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clearing, quickly looking for cover.
    “Come on, Aaron. Let's go,” Steve barked at Aaron who seemed paralyzed, standing by the fire pit, listening for the next sound. An angry man's yell. Aaron snapped out of it, just as Steve and Mike ducked behind the bushes near the canoe.
    Twigs were snapping under foot–someone or something was heading straight for the campsite. Aaron looked in all directions. Where was the noise coming from? Go the wrong way and run right into the thing making the noise. Aaron spun in a complete circle, his ears trying to penetrate the woods and differentiate from all the crunching and echoes.
    Setting a course in his mind, Aaron decided to run to the far left; he crossed the clearing at a gallop, his heart racing–no, wrong move. The noise was getting louder. Someone was plowing through the brush, just a few steps away!
    Aaron stopped short, and made a last ditch attempt to hide. Only one place. The canoe. He bolted for it and threw himself across the ground in a perfect slide for home plate. Safe.
    The “someone” finally arrived in the clearing, just visible from Aaron's vantage point beneath the upside down canoe. It was the bearded man–Jake. He stumbled out of the brush, breathing heavily, and staggered toward the canoe.
    Aaron almost let out an involuntary yelp, yet managed to stifle it. Jake's boots were now stomping over, within kicking distance of Aaron's face. After a sharp intake of breath, Aaron clamped his lips closed. Had to hold it shut. Don't make a sound.
    Jake slumped over, using the canoe as a crutch, almost tipping it over. Oh God. Aaron squeezed his eyes tight,waiting to be uncovered and discovered. But, the canoe held steady. He almost sighed in relief, but daren't move a muscle. Not till these guys were long gone.
    Then another burst of noise. Another someone had bounded from the bushes–so fast, Aaron didn't catch a glimpse of the figure, except for the steel gun brandished in his hand.
    “Hold it right there!” a strong masculine voice called out. The sound echoed around inside the canoe. Muffled, but clear enough to Aaron that trouble had arrived.
    “You… you don't have to do this,” Jake begged, in between labored breaths for air.
    “Shut up,” the voice said, abruptly.
    The fancy alligator skin cowboy boots of the figure stepped closer to the canoe, not far from Jake's cheap imitation leather boots. Aaron angled his neck slightly to see the figure's face, but wasn't about to press his luck.
    Jake tried to plead his case. “We got in and out and nobody saw us. Why are you doing this?”
    “I said shut up!”
    Aaron risked a breath–a silent gasp–as Jake began to sniffle, loudly. Then, the gun cocked with a click.
    “Stop crying.”
    “It hurts, man. It frigging hurts,” Jake whimpered. A drip landed on the dirt, a few inches from Aaron's face. And again. And again. Blood. Dark ruby red blood, pooling on the ground.
    “Where's the money? And the gun?” the voice interrogated in a harsh and harried tone.
    “Please don't kill me… ”
    “Have it your way.”
    “Gordie has it!” Jake suddenly cried. No time to be loyal now. Last chance to save your skin. Flip on your friends. Your mother. Anyone to buy a few more seconds of life.
    “That's funny, because Gordie said you had both backpacks,” the voice said with a playful sing-song to it, like a cat toying with a canary, right before he eats it.
    “Gordie's lying.”
    A strange crinkling sound cut through the thickening tension in the clearing. What the hell was that? Aaron cocked his head, curiosity getting the better of him. His eyes traveled up the figure's scaly boots, to the trouser legs, but that was all he could see; the canoe curbed his line of sight at the figure's waist.
    “I think you are the one who's lying, amigo,” said the cold voice, sending Jake into a wailing fit of sobs and blubbers.
    “Please, no, wait. Ask him again.”
    “I wish I could, but he's…” BLAM!
    Aaron almost