The engines were still there but distant, a sound at the edge of hearing rather than something she could track. Her breath fogged in the enclosed space, and she breathed in slow and even through her nose, the way she’d trained herself to do when her heart rate wanted to climb without her permission.
She thought about Jack drawing a machine out of the gulley and away from her. His insistence that she find some place safe to hide. She still thought it was a dumb idea and hoped to be able to tell him that soon.
Maybe someday they could laugh about it. Laugh about how he ran off like a superhero there to save the day.
She hoped so.
The ping of a rifle caused her to yelp. She threw her hands over her mouth, heart beating in her ears.
Jack. She had no way of knowing if the shot had found its mark.
More shots cracked. She flinched with each one, counting them in her body while her mind refused to follow. The trees swallowed the sounds, scattering them in every direction. She couldn’t tell how far, couldn’t tell which way. Only that Jack was out there and men with rifles were trying to end him.
Another shot.
Chapter 26
Jack
“Hold it.”
The barrel pressed against the back of Jack’s neck.
The voice was much too loud. Much too dangerous.
Jack moved his hands out to his sides, pistol still held in his right hand. The man kept the barrel pressed against his neck as he took Jack’s gun.
Where did this guy even come from?
He had been tracking the machine at the tree line, watching it idle, calculating distance and the angle of cover between himself and the next stand of timber, and he hadn’t heard the man come in on foot. No breaking branches. No crunch of snow. Nothing. He’d let the machine hold all his attention and paid the price for it.
The man took the pistol. “You got any other weapons?”
“A multi-tool in my front pocket.” He forced his voice to remain calm—not an easy task with his heart running much too fast and his thinking all over the place.
Slow down. Be deliberate. He’d spent years training his mind and body to perform when stressed. It was the only useful thing he could do right now.
The barrel pressed harder. “Take it out. Toss it on the ground.”
With the multi-tool on the ground, the man told Jack to take off his backpack. “No funny business.” He stepped back enough to remove the muzzle from Jack’s neck.
Jack didn’t turn around as he peeled off the pack and dropped it on the ground, each movement careful and deliberate.
“Hands out to your sides. Spread your legs.”
Jack complied, and the man patted him down. He reached around from the back and felt his chest. “What do you have under your jacket?”
“A water flask, mostly empty, and a couple of protein bars.”
“Throw ’em on the ground. I want everything out of every pocket. Take the watch off too. Toss it.”
When that was done, the man patted him down again. Seemingly satisfied, he came around to his right side, staying at a distance, rifle on a sling and a revolver in his hands. A walkie-talkie stuck out of his breast pocket. Jack’s pistol was tucked into the front of his belt.
Jack recognized him as the tall, skinny one with the flat voice. The one the others seemed to defer to when they were in the camp. Most likely, he was the man in charge of the operation.
An engine revved, and Jack caught a glimpse of a snowmobile through the trees. He pulled to a stop, and the engine died.
“Rick?” a voice called out.
