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we found, but it’s not his fault.”
    Chris lowered his weapon, exhaled and said, “Shut the fuck up.”
    A man behind him said, “What do you want to do now? They’ve seen it. They know we have it now.”
    Chris whirled and said, “You shut the fuck up too! Let me think.”
    Jennifer saw a trail of dust in the distance, from the other side of the creek, and thought she was going to be okay. The rancher coming to run them off again. An unexpected savior. She was wrong.
    Two four-door trucks blasted across the shallow creek, one breaking right, the other left, pinning the SUV. The doors blew open, and more men armed with assault rifles appeared, all dressed in tactical clothing full of bellowed pockets and rip-stop nylon. A man wearing a blue windbreaker held out his hand, a wallet with some type of gold badge within. He shouted, “Federal agents! Put down your weapons.”
    Still on her knees, Jennifer saw the man on her left drop his rifle and raise his hands. On her right, Chris said, “Bullshit! They’re Blackhorse!”
    Jennifer heard a peculiar snap in the air, a crack like a whip, and knew instantly what it was. She was one of the unfortunate few who had experienced a supersonic bullet fired at her in anger. She dove into the earth, clawing forward toward the cover of the creek bank as the men around her started firing.
    She went down on her belly into the creek and began crawling as the battle raged around her, rounds snapping over her head. She reached the far bank and scrambled upwards, peeking behind her. She saw a platoon of men, much more than the single SUV that had initially pulled up, all of them armed with assault weapons and firing. She heard a noise like a drowning hamster and saw Sweetwater behind her, begging for help.
    She pulled him up and said, “Don’t say a word. I give the command, and we run.”
    He nodded, eyes wide.
    She watched the firefight, seeing the rounds spray the dirt and hearing the puncture of sheet metal. She waited for the initial shock to wear off and the men to form some plan of attack. There was a lull in the fire and she heard shouting from the pickup trucks.
    Almost time.
    She heard a groan and something like a burp. She turned to find Sweetwater on his knees, throwing up. She said, “Get ready.”
    Sweetwater nodded, a sickly look on his face and a string of bile hanging from his lip to the ground.
    The men in the truck all rotated forward and she knew what was coming. The first round cracked and she shouted, “Now!”
    She began scrambling on her belly as fast as she could, knowing all the men would be focused on the fight. She went as far as she could on her stomach, then raised herself to her elbows, clawing the dirt and flying forward. Eventually, she rose into a bear-crawl and kept going. She looked behind her and saw the firefight a hundred feet away. She rose to a crouch and heard a noise. She whipped to her left and was surprised to see Sweetwater still with her. She stood up and started running.
    They were fifty yards out, the sound of the fight behind them, when they heard the thump of the rotor blades.

Chapter 8
    I crawled into the lowest terrain I could find, scrambling under a patch of scrub and held up fast, knowing that movement would expose me quicker than anything else. The helicopter lifted off from the other side of the bunker, a Bell 407, and came screaming across the terrain, skimming much faster than was necessary before it reached a good flight altitude. Apparently, it was going somewhere in a hurry.
    The rotor wash passed over me, and I was glad for my choice of attire. Jennifer always complained that I dressed like I was going to get shot at on a daily basis, but today it had paid off. Had I been wearing some fashionable spandex jeans and a froo-froo shirt, I’d have been caught dead to rights. I would have to remember to tell her that.
    When I saw her.
    I waited a bit, then began crawling forward again. It was slow going. A sniper stalk. When