Or how many times you’ve been.

He wiped frozen stuff from his bad eye and tore down the snowy road and into the valley. Black sky. Unsteady passage of time. Seconds or hours. Shivering. Even with the heater cranked. He was starting to feel a fever.

Come on, Jack.

Just make it awhile longer.

A few miles from Matty, the engine made a whining sound and sputtered. Then it quit. Jack cranked the steering wheel to pull the Bronco off the roadway and onto the shoulder before it rolled to a stop. He turned off the ignition. In his mind he heard the bullet plink. So. It hit the fuel tank.

Headlights punched holes in the darkness ahead.

He looked in the rearview mirror, trying to listen. Drum of blood in his ears. No sound of trucks behind, no lights. He had no way of knowing if there was cell coverage up at the campsite. No way to know how quickly they might come after him. Had they called Red? Were they out there already, waiting to trap him? He had the knife in his hand, had not stopped gripping it. In the weak green glow of the dashboard, he could see the dark-smeared tip.

You’ve got to move, he thought.

He thumbed on the overhead light to brighten the cab. On the passenger seat lay his clothes. Coat. Shirt. Jeans. Boots. He blinked. Yes, they were there. Sitting on the seat like a miracle. He pulled everything on. Shuddering violently now. Mouth dry. Fold knife and tuck in coat. He searched the glove box and the floor under the seats, but there were no weapons.

No food. No sip of water.

His blood was all over the steering wheel.

Hurry.

He pushed open the Bronco door and touched his boots to the snow. When he stood, all his hurts stretched open to raise fresh pain throughout his body. He held on to the truck and counted slowly in his head until he marked a slight settling of the hurts. Taste of sweat on his lips. Weak light from the cab. He looked into the cargo space behind the seats. Something lay there on top of a tarp.

The axe.

He lifted the latch to fold the seat forward and reached in and hauled the axe out. The agony took his breath. He waited, holding the side of the truck. Count to five. The old house where he’d left Matty lay east, through a field. Matty would still be there. He would. Jack wouldn’t think anything else.

Call if I’m not back by dark.