“I don’t know,” Jack admitted and shifted to face Graham’s location. “I heard the shot and...”
“You came for me?” Steph’s voice was low, caught between awe and disbelief.
Jack glanced at her, eyes locking with hers. “Always. I’ll always come for you.”
She smiled. “I believe you.” She shifted her gaze to Rick. “I don’t...I don’t think he’s going to get up. I’ll keep the gun on him, just in case.”
In the changing light, Jack could see the discoloration of the snow and rock around Rick. Blood, probably. He didn’t know exactly what had happened or how Steph had stopped him, but the amount of blood and lack of Rick’smovement told the story. However Steph had managed it, Rick was dead or would be soon.
“Keep the rifle on him,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”
Jack was more cautious as he returned to his sniper’s nest, expecting Graham to be there, gun at the ready. When he reached the spot and there was still no Graham, he took a minute to figure out his next move.
His taking the narrow shelf could lead to walking into a trap set by the young poacher, not smart.
He decided on a different approach. “Graham? You there?”
Silence.
Jack was about to call out again when a voice said, “Yeah, man, I’m here.”
“Rick’s been captured.” He was tempted to tell Graham that Rick was bleeding out on the rocks, but worried that it might not be the best knowledge to share. “It’s over.”
“Okay, yeah. I dropped my rifle when you shot me. I’ll toss my pistol.”
A wave of sickness rushed over Jack. He’d shot him. He thought he had. The sound of the impact said he had. But the other shot came at the same time, and he wasn’t sure.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough. Got my hand pressed on my shoulder.”
“Give me a minute. I’m coming to you.” He raised his voice slightly. “Steph?”
“Yeah?”
“Graham’s hit. I’m going to help him.”
There was a long pause before she said, “Be careful.”
Jack understood there was a chance Graham was lying and would shoot him as soon as he came into view, but he remembered the kid’s face earlier, when Jack was captured and Graham seemed to want nothing to do with it.
The rocks seemed extra sharp on Jack’s injured feet as he made his way down from the perch and toward the scree-covered narrow ledge.
When he reached the end of the ledge, he paused. “Hey, Graham?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to step out. You already know I’m a good shot, so...”
“I ain’t gonna shoot you. I already tossed my gun.”
“For your sake, I hope that’s the truth.”
He waited for a few more beats as he shook his head. This was never part of his biathlon training, and the action movies he’d watched over the years did little to prepare him for this.
This is definitely not a movie.
Jack took a step out, rifle at the ready. Graham was huddled against a rock, right hand pressed into his left shoulder. Jack grimaced at the blood.
