Keeping tabs on Bo would be enough for the time being.
Nate twitched his head and focused on the present. Dak was here, and Nate knew why. He was going to exact revenge for how things went down in Iraq. It was fair. Nate knew as much. If their roles had been reversed, Nate would have scorched every inch of earth to burn out his enemies and repay them for what they'd done.
But roles weren't reversed. Nate was here, on the land he'd purchased, and Dak had intruded, both onto the property and into the hunt that was several months in the making.
Nate started to jog along the trail, following the prints until they disappeared in the tall grass. From there, he continued on, tracking the flattened grass the kids had trampled, and probably Dak as well.
It was then that Nate realized there was another possible piece to Dak's intrusion. Was he going to try to save the boys? How could he have known they were here? Based on the footprints at the water's edge and the distinct pattern of the flattened grass, it was easy to know three people had gone through this area.
Nate pushed himself harder, his long legs chewing up yards at a time with every step.
He ran up a slight rise and down the other side, careful to observe the pattern in the tall grass. It remained unchanged as he reached the next valley and continued straight ahead toward the next hill.
Nate breathed steadily, but now at a faster rate. He knew he was catching up and refused to stop until he had the boys and Dak in his sights.
When he reached the top of the next knoll, he slowed down and then came to a halt. Peering up into the forest, he could see the McDowell boys' shirts against the backdrop of dying leaves and brown tree trunks.
The two kids moved slowly, the older one pausing to help the younger boy now and then. The boys were more than a thousand yards away, but at their speed and in their condition, Nate could be within shooting distance in mere minutes.
His heart pumped harder with the thrill of the chase as he ran down the next slope and charged ahead toward the forest. Halfway there, he skidded to a stop and immediately dropped to the ground amid the tall strands of grass.
The boys were alone. He cursed himself for getting caught up in the hunt. Where was Harper?
Ten feet away, the indentations in the grass narrowed, as if the boys and Harper had fallen into a single file line before reaching the forest two hundred yards away. Except Harper was nowhere to be seen.
Nate twisted his body around, leaning on his left shoulder to look into the rows of corn. He found it difficult to see anything through the grass, so he belly crawled over to the edge of the field and poked his rifle through, then his head. Free of the blinding grass, he surveyed left to right, but found no signs of Harper.
Dread nipped at him, but he didn't give in. Nate never let fear get the best of him. He was the predator in every scenario, and he reminded himself of that fact.
Slowly, he inched his way into the cornfield like a jaguar on the prowl. His first prey would be Dak. Then he would finish the boys.
Eighteen
Brown’s Ferry
Dak's legs felt like the smoldering fire in the valley below. With every step up the steep slope, the muscles grew heavier, more gelatinous.
He saw the boys up the hill and to his left. He purposely veered to the right once he reached the forest so he could catch the two kids from the side rather than from behind.
His reasoning for the approach was simple. Nate was chasing them and would come directly down the same path they'd forged through the grass. That meant Nate would focus on the mountain directly ahead instead of bothering to look to the right or left. The fact that the boys weren't doing a very good job of hiding reiterated that, but Dak knew Nate wouldn't be so foolish. He'd sense the danger and probably detour, perhaps into the corn rows—thinking that's where his ex-teammate had ventured.
Halfway up the ridge, Dak peered out over the valley. The fire had died down, which was fortunate. While it still burned, the sporadic and mild breeze aided its containment to no farther than fifty yards beyond the farmhouse yard. The smoke, however, hung in a haze that covered the property. While it hadn't thoroughly permeated the woods, the scent of burning grass and cornstalks still seeped into Dak's nostrils.
Dak slowed to a stop behind a thick oak tree to catch his breath, then turned to locate the boys gain. They were moving at a snail's pace up the ridge, halting frequently to allow the younger of the two to take a break.
Averting his gaze to the field below, Dak pressed his shoulder into the rough bark and peered through the misty smoke. He saw the truck down by the bridge, but there was no sign of Nate in the narrow strip of grass by the stream. He turned his attention to the cornfield, figuring his old teammate would have taken cover there to move faster. He could have stayed in the grass, but that would have left him far more exposed on his feet. And on his belly, it would have taken him too long to advance.
Then Dak spotted him.
The tall, lumbering figure of Nate Collier glided through the rows of dried corn like a snake, weaving back and forth. To his credit, Nate tried to keep a low profile, but from his vantage point, Dak had a clear advantage and his target was almost within range.
He raised his rifle and pushed the side of it against the tree to stabilize it. Looking through the sights, Dak lined up his target with the red dot in the center of
