TheGunfire
Up on the ridge, the world had gone white and hollow.
Scout lowered his camera for one last photo when the first round cracked past his ear and splintered the tree stand behind him.
Wood exploded.
“Down!”
He hit the snow and grabbed for Tessa at the same time. Another shot punched into bark inches from where she’d been standing. A sharp cry tore from her as something struck her temple.
“Are you hit?”
“I—I don’t think so!”
Blood traced a thin red line into her hairline.
“Wood fragment,” he muttered, already scanning.
Wind slammed into them sideways, snow ripping through the trees in sheets.
Another shot. Snow burst from the trunk beside them.
Closer.
“He’s north face!” Tessa shouted, already low, already moving. “Elevation!”
Scout caught the angle instinctively. Didn’t argue. Didn’t question.
“Cabin. Move!”
They ran bent double, boots slipping, snow blinding. The forest had vanished—just white and shadow and the roar of wind like a freight train tearing the ridge apart.
A gust hit hard enough to stagger him.
“Tessa—!”
She wasn’t there.
Just white.
Just nothing.
His pulse spiked, stealing his breath.
“Tessa!”
Then she crashed into him from the left, breath ragged, snow crusted in her lashes.
“I’m here.”
Relief punched through him, raw and furious.
“Stay on me,” he said, gripping her forearm hard enough to bruise. “Don’t lose me.”
Another shot cracked somewhere behind them. Bark rained down.
They scrambled downhill, half sliding, half running. Snow packed into their collars. Ice burned their lungs. Tessa stumbled on a buried root and went down hard, palms hitting frozen earth.
