There's a noise behind us. Kenny or Storm must step in undergrowth, and it crackles beneath their feet. Maryanne wheels. Dalton says "It's okay. We're--" and I don't hear the rest. I see her face. I see her reaction, as pure and unthinking as my own.
There is a noise in the forest. There is a threat.
She catches sight of Jacob and Storm on the path and lets out a howl, barely human. She charges. I'm right behind her as she runs, knife raised. Jacob only yanks the dog back behind him, no panic, knowing he's fine. He realizes she's just startled, and he can stop her, or I will, or his brother will, and she is no threat.
Dalton shouts, "Maryanne! It's okay!"
That's when she sees Jacob. Sees his face. Sees the resemblance to Dalton and begins skidding to a stop, a few feet from him and--
A shot fires.
For exactly one second, I think it's Dalton. Then I know it is not. Maryanne may have been running toward his brother with a knife, but Dalton has both a brain and a conscience. He will not shoot until he is absolutely sure his brother is at risk.
"Case--" Dalton begins, and then stops, having the exact same reaction as me. One moment of thinking I am shooting at Maryanne before realizing I am not.
Another shot. A half shout. Then Maryanne spins sideways. I run, and Jacob runs, and I hear Dalton's strangled cry and the thud of his footsteps.
Another shot. This one whips right past me, and I stop. I see Maryanne. There's blood. She's standing against a tree, and there's blood.
"Mary--" I begin.
She runs. She races into the forest, and I go after her, and there's a third shot. I feel pain. Then I'm falling.
"Casey!" Jacob yells.
Dalton hits me, and I drop as he's shouting his brother's name and I have no idea what the hell is going on, and the next thing I know I am on the ground under Dalton and Jacob is on top of Storm.
I twist, ready to leap up. That's when Dalton's eyes round, his mouth forming my name as he grabs my chin. I feel a hot burn, and my fingers rise to my cheek. There's a bullet graze across my cheek.
"I'm fine," I say quickly. "It just . . ."
Just grazed me.
Just about killed me.
"Who--?" I begin.
Another shot. This one hits the tree near our heads.
"Kenny?" I say, as I try to twist.
That's all I can think. It isn't me shooting. It's not Dalton. Jacob doesn't have a gun. So it must be Kenny.
Dalton's gaze flies to Jacob and Storm. His brother is crouched and pulling Storm along with him, his free hand motioning to us. Behind them is Kenny, hunkered down, gun lowered at his side.
I look up and scan the treetops and . . .
There's a figure in a tree. A dark figure.
Sniper.
"Off the path!" Dalton shouts. "Get off the path. Into the forest."
We creep into the undergrowth. Dalton has one hand wrapped in my jacket, not unlike Jacob with Storm. I only need to see Dalton's face to know not to argue. He tugs me to a clump of bushes, and we crouch behind it, both of us breathing too hard for the minor exertion, both of us fighting panic.
The forest has gone quiet except for the moans of the dying hostiles. The sniper has his--or her--position and is holding it.
I look up into the trees. It's dense enough over here that I won't spot someone on a limb. It's not dense enough, though, that we can just run, certain of cover.
I glance to my right. Jacob has Storm behind a cluster of tall undergrowth. He's gesturing. Dalton is looking that way now, and they both motion, pantomiming a retreat plan.
I know what I want to do. Tell them to stay where they are while I make my way toward the shooter. Attack the problem.
Stay here, Eric. Stay there, Kenny. Jacob, hold Storm. Be safe. Please, I need you to be safe. Let me handle this.
Let me finish this.
If I even mention that to Dalton, he won't hold me here by force--he'll realize this is indeed the correct plan . . . and go to take down the sniper himself.
So when he taps my shoulder and nods to our next point of cover, I force myself to creep to that spot.
We reach it, and we make sure Kenny, Jacob, and Storm reach theirs.
Then we set out for the next point of cover. And the next. Each takes us deeper into the forest. Farther from the path. Farther from the sniper and the groans of the dying.
There is no sound except those moans. One turns to soft sobs. I hear a woman's name choked in those sobs, and I think of the men we are trying so hard not to think about. The dying hostiles. Just hostiles. That's what I want to think. Not people. Not men who may have been no different from Maryanne once upon a time, no less deserving of mercy and salvation.
The dying man keeps saying the name, over and over. A wife? Lover? Child? Sister? Someone he remembers in his final moments. Someone he calls for. And then there is a shot, and the crying stops.
The crying stops, and the other man lets out a string of unintelligible babble. The crunch of undergrowth. A thump, as if he's rising, and that babble keeps coming. He's begging for his life. Begging someone who is not in a distant tree but standing right over him and--
Another shot. Silence.
I hear a click beside me and turn to see Dalton topping up his gun. I do the same with mine after he's finished, and I can see that makes him nervous--he doesn't want my weapon unusable even for a second. When I finish, he nods, and I lean against him for a moment of comfort. Then I look out again.
I can see nothing. No one. Instead I listen, and I catch the telltale crinkle of dead foliage under a careful foot. It is off to our left, the sniper attempting to circle wide and surprise us that way.
Dalton taps my shoulder. He points as his brother does the same, both of them indicating rocks to our right. The foothills. Dalton nods. Then Jacob motions that we are to go, and he will stay. In explanation, he gestures at his side, where I know Storm lies.
He cannot run with her. We can't tell her to be quiet or careful, and if she runs with him, they will be spotted.
Dalton swallows hard. I squeeze my eyes shut and make a choice. A choice I know I have to make even if every fiber in me screams against it. Even if this might be the one thing I do that I will never forgive myself for. If I am a good person, if I love Dalton, if I care for his brother, then I must make a monstrous suggestion.
"He should let her go," I whisper in his ear.
Dalton's gaze swings to mine.
I force the words out. "Tell him to drop the leash and run, and she'll follow but . . ."
But she won't be right at his side. She will be ahead or behind and that makes her a target, and I can hope to God the sniper decides not to bother with a dog, but this . . . This is what I must suggest, isn't it? I cannot risk Jacob's life to save my dog.
Dalton shakes his head. I shake mine harder, giving him a look that tells him I will not back down. His jaw sets. Then he motions for Jacob to drop the leash. Even from here, I see Jacob's face screw up, like he must be misunderstanding.
Dalton motions more forcibly, and Jacob looks at me.
I nod, and mouth, Please.
He slowly and carefully lays down the lead, watching us for any sign that he has misunderstood. Once the leash is on the ground, Dalton gestures for Jacob to run into the rocky foothills. One final moment of hesitation, and a glance at Storm. Then Jacob runs.
Kenny takes off behind Jacob, and Dalton gives me a shove, making me go before I can even see what Storm does. When I also hesitate, he pushes harder, and I take a deep breath, and then I run.
I run as fast as I can, veering away from Jacob and Kenny so we separate, giving multiple targets, multiple sources of noise and movement. And I do not look at Storm. I do not try to see where she is and what she's doing.
I have never prayed in my life, but at that moment, I send one up. Wherever the sniper is, let him realize what he sees is a fleeing dog, and there is no point in wasting precious ammo on it.
I run, and I know Dalton follows
, but his footsteps fade fast as he heads in another direction. He must, same as I did with Jacob and Kenny.
Dalton has run to my left, which I don't like. It takes him closer to the sniper's likely location. But there's nothing I can do except curse him--
A whistle. A bark.
No. Fuck, no. Eric. Tell me you are not . . .
Of course he is. Of course he will, and I'm a fool if I thought otherwise.
Another whistle. Calling Storm to him as he runs. I glance over to see him bend in midstride and grab her leash and then run with her at his side, with all the noise an eighty-pound Newfoundland makes running through the forest.
You fool. You goddamned fool.
That's what we are, isn't it? We are those vampires who cannot continue until we have picked up every grain of rice. The shepherds who cannot ignore a sheep in danger. The law keepers who cannot shoot to kill if there is room for mercy. The humans who cannot put their dog at risk, cannot let their lover suffer the loss of her pet.
No matter what the cost to ourselves, we keep making these damn mistakes, and we know they are errors in judgment, but we truly are no more able to stop ourselves than those vampires of lore. Compelled to help, to protect, to save.
It is weakness. I know it is weakness. I hate that weakness. But I know we won't overcome it, no matter how many times we are shown that it's a mistake.
We keep running, and I try not to think about Storm being with Dalton, Storm endangering Dalton. Try, try, try . . .
A shot hits the tree above my head.
"Cover," Dalton yells. I'm already diving. I hit the ground just as another shot passes over me. I roll fast. Keep moving, keep moving. That is the trick here. Do not try to hide and hope for the best. Present a moving target.
I roll and then leap up and weave through trees. Jacob and Kenny are safe--they've reached the rocks and gone behind one, disappeared from sight. Dalton sticks to thicker forest with the dog, opting for safety over speed. I can see a rock ahead. I just need to--
A shot passes so close that I swear I feel it. I'm not going to make it. I'm too exposed, and the sniper has gauged my speed and is refining his shots.
I can't go faster. I don't dare go slower.
Just a little closer, a little closer . . .
"Hey!" There's a shout behind me. "Hey, you! Over here!"
I think it is Dalton--it's exactly the kind of fool thing he'd do. But I can see him, and I know where Jacob and Kenny went, and there's no way either of them has circled behind me.
Another shot, and it goes nowhere near me. The sniper accepting the newcomer's invitation.
"Here!" someone calls ahead, and Jacob peeks out.
He's gesturing at a rock. It's farther than the one I chose, but bigger, and while the newcomer distracts the sniper, I cross the last few paces and dive. Then I twist to see who is helping us.
I am almost afraid to see who it is. Afraid it is Anders or Sam or Paul come to find us. Afraid it is Cypher or some other settler who has come to our rescue and may pay the ultimate price for it. I even think it may be Wallace, that he has escaped captivity.
It is not any of those.
It is the absolute last person I expect.
Oliver Brady.
54
It is a trap. It must be. But at this moment, all I care about is getting Dalton out of a sniper's sights, and if this is a trap, we'll deal with it later.
I wave for Dalton. He's running my way, aiming for another rock. A shot fires. A tree behind him splinters, and I leap from my hiding spot and wave my arms, shouting, "Hey!"
Dalton motions for me to get the hell back under cover. Then he's diving, and I withdraw. I make sure Dalton and Storm are safe, Dalton crouched behind the rock, his arms around her.
I spin toward Brady. He's coming straight at me. Running at me. Motioning for me to stay where I am, remain hidden.
I aim my gun.
Behind me, Dalton snarls, "Stay the fuck away from her or I swear I'll shoot your ass--"
Brady goes into a slide. The moment he does anything the least bit threatening, I will shoot him. If he gets within a foot of me, Dalton will shoot him.
But he does neither. He slides behind a smaller rock, one that barely hides him. Then he pokes his head out and says, "We're sitting ducks here. There's a spot farther down."
Dalton says, "If you think, for one fucking minute--"
"I just saved you, Sheriff. You and your girlfriend. I risked my life to save you two. What the hell else do I need to do to prove myself? Take the bullet?"
"Depends on where it hits," Dalton says. "And whether you survive."
Brady's eyes narrow, but Dalton is right. We know Brady has an accomplice. Of course that accomplice wouldn't kill him. Which means he could easily pretend to draw fire while leading us to our deaths.
Jacob whistles. He's gesturing toward a spot we can't see, presumably big enough for the three of us and the dog. He's ignoring Brady, his gaze going between me and Dalton, making sure we see where he's pointing. Then he disappears.
"Go," Dalton murmurs.
I do. Behind me I hear, "You stay where you are, Oliver, or I'll blow your fucking head off."
"Head or ass. Make up your mind, Sheriff."
"Whichever presents the bigger target. Right now, I'm figuring it's about fifty-fifty."
I run from rock to rock, and wherever the sniper is, he doesn't see me. Or he doesn't care, now that I'm with his partner.
I find Jacob disappearing into a crevice. By the time I reach it, he's turned and pokes his head out. Then he waves and retreats. I look in to see Kenny inside, safe.
I gesture for Dalton to drop the leash. He does, and I whistle for Storm. She comes running. When she reaches me, I pass her leash to Jacob and turn back to wave for Dalton. He's already on the move, and I curse him for that, because for a few seconds there, I didn't have my gun trained on Oliver Brady.
I remedy that, and when Dalton arrives, I make him go into the cave, which means giving him a shove. He gets halfway in before realizing that leaves me outside. He balks. I may kick his ass, possibly literally. Because here's the thing: we can't all crawl into this cavern and sit there, with Brady knowing exactly where we've gone. So I get Dalton inside, and then I look up to see Brady hightailing it our way.
I meet him with my gun drawn. I've plunked myself in front of that opening, ignoring Dalton's pokes from within. I'm crouched there, gun trained on Brady when he arrives.
The first words out of his mouth are "Oh, come on . . . ," like we're kids on the playground, and I'm being terribly unreasonable.
He even rolls his eyes, and I swear he's lucky I don't put a bullet between them for that alone.
"I saved--" he begins.
"You lured us in. Diverted fire to convince us you're innocent. After you massacred a hunting party of settlers."
"What? Wait. What?"
"Casey?" That's Dalton. I'm about to ignore him, but he yanks on my jeans leg and says, "Back door."
He means there's a second way out. We won't be trapped in this cavern.
When I hesitate, Dalton sticks his head through and says, "You do realize you're arguing with this asshole while there's a sniper out there."
Point taken.
I twist and get my legs into the opening. Then I'm wriggling backward while trying to keep my gun trained on an exasperated Brady.
After a moment, Dalton just drags me inside. It is indeed a cavern. Not a big one, but there's a passage big enough for Storm to get through, evidently, because I don't see her . . . or Jacob and Kenny.
Dalton wants me to go through first this time, and I grant him that, but not before I say, "That stunt with Storm--"
He cuts me off with a kiss, and that startles me enough to stop talking, which may be the point. It's not just a quick smack of the lips, either, but a deep one, dark with residual fear and confusion, a kiss that says he was scared shitless out there--for all of us--and may still be.
Whe
n it breaks, I rest my head on his shoulder and I breathe. Just breathe. Then I inhale and say, "Onward?"
"Yeah," he says.
I'm turning to go, and I see Brady, his head and shoulders pushed through the opening, paused there, watching us.
Dalton turns on him. "Get the fuck--"
"You're going to kick me out there to get shot?"
Dalton meets his gaze. "Yes."
"Fuck you, Sheriff." Brady pulls through into the cavern and crouches in front of us. "I had nothing to do with what happened to those people. Yeah, I saw it--the tail end of it, when I heard voices and came to investigate. But if you're saying I massacred--"
"Not them," I say. "The others."
"What others?"
"A hunting party two nights ago."
"I have no idea--"
"Of course you don't. So where's your partner?"
"What partner?"
Dalton squeezes my shoulder. "Go with Storm. I'll handle this."
"Handle this?" Brady says. "By what, shooting me?"
"If I have to. I'd prefer if you just came along quietly. Saves me having to drag a corpse back to Rockton."
"And they call me a psychopath? You--"
I grab Brady's shirtfront, my hand wrapping in it, yanking him forward, and the surprise of that nearly topples him onto me. He tries to jerk back, but he's crouched in this cavern and can't get the balance to do more than weakly pull against my hold. I lift my gun and point it at his temple, and that gets him struggling hard, but I have a good grip.
"The person you need to worry about shooting you?" I say. "It's not Eric. I watched a good friend die in agony because of you. Saw a woman I cared about dead in a river because of you."
"No, not Val. I did not hurt Val."
"You took her hostage, you son of a bitch."
My finger moves to the trigger, and the only reason I don't pull it? Because another gun barrel flies up. Dalton lifts his gun, and his finger is on the trigger, and I know that if I shoot, so will he. That has nothing to do with agreeing that Brady deserves to die. He cannot stop me from killing Brady, so he will join me. Do something he would never do on his own, and do it to keep me from being the one who kills Oliver Brady, as I killed Blaine Saratori twelve years ago.
I see that gun rise, and I see the resolve on Dalton's face, and I release my trigger.
"Oliver Brady," I say. "You're under arrest. Get your ass through that hole"--I point at the opening where Kenny, Jacob, and Storm have gone--"and if you scream or fight or do anything that calls the attention of that sniper out there, I will shoot you. I swear I will."