three down. One possible fatality. Victim unconscious. Help required. I repeat, help needed!" the voice was filled with static and he pressed his hand against his ear, straining to catch every word. As the news ended, he smirked and made a b-line for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once on the second floor he stopped turning on lights, sneaking through the darkness to his room. The window was locked still, the moonlight sending a silver glow over his neatly made bed, his dresser and the posters. He skirted to his dresser, knocking all of his belonging onto the floor before opening the hinged top.  A bag, two folders, a knife, and his secondary cell phone, the one only he and Gage knew about, were there. Grabbing them up, he made a mental note that shoes would have to go in any future emergency plan, before he grabbed his jacket, normal cell phone, and jimmied the window open. Cold air gusted in as he slide the jacket on, the bag over his shoulder, and climbed onto the ledge, sliding the window shut behind him. His smile broadened as the lock slid back into place, the handy work of Gage. Let them figure that out. Pulling himself onto the roof, he slid onto his stomach cautious as possible not to fall. Glancing down, his stomach turned. The height was only two stories, but as far as he was concerned that was two stories too many. At the back of the house, about four feet from the roof, was a sturdy branch, he knew, because of Gage's exploring the rooftops. How could Gage handle the height? Still, that branch was his only way out. Shimmying, low to the ground, he reached the edge and stared, climbing slowly to his feet. The branch swayed gently, the gap between seeming suddenly huge. He glance behind him. Maybe he could get out of the front door after all…
Headlights appeared around the bend and he swallowed, turning back to the branch. Well burn that idea. Swallowing he hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder and jumped. Air, freezing air and terrifying height with nothing but the ground to break his fall. Reaching out, mind screaming about his stupidity, he grabbed the branch in one hand. It bent dangerously and he snatched wildly with the second hand, heart racing as his feet hung, suspended above solid earth. Inching his way slowly toward the trunk he tried to remember that the next time he saw Gage he would have to kill him for this.