Page 99 of Dark Roads
Bang.
I clung to the branch.
Bang, bang.
Did he have more ammo on him? He was at the wrong angle for me to attack. The throwing knife was in my right hand, but I would probably only hit his shoulder, best-case, and then I’d have given away my position.
He rose to his feet, gun out, looking around. His body was alert, his arms locked into position. He was staring at each tree, each shadow, scanning back and forth. He’d look up soon.
No way could I get to my feet. I’d have to hope my aim wouldn’t be off. I gripped the knife, narrowed my eyes, held my breath, then flung it. The blade spun and flashed—he was stepping to the right, turning around. The blade connected with a soft thud.
I’d gotten him in the fleshy part of his thigh.
He looked up, straight at me—gun rising. I leapt to the ground, hit the dirt hard, and rolled back onto my feet. I ran. I pumped my arms, knees lifting high. The jump out of the tree had jarred my bones, sent sharp pains up my legs. I didn’t know how deep my knife had gone into Vaughn’s thigh, but I could hear him thundering behind me. It hadn’t slowed him down.
A loud crack rang out and a tree branch blew up beside me. The trail crossed over a smooth stone plateau, then narrowed on the other side, and sloped into a long hill. I was running,dirt and pebbles loose under my feet. I lost my balance partway and skidded onto my back. I looked up. He was standing on the stone plateau, aiming down. Another loud crack, and I rolled to the side, throwing myself into the dense underbrush. I got up and kept running.
A few minutes later, maybe ten, I couldn’t hear him. I felt like I was bleeding from a thousand small wounds. Rocks had scraped at my arms and legs. Sticks stabbed me. Ligaments were torn, tendons vibrating with strain. My lungs begged me to stop. Sweat was dripping down my face and into my eyes.
The trees bunched close together here, the forest thickening and blocking out the sun, the mountain cupping its hand around me. I was almost there. I slowed to a trot. The small clearing where I’d set up my lower camp was empty. I found the tree that I’d marked, dug up the duffel bag, and pulled out the rifle, slid off the safety. I looked over my shoulder.
The woods were quiet. I’d wait a little longer, then I’d have to go back and try to find him. Maybe the knife had done more damage than I’d thought. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the bag, crawled on my knees behind a tree, and gulped it, dumping some on my face and hair.
Footsteps. I shrank against the rough tree bark, braced the rifle on my knee, dialed in the focus to a tight round circle. Vaughn came into view. Blood had soaked through the front of his pants leg, the material wet and glistening. He was breathing hard, looking around.
I tightened my finger on the trigger. He was turning away. I needed to make this shot count, had to get him in the heart. I thought quickly, but not quick enough. He’d found my duffel bag. His body was blocked now by a stump as he leaned over to rummage through my supplies.
If I shot now, I’d hit a tree.
He stopped and looked around him. He was still behind thestump. His breath had lost the ragged, desperate edge, seemed more even and calm. He was regaining his strength.
“I’m wearing a bulletproof vest, so you better be sure where you hit.”
I choked back a gasp, my finger slipping from the trigger. I lifted my eye away from the scope, taking in the wider image. He was staring up into the trees, then scanning the ground, peering into the shadows. “Let me guess, you have traps set. Little surprises for me? It’s the only reason you’d stick around.” He aimed his gun to the left, then swung far to the right, and gave a low laugh. “Which one of us will break first, you think?”
I’d have to try for his head. But he was moving, ducking behind a tree, then sliding to the next. Only the top of his black cap showed, then a flash of skin. If I took off running again, he would follow, but he might not pass directly over the dirt pit. My second surprise.
I stepped out from behind the tree, holding the rifle in one hand, and pointing it down. It was risky but I didn’t think he’d shoot me—at least not right away.
“You win.”
He slowly stood, his firearm raised, and glanced over my body. “You’re giving up.”
“I can’t…” I pressed my hand against my chest. “I think I broke my ribs.” I staggered, sinking the gun barrel into the earth like I was so weak I had to use it for support.
“Throw the gun away from you.”
I lowered it the rest of the way to the ground, gave it a little kick that sent it sliding.
He eyed me. “You carrying any knives?”
Should I lie? He might search me. I lifted the tail of my shirt and tossed my knife.
“Turn out your pockets,” he said. “Pull up your pant leg.”
I hated giving up the knife strapped around my calf, but I had no choice. I tugged it free and threw it near the first one.
“That it?” he said, eyeing me.
