Page 119 of Ensnared

Carnage.

Thereare more than four men here.Threebodies are sprawled and splattered in the clearing, one over by the tree line.Itry to avoid looking at the gory chunks torn from their sides, their heads, and just take in features, clothing.

NotBeau.

NotDom.

Myrelief is short-lived though.Heartin my throat,Iwatch as men move behind the tree line, leaning out to fire shots and then curving back behind protective trunks.Gunfireflies in every direction, and it’s hard to make anyone out in detail.

Inotice, though, that one crack of noise sounds louder than the others.Closer.Turningmy head slowly,Ican just make out a man dressed all in dark brown lying flat along another branch, just a few trees over from mine.Hisbranch protrudes far out over the clearing and he’s much farther forward than me.Hefires down into the trees, a killer in the canopy.

Mybladder starts to quiver, andIpress my forehead to the branch beneath me, breathing shallowly.Hehasn’t seen me.I’mokay.Everythingisfine.

“Fuck!Beau, get that goddamn sniper!”

Myhead lifts atDom’srough order, eyes scanning the clearing.Ican’t see him.Ican’t see either of them.

“Kindof busy right now,”Beaushouts back with a grunt, as though the air has left his lungs.

Reliefmakes me dizzy.Alive.They’reboth alive.

ThenwhatDomsaid registers.Thesniper has to be this man in the tree.Theway he’s lying on the branch, he must be almost impossible to see from below.Butfrom up here...

Fearlocks my muscles for a moment.It’scrazy.Ican’t do this.Ican’t do anything about this.I’ma librarian, not someG.I.Jane.Sweatbeads at my temples, under my arms.

Ican’t do nothing.

Withmore effort thanI’dlike to admit,Iunclench my grip on my branch and ease back as slowly asIcan.Idonotwant to draw attention to myself.WhenI’msureI’mdeep enough into the leaves thatIwon’t be seen,Istand and, holding nearby branches asIgo, make my way toward the adjoining tree.

Thebenefit of these woods is that the trees have grown densely, so it’s not too hard to work my way from tree to tree untilIthinkIreach the one the sniper is on.AsIclamber quietly onto one of its nearby limbs, a bullet collides with the trunk behind me, smashing a deep gouge in the wood and sending splinters flying.

Myhand wraps around my throat to catch myself before my scream escapes.Ihave to swallow it back three times beforeI’mconfident it will settle.

Ireally hopeDomorBeaudoesn’t accidentally kill me whileI’mtrying to help them.

Frozen,Iwait on the branch by the trunk, waiting to see if the bullet disturbed the shooter.Whennothing shifts in front of me,Ishakily get down on my hands and knees.

Aftera moment of hesitation,Ipull my pocketknife from my belt.Itwill make climbing more difficult, but being armed makes me feel better.

Marginally.

Thelimb is thick and wide and it protrudes far over the clearing, so it takes a few moments of shuffling through the cloud of leaves beforeIcatch sight of the sniper.Whenthe boots come into view,Ibreathe a sigh of relief.Despitethe thick branch,Iwas half-sure he’d have felt me moving along it and thatI’dclear the leaves only to find myself facing the barrel of a gun.

Ipause again about a foot from him, realizingIhave no idea what to do next.Stabhim?Howquickly can he turn around and point that thing at me?Inervously realize we’re about fifteen feet in the air.

Ihave to dosomething.

WhileIhesitate, the sniper tenses and fires off three more shots.Stomachbottoming out,Idon’t think.Ithrow myself forward and push his legs to the side, hard.Heyells, twisting and trying to keep his hips on the branch, and his flailing pushes him more off balance.

Buthe keeps hold of the firearm.

Thegun spooks me, andIshuffle up quickly and shove at his hips, wanting him to let go.

Hislower half falls off the branch.

Theman’s eyes widen in fear, and he drops the weapon to clutch at the branch as he begins to slide off, only just catching himself from a complete fall.Thegun drops to the ground, splitting apart, and a sob escapes me, butIquickly turn my attention to the dangling man.Thisclose,Ican see his eyes are brown, and his face is gaunt and dirty.Helooks like someone who used to frequent my library.He’syoung—younger than me, definitely.Hecould be anyone.

“Helpme,” he gasps, scrambling at the tree limb for leverage. “Help.”

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