Rapp nodded and the silence in the clearing began to stretch out. Nash focused on the warmth of the sun on his face. On the happy memories he had of his wife and children. Other than that, his mind was strangely blank. The things he’d done—both good and bad—didn’t come flooding back. On the contrary, they no longer seemed to matter. Just the sun and his family. Two things he’d never see again.

“I’m giving you a five-minute head start,” Rapp said finally. “For old times’ sake.”

49

RAPP took not so careful aim and fired a single round into the trees. The sound of the shot was deafening and the snap of the bullet as it cut through the foliage would be terrifying. Which was the goal.

Thirty minutes into the chase, the grade of the forested slope had increased to probably five percent. Barely noticeable to him, but a significant obstacle for Nash. Things would have been different during his time as a Marine, but those days were long past. He’d largely abandoned his cardio workouts for weight lifting and ballooned to a solid 210 pounds. Good for stabilizing the damage done to his spine back when he’d still been a man of honor, but not so great for uphill running.

Rapp adjusted his aim a few degrees to the left and fired another round. He’d keep herding Nash up the incline as long as possible. Even after years of kissing political ass and polishing desk chairs, Michael Nash wasn’t a man to be underestimated.

Rapp started forward again, making some effort to be quiet but not going overboard. The same explosion that had damaged Nash’s back had also damaged his hearing. It was unlikely that he’d be able to separate the rhythm of human movement from the sound created by the intermittent breeze.

A historically satisfying end for the son of a bitch. Humans had evolved not that far from where they were now with very few physical advantages. They weren’t fast. Or strong. They lacked sharp claws or big teeth. Their only talent was an ability to keep going, wearing down prey until they finally stopped, stunned and unable to defend themselves.

Rapp wasn’t going to involve himself in hand-to-hand combat with a desperate former Marine who outweighed him by almost forty pounds. No, Nash would end up on his fucking knees—gasping for air and waiting for the bullet that would kill him. Or maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. The truth was that the loyal soldier Rapp had known for so long was already dead. He had been for some time. The bullet would just make it official.