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floods with relief as I see the boat. It is still there, bobbing in the water, and I see Ben standing there, looking nervous, watching the horizon for our approach.
    “ Our boat!” Bree yells excitedly.
    This road is even more bumpy as we accelerate downhill. But we’re going to make it. My heart floods with relief.
    Yet as I’m watching the horizon, in the distance I spot something that makes my heart drop. I can’t believe it. Logan must see it at the same time.
    “ Goddamit,” he whispers.
    In the distance, on the Hudson, is a slaverunner boat—a large, sleek, black motorboat, racing towards us. It is twice the size of ours, and I’m sure, much better equipped. Making matters worse, I spot another boat behind that, even farther back.
    Logan was right. They were much closer than I’d thought.
    I slam on the brakes and we skid to a stop about ten yards from the shoreline. I throw it into park, open the door, and jump out, getting ready to race for the boat.
    Suddenly, something is very wrong. I feel my breathing cut off as I feel an arm wrap tight around my throat; then I feel myself being dragged backwards. I am losing air, seeing stars, and I don’t understand what’s happening. Have the slaverunners ambushed us?
    “ Don’t move,” hisses a voice in my ear.
    I feel something sharp and cold against my throat, and realize it’s a knife.
    It is then that I realize what has happened: Rupert. The stranger. He has ambushed me.
     
     

 
T H R E E
     
     
    “ LOWER YOUR WEAPON!” Rupert screams. “NOW!”
    Logan stands a few feet away, pistol raised, aiming it right past my head. He holds it in place, and I can see him deliberating whether to take a head shot on this man. I see he wants to, but he’s worried about hitting me.
    I realize now how stupid I was to pick up this person. Logan had been right all along. I should have listened. Rupert was just using us all along, wanting to take our boat and food and supplies and have it all to himself. He is completely desperate. I realize in a flash that he will surely kill me. I have no doubt about it.
    “ Take the shot!” I scream out to Logan. “Do it!”
    I trust Logan—I know he is a great shot. But Rupert holds me tight, and I see Logan wavering, unsure. It is in that moment that I see in Logan’s eyes how scared he is of losing me. He does care, after all. He really does.
    Slowly, Logan holds out his gun with an open palm, then gently places it down in the snow. My heart sinks.
    “ Let her go!” he commands.
    “ The food!” Rupert yells back, his breath hot in my ears. “Those sacks! Bring them to me! Now!”
    Logan slowly walks to the back of the truck, reaches in, takes out the four heavy sacks, and walks towards the man.
    “ Place them on the ground!” Rupert yells. “Slowly!”
    Slowly, Logan places them down the ground.
    In the distance, I hear the whine of the slaverunners’ engines, getting closer. I can’t believe it, how stupid I was. Everything is falling apart, right before my eyes.
    Bree gets out of the truck.
    “ Let my sister go!” she screams at him.
    That is when I see the future unraveling before my eyes. I see what will happen. Rupert will slice my throat, then take Logan’s gun and kill him and Bree. Then Ben and Rose. He will take our food and our boat and be gone.
    His killing me is one thing. But his harming Bree is another matter. That is something I cannot allow.
    Suddenly, I snap. Images of my dad flash through my mind, of his toughness, of the hand-to-hand combat moves he drilled into me. Pressure points. Strikes. Locks. How to get out of almost anything. How to bring a man to his knees with a single finger. And how to get a knife off your throat.
    I summon some ancient reflex, and let my body take over. I raise my inner elbow up six inches, and bring it straight back, aiming for his solar plexus.
    I make sharp impact, right where I wanted to. His knife digs into my throat a bit more, scratching it, and it