Even if I didn’t want to be brave, I had to. I had to for them.
A torn ski mask covered most of the man’s face. Tufts of messy facial hair pushed through the rips in the mask, and he wore a heavy beige coat with some military insignia stitched over one side of the chest—I wasn’t sure which branch. His eyes looked almost as wild as his beard, and on his head was a dented and scratched green helmet. The helmet’s clasps framed his face and flapped wildly with his frantic movements through the snow. Then he stopped and began patting his pockets. A few seconds later, he was fumbling with a fresh magazine. I reckoned we had about fifteen seconds before he was locked and loaded and another barrage of rounds sprayed from the rifle. And who was to say that he would shoot up in the air this time and not at us, especially now that we were so close to one another?
I knew there was only one way to beat him. I had to get the gun out of his possession, because if I somehow managed to get in the snowmobile and Stone took off, the man wouldn’t stop. It might’ve pissed him off all the more. It wasn’t like our mode of transportation went from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds or anything like that. In fact, we’d probably be lucky enough to get over fifteen miles per hour, with all the added weight and fresh snow on the ground slowing us down.
My logic was that if I got shot and died but managed to pry the gun away from the man long enough for the others to get free, then it wasn’t a big deal. The others would still be breathing. Mia would have a chance to deliver her daughter. Stone would watch out for Ell. It would all be okay.
So I climbed up from my prone position, grunting, and pushed away the negative thoughts.
“Grady! What are you doing?” Ell screamed after me as I began heading toward the man in a labored, limping charge.
“Just go! Get somewhere safe!” I shouted back, but the wind snatched away my words and I doubted she heard me.
“Wait—”
Stone understood, though. He revved the sled’s engine and it lurched forward, eventually swallowed up by the darkness and falling snow.
I had taken a beating at the hands of Bob Ballard, both when he woke me in the middle of the night by pressing a sharp blade to my neck, and when I managed an escape from the binds around my wrists to fight him to his death. I had failed to act fast enough then. But here, with this man dressed in a soldier’s uniform, I went all in.
Because I’d be damned if I was going to lose anyone else I cared about.
The man’s eyes widened enough to fill up the holes of his ski mask. I was only about fifteen feet from him at this point, and sensing his fear like a rabid wolf, a new strength flooded my arms and legs. The snow’s resistance suddenly felt like nothing more than thin grass. I picked up even more speed; it felt like I was running downhill.
The man leveled the rifle at me, aimed, but this time he was too late. I threw my shoulder into him. The military coat and the beard disguised his frailty. He was nothing but a bag of bones. Upon impact, his sternum bent inward and possibly cracked. The gun pinwheeled above as we went to the ground, a tangle of limbs. Snow engulfed my vision, but I flailed and connected with him more than a few times. Grabbing handfuls of fabric, I pulled myself on top and cocked my arm back, ready to strike as soon as his covered face presented itself.
The man lurched. His head shot up through the snow, his beard crusted white, and I plowed my fist downward. But halfway through my swing, a sharp pain under my chin caused all the strength to go out of my arm. I felt icy metal parting my own stubble and digging into my flesh. The man had moved so fast, I didn’t even see him pull the knife from the holster on his belt.
Remember, this wasn’t the first time I’d been in such a situation, but seeing the fear in the man’s eyes morph into red-hot rage, I thought it would certainly be the last.
I won’t say I saw my life flash right before me, but this close to having your throat slashed open definitely brings out a type of melancholic longing in you.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” the man seethed, clenching his teeth together so I could barely understand him.
“Whatever you think I am, I’m not. I’m just a nobody. A regular guy trying to do right by his friends.”
The knife jittered with the man’s shaking hand. If I got out of this, I thought, I wouldn’t have to shave for a while. Blood rolled down my neck, the icy wind virtually freezing it as soon as it fell from my wound.
“Liar!” he shouted. “Liar!”
The man’s mask had gone askew in our scuffle, so I scanned his brow for a dark line, a sign he’d been infected by the wraiths, and saw none. That meant nothing, though, because he could still be infected the way Bob Ballard was.
Deep down, I didn’t believe the man was insane in any sense of the word. There was something…different about this man.
“Just listen to me,” I tried to reason, acutely aware of how
