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Snow starts to fall, pelting down out of the sky to cover up my tracks. The sound of Raph’s crashing through the woods fades behind me. I halt a moment, taking stock of my surroundings.

I could switch back here and cover my tracks. I don’t want to lead him straight to the cabin.

I set out again, picking my route carefully. Raph yells, cursing at me. Hard to tell how close he is. The trees should keep him from spotting me, but I stay low just in case.

I hook back for a few minutes, then loop around behind where I think Raph is. I’ll go wide, and come back into the cabin from the far side; it’s the best way to be sure I’ve lost him.

I slow to a jog, then a walk. My breath is sharp in my throat. I’ve started limping, and deep breaths make my ribs scream. I don’t know how much damage I’ve done to Daniel.

Head wounds are fickle. I know that. Sometimes you can take a spike to the brain and live forty years. Sometimes you get tapped and die.

I didn’t tap him, that’s for sure. I knocked him out. Maybe cracked his skull.

Definitely cracked his skull. I felt it give.

Maybe I killed him.

I’d set out to kill him, but now I’m worried I’ve done it. I remember him digging his paddle into the water, throwing Raph’s aim off as Bo barked on the shore.

He saved Bo, and I might have killed him.

The pilot might die, too. I might have killed two men, and I didn’t really mean to. Except that I did. Except... except that I pictured it like killing a rabbit, like killing a deer. I never admitted that I’d have to look in their eyes. I never thought they might talk to me.

It didn’t occur to me until now to wonder if Daniel has parents, has a family or a girlfriend. If he regrets getting involved with Raph. If the pilot has a daughter.

But maybe they aren’t dead. Maybe I haven’t killed anyone. Not yet.

I’m glad, and angry at myself for it. I want to be empty. But I’m filling up again with fear and with guilt and with feelings I can’t even name.

I stagger up to the cabin. I half-expect Raph to step around the side with his gun aimed at me, but it’s as still and silent as ever. I walk around the side of the cabin and halt, breath caught in my throat.

The snow is red with blood, leading up to the front steps.

Bo lies sprawled at the door, his head on his paws. He lifts his head weakly when I appear. His tail thumps against the stoop.

I rush forward. “Oh, honey,” I coo at him. He licks my fingers. His fur is matted with blood, and I don’t want to touch his side in case I hurt him, but I run my fingertips lightly over his fur.

He snaps when my fingers find the bullet hole, but he pulls his head away from me when he does. I’m not afraid he’ll bite me. It’s been a long time since I was afraid of that.

The bullet went in at the back of his neck, by his shoulder, half-obscured by the bite from the wolf-dog. There’s a lot of blood, but he’s breathing and he’s alive.

I tell myself he’ll be all right. He’s too tough to die.

I step over him to open the cabin door and then coax him inside. Even though I can feel the time I have left before Raph finds me slipping away, I pause to give him a whole heap of rabbit meat while I wash off the blood. I tear up blankets and tie them around the wound.

It’s hard to get the bandage to stay in place, hard to convince Bo to let me wrap him up. I have to loop long strips around his neck and his chest, over and over again, and by the time I’m done the bandage is bleeding through and I have to change it. And all the while I’m waiting for footsteps outside.

It feels dangerous to be there. Exposed. Easy to stumble across, even though I know how hard it is to find anything, even something the size of the cabin, in these woods.

I tell myself we’re safe. That Bo will be all right.

I don’t believe any of it.

I don’t have a plan. A goal, sure, but that’s not a plan. Of all of the scenarios I imagined, none of them ended with me leaving Bo behind. The bullet’s still lodged somewhere inside him, and he’s still bleeding. He whimpers every few seconds. His breathing is shallow. He’s lying on his side, watching me like he expects me to fix it, but I can’t.

This is all my fault. If I’d just shot the pilot, we could have gotten in the plane. We could have left. Bo would be fine. I’d be sipping hot cocoa by now.

Raph is coming for us.