His boots slipped on wet pine needles. The rifle strap cut into his shoulder. Each breath burned.
Cole ran.
The forest swallowed him whole. Branches clawed at his face. Roots reached up from the mud, trying to trip him. He didn't slow. He couldn't. Behind him, headlights bounced through the trees. The engines were getting closer. Three of them. Maybe four. Hard to count when the rain was still dripping from the leaves and the blood from his forearm was slicking his grip on the rifle.
He had the Widow's arm twisted behind her back, using her body as a shield. She stumbled along beside him, her wounded shoulder leaving a dark trail on the wet leaves. She didn't cry out. She just laughed. A low, breathless sound that made his skin crawl.
"They're not going to stop," she said. "They'll fol
