Joey Putata and a guy in a blaze-orange hunting jacket pushed their way through a tangle of vines hanging from a dogwood tree. The guy in the orange jacket had heavy sideburns and the kind of coarse virulent beard that had to be shaved three times a day and a little hat with a feather in the band. Joey Putata was carrying a 12-gauge Mossberg slug gun and the guy in the orange had a Ruger Redhawk .44 Magnum revolver. Joey’s eyes were still black and green from the beating Charlie had given him, but here he was, tramping through the woods. Some guys are stupid all the way through. The guy in orange ducked down under a branch but didn’t duck far enough. The branch knocked his hat off and a slug of fresh snow fell down his back. He said, “Sonofabitch,” and then they stopped.

Joey Putata said, “You think we’re far enough?”

The guy with the hat said, “How the fuck I know? Let’s go that way and see if we can find Tony and Mike.” Tony and Mike must be the other flankers.

From a very long way off there were two quick booms. Joey got excited and said, “Maybe we got’m.” When he said it, he shoved the guy with the hat, and the guy with the hat turned sideways and saw me. I shot him once in the chest. The .357 slug hit him square in the sternum like an express-speed brick and punched him back into the vines. I said, “Hey, Joey. Don’t you ever learn?”

Joey brought up the Mossberg, but he didn’t bring it up fast enough. I shot him once in the neck and then I was moving back toward the field.

When I came out of the tree line, Pike was running toward the LeBaron. Charlie and the other three guys were gone and so was the black Town Car.

Pike said, “He took off a couple of minutes ago, heading away from town.”

I came up next to Pike and reloaded the .357. “He’s betting that the others are making for a road behind us and he’s gone to look for it.”

Pike cocked his head. “I don’t figure he’s looking. I figure it’s the side road he came at us from and he knows just where it leads.”

“Great.”

We set off south across the field, running side by side past the little feed shack and falling into an easy rhythm. When we made the woods, it was easy to see where Karen and Toby and Peter had passed. The damp mat of dead winter leaves was kicked up and branches and small winter-dead saplings were broken.