"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.