Using every ounce of strength I possess, I haul Pickles onto the steps. He’s too heavy to pull completely from the water, but I’m able to get his head and shoulders out. “Pickles, where are you hit?”

“Went in at my armpit … angled into my side…”

“I need to go get her,” I say. “Will you be okay?”

“Go,” he whispers.

I don’t want to leave him, but we’re sitting ducks here. If she spots us, there’s no doubt she’ll kill us both.

Giving his hand a final squeeze, I rush up steps that are slick with mud. At the top, keeping low, I go right, toward the place I last saw her. Brush tears at my slacks as I make the sprint. If I can get behind her, I might be able to surprise her. I hear sirens in the distance, but I can’t tell how close they are. My .38 is heavy and reassuring in my hand, but I’m ever aware that I have only three shots left. Better make them count.

The roar of an engine sounds to my left. I glance over and see headlights. At first, I think a sheriff’s deputy has arrived, but the position is wrong. Then I realize it’s Weaver. She must have hidden her vehicle in the trees beyond the outhouse, and now she’s making a run for it.

I hit my lapel mike, but quickly realize it’s dead from being immersed in water. I run to the Explorer, yank open the door, jam my key in the ignition. I grab my radio mike and flick on my emergency lights. “Ten eighty! In pursuit! Old Hochstetler place.”

The radio crackles with voices and codes. A sheriff’s cruiser is northbound on Old Germantown Road, less than a minute away. I’m turning my vehicle around when the cab is suddenly filled with light. I glance left to see headlights bouncing wildly. Coming directly at me. Too fast. Too close. I jam the shifter into reverse and hit the gas. The Explorer lurches backward, but not fast enough to avoid the collision. Headlights blind me. I see the front end of a pickup truck. Then I’m jerked violently left. The air bag deploys, punching my face and chest like a giant fist. My head slams against the driver’s-side window hard enough to shatter the glass.

I sit there for a few seconds, dazed, unable to move. As the air bag deflates, I regain my senses. I look right and see taillights disappearing down the lane. Weaver’s running, I realize, heading toward the road. The Explorer’s engine died on impact, so I restart it and stomp the accelerator to the floor.