The woman on the porch looked at Jack in wary confusion. Standing in the snow behind her were two men and a woman in tactical gear, weapons in their hands. At the tree line, another figure held a long gun.

The female officer lowered her pistol.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Just … put down the hammer. You’re okay.”

He stood, gripping the handle. Matty was slumped into him, his arm slack around Jack’s neck, his eyes closed. The woman raised her hand, and behind her, the weapons dropped.

“He’s got her,” Jack said.

The woman pushed back her trapper hat and looked into Jack’s eyes—really looked. She had a kind face. She glanced at Matty. She spoke sofly. “Why don’t you put down the hammer?”

“Okay.”

She nodded, as if he’d answered a question correctly. “Is this your brother?”

“Yes. He’s Matty.”

“He looks hurt.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I think you should let us look at him.”

“Don’t take my brother.”

“We don’t want to take him. We just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“Is there anyone else inside?”

“No.”

She nodded again. Another woman came forward with a pack that had a white cross on it and pulled Matty from Jack’s arms. She carried him into the cabin, followed by a couple of men. Bright lights flashed on. Jack blinked and turned a half pace. Matty lay on the bed, his little body wrapped in a space blanket, the medic bent over him, talking.

“Minor cuts and breathing’s shallow. Body temperature is 93 degrees. I need an IV, fluids. Matty? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. You’re safe now. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

Jack moved his swollen tongue inside his mouth. He brought forth words: “Aluminum box.”

The woman officer looked at Jack quickly. “Show me.”

He didn’t move. She watched him. “Okay,” she said. “You just stay here. You’re all right.”

“He took Ava.”

“We know. Doyle’s out looking for them.”

Other officers were appearing in the room. A man dressed in black said, “We got a medical transport coming. ETA ten minutes.”

Jack swayed a little.

“Let’s have you sit down,” the woman officer said.

“I want to look for her.”

“You can’t.”

“I have to.”

“You can’t. You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Maybe a little?”

“Yeah.”

She sat him in the chair and crouched beside him. She took his hand and squeezed. “Look,” she said. “You’re kind’ve a mess. If you go out there searchin’ for her, you will die. Okay? You need to stay here, with your brother. Doyle’s out there. If anyone can find her, he can. Doyle’s the best. He’ll find her.”

“He’s looking for her?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’ll find her?”

“Yeah. He’ll find her.”