Rhyme nodded. The aide undid the harness, got his arms around Rhyme’s chest and pulled him out, laid him on the ground. Rhyme tried to lift his head to see what was going on but a contracture—a merciless cramp—gripped his neck muscles and he had to lower his head to the grass until the pain passed. He’d never felt as stabbed by his helplessness as at this moment.

More shots. Closer. And more insane laughter from O’Sarian. “Hey, knife lady, where are you?”

Lucy muttered, “They’re almost in position.”

“Ammo?” Sachs asked.

“I’ve got three left in the chamber, one Speedloader.”

“Loaded six?”

“Yeah.”

A shot slammed into the back of the Storm Arrow and knocked it on its side. A cloud of dust rose up around it.

Lucy fired at O’Sarian but his giggling and the staccato response from the Colt told them that she’d missed.

The rifle fire also told them that in only a minute or two they’d be completely flanked.

They’d die here, shot to death, trapped in this dim valley between the shattered van and the cabin. Rhyme wondered what he would feel when the bullets tore into his body. No pain, of course, not even any pressure in his numb flesh. He glanced at Sachs, who was looking at him with a hopeless expression on her face.

You and me, Sachs….

Then he glanced at the front of the cabin.

“Look,” he called.

Lucy and Sachs followed his eyes.

Garrett had opened the front door.

Sachs said, “Let’s get inside.”

“Are you crazy?” Lucy called. “Garrett’s with them. They’re all together.”

“No,” Rhyme said. “He’s had a chance to shoot from the window. He didn’t.”

Two more shots, very close. The bushes rustled nearby. Lucy lifted the pistol.

“Don’t waste it!” Sachs called. But Lucy rose and fired two fast shots at the sound. The rock one of the men had thrown to shake the bushes and trick her into presenting a target rolled into view. Lucy jumped aside just as Tomel’s shotgun blast, meant for her back, streaked past, puncturing the side of the van.

“Shit,” the deputy cried. Ejecting the empty cartridges and reloading with the Speedloader.

“Inside,” Rhyme said. “Now.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay.”

Rhyme said, “Fireman’s carry.” This was a bad position to carry a quad in—it put stress on parts of the body that weren’t used to stress, but it was faster and would expose Thom to the gunshots for the least amount of time. Rhyme was also thinking that his own body would protect Thom’s.

“No,” Thom said.

“Do it, Thom. No argument.”

Lucy said, “I’ll cover you. The three of you go together. Ready?”

Sachs nodded. Thom lifted Rhyme, cradling him like a child in his strong arms.

“Thom—” Rhyme protested.

“Quiet, Lincoln,” the aide snapped. “We’re doing this my way.” “Go,” Lucy called.