From her vantage point atop the small hill that overlooked the farm and the gentle rolling countryside that surrounded it, Biggs could see the house had been converted into a poor man’s fortress. The doors and windows had been either boarded up or hidden behind sand bags that looked pretty damned heavy. Even the wraparound porch that adorned the structure had been walled off, turned into another defensive element. In between the sand bags and lumber that had been erected to cover the porch, she could see cut outs. Nothing too big, just enough to accommodate the barrel of a weapon. Sniper positions. Murder holes. Tilting her field glasses upward slightly, she examined the home’s second story. Many of the windows there were boarded up as well, though a few were still exposed, uncluttered by any sort of defense. While she couldn’t see through them—curtains were drawn across most, and in the two that weren’t, the darkness inside hid whomever might be looking out—she knew why the windows were open.
