Excerpt

It all happened so fast Brad had no time to think.

His first shot took out the man standing nearest to the fire. The man spun as the bullet struck him high in the chest, then fell face down into the flames.

The other two men did not come to the injured mans aidthey were too busy trying to determine where the shot had come from, too wrapped up in trying to defend themselves. Their fallen comrade didnt move, but lay motionless in the flames and burned.

Brads second shot went wide, missing one of the other two men by less than an inch. The two spun about, training their rifles on him.

Their rifles were not meant for close-in workthe barrels were too long to allow them to bring the weapons quickly to bareand in that, the advantage tipped to Brads favor. He brought his 9mm up almost without thought, centering it on the chest of the man closest to the fire, and pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked in his handonce, twiceejecting two casings. The man jerked once for each shot, his arms snapping out away from his body, his rifle flying from him and disappearing into the dark. Then he crumbled where he stood, folding in on himself and dropped to the ground like a sack of cement. He, too, lay unmoving.

Brad didnt stophe continued to charge toward the fire. But the third man was ready now, his rifle trained on Brad. The barrel flashed once, twice, a third time.

Brad felt nothing, yet inexplicably his body spun around. He didnt know why, but he went down.

As soon as he hit the ground, he realized how vulnerable he was. The other could take an easy shot at him now. He could kill Brad at his leisure.

Brad knew what he must do. He rolled.

He rolled downhill, into the thick underbrush, and immediately he heard another crack from the mans rifle. Thorns and twigs tore through his clothing, punctured his skin. Instinctively, he brought his hands up to protect his eyes.

Immediately, gravity took hold of him, forcing the roll. Where before it had been a controlled maneuver, designed to get him out of the other mans line of fire, it was now a chaotic tumble, sometimes sideways, but mostly head-over-heels. Twice he tried to stop his downhill plunge, thrusting out his hand to grab a passing tree trunk, but that did not stop him. The final time his arm was nearly torn from its socket, and he stopped trying to slow himself. He simply brought his arms up to protect his head and face, and hoped it would all end soon.

Still he continued to roll and bounce down the steep hill, slamming into boulders and trees, flying into the air at times, only to crash to the ground and continue the tumble. How long it went on, he did not know.

He thought he might have blacked out several times, although he wasnt sure. If, in fact, that was the case, it had been for only a second or two each time, before he was dragged back to consciousness after slamming into the ground.

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The first clear thought to enter his mind was that he was no longer tumbling. He had finally stopped.

Then he realized he was submerged in icy water. He was laying face up, his mouth and nose barely out of the water. At least I can breathe, he thought.

But the water was numbing. He had to get to his feet. He knew he had to get out of the water before it was too late, before all his strength was sapped by the intense cold. It would take only a minute, maybe less, for him to lose control of his bodys functions under these conditions. When that happened, he would be unable to stand. A short time later he would die.

Forcing himself to move, he rolled over and crawled to his hands and knees in the swift current. The rocks and boulders beneath the waters surface were slick with growth, preventing him from getting a good purchase. He tried several times to stand, each time slipping and falling back into the icy water. Finally, mustering all his strength, he struggled to his feet.

His footing slid out from under him, and he went down hard, face first, into the chill current. His chin hit a submerged rock and he felt the skin split. His breath blasted from his lungs. He gasped as the frigid water entered his mouth and nose.

In a panic, choking, he again got to his hands and knees, then struggled to his feet. He almost fell again, but crouched and regained his balance with an effort.

The current tugged at him, threatening to tear his feet out from under him and send him rushing down-stream. He wiped water from his eyes, then staggered toward the nearest bank. Clutching at brush and exposed tree roots, he clawed up the mud-slick bank, sliding back a foot for every two he gained. He knew it took him only a few minutes, but it felt as though he was crawling up the riverbank for at least an hour.

Finally, he stood above the rushing water, panting in the cold air, struggling to catch his breath. He could not see the river below, but he heard the water surging over rocks and downed tree trunks. He knew he was lucky to be alive.

He became aware of a throbbing pain in the fleshy part of his right thigh, matching the one in his left shoulder. He searched with his right hand, felt the tacky slickness of blood on wet clothing. The last gunman had hit him. That explained why his body had suddenly ceased to respond properly.

Wheres my gun? He suddenly thought. Then he knew. It lay in the brush uphill, or in the river. Either way, it was gone.