Damn it, Eric, move away. Pay less attention to that tent and more—
Dalton wheels. He shoves Cypher hard, and the big man staggers, and I run forward, my gun out. Cypher lunges at Dalton with a roar. Dalton dives out of his way and comes back, ducking Cypher’s swing and grabbing his arm, wrenching it behind his back, which would be the perfect move—if Cypher was in any mood to consider the ramifications of a broken arm. But he’s a bull seeing red, and when Dalton gets his arm in a lock, he heaves, bucking.
Behind me, Anders shouts, “Stop!” Of course it doesn’t work—there’s no way the two men can hear him. I’m running. Dalton has Cypher in a headlock, down on one knee, and the big man is still bucking and writhing, and Dalton’s shouting at him to stop, just fucking stop, you goddamned idiot. Cypher doesn’t stop, and Dalton shoves him to the ground, one foot on his neck. I race down the incline, mouth opening to tell Cypher I’ve got a gun on him—not that I expect he’ll care. That’s when Cypher does stop. Completely stops. And says, “Huh.”
I follow his gaze and see a snow-covered metal bear trap, jaws wide.
“Yeah,” Dalton says. “Huh. I saved your foot, you idiot.”
“You coulda said that.”
“I tried, but you were bellowing like a damned—”
“No!” Anders’s shout rings through the forest. I turn and scramble back up the incline. I see Anders running, and I realize he wasn’t yelling at Cypher to stop—he was yelling at the guy he’d been chasing. Who has stopped. He’s looking in Anders’s direction, and behind him is Sutherland, running toward him as fast as he can, knife drawn.
“Shit!” I say, and I break into a run, but I know it’s too late. Anders is only about twenty meters from the man, and even he’s not going to make it in time. Sutherland is almost on him, and Anders shouts, “Don’t you dare! He’s standing down. He’s not—”
Sutherland tackles the man, who’s been staring at Anders in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell Anders is yelling. Sutherland and the stranger go down. Sutherland raises his knife, and Anders shouts at him to stop. Then Anders is slipping, trying to run faster than he can in snow, and he goes down hard on one knee.
Sutherland stabs the man. The blade rises and falls over and over, blood arcing, red dotting the snow. I’m yelling, Dalton’s yelling, and then Anders is back on his feet, and he’s running, and Sutherland just keeps stabbing. I see Sutherland’s face, and I shout instead for Anders to stop. Please stop. Stay back.
But there’s no way Anders can stop when someone is being murdered in front of him. He grabs Sutherland, and the hysterical man swings the knife. Anders says, “Hey!” and avoids the blade. He backs up, one hand extended as Sutherland snarls, frothing mad, hunkered down and dripping with blood.
“Hey, now,” Anders says, his voice low, soothing. “You don’t want to do this, Shawn.” He keeps one hand up, warding off Sutherland while the other hand slides to his holstered gun. “Just put the knife down and—”
Sutherland lunges.
FIFTY-THREE
Anders tries to back away, but he slips in the snow again and falls flat on his back. Sutherland raises the knife. I fire. The bullet whizzes past Sutherland, but it’s enough to startle him.
“Yes,” I say, as I keep advancing. “That was a warning shot. You won’t get a second, so put down that knife.”
He’s heaving breath, blood dripping down his face, and my mind shoots back to high school, reading Lord of the Flies. Is this what we truly are? Always one step away from this. From cracking. From losing whatever keeps us from attacking anyone who comes between us and what we want.
Standing over a man with a knife. Walking up to a man with a gun. It’s all the same really. For some, that barrier is harder to crack. Not with me.
I say, “I’ll shoot you, Shawn. If you even twitch in Will’s direction, I will shoot you,” and that’s no idle threat. I will. I must.
“It’s okay, Casey,” Anders says. “Everything’s under control.”
“No,” I say. “Everything will be under control when he drops that knife. Throw it toward me, Shawn. Or I will shoot.”
“Shawn?” Dalton calls behind me as he runs up. “Do as she says, okay? Will was just trying to help.”
Sutherland doesn’t see us. Doesn’t hear us. Not really. All he sees is the deputy who tried to stop him, and that makes Anders a threat.
“Drop the knife,” I say. “On the count of five, you will drop that knife, or I will fire.”
“No one wants to hurt you,” Dalton says. “Drop the knife and step away from Will.”
Sutherland only adjusts his grip on the knife, his gaze fixed on Anders.
“Five,” I call. “Four—”
Anders kicks Sutherland in the leg and rolls fast as his attacker drops, knife stabbing down, hitting the ground right where Anders had been.
Dalton and Cypher are both on Sutherland in an instant. He slashes, catching Cypher in the sleeve, but they get him down, spread-eagled, as Anders pulls the knife from his grip.