The Rescue

The trail's easy to follow. They're running now, panicked, no thought to covering tracks. Boot prints deep in the snow, broken branches, disturbed undergrowth. Blood drops. One of them's hit, bleeding as they move.

I'm closing the distance.

The forest is silent except for my breathing and the crunch of snow under my boots. The rifle's in my hands but I'm watching for movement, listening for voices. They can't be far.

Then I hear it. Someone struggling through the brush ahead. Crashing sounds. Heavy breathing.

Fifty metres. Forty.

I see him through the trees. One of them, lagging behind the others. Clutching his side. The blood trail leads right to him.

He doesn't hear me coming.

Training takes over. Rifle slung across my back. Knife in my left hand. Close the distance. Fast. Silent.

He turns at the last second. Eyes go wide. Mouth opens to shout.

I drive the knife up under his ribs. Angled. Precise. His shout becomes a wet gasp. He stares at me, confused, like he doesn't understand what's happening.

I pull the knife free. He collapses into the snow.

No time to think about it. The others will have heard. I'm moving again, faster now.

The next one's closer than I expect. He's stopped, looking back, probably wondering where his friend is. Sees me coming. Goes for the knife at his belt.

Too slow.

I'm on him before he gets it clear. Left hand drives the knife into his throat. Right hand clamps over his mouth. He thrashes. I hold on. Training. Procedure. Wait for it.

He stops moving.

I lower him to the ground. Pull the knife free. Wipe it clean on his jacket.

Three left. They have Zoe.

I hear voices ahead. Shouting. Arguing. I move toward them, slower now, more careful.

Through the trees I see them. A small clearing. The three remaining men. And Zoe.

They've stopped running. One of them has her, knife to her throat. The other two are watching the forest, weapons ready. They know I'm coming. They're waiting.

I stay in the trees, assessing. Thirty metres away. Clear sightlines but they've positioned themselves well. If I shoot the one holding Zoe, he might cut her throat as he falls. If I shoot the others first, he definitely will.

No clean shot. I need to get closer.

"We know you're out there!" one of them shouts. Not the one holding Zoe. Taller, older, some kind of leader. "Show yourself or she dies!"

Zoe's eyes are searching the trees. Her face is pale, blood on her chin, but she's alert. Watching. Waiting.

I move through the trees. Circling. Looking for an angle.

"I'm serious!" the leader shouts. "Come out now or I tell him to do it!"

The man holding Zoe presses the knife tighter. She winces. A thin line of red appears on her neck.

Everything slows down.

I step out from the trees. Rifle in my hands, barrel pointed at the ground. Trying to look harmless.

"Alright," I say. Voice steady. "I'm here."

The leader grins. "There you are. Drop the rifle."

I lower it to the snow. Slowly. Carefully. My left hand stays on the stock.

"And the knife."

I pull it from my belt. Drop it.

"Smart man. Now step back."

I don't move. I'm watching Zoe. She's watching me. Something passes between us. Understanding.

"I said step back!"

"Let her go," I say. "Take me instead."

The leader laughs. "Why the fuck would we do that?"

"Because you're all going to die if you don't."

The laugh stops. His expression hardens. "Big words from someone with no weapons."

I don't respond. Just hold his gaze.

He nods to the man holding Zoe. "Do it. Teach him—"

Zoe moves. Drops her weight suddenly, pulling down. The knife misses her throat by centimetres.

I'm already moving. Training. Instinct. Rifle comes up. Left-handed. Natural. The leader's reaching for his weapon.

I shoot him first. Centre mass. He drops.

The third man's turning, axe raised. Second shot. He goes down.

The one who was holding Zoe has lost his grip. She's rolled away, scrambling through the snow. He's going after her, knife still in hand.

I'm running. No time to work the bolt. I drop the rifle, grab my knife from the snow as I pass.

He's nearly on her. Raising the knife.

I hit him from the side. We go down hard. He's bigger than me, stronger. The knife's still in his hand. He swings it. I block with my left arm. The blade catches my sleeve, cuts through layers but misses skin.

We're grappling. Rolling. He's on top. Knife coming down toward my face.

I catch his wrist with my left hand. Hold it. He's pushing down. Using his weight. The blade's centimetres from my eye.

My right hand still has my knife. I drive it into his side. Once. Twice. Three times.

His grip loosens. The pressure stops. I shove him off. He falls to the side, gasping, hands clutching the wounds.

I stand. My knife's still in my hand. Red to the handle.

He's looking up at me. Scared now. Bleeding out.

"Please," he whispers.

I don't respond. Just watch him until the light goes out of his eyes.

---

Silence.

Just the wind and my breathing.

Five bodies. Three in this clearing. Two in the forest behind me.

Nine total. All dead.

I did that.

"Jamie."

Zoe's voice. Quiet. Shaking.

I turn. She's sitting in the snow, hands still bound, staring at me. At the knife in my hand. At the bodies.

At what I just did.

"It's okay," I say. My voice sounds distant. Not mine. "You're safe now."

I move toward her. She flinches. Actually flinches.

She's scared. Of me.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I say. Softer now. "Let me get those ropes off."

She nods. Slowly. Still watching me like I'm something dangerous.

I kneel beside her, cut the ropes binding her wrists. Then her ankles. My hands have started shaking. The knife slips and I have to grip harder, force myself to concentrate on the rope instead of the bodies behind me.

The ropes fall away. She pulls her hands to her chest, rubbing her wrists where the rope left marks.

"Are you hurt?" I ask.

"I'm fine." Her voice is tight. "I'm okay."

She's not. Bruises on her face. Cut on her neck. Split lip. Shivering violently. They took her without a coat.

"We need to get you warm."

I stand, move to one of the bodies. The youngest one. Roughly her size. His coat's thick, waterproof. I pull it off him. Efficient. Mechanical. Like I'm field stripping a rifle.

When I turn back, Zoe's watching again. That same expression. Fear mixed with something else. Recognition, maybe. Like she's seeing someone she doesn't know.

"Here." I hold out the coat.

She takes it. Puts it on. The blood on my hands leaves marks on the material.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes."

"We need to move. Get back to the cabin before dark."

She nods. Stands. Sways slightly. I reach out to steady her and she pulls away.

The movement's small but I feel it. That distance. That new thing between us.

"I'm sorry," she says. Voice breaking. "I just... I need a moment."

"Take your time."

But we don't have time. The sun's getting lower. The temperature's dropping. We're both running on empty.

I retrieve my rifle. Reload it with a fresh magazine. Check the chamber. The routine helps. Gives my hands something to do that isn't killing.

"Ready?" I ask.

Zoe nods. Won't quite look at me.

We start walking. Back the way I came. Following my tracks in the snow. She stays a few paces behind me. Not beside me. Behind.

Like I'm something to be watched. To be kept at distance.

The forest closes in around us. Cold and silent. And between us, unspoken, is the weight of what just happened. What she saw me do. What I'm capable of.

What I've become.