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What direction could he go to avoid detection?

Suddenly his arm was yanked—hard. His assailant’s grip was urgent and bruising. His feet flew out from under him, and he would have hit the ground in earnest this time had someone not braced his weight. They spun him around a tree, then ducked, pulling him into a crouch beside them.

Ali’s face, streaked with mud and blood and grass, came into view.

“Quickly,” she hissed, pulling at him. Santiago was so relieved to see her that he almost forgot they were both about to die. They ducked behind an overturned log, and quickly—just in case he never got to again—Santiago kissed her.

The grind of tires roared behind them, just past their heads. The ATVs were circling now, hunting them with determined precision. In moments, they would be discovered.

“What do we do?” Santiago asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Not that the men would be able to hear him, but he didn’t dare speak louder. Ali seemed to feel the same, because she leaned toward him, dropping her voice as well.

“They left the boat on the riverbank,” she noted.

He understood her implication. With a boat, they could reach the snake-head boulder in a fraction of the time it would take them walking. But…

“You want us to go back out there?” he asked. Panic squeezed the air from his lungs. “What if there are more of them?”

Ali shook her head. “I only saw four men drop from the helicopters, and there are two on each of those ATVs. One to drive, one to shoot.” Her face was grim. “I don’t think they left anyone guarding the boat.”

“You don’t think?” Santiago repeated before one of the ATVs made another circle behind them, closer this time.

Ali peeked out above the log. “As soon as their backs are turned, we run,” she said.

“I don’t thi—” Santiago started.

“Now!” Ali interrupted, bursting from their hiding spot in a sprint.

His pack bounced against the small of his back as Santiago scrambled to follow. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and Santiago dared to hope that they would escape the thicket unnoticed. Then a few muffled cries echoed from deeper in the wood, and a shower of bullets rained down around them.

Santiago didn’t even scream, just accelerated. He burst through the tightly clustered trees and back into the valley a second after Ali.

His fear intensified. They were completely out in the open. Would they be able to make it to the boat before the ATVs caught up? Doubtful.

Santiago risked a glance behind him and was relieved to see the quads turning off to find a more manageable path than the one he’d taken. Santiago didn’t wait to see where they would emerge. He turned back around and chased Ali toward the water.

“There,” she cried. He scanned the riverbank, searching for the boat Torres’s men had brought. It wasn’t far now.

The crackling explosion of bullets picked up just as Santiago shoved his shoulder into the aluminum hull and pushed with all his might. A resounding clang vibrated past his ears and into his bones. He noticed a smoking, bullet-shaped hole on the starboard siding that had not been there a moment prior.

He blinked rapidly. It was only a foot away from his body. He hoped it was high enough up not to sink them.

The river’s current was fast and hard, and it pulled at their escape route before they’d even had a chance to board it. Ali and Santiago scrabbled on as the rumble of the ATVs drew closer. He thought he might fear that sound for the rest of his life now.

A few more sharp pings rang out, and their boat was caught in the crossfire once again. He thought he heard Ali swear, but then the engine reared up and jolted them down the river.

Santiago watched as the gunmen attempted to give chase on the sandy riverbank, only to slowly fade farther away as their own vessel picked up speed. He didn’t have time for relief, though. They weren’t out of danger yet.

This river was wild and roaring. Foaming white rapids crashed against their bow and showered them in a deluge of mountain water. It practically sizzled, everywhere the droplets touched Santiago’s burning skin.

Santiago gripped the side of the boat as Ali maneuvered them through the deadly current, clearing boulders and whipping them around its undulating spirals. Santiago was acutely aware of the fact that small motorboats were horribly suited for white water rapids. Their lack of maneuverability was treacherous in turbulent, rushing waters, and they risked colliding with obstacles below the surface. Or capsizing entirely.

Ali fought to maintain control through the continuous spray of river water. Her muscles flexed under her now-soaked clothing, and when she strained against the wheel, he caught a glimpse of her profile, jaw clenched tight and teeth bared. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know how.

Then, on their left, approaching with frightening speed, was the snake-head boulder.

Santiago called out, stifling an urge to point to it. Firstly, as Ali’s back was to him, she wouldn’t see his motions, and secondly, he was afraid that if he loosened his grip for even a moment, he would be flung from the vessel and dashed against the rocks, his grandfather’s ashes sinking to the bottom of the river alongside him.

“Wait!” he cried out, whipping his head around as they flew past their destination.