Then I’m through the window. I hit the ground hands-first. My elbows collapse. My shoulder plows into the ground. I roll and then I’m sprawled in grass that’s wet with dew. “Shit.”

Sirens wail in the distance. Crickets all around. The hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. I get to my knees, draw my revolver. Then I’m crouched in the ditch. The road’s shoulder provides scant cover, so I stay low. The three-quarter moon provides just enough light for me to see that whatever vehicle or buggy I’d seen earlier is gone.

Headlights wash over me. Blue and red emergency lights glint off the canopy of the tree I hit. I glance right to see a Holmes County Sheriff’s cruiser glide to a stop.

“Sheriff’s department! Identify yourself! Sheriff’s department!”

“Painters Mill PD!” I shout. “I got shots fired!”

A Holmes County deputy, crouched low and holding a Maglite, his weapon drawn, approaches me. “Where’s he at?”

“I don’t know.”

He approaches me, his eyes sweeping left and right. “Burkholder?”

“Yup.”

He tries the passenger door, hoping to use it for partial cover, but it won’t open, so he kneels next to me. “You okay?”

“Hell if I know.”

I start to get to my feet, but he sets a hand on my shoulder. “Whoa. You’re bleeding, Chief. There’s an ambulance on the way.” He gives my shoulder an awkward little pat. “You need to get yourself checked out,” he says, and then he speaks into his radio. “Ten-seven-eight.” Need assistance.

A second cruiser arrives. I discern the Painters Mill PD insignia just as T.J. throws open his door and, using it for cover, draws his weapon. “Chief! Where’s the shooter?”

“Unknown!” the deputy next to me calls out and speaks into his radio. “Suspect at large. We need a perimeter. Delisle Road. County Road Fourteen. Township Road Two. And Gaylord.”

Another Holmes County cruiser arrives, engine groaning as it flies past T.J.’s cruiser. The ambulance parks several yards behind T.J.’s cruiser. All the while, the radio burns up the airwaves as law enforcement from miles around converge on an unknown shooter.

“What happened?” the deputy asks.

Quickly, I relay everything I know. “The caller said my brother was in a buggy accident.” I hit my lapel mike. “Any sign of a buggy?” I say. “Casualties?”

“Negative.”

The deputy and I exchange looks.

“Chief?”

I look past him to see T.J. trotting up to us. His stride falters when he spots my Explorer against the tree. “Shit.” Then he’s kneeling next to me. His eyes widen when he gets a better look at my face. “You hit? You’re bleeding pretty good.”

“Piece of the dash caught me, I think.”

The deputy, still speaking into his radio, rises and goes to the front of the Explorer.