20

Levi hit Johnson with the hardest, fastest flying tackle I'd ever seen. The force of the blow tumbled them both twice over, their motions slow and blocky in the drifting snow. Levi came out on top.

Rearing up, he brought his big fist down against the side of Johnson’s head, each connection a hard thwack. “Where’s Reed?” Thwack. “Where’s Booth?” Thwack.

Johnson laughed, his mouth squelching, dark and wet. With a crazed howl, he bucked his hips, launched himself upward, and rammed his square forehead into Levi’s. “I killed them.”

Levi groaned. His eyes rolled back, and he slid sideways.

I ran forward, the scene tilting crazily.

Johnson popped to his feet, drew back a leg, and hurled a kick toward Levi’s head.

I threw myself the last few steps, intent on latching myself to that leg. Fortunately, I caught it before it gained much momentum; but the force still drove me backward. I lost my grip and landed directly on Levi, who—worryingly—didn’t make a sound. His body flopped as I rammed into him, head lolling in the snow, leaving a dark smear.

Johnson drew back his leg again, and I curled around Levi, braced for impact.

A voice cut through the clearing. “Johnson!”

Officer Booth—thank God.

But where was Reed?

Johnson pivoted and sprinted for the truck. He reached the cab in three running steps and dove in, slamming the driver’s door. The engine roared as he careened crazily out of the clearing, wheels spinning in the snow. The truck’s bumper caught the open gate on his way out, leaving it teetering at an angle.

Booth dropped to a knee and shot at the tires as the truck barreled away. The tail lights disappeared around the curve of Blackberry Ridge.

He missed.

Johnson escaped into the night.