LITMIR.BIZ

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firearms.”

      Behind him, one of the girls turned up the music and began dancing. Ritter slammed the hood of the Hummer. Von clapped his hands. “Everybody, let’s go.”

      Gabe glanced at them edgeways. “I’ve been on one of these role-playing weekends. In Finland, with a bunch of think-tank guys. Executives playing Cold War. One side gets captured by a Russian tank, then out pop the 'Soviet’ invaders—a bunch of Finnish lingerie models in Red Army hats. They had real Kalashnikovs, but it was obvious at a glance they’d been deactivated. The barrels were plugged. The firing pins had been removed. Colored tags were hanging from their muzzles to identify them as 'safe,’ ” he said. “Whatever this game is, it’s a bad one.”

      “Let’s go.”

      Jo was planning to drive straight down the mountain to the sheriff’s station. When she got there she’d tell the deputies about this drunken rodeo.

      Behind her, Dustin stood by the door of the Hummer. “Lark, where’s Peyton?”

      They looked around. The blonde in raspberry velour had wandered into the trees.

      “Peyton,” Lark called.

      Dustin shouted, “Mackie, get back here. We got boot camp. And after that, you got escaped felons to hunt.”

      He reached into the Hummer and picked up the AK-47 from the front seat. “Peyton, come back before I come after you.”

      He slung the strap over one shoulder like he was Rambo. The muzzle began to come up.

      Gabe jumped at him. “Don’t.” He got his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. “Aim the barrel downrange. Never aim it at anybody.”

      Dustin spun away. “What’s your problem? The gun’s fake. Fake.”

      He ostentatiously swept the rifle in an arc, aimed it at the trees, and pulled the trigger.

      The rifle fired. Four shots in a close burst, the sound cracking the air. Orange flame spit from the barrel, cartridge casings ejected, and the rounds hit the trunk of a pine. One two three four, splintering the wood in a rising progression.

      The girls screamed. For the time it took to blink, Jo stood shocked. Then she yelled, “Get down,” and dived to the ground behind the pickup.

      Gabe lunged at Dustin, twisted the rifle from Dustin’s grip, and shoved Dustin away from him. “What the hell are you doing?”

      Dustin stared at the rifle with horror. “Jesus, what—? That thing . . .”

      Peyton ran into the clearing. “What was that?”

      Autumn clenched her fists in front of her mouth. Her eyes looked like silver dollars. Dustin gazed at her, baffled and terrified.

      For a moment, the echo of gunfire stank around the clearing. Ritter looked stunned but hyperalert, as if ready to jump—in what direction, Jo couldn’t tell. Von, his face white, raised his hands calmingly.

      “Sorry. It was supposed to be a surprise. My fault,” he said.

      Gabe spun on him. “Surprise?”

      “Live-fire exercises when we get to the assault training course.” He tried to smile. “That shouldn’t a happened.”

      Autumn raised both hands and said, “That’s it. I’m out.”

      She stalked toward the back of the Hummer. “This entire thing is screwed. Where’s my phone? I’m calling my dad.”

      Von turned. “No.”

      She opened the luggage compartment. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

      She froze. Then she screamed.

      In the luggage compartment, a large green duffel bag had fallen partially open. A body was stuffed inside. A man’s blood-soaked shirt was visible. Autumn lurched back. Friedrich charged, grabbed her by the hair, and twisted her to her knees.

      Gabe took the rifle in both hands and brought it up and got his finger on the trigger. But behind him came the sound of a slide being racked on a semiautomatic pistol. Von and Friedrich both had guns in their hands, aimed at his head.

      “Put it down,” Von said.

      Jo saw Gabe inhale. He was calculating. But the gunmen were too far apart to guarantee he could hit them both before they could get him. And there were too many people in the field of fire.

      “On the ground,” Von said.

      Gabe put the rifle down and raised his hands.

      For a moment the air seemed to tremble. Then the young man with grier on the back of his shirt turned and bolted for the trees.

      Friedrich swung his gun and sighted it on the kid’s back. The boy pounded toward the forest, arms flailing.

      Autumn and Lark screamed, “No.”

      “Friedrich,” Von yelled.

      Friedrich fired. The shot blew Grier off his feet.

       Chapter 11

      Grier dropped to the dirt like a bag of sand. The shot echoed. Blood bloomed through his shirt. Autumn screamed, a loud, continuing wail.

      Ritter shouted, “What are you doing?”

      Jo lurched to her feet. And found a pistol pointed at her face.

      “Don’t move,” Friedrich said.

      A quicksilver fear rolled through her. Friedrich looked frantic. The gun was matte black. The bleak eye at the end of the barrel wandered across her face.

      She struggled to keep her voice level. “I’m holding still. I’m unarmed.”

      Peyton applauded. “Bravo.”

      She wandered to the center of the clearing, offering a big, slow handclap. “Give Grier a hand.” She whistled. “Grier, you can get up. Take a bow.”

      Autumn pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

      Peyton waved, broadly, at Jo and Gabe. “And welcome our newest escaped convicts.” She laughed again. “Don’t you get it? They’re with Edge.”

      Dustin looked like he’d just pissed himself. Noah stood, hands raised, blinking like a strobe light. Gabe was sweeping the scene with his gaze, checking that nobody else with a weapon was behind him. He was looking for an out.

      Von aimed his pistol at Ritter. “Get Grier out of sight. Into the trees.”

      Ritter cringed across the clearing. He picked up Grier’s feet and began dragging him away. Von casually took out his phone and snapped a photo of the body.

      Peyton watched, swaying. Grier’s face dragged along the dirt, painting a trail with blood. Slowly, finally, understanding fired in her eyes. She gasped. Then she ran for the trees jaggedly, arms extended, hands like starfish.

      Von picked up the rifle and tossed it to Friedrich. “Get them all in the Hummer.”

      He racked the slide on his pistol and charged after Peyton.

      Autumn screamed, “No!”

      Friedrich shoved her into the Hummer, then swung the gun toward Dustin. Hacking—“Don’t shoot me”—Dustin stumbled in after her. Autumn clutched at him. Friedrich leveled the gun at Noah’s knees.

      “Chill, man. I’m going.” Hands out, gesturing for calm, Noah climbed in as well. Lark was right behind.

      Friedrich grabbed Jo by the biceps and beckoned Gabe. “You too. Right now.”

      Gabe’s gaze was riveted on Friedrich. On Friedrich’s momentum and direction and his jittering gun hand. Jo knew what he was thinking, what he was desperate to signal to her:

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