But she was too young. It wasn’t her.
From how pale she’d gone, Kensie must have realized the same thing. He reached for her hand again, all his focus on apologizing for bringing her out here for nothing.
“Colter,” she breathed, pulling her hand free and pointing toward the cabin.
When he glanced back, he saw that the oldest boy was no longer there. In his place was a girl, about nineteen, with dark hair, cut to shoulder length. She had strong, thick eyebrows and lush, full lips like Kensie.
And Colter recognized her. It was the girl he’d seen in the passenger seat of the truck that had flown past him in town, when Danny had cornered Kensie. At first glance, he’d even mistaken her for Kensie.
“It’s her.” Kensie’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he could hear the tears and joy in it at once. “It’s Alanna.”
She reached for the door handle and he grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Kensie, we still need the pol—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a loud boom, like a firecracker that had gone off way too close, split the air. Colter recognized the sound immediately: a rifle.
Chapter Nineteen
Kensie had found her. After fourteen years of searching, she’d finally found Alanna.
She was still reeling as she stared at Alanna through the forest. Her body felt frozen with disbelief, but her mind had figured it out and was screaming at her to move. To run, grab Alanna and get out of there fast.
Except Colter was yanking the truck into reverse. Then it was speeding backward fast enough to wrench Kensie hard against her belt and send Rebel sliding into her seat with a yelp.
And it still wasn’t fast enough. Another boom blasted the air, making Kensie flinch as the front of their vehicle erupted with smoke.
“We’re hit,” Colter said, his voice way too calm.
Kensie stared through the smoke, realizing the blast had come from a rifle. The truck had been hit.
Panic started to break through her daze. Fear for herself, Colter and Rebel, and desperation not to lose Alanna now that she’d finally found her.
Up near the front of the cabin, the oldest boy who’d gone inside was back, pointing at their truck and yelling something. The woman next to him—in her early forties, who looked like his mother—lifted that rifle again.
“Colter—” she started to warn him.
“Get down!”
Before he’d finished speaking, Rebel’s teeth were gripping the arm of her coat, tugging down until Kensie was scrunched awkwardly with her head between the seats.
But what about Colter? He was still sitting straight, jaw clenched tight as he steered the truck. A visible target.
The smoke pouring out of the engine was getting thicker and darker, and her fear intensified. “Is the engine going to blow?”
“No,” Colter answered tightly, his knuckles white against the wheel as the truck sputtered, barely moving even though Kensie could see his foot jammed down on the gas.
Then, the rifle blasted again and the whole right side of the truck sank.
Kensie let out a shriek as Colter swore, struggling with the wheel as he turned the truck directly toward the trees. “She got the tire. Climb into the back seat.”
“What?”
“Do it now. Hurry!”
Hands shaking, she fumbled with her seatbelt as he fought with the wheel, until finally she realized what he was doing. Angling the truck the other way, so his side was facing the rifle and giving her more protection.
“Colter—”
“I’m right behind you. Go!”
Kensie launched herself into the back, squashed up next to Rebel, who’d been smart enough to get down on the floor behind her seat.
Colter twisted, jamming himself between the front seats. His shoulders were too broad and he seemed to get stuck, but he stretched his arm out and grabbed his shotgun.
Kensie tried to press even closer to Rebel, making room, and Rebel squeezed tighter into the door without complaint. “Get back here,” she demanded.
But Colter was going the other way. He stayed low, but he shimmied back into the front.
She yanked on the sleeve of his coat, even as he popped open the glove compartment, grabbing a box of shells. He jammed several into the shotgun, stuffed the rest into his pocket and told her, “When I tell you to, open that door and make a run for the trees.”
“Colter—”
“Get ready,” he barked, lifting the shotgun.
There was another ear-splitting blast and the windshield shattered, spraying glass into the truck. It pricked her arms and Kensie shrieked. Then she gagged as heavy, dark smoke rushed into the cabin.
Colter. Had he been hit?
Kensie twisted, lifting her head, trying to get a better look at him. Almost instantly his hand was there, shoving her head back down. But not before she saw two things. Colter wasn’t hit. And the woman who’d been shooting at them was now running toward the truck, rifle still raised.
“Colter,” she warned, choking on the smoke, her words coming out gravelly, in a voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to her. “She’s coming!”
“Plan hasn’t changed,” he said gruffly, calmly. “Grab the handle. You’re about to go.”
“But—”
“On the count of three! One, two, three, go!”
Heart thundering, pounding hard enough to hurt her chest—or maybe that was the smoke she was inhaling—Kensie shoved open the door.
“Go, Rebel! Trees!” Colter yelled.
Rebel shot out the door, and Kensie scrambled after her even as her mind screamed for Colter.
She heard the blast of a shotgun, once, twice, as she choked on the fresh air, as she took huge, desperate strides. She ran in the path Rebel made, the dog easily outpacing her.
“Colter!” She thought she screamed for him, but maybe it was only in her mind as another boom seemed to make the ground shake.
Then pain raced up her leg, intense as fire, and Kensie crashed to the ground.
KENSIE WAS DOWN.
Colter’s whole world narrowed to just her form, falling into the snow. The edges of his vision darkened as he gasped for breath, and the blast of a sniper
