Lyle went under the water, his rifle barely held above the surface.

Max fired at Reed’s new position and Reed fired twice at Max, one bullet hitting the dirt near Max’s right foot, the other chipping the bark off a tree in front of him. In the river, Lyle came up for air and lunged toward the safety of the northern bank. Max fired once more to cover Lyle and then dropped to the ground to await Reed’s return fire, which never came.

Max’s heart pumped hard. It wasn’t the first time he’d shot at someone who was shooting at him. He had been trained for such things, and the training came back to him like muscle memory, but the rush of adrenaline, and fear—and yes, excitement—always seemed to punch him in the chest.

“You okay?” Max yelled.

“He got me.” Lyle winced from the pain. “In the back.”

Shit. That changed everything.

Lyle clung to the far bank, his bare legs dangling in the water, his back pressed against the tree roots. He still had his rifle. Max had no hope of getting Lyle back to the Minnesota side of the river as long as Reed held his position in the woods. He had to figure out a way to draw Reed away from the river.

Max stripped off his coat, held the shotgun above his head, and dashed to the rapids, jumping far enough out to splash down past the midway point, the frigid water punching the air out of his chest. He held the shotgun above the surface as best he could and came up for air only a few feet from the Canadian side, close enough to the bank to be out of Reed’s line of sight.

Lyle had an exit wound just below his clavicle. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and his breathing came in hard, labored spurts. He looked like hell. Max needed to get him out of that river, and fast.

“I’m going to draw him into the woods, away from the river. My backpack’s about twenty yards upstream. Dry clothes.”

Lyle twisted in pain, but he managed to eke out, “I’ll… cover you.”

“You get your ass across the river as soon as you can.”

Lyle’s backpack lay about twelve feet ahead of Max and next to the pack lay Lyle’s coat and clothing. Max would grab what he could as he ran by. He had only one shell in his shotgun, and would have to save that for Reed, if he could find him. The sun gave no heat, but enough light for Max to see the terrain. Little else.

“On three?” Max said.

Lyle gripped Max’s arm with icy fingers. “Find—Pip,” he said, his words hitting hard and sharp, like the blade of a cleaver. “Save—him.”

Max couldn’t think that far ahead. He needed to get Lyle out of the freezing water. He was about to run through a clearing that Reed had set up as a kill zone. But Pip was somewhere on the other side. How many bullets could Max take and stay on his feet? He had to get to the woods and then keep going—no matter what.