For a few minutes the woods feel quiet.
Almost normal.
Then a rifle shot cracks through the trees.
The trunk behind me explodes in a violent burst of bark. Wood splinters tear past my shoulder and scatter into my hair.
I drop flat against the ground.
Krueger growls and sprints. One second he stands beside me and the next he vanishes into the trees, his body cutting silently through the underbrush as he disappears toward the ridge above the trail.
Another shot tears through the air.
Dirt erupts inches from my hand.
I roll behind the thick base of an oak and press my back against the trunk. My heart slams hard enough that my vision pulses with it. I force myself to inhale slowly and release the breath with control before panic can turn into something useless.
A third shot cracks through the woods.
The bark above my head bursts apart and splinters rain down across my shoulder.
I drop to my stomach and begin crawling, dragging myself through damp soil and pine needles while keeping thick tree trunks between me and the slope above. My elbows burn as they scrape across roots and gravel. My palms slip through mud while branches brush across my back.
Another shot rings out.
The sound drives straight through my chest.
I flatten myself against the ground and listen.
Then I see it.
A faint flicker through the branches higher up the ridge. A glass lens catches light for half a second, followed by the subtle shift of dark fabric pressed against the bark of a tree.
I draw my gun and lean just far enough around the trunk to fire once toward the glint.
I'm forcing him to move.
The shot cracks through the woods and shreds a cluster of leaves above his position. A branch snaps somewhere deeper in the canopy.
Silence hangs in the air for a moment.
Then his rifle answers.
The bullet slams through the trunk inches from my hip.
He is close.
The shooter stays patient.
So do I.
I crawl again, moving from one tree to another while keeping my body tight to the earth. My breathing slows as the fear in my chest hardens into something colder and more focused.
If he wants me, he will have to come lower.
The woods go quiet.
Too quiet.