“He should have been back already,” I say.

“He’s fine, John,” Sam says. “He’s BK, the most resilient beast I know.”

“He has a broken leg.”

“But two healthy wings,” Six counters. “He’s fine. We have to keep going. They’ll figure it out soon, if they haven’t already. We have to stay ahead. The longer we wait, the closer they’ll get.”

I nod. She’s right. We have to keep going.

After a half mile the river takes a sharp turn to the right, back towards the highway, away from the hills. We stop and huddle beneath the low branches of a tall tree.

“Now what?” Sam asks.

“No idea,” I say. We turn in the direction in which we had just fled. The helicopter is closer now, its spotlight still sweeping back and forth across the hills.

“We have to leave the river,” I say.

“Yes, we do,” Six says. “He’ll find us, John. I promise.”

We hear an eagle’s scream high in the treetops not far off. It’s too dark to see where he is, and perhaps too dark for him to see us. I don’t think twice about it, even if it will give away our position—I aim my palms towards the sky and turn my lights on, letting them shine as brightly as I can for a full half second. We wait, listening with our breaths held and heads craned. And then I hear a dog’s pant, and Bernie Kosar, changed back into a beagle, comes charging up from the riverbank. He’s out of breath but excited, his tongue falling from his mouth and his tail whipping in the air a thousand miles an hour. I bend down and pet him.

“Good job, buddy!” I say, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

And then it happens, a quick end to a celebration that was only just beginning.

While I’m on bended knee, a second copter shoots up over the hill behind us, instantly hitting us with its bright spotlight.

I bolt to my feet, blinded at once by the glaring beam.

“Run!” Six says.

We do, sprinting up the nearest hill. The helicopter drops down and hovers so the wind off its rotors beats against our backs and causes the trees to bow. The forest floor is a haze of debris, and I drape my arm across my mouth to breathe, keeping my eyes squinted to alleviate the stinging dirt. How long until the FBI is called?

“Stay where you are!” a male voice blares from the copter. “You’re all under arrest.”

We hear shouts. The officers on foot can’t be more than five hundred feet away.

Six stops running, which causes Sam and me to do the same.

“We’re toast!” Sam yells.