More gunshots echoed through darkness. Louder, clearer. The firefight must be close.
A few feet from the creek’s edge, he noticed footprints in the snow. A single set. He followed them with his flashlight, hurrying as fast as his knee would allow.
Before long he realized where he was. The burial spot. It looked different in foggy darkness, but sure enough, there were towering pines all around. MacReady’s fresh grave was now snow-covered. Beyond were the graves of long-gone Traders—bodies he’d soon be joining if he didn’t get this situation under control.
More shots boomed. As he closed the distance, Karl clutched his gun, certain he’d have to use it.
Sidestepping between two pines, he stabbed his flashlight beam into the darkness, highlighting another footprint trail. He followed, gathering speed, until the prints tapered off. This makes no sense. The creek’s leading me toward the gunshots. If the footprints veer in a different direction, that means—
He’d almost finished the thought when something barreled into his side.
The impact knocked him off his feet and dropped him hard onto his shoulder. When he sat up, something slammed into his throat like a runaway truck. His whole head went numb before it struck the snow.
Above him, through the fog, he recognized Candace. Saw three of her. Her eyes were narrowed with rage. She dropped onto him, a knee slamming his stomach. It knocked the wind from his lungs, leaving him gasping, woozy, and weak. She confiscated his gun with ease. Next thing he knew, he was reliving the warehouse nightmare all over again. Except instead of having a gun jammed against his knee, it was against his forehead.
“Do exactly what I say, Karl.”
He rubbed his tender throat. “Just like always, huh?”
“You know the drill.”
“Had enough of the drill.”
“Good,” she said, voice edgy. “You won’t have to deal with it much longer.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Snare is holding Mickey hostage in his own body. That’s the matter. Only way I’m getting him back is if I help Snare get her parts back.”
“You believe her? Snare has done nothing but lie.”
“I don’t care. This is Mickey we’re talking about.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “Truth or lie, it doesn’t matter. I already killed MacReady for Mickey’s sake. A few more Traders won’t weigh much heavier on my conscience.”
“No. No more. This ends here.”
“For you, it does, yes.”
She pressed the gun down harder. His skull ached.
“Candace, wait,” he said, panting. “You’re a smart lady. Think for a sec. You just said Snare wants her parts back, right? Only way she’ll collect them all is if she gets yours, too. Did you think of that?”
“My life for Mickey’s is a fair exchange.”
“What about Mick’s brain? Snare’s gonna take it back. You have to figure that much.”
The pressure eased from his forehead. “Snare said he’s a special vessel—that he can be spared, just like us Traders were spared from that fog disease.”
“Candy, it’s a lie.” Karl swallowed. “You’re too smart for this. The rest of us trusted Snare and look where it got us.”
“I warned you!” She reapplied pressure to his forehead. “Had you listened, this town wouldn’t be stuffed with corpses. I tried to protect everyone!”
“You’re wrong.” He pushed his head defiantly against the gun. “Truth is, you’re the one who put us in this position—forced us into it. You never saw the Traders as people. At best you saw people like John MacReady as livestock—critters you could order around day after day until you needed to slaughter them for parts. With you using us like that, it’s no wonder we accepted Snare’s gamble. At least with Snare, we had hope. Ugly as it turned out, I don’t regret the choice we made.”
“Here’s two choices for you, Karl.”
He watched her finger brush the trigger guard.
“I can shoot you, or you can drink this.” She pulled a plastic bottle from her pocket. Water swished inside. “You’ll lose your parts, but maybe you’ll survive. It’s win-win for both of us. Believe me, I’d rather not shoot you.”
Karl knew better. She was afraid to shoot him. Not because she cared but because damaging his traded skin wouldn’t score her any points with Snare. That might work to my advantage, he thought. To get Candace’s guard down, he needed to convince her that a bullet scared him more than the liquid sloshing around that bottle.
“Please put that gun away.”
“No can do,” she said. “Not until you drink this.
“Fine, I’ll drink it,” he muttered.
“Smart move, Karl.” She extended the bottle out to him. “Who knows, maybe losing your skin won’t kill you. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“Maybe I will.”
He swatted the gun away from his forehead and launched forward, shoving her onto her back. They both struggled to their knees. She swung the gun at his head, but he dodged, the barrel barely missing his nose. Before she could counter, Karl slammed his forearm against her wrist. With a sharp snap, the weapon flew free, clattering against a nearby tree root.
In the distance, several shots barked.
Karl’s palm met her cheek with a loud clap. It knocked her sideways, and he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking hard before slamming her face into the snow.
He turned, desperately searching for the gun. It was the only way he could stop both Candace and Snare. He grabbed his flashlight off the ground and shined it widely. The light illuminated the gun in a hollow of shallow snow beside the creek. Karl grunted to his knees and hurried toward it. Candace rose to her feet and rushed after him.
More shots thundered in the distance.
He snagged the gun by the barrel with an oomph and spun toward Candace. As he lifted the weapon, her shoulder smashed his chest. She tackled him with both arms, propelling him backward, down onto his rump. Their momentum drove the back of his head into the slushy bank. He heard the creek flush by, closer than he expected.
His arm pinned underneath her, he tried pointing the barrel into her chest. She flinched, but only momentarily. Her elbow hammered his sternum, knocking the wind from his lungs. His fingers went soft, and she ripped the gun from his grasp, stuffing it in her pocket. He made a grab for it, but her knuckles collided with his cheek, dropping him flat.
Candace then climbed off him. When he sat up, both her palms crashed into his chest. He was driven further back. This time his head slapped the water with an icy shock. It swallowed his face and he rose in a hurry.
That was when Candace dropped onto his thighs, straddling him—their old familiar bedroom position. Except this time, he felt no heat, no passion; only cold loveless fear. With her weight pinning him down, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape. And before he could fight back, her hands took his throat and dunked his head under.
81
Shots kept roaring. Every time Ash peeked around the tree trunk, gunfire forced her back. Mick, a pistol in hand, had a seemingly endless ammo supply and the cover of two thick, sturdy tree trunks, which he kept bouncing between. Ash, by comparison, was dangerously low on ammo, and she had a freezing, freaked-out eight-year-old clinging to her.