Definitely shot.
As I twist toward her, I catch a blur of motion. It's Kenny rolling into the undergrowth, his arms around Storm.
"I've got--" Kenny starts.
Another shot. Kenny's whole body jerks.
Dalton starts to leap up. I tackle and yank him into the undergrowth.
"Careful," I say. "We have to be careful."
He nods, and we creep on our bellies. We're on the same side of the path as Kenny and Storm, and I can see their shapes ahead.
As we move, I hear Jacob whispering, "You're okay, you're okay, just stay still. Play dead."
"Kenny?" I whisper, as loudly as I dare.
"I've got him," Jacob whispers back. "I have Kenny and Storm. Stay down. Casey. Keep Eric down. Stay where you are. Do not move."
He's right. Any movement we make is going to draw fire
. I reach out for Dalton's hand and clasp it, and we lie there, listening to Kenny's ragged breathing.
That's when I see Brady crawling away.
Dalton squeezes my hand hard, getting my attention, and then he shakes his head.
Let him go.
Don't take the risk of going after him.
But I have to, don't I? As long as Oliver Brady is out there, people will keep dying.
I look in the direction of the shots. I see nothing. It isn't like the city, where I could scan the buildings and know which is most likely to hold the gunman. This is a forest filled with towering trees, all perfect for a sniper.
And as long as this gunman is out there, we are sitting ducks. Eventually we need to come out, and all the sniper has to do is track us and wait for us to stop moving.
So we can't stop moving.
We can't wait for the shooter to figure out where we are. We have a wounded man and dog, and we need to get them someplace safe.
I watch Brady sneak off, and I wait for Dalton to relax, convinced I'm giving up on my prey. Then I leap up to a crouch, call "Get them someplace safe!" and break into a run.
Dalton grabs for me. His fingers brush my leg. But I'm gone.
I zigzag. One shot fires into a tree several feet away. Another does the same. I'm careful, though, moving up, down, left, right, zipping behind every tree and bush in my path.
Behind me, Dalton whispers urgently to Jacob. I can't slow enough to focus on words, but I know Dalton's trusting that I'm okay while he gets the others to safety.
Brady hears me coming. He straightens to run faster. A shot hits a tree, clearly intended for me, but when he hears that hit, and he sprawls into a home-plate slide. I sprint and leap on his back. He bucks. I grab his still-bound wrists and wrench them so hard he howls.
"Shut the hell up," I say, slamming his head into the dirt. "I'm doing you a favor. Exactly how long do you think you'd survive out here with your hands tied behind your back?"
He glowers over his shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah," I whisper. "I'm a stone-cold bitch. I've heard it already. You would do well to note that you're still alive, when it would be a hell of a lot more convenient for me to change that. I will kill you, Oliver, but I need a reason. So don't give me one."
I wait until I'm sure the shots have stopped, the sniper trying to find targets again. I'm checking whether we're hidden enough to move when something thumps in the trees to my right. A family of ptarmigan explodes from the bushes, startled by whatever Dalton must have thrown at them.