The merc dove for cover, and Xavier fired. The makeshift gun was true, and the shot landed above the chest plate, embedding in the merc’s shoulder, just above the right clavicle. Not a killing blow, but an exceedingly painful one.

A Molotov to the chest should incapacitate him to the point where Xavier could claim the AK. As he prepared to light the improvised explosive, a shrill scream split the night.

A woman’s scream.

He didn’t pause to come up with a plan. No time to grab the rifle from the masked merc. He just reacted, bolting for the post office and the woman who meant everything to him.

One minute, Audrey was huddled in a ball listening to the sound of explosions, and the next, she heard glass shattering on the other side of the vestibule wall.

The window inset in the door. It had to be.

She looked through the rows of post office boxes—each had a tiny glass pane at the front—to see into the front room. Light from the lodge—they must’ve gotten the generator going, as planned—lit the opening as a gloved hand reached through the shattered window and twisted the knob on the dead bolt.

Someone must’ve spotted her entering the post office, and now that they were under attack, they’d come for her.

She turned for the back door and threw up the old-fashioned wood beam that barred it. She didn’t take time to grab her pack as she bolted into the forest that backed up to the post office.

The night was no longer pitch-dark. With the generators on, halogen lights mounted to high poles lit up the grounds like a stadium and bled into the forest, reducing her options for hiding.

That had been the plan—a weapon to be employed against mercenaries—but now she was caught in the same trap.

She sprinted through the lit woods, jumping over logs and roots like they were hurdles. This was the race of her life, and she wasn’t a runner. Never had been.

A shot rang out. She mistimed a jump, and she landed hard, face forward onto hard ground littered with rocks and sharp sticks.

She pushed herself up, pressing her palm on something sharp, and was moving forward before the pain registered, before she was even fully on her feet.

Her pursuer was right behind her. He caught her foot, and she went down again, letting out a sharp scream.

He yanked her back. She screamed again. Wondered why she hadn’t been screaming all along. But then, screaming took breath, and she’d been too focused on running to spare her lungs for anything else.

He dropped, the length of his body pressing her into the dirt. Her breath left in a rush, silencing the screams that were her only hope at this point.