My God, it feels good to be here. I’ll bet I could sleep ’til noon. And tomorrow, when I am fresh again, and my mind is better able to function, I will determine where things stand, and what I should do next. Yeah, tomorrow . . .

Sleep claimed me as its own and took me far away.

CRASH! I STRUGGLED UPWARD FROM A deep and dark place.

What was that? What time is it? Is it morning already? Why is it so light?

My sleep-drugged and unfocused eyes came open to find the interior of the cabin illuminated by a dancing, flickering light. I sat up and looked around. What the hell is it? Then I knew—fire! Had the old woodstove burst? Who cares now—the only thing is to get out! A glance told me the front of the cabin was burning furiously. I leaped out of the bunk, yelling as my feet hit the floor.

“Danny Ray! Parker! Get up! Get up! We’re on fire! Get out of here! Get out!”

Both men rolled out of their beds and looked about wildly. At that very instant a fusillade of gunfire erupted outside, the shots tearing through the door and the front windows, bullets gouging long furrows in the floor and knocking chunks of wood out of the back walls.

We were under attack! Leon had found us here!

“Down! Hit the floor!” I yelled as my friends stood gaping in confusion. “On the floor!”

A blazing bottle hit the edge of the window and exploded in a shower of flame as gunshots continued to pound the cabin. I grabbed the shotgun from beneath my bunk and fired back out through the shattered window.

Bloooom! Bloooom!

The shotgun roared and echoed horrifically within the confined space of the cabin, but it did its job—the shots stopped for a second.

I glanced across at my friends, who were both huddled on the floor near their bunk. I knew what I had to do.

“Parker!” I called as I slid the shotgun across the floor. “When I hit the door, empty the shotgun out the window. Then both of you haul ass out the back door. Get to the boat and call for help!”

Parker looked at the gun that had come to rest near his hand. He shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said in a tortured voice. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”

Danny Ray didn’t hesitate. He scrabbled across the floor and tucked the butt of the shotgun in his shoulder.

“R-r-ready!” he said as he gave me a steady look.

I retrieved my pistol, grabbed two magazines from the shoulder holster, and looked back at Danny Ray.

“When I get to the door, open fire. When you’ve emptied the magazine, get out. There are five more rounds in the butt pouch on the gun—reload as you go. And there’s more ammo in the boat.