Colter’s hands darted out, reaching for something, anything to break his fall. The shotgun he was holding smacked the truck seat and smashed his fingers. But it made no sense. There was no truck here, only debris. Only the blasted-apart remains of a transport vehicle, the unexpected grave of too many soldiers.
“Colter!”
Kensie’s panicked voice broke through his confusion, pulled him out of that nightmare overseas where he’d lost all his brothers. Brought him back to her.
Only he wasn’t with her. She was shot and he was inside a truck that was rapidly filling with smoke. And although he’d fired at the woman with the rifle, it was too hard to see through the black smoke. He had no idea if he’d hit her.
Move, his brain screamed. Colter gasped for breath, trying to subdue the panic as he choked on smoke. From a distance, Rebel’s bark reached him, as if she was urging him to hurry.
It was a tight fit between the seats, but even with the smoke obscuring everything, he didn’t want to make too big a target. He was no good to Kensie if he was dead.
Colter shoved and twisted, finally managing to get his shoulders between the seats. He dragged the shotgun behind him, the only weapon he had. At the open back door, he paused, getting a better view of the cabin.
The woman was still standing, but she was no longer shooting at them. Instead, she was taking cover behind the door, pulling the youngest two kids with her. Still standing in the yard was the oldest boy, who was holding a pistol, taking aim at Kensie.
“No!” His voice mingled with someone else’s and before Colter could launch free of the vehicle, the girl they thought was Alanna tackled the boy.
Colter didn’t wait. Leaving his cane behind and gripping the shotgun carefully, he darted out of the truck, dropping to his haunches beside Kensie. Her calf was bleeding, but it wasn’t the kind of wound made by a rifle. It could have been ricochet, but most likely, it was a bullet from the pistol.
Relief gave him his first full breath. The cold air hurt, but seemed to clear some of the smoke from his lungs. Keeping hold of the shotgun while lifting her wasn’t easy, but he knew they were probably going to need a weapon. His right leg trembled, pain burning his thigh, and he prayed it wouldn’t give out on him.
Thankfully it held as he draped Kensie over his left shoulder and started to run. “Go, girl!” he told Rebel, who was ahead of them, in the cover of the trees.
His dog took off, darting from one tree to the next, a blur of brown and black fur. She left an obvious trail of paw prints in the snow and Colter knew he would be doing the same. They’d be easy to track.
There was only one main road in and out of the area, the one they’d come in on. They’d be easy targets there, but he wasn’t sure this was much better. He hadn’t given Rebel instructions other than to run, which was all they could do right now. There was no time to strategize with a family carrying weapons potentially right behind them. But they were heading deeper into the wilderness, toward the edge of a mountain, farther away from help or shelter.
His leg throbbed, shaking each time he put weight on it, especially at the pace he was going. Every twenty feet, Rebel stopped, glancing back at them, waiting for him to catch up.
Kensie was light. He’d once run with a fellow soldier, someone double her weight, over his shoulder for two miles. But that was before his leg had been irreparably damaged. Now it was all he could manage to keep his grip on her and the shotgun, keep his feet from sliding out from under him. It got even worse once the ground started to slope downward.
He wanted to glance behind him, see if the woman with the rifle or the boy with the pistol were following. But he knew if he did, he’d lose his balance. With each step, the slope was getting steeper. He wanted to double back, go the other way. Seek higher ground, the way he’d been trained. But there was no chance of that. It was too steep now, and it would take them right back toward the Altiers.
He needed a plan, because they’d managed to head right down the side of a mountain, when he’d hoped there’d be a straight route alongside the edge. Anyone standing at the top of the mountain would have a good view of them, no matter the trees. Then again, the trees were getting thicker the farther down they went. And a moving target wasn’t easy to hit. He needed to move faster.
“I can run!”
Kensie’s voice penetrated his thoughts and he realized she’d been repeating it, her words muffled against his back. But he also knew it was wishful thinking on her part. She’d taken a bullet to the calf. She might be able to push herself for a while, but he didn’t want to test that theory now. Not while they were still so close to the cabin.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. With every step, the mountain was getting steeper, until he found himself leaning backward for leverage, slowing his steps so they wouldn’t both go tumbling down. Up ahead even Rebel had slowed, and he realized she, too, had started to limp. Her back leg was acting up because she’d pushed it too hard.
Colter wanted to use the trees for support, grab them to slow his descent. But he couldn’t, not with Kensie slung over his left shoulder and the shotgun barely grasped in his right hand.
The cold burned his throat and lungs and
