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“Git,” he says. He lifts the rifle, but it shakes and dips in his hand. Even his voice is weak.
He squeezes off a shot. The wolf-dog flattens itself into the ground but doesn’t retreat. A second shot goes wide and splats into the snow and dirt. The wolf-dog advances.
You have two bullets left, I think.
The pilot shoves to his feet. The wolf-dog is mad, crazy. The pilot’s got to put one through its head or its heart, and fast. It advances, moving swiftly over the snow. The next shot catches its flank and it howls in pain—and flings itself forward.
The pilot swears loudly. He whips the barrel of the rifle up, trying to track the wolf-dog’s movement, and the fourth shot rings out. Snow bursts behind the wolf-dog.
It keeps coming.
The pilot’s finger tightens.
Click.
I look away, but I can’t block out the sound. The pilot doesn’t scream, at least, but he fights, and I hear the blows of his fists against the wolf-dog’s side, the wolf-dog’s barking, the sound of cloth and skin tearing.
Then there is silence, and I look up again. The wolf-dog stands over the pilot’s body. Blood splashes out over the snow and stains the wolf-dog, muzzle to shoulders. His breath hisses out in clouds of steam, and the blood steams, too, thickening in the air.
A growl rattles between the creature’s teeth, and it looks at me like I might try to take the meat it’s won.
I draw my arrow back, aiming carefully. The wolf-dog comes forward. Gravel scrapes under its paws.
It charges. I release.
My aim is better than the pilot’s. The arrow catches the wolf-dog in the chest. Its momentum carries it forward, but it’s already dead or dying, and its legs collapse. It falls, bleeding, its blood mixing with the pilot’s. By the time I reach it, it’s stopped breathing.
I glance at the pilot, look away quickly. But not before his empty eyes catch mine. I start to move away, but I stop. Force myself to turn back. I swallow against the sour taste in my throat and approach the torn-up corpse.
The rifle lies on the ground, half under him. I grab the strap and pull. The body rocks toward me, then back as the rifle slides free. I swallow. Not done yet. I reach into the pocket of his coat, and I’m relieved when my fingers touch cold metal right away. The keys. I pull them out and back away two steps, staggering with my eagerness to get away from the body.
“I didn’t kill you,” I say. “This isn’t my fault.”
His gray-blue eyes stare sightlessly at me. I turn away.
My hands are shaking as I drop the keys into my pocket. And then my fingers close around the cold metal of the last bullet. Wherever Raph is, he’ll be coming here now, drawn by the gunfire. I have minutes. Seconds.
The plane is unprotected. I hesitate, indecision clutching at me as it did before. I can stay and hide and fight, or I can run for the plane and hope I get to it before Raph catches up to me.
I look at the pilot, at the wolf-dog. Standing your ground gets you killed.
The faster I get help, the faster Bo gets help.
I run for the plane. My bag slaps against my back. I load my rifle as I run. One shot. The one I’ve been saving. I hook the strap over my shoulder opposite the bow.
I see him coming down from the tree line when I’m halfway across, but it’s too late to stop now. Out here in the open I’m too vulnerable.
I fling myself across the ice and haul at the plane door. Unlocked unlocked unlocked, yes—it opens.
I pull myself into the seat, slinging my bow into the seat beside me so I’ll have room. I stare at the instruments and dials. I’ve practiced everything about getting to the plane, but I haven’t actually practiced taking off, and suddenly everything I know rushes out of my head.
Checklists, I think. But I don’t have time for safety.
I can do this. Put the key in. Turn everything on. Nav. Radio. What else? My mind is blank. Steering lock. I pull the pin, hands shaking. And everything else is gone, and it doesn’t matter because I’m out of time.
All I can do is start the engine. Start the engine and move because there’s no time for anything else.
It growls to life and I reach to close the door, but Raph is here. I yank on the door, but he jams his shoulder in the way and grabs at me. I twist, trying to bring the rifle up.
