I drop into a crouch behind a thick pine, pressing my back against the rough bark. The gun feels impossibly heavy in my hands now. I’m glad I didn’t take my gloves off, or my fingers would be too numb to grip it.
"—fucking freezing out here?—"
"—should've caught them by now?—"
"—Iosef's going to have our asses if we don't find her?—"
It sounds like there are three of them… maybe four? I can't tell exactly. I peer around the tree trunk, and I can see them. They’re maybe a hundred feet from me; three men in dark winter gear, rifles slung over their shoulders, moving through the trees in a loose formation.
They’re searching for me.
"—probably dead already—" one of them says, and the others laugh.
"That pretty little thing? Shame. I would've liked a turn. Maybe we would have gotten one if we brought her back."
“I heard she screamed really pretty when Iosef enjoyed her the first time.”
There’s more laughter, the back-slapping chuckles of men trading jokes. The rage that floods through me is so intense it's almost blinding. My vision narrows, my breath coming faster. I can feel my pulse in my temples, in my wrists, everywhere.
They're laughing about what was done to me. Like it was entertainment. Like I was nothing. Their only disappointment is that they won’t get to do it, too.
My hands stop shaking.
I rise slowly, stepping out from behind the tree. The gun comes up, and I'm not thinking about technique or aim or anything other than how badly I want to see their blood on the snow, how much I want to see a flash of fear in their eyes before they go down.
I want them to stop fucking laughing.
"Hey!"
My voice cracks through the cold air like a whip. All three men spin toward me, their eyes going wide with shock, and for a moment, nobody moves.
Then one of them—the one who made the comment about wanting a turn—grins. "Well, well. Look what we have here."
The man next to him unslings his rifle from his back. “Looks like she saved us the trouble of tracking her down?—”
Before I can think twice, I pull the trigger.
And nothing happens.
What the fuck?I shake my head, trying to clear it. Safety. There's a safety. Where's the fucking safety? My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest.
"Stupid bitch doesn't even know how to use a gun," the first one says, and they all start laughing again.
That sound—that fucking sound?—
My thumb finds a switch on the side of the gun. I flick it and pull the trigger again, aiming toward the middle of where they are.
The recoil nearly knocks me on my ass, and the shot goes wide, bark exploding from a tree to the left of the men. But it wipes the smiles off their faces.
"Get her!" the one on the far left shouts, and then they’re moving, spreading out to circle around me. I fire again, and again, not knowing if I’m hitting anything. I just keep pulling the trigger, the gun bucking in my hands, the sound deafening.
One of them goes down—I don't know if I hit him or if he's taking cover. The other two are closing in, moving fast, using the trees for cover.
I’m not going to take any of them down, I realize, with a feeling that approaches despair. I think I’m out of bullets… or close. I have to get out of here before they catch me.
I turn and run, bolting through the trees. A branch hits me in the face, opening up the wound on my mouth again. I nearly trip and fall, wrenching my ankle, but I keep running through the snow, the drifts threatening to drag me down with every step. Behind me, I hear shouting, and I know they’re going to catch me. They're faster than me. Stronger. Not injured.
A hand grabs the back of my jacket.
