ONE GUNSHOT, silence, and after fifteen seconds two more in rapid succession. I sense Gabby has got off a shot as The Chatterbox enters the smokehouse. He may be down, but he’s not out. Or, she may have missed him altogether. The next two shots come from the weapon of The Chatterbox, of this I’m deadly certain. He’s finished Gabby off as she swings helplessly from the ice-hook. Barely conscious, I wriggle my body to a stairway and roll myself off the deck, falling to a dirt path leading to the smokehouse. It’s church-quiet; not even the wild-life dare makes a peep. I wiggle like an earthworm along the path. From the direction of the smokehouse, I hear a low moan. Hope? No. A rustle and a gunshot. After that, everything goes black.