In the biting cold, he got to his knees. He could hear only his heart. He looked toward the house but could see nothing. The hammer was still in his hand. If they found the footprints … “Listen to me,” he said. “If they find us, you are going to run. Don’t look back. Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Just say you will.”

She lay watching him. Snow clumped in her hair, her lips tinged blue. “No. I won’t.”

“You have to.”

“I won’t leave you.”

They lay there for a long time, but they were freezing, and finally he crawled up. There was only the night and the snow. Dreary field, shadows of blue. Shape of the house beyond. The barn. He thought of Matty at the motel. Alone. “We can’t just stay here,” he said. “We have to move.”

He gripped the case, and they staggered out from the ditch. A moment later they stumbled through the standing birch. Slipping and lurching. At the edge of the field, they stopped to listen. Hot pang in his side. He stood looking at the broken ends of branches. Bootprints.

Stillness.

They blundered on, cutting a perimeter around the field. Gray light breaking. He had to pause to get his breath. They crouched, watching. Seeing nothing.

They’d left, then.

Or. They were lying in ambush.

He mumbled. “Let’s wait awhile and see.”

Ava said something. Maybe asked a question.

It was hard to stand. So cold. Blood moving slower. He thought of Matty. He tried to decide what to do, but his head swam. All this thought of running. He couldn’t run. “We just have to get to the car,” he said.

Ava took the case from him. “Get up, Jack. You have to stand up.”

“If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

“I know.”

She led him across the snow. Foot tracks everywhere. When they got to the car, she opened the door and pushed him into the passenger seat and hurried around and got in. Lugging the briefcase into the back. The house stood in the distance. Shrouded in the grudging dawn. He began to think they had a chance.

She started the engine and he turned, looking for a sign of them, but other than the tracks he saw nothing. Snowflakes began falling, and she turned the wipers on. Jack’s eyes kept lolling shut. How long could a person go without sleep? I’m coming, Matty. Hold on.

His eyes were half closed when headlights flared over the car from behind. Jack winced as dizzying lights shone on them. He shielded his eyes and wrenched about to look out the back window.

It was the F-150.

Ava didn’t look at him. She kept her head straight and hit the gas.

XXIII