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“What are you going to do?” he asks. He’s still trying to sound friendly. He still has that kind of smile that’s probably supposed to make me feel at ease.
“Walk to shore,” I say again, and he shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“You took our stuff, didn’t you?” he asks. “Little girl like you. And here I was expecting...”
“Walk. To. Shore,” I say. Finally he starts to obey. He backs away, step by leisurely step. Finally he turns. Starts walking. Still taking his time. Twenty feet away. Twenty-five.
This is it. Shoot him now, or get in the plane.
The barrel wavers for a moment. And then I make my decision.
“Bo, up,” I say. Bo looks at me skeptically, but when I snap and point, he jumps in. I reach to heave myself up, letting the rifle dangle from its strap.
A few seconds of inattention and everything falls apart. The pilot’s footsteps hammer on the ice. I whip back around.
He barrels toward me, head down. I fumble with the rifle. I get it up, my aim wild. He’s almost across the ice to me. My hand clenches. The rifle bucks before I realize I’ve fired a shot.
Then he’s on me, his hands closing over the rifle barrel, yanking it out of my grip. He swings it up, hard, and the butt smacks my jaw.
I fall. The strap, a makeshift bit of rope, is still around my shoulder. It pulls against my back, jarring me. I crash to the ice, my fall wrenching the barrel free of the pilot’s grip. My head cracks against the ground and the breath goes out of me.
Bo growls and launches himself from the plane.
For a few seconds, I can’t make sense of the chaos. My vision swims. I can’t move, can’t pull in a breath. The pilot is yelling, Bo is snarling, and the sky wheels overhead, a too-perfect blue, a vast forever.
And then: a gunshot. Not mine, the rifle slack across my chest. Not the pilot’s, still on the ice.
Bo leaps away from the pilot and lands half-crouched. Raph sprints across the ice. The first shot has gone over our heads.
Bo charges. I scream at him to stop. It’s too far across the ice, too much distance between them and Raph is aiming the gun right at him.
I push to my knees and fumble with the rifle, bringing it up, but the pilot grabs the barrel and twists. His foot lashes out, catches me in the ribs.
Bo courses across the ice. Raph levels the gun. Bo keeps running. A few feet now.
The pilot and I grapple over the rifle. I claw at his wrist. He punches me hard under my arm, driving the air out of my lungs.
And then another shot. Bo jerks sideways. He falls, collapsing forward onto the ice. Tries to rise. Falls again.
I think I scream again, scream for Bo. Scream for Raph not to kill him. But I’m not sure. The pilot tears the rifle out of my grasp. His eyes are wide and wild, his lips curled in a snarl. Blood stains the front of his coat. My blood? No, his. My shot—I hit him and he doesn’t even seem to have noticed.
He slams the butt of the rifle against my jaw. I jerk away, but it still hits with the edge, sending pain exploding through my skull. The taste of blood floods my mouth. I fall flat on my back.
I can’t see Bo.
The pilot wrenches the strap over my head. I grab it weakly, my hand closing over empty air.
Now Raph is shouting. Shouting at the pilot. Telling him not to hurt me, not to kill me.
Is Raph helping me?
I start to laugh. It makes my ribs pop and burst with pain, but I can’t stop. He can’t let the pilot kill me. Because I know where his goddamn crate is.
I’m still laughing as darkness closes around me like a fist. The pain is gone. I float.
And then I’m not in the darkness anymore. I’m nowhere. Nowhere at all.
I’M CONSCIOUS WHENthey tie me up, but my memory stutters, erasing itself except for flashes here and there. I know someone lifts me off the ground. I’m aware, briefly, of being dropped again, and then my memories fall apart. The next time they knit themselves together, my eyes are closed tight. I must have fallen asleep.
