I have two choices here. I can trust that Dalton will eventually calm Jacob enough for me to get his gun. Or I can provoke Jacob until he empties the clip. Except I can’t control where he fires those bullets, not enough to be sure one won’t be aimed at his brother. More than that, I trust Dalton in this. He’s making progress.

I stay crouched and pick the clearest path from tree to tree. Jacob does hear noises and turns twice, but it’s just animals in the forest. I’m finally close enough to see Dalton. He’s sitting with his back against a tree, hands on his head. He doesn’t spot me. I make sure of that. He’s slowly talking Jacob down, and I’ll do nothing to distract him.

Jacob paces the clearing. He wears the same clothing as when he attacked me. I can see my dried blood on them. He’s filthy, his hair even more snarled, with bits of twigs and leaves caught in it, as if he’s been sleeping on the ground.

“I know I left you,” Dalton is saying. “I went away, and I didn’t come back. I made a mistake. A stupid, selfish mistake. I left you, and I will never stop regretting that. But I haven’t left you since, Jake. I’ve been here for you every time you’ve needed me. I will do anything you need. Just let me try. Something’s wrong, and you know it, and I can help. Whatever it takes—”

A crash cuts him short. It’s a sudden crackle of undergrowth, but it’s not me. Jacob spins, gun up.

“Out!” he says in a guttural growl. “You! Girl! Out!”

When no answer comes, he fires, and Dalton lunges to his feet, and Jacob spins on him. Dalton puts his hands on his head again. I’m close enough that I can see sweat pouring off him. But I’m not close enough to get a clear shot if Jacob fires. I move into a better position as quickly and silently as I can.

“Out!” Jacob says. “Out or I shoot Eric.”

A figure stumbles from the forest then. It’s Anders, hands bound behind his back.

Twelve

“You?” Jacob says. “Where is the girl?”

“She’s not here,” Anders says. “That was me. It’s just me.”

“Liar!” Jacob spins, peering into the forest.

I duck behind a tree.

“It’s just Will,” Dalton says. “My deputy. You’ve seen him in the forest with me. You saw him earlier. I thought it was Casey, but it must have been Will.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, Jacob. It’s Will.”

“Eric’s telling the truth,” Anders says. “You’re not feeling well, and you’re confused and—”

“Shut up.”

I peek around the tree to see Jacob with the gun trained on Dalton. My heart stops for a second. Then I force myself to move, to creep toward them, my own weapon raised.

“You want to aim that gun somewhere, Jacob? Point it at me.” Anders tries for a smile. “You know your brother—he’s going to do what you want a whole lot faster if that gun is pointed at one of his friends.”

“Will?” Dalton says in a low voice. “Don’t.”

“He’s your friend?” Jacob says.

Anders nods. “Deputy, friend, sure. So point that gun over—”

“Friend, girl, everyone but me,” Jacob says to Dalton. “You stay away from me for them. For strangers.”

“No, no, no,” Anders says. “It’s not like that. We work together. Eric and Casey and—”

“You stay with them.” Jacob spits the words. “You left me. For them. For strangers.”

I see his finger move on the trigger. And I run. I don’t shoot. I can’t shoot. They’re too close together and there isn’t enough light. So I run, making as much noise as I can, certain that Jacob will hear and stop. I see a blur of motion, and I’m moving too fast to realize what it is until I hear the shot, and then I see that Anders has launched himself—not at Jacob but in front of Dalton.

I hear the shot, and I see Anders, and in my head I hear myself screaming, but I don’t say a word. I just keep running, toward Jacob now as he stands there, and I dimly see them both on the ground—Anders and Dalton—and I see blood blossoming on Anders’s shirt, and I see Jacob and that gun, still pointed at them.

“Drop it!” I say as I burst into the clearing, my weapon trained on Jacob. “Lower that gun right now or I swear I’ll shoot.”

He lowers it.

“Drop it or—”

It falls from his hand, and he says, “Eric?” and totters there, and when I run over and take the gun, I see his face, the shock on it as he stares at his brother, on the ground, under Anders.

“Eric?” he says again.

I grab Jacob’s hands and pull them behind his back and bind them with the cable tie. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t seem to notice. I bind him, and I shove him aside so hard he falls as I race over to Dalton. Anders is still on top of him.

Anders has been shot. And I don’t care.

No, that’s wrong. I do care. I just don’t want to.

My impulse is to shove Anders off to get to Dalton, but I can’t manage that. I don’t need to. I can see Dalton’s wound—it’s a bullet to the top of his shoulder, and he says, “I’m okay, Casey. It’s Will. Help Will.”

He’s been saying that for a while. I just haven’t paid attention. He’d say that if he had a bullet through his heart.