Page 71 of Dark Sky

“You can’t do this,” Joe said urgently to Boedecker. “Wecan’t do this.”

“Sure we can,” Boedecker said as he strode across the filthy floor and snapped back the bolt on the door to unlock it. While he did, Joe spun on his heel and lunged at the rolled-up bedroll.

In his peripheral vision, Joe could see Boedecker throw open the door and fill the doorframe. He held his hands up to show he didn’t have any weapons. Price whimpered and tried to pull the spear out of his body with both hands gripped around the shaft.

Joe slid the .22 rifle out of the bedroll and opened the bolt. His fingers trembled as he tried to fit a small cartridge into the chamber. He dropped the first round to the floor and snatched out a second. He shoved the rest of the loose cartridges into his parka pocket.

As he worked the bolt and pulled back on the knob until it was cocked, Boedecker yelled, “I’m coming out, Earl. I’m unarmed. Joe’s right behind me.”

Before he stepped out into the gloom, Boedecker looked over his shoulder. When he saw Joe with the rifle, his eyes got big and he said, “What in the hell are you thinking, Joe?”

“Go,” Joe said. “Get out of here.”

For once, Boedecker didn’t seem to have words available. His eyes beseeched Joe to toss the rifle aside and follow him outside.

Then a sloppy bloom of red exploded from between Boedecker’s shoulder blades at the same instant there was a massive short-range shotgun blast. It was close enough to the open front door that Joe saw the tip of the tongue of orange flame.

Boedecker spun on his feet until he was facing inside, then dropped to his knees in the doorway. A second blast took off the side of his head and he fell face-first onto the cabin floor.

Joe heard Earl say, “Jesus, Brad. Did you have to do that?”

“You said no witnesses,” Brad answered.

“That was fucking Brock,” Earl said. “He was one ofus.”

“His name isn’t Thomas, Dad.”

As Brad talked, his voice got clearer and louder. He was walking heavily through the snow toward the front door.

Price froze and watched Joe as he raised the rifle and aimed it toward the open door. When Brad filled it, he was illuminated only by the glow of the heating coil. He held his shotgun loosely at his side. Joe said a prayer that the old rifle would operate and he placed the front sight on Brad’s glowing face just above his beard and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened. Brad heard the sound and squinted toward its origin. Apparently, he couldn’t see Joe clearly in the gloom.

With shaking hands, Joe ejected the bad round and reached into his pocket for a fresh one. He couldn’t see well enough to know if the lead faced the correct direction while he rammed it into the chamber, but he assumed it was okay because the bolt didn’t seize up. Joe cocked the rifle again and raised it.

Crack.

Brad staggered and reached up with his free hand and covered his face as if he’d been stung by a bee. He cursed and backpedaled out of the light.

“What the hell happened?” Earl asked.

“Joe shot me,” Brad answered with alarm and disbelief. “He shot me.”

Joe ejected the casing and fitted another round into the chamber.

“Joe, come on,” Earl said plaintively. “You didn’t need to do that. I thought you were a bad shot, but you proved me wrong, I guess. But this Price asshole means nothing to you.”

Joe took several strides toward Price and kept the muzzleaimed toward the open door. He thought he had a minute at most before Brad came back or either Earl or Kirby arrived.

He grasped the back end of the spear and pulled hard. Joe could feel the spear tip release from the log. The tip of the spear was barbed for fish, so he didn’t pull it back through Price’s flesh.

“Come on,” Joe said to Price.

“Where?”

“Follow me.”