Page 10 of Mountain Protector

I haven’t heard another gunshot. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

As I move through the trees, I keep my Sig out, low but ready.

Shifting into battle mode, all the skills I honed as a Green Beret come rushing back.

Control my breathing. Keep it silent. Make each step purposeful but quiet. Pay attention to my surroundings, listening for any unusual sound. Look around for anything out of the ordinary—a tiny light bouncing through the woods, branches cracking, or an almost inaudible moan of pain.

But there’s nothing. Yet.

Despite my outward calm, my heart is pounding faster than usual.

Knowing that Lark could be in danger…

What if she’s hurt? Or worse?—

Shit.

I don’t want to think about it.

Maybe it’s not what I’m thinking. Maybe it’s some kids fooling around, shooting targets in the snow. Does Lark have a gun? Could she have fired it accidentally? Or?—

Another crack.

This time, not a gunshot. It’s softer. Subtler.Closer.

I freeze.

My gun raises slightly, my trigger finger tensing.

My breath stills.

Another soft crack. From my right. About ten yards ahead.

Then another.

Five yards now.

I can hear someone breathing. Not just breathing, but short, shuddering gasps.

Someone hurt? A burglar? Assailant?Lark?

An icy calm takes over.

If it’s a threat, I’ll take care of it. Restrain them until the police can get here.

As the person continues toward me, I raise my gun another few inches. My jaw sets.

Then.

A tiny sob.

Just as I aim my flashlight in their direction, a small person bursts through the trees. Stumbling. Weaving. Crying.

Not any person. Lark.

I lower my gun as I rush toward her. Pitching my voice low, I ask unnecessarily, “Lark?”

But of course it’s her. It couldn’t be anyone else.

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