She stopped, crouched down in the shade of a tree, made herself small.

The pattern of the gunshots had changed. Short, jagged bursts. Had they run out of pistol ammunition? She heard another burst of gunfire. She saw, she thought, a muzzle flash; she heard the sound of a heavy object collapsing against wood; she forced herself not to think of bodies. Though it could only be a body.

Ahead of her, in the second row, a face appeared at the rear window of a cabin. The window frame was pushed roughly out, breaking a hinge. A boy of her own age pushed his arms through, braced them against the outer wall of the cabin, pulled hard. He forced one shoulder out, then the other, snaked his body through. He hung, upside down, then landed catlike on the faded grass. He paused, listened, then sprinted up the path toward the clearing. As she watched, another face appeared at the window, a girl this time, looking out.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps on the grass, heavy, relentless. The sound of a door swinging open. She saw—she felt—the panic in the girl’s face as she stared toward the door of the cabin. She heard a commanding male voice.

“Please remain calm.”

She saw—she felt—the girl’s confusion. The girl stood there, her face in profile, framed by the window. How close she was. Three meters, perhaps four.

The girl made to say something.

A sharp burst of gunfire. The girl stood there still, expression draining from her face. Then she fell out of sight. She heard the girl’s body as it collapsed onto the wooden floor.

Christ.

She pushed herself in among the trees, stared out at the path. That girl—there and then not there.

Please, Lord Christ, make this stop.

The face of the taller man appeared in the window, looked out. As he did so, his companion rounded the corner, stood on the path between her and the cabin. She hunkered down, made herself smaller still.

Please, Christ. Oh, please. Please, Lord.

She had to control her breathing. She knew she was approaching panic, and that panic would kill her. Weird that she could remember the school drills so well. Macabre. She had to quiet her breathing, her raging pulse. She had to damp down the desire to stand up and scream. Because these men, she knew, would cut her down.

It was dark here in the cover of the trees, and the men were standing in direct sunlight, and perhaps that simple fact would be enough to save her. She began counting as she breathed.

In, two, three, four.

Hold, two, three, four.

Out, two, three, four.

It hurt to breathe deeply, made her wonder where the bullet was lodged, made her hope her lung was okay.

Both men were in front of her, terrifyingly close, though she had not seen the short man move.

“Re-up?”