Cobbs's chin snapped to the side and blood instantly began streaming from his mouth. His lips stretched into a grimace of fury and pain, he managed to hang onto the gun, but Ricci pushed close against him, using both his hand and body to keep the barrel angled upward and sideways. Cobbs hung on. Ricci had not thought he would have as much fight in him, but anger and adrenaline could give people the strength to stay committed. Still, he had to finish him before Dex got involved.

Ricci shoved against him with his chest, forcing him to stumble backward. The moment he had him off balance, Ricci jammed his right elbow into Cobbs's stomach and, as he doubled over with a groan, finally got the shotgun out of his hands.

A moment later Ricci dropped down into a squat and shoved his dive knife into the top of Cobbs's boot, putting his arm and shoulder into the blow, driving in the blade until all six inches of it had penetrated his foot and sunk into the dirt beneath him.

Cobbs released a howling, animalistic scream that grew in volume and shrillness as he tried to lift his impaled foot off the ground and realized that he couldn't. His face bright crimson, the whites of his eyes enormous, he looked down at himself and saw blood swell up around the knife handle projecting from the upper part of his boot, simultaneously draining from where the blade had cut through its treaded rubber sole. His screams reached a ragged peak of hysteria and cracked apart, dissolving into moist snuffles.

"Look what you done to me!" he whimpered, and sank to his knees, looking up at Ricci, water gushing from his eyes. Blood smudged his lips and chin like grotesque stage makeup, and there was a slurry thickness to his speech that told Ricci his jaw had either been dislocated or broken. "Oh, fuck Oh, oh, sweet God, look what you fucking done!"

Ricci ignored him. He had straightened up and could see the bushes thrashing to his left where Dex had plunged into the woods. So much for his helping Cobbs. Ricci whipped off after him, both hands around the shotgun he'd torn from Cobbs's grasp.

Dex's lead was slight and his panic flung him blindly through the low branches and undergrowth. He stumbled over roots, crashed against bushes and tree limbs.

Despite the relative bulkiness of his dry suit, Ricci closed the distance between them in less than a minute.

"Hold it, Dex! Not another step!" he called out, and pumped a fresh cartridge into the chamber of the Remington. "I mean it."

Dex halted under an arcade of pine branches. He was panting from fear and exertion.

"Turn around," Ricci said. "Slow."

Dex did as he'd been told.

Ricci moved forward, the gun barrel out in front of him, his finger on the trigger.