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Nick watched the argument go down. He watched their faces, watched their body language, the gestures. He watched Marc Mercier start to pull the blue tarp off Robbie Fontenot’s Toyota, then turn to argue more with Dozer.

He was too far away to hear anything but the odd angry exclamation, but the one that counted most came through loud and clear: We killed a man!

He watched Dozer Cormier turn to walk away, and that fast Marc Mercier grabbed an axe off the top of the woodpile and swung it as hard as he could.

“Drop it! Drop it!” Nick shouted, bursting from the cover of the trees.

He drew his weapon as he ran, but the axe was already in motion, and the blade buried itself in the upper right quadrant of Dozer’s chest as he twisted around at the sound of Nick’s voice. He screamed and staggered sideways as the blade sank into his flesh, his momentum carrying the big man hard into the side of his truck. He flailed at the axe handle with his left hand, roaring like a wounded elephant. As the axe dislodged and fell to the ground, blood gushed in a torrent, and Dozer dropped to his knees.

Nick barreled into Marc Mercier with the force of a freight train, running him sideways into the wood pile.

“Get on the ground! Get on the ground!” he shouted, riding Marc down face-first, his knee between Mercier’s shoulder blades, knocking the wind out of him as he landed.

“Marc Mercier, you’re under arrest. And you had better hope to God that man doesn’t die.”