“Gun!” I shouted.

That made her react. Mallinger quickly removed her hands from her pocket and went for her Glock. It was too late. Testen fired his gun. Mallinger was hit. She spun hard to her left and collapsed on the driveway.

I did a foolish thing. I moved forward. Not toward Testen, trying to get his gun—nothing as brain-dead heroic as that. I went toward Danny, wanting to help Danny. I might have even called her name.

Testen fired again. How he missed me from that distance I don’t know. The explosion jolted me back into the reality of the moment. My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. Outside Fit to Print I had been a deer caught in the headlights. Now I was a deer running, covering asphalt in a hurry as I dashed down the driveway toward the street.

The sound of multiple explosions followed me.

I wasn’t running out of fear, I tried to convince myself. The point of running was to find a better place to fight, to give myself a chance. To give Danny Mallinger a chance. I couldn’t help Danny if I was killed. I needed to escape so I could call for help. Yeah, sure.

I crossed the street and kept running toward Jail Park. Oak, pine, spruce, ash, and birch trees loomed above me, bending and swaying in the hard wind. The boulevard of snow between the street and the trees slowed me down. It filled my boots and immediately began to melt. Floundering, once falling, I pushed myself forward, knowing I made an inviting target in the bright moonlight.

I heard another explosion.

My heart beating wildly, breath coming in rasps, an ache in my side—how is this possible, I wondered. I play hockey thirty weeks out of the year. I work out three-four times every week. How could I be so out of shape? I pressed my hand hard against the ache and kept running.

Finally, I was there. Inside the park, surrounded by trees and underbrush. I squatted against an oak and searched for Testen. He was at the edge of the park and coming in. He was watching the ground, trying to follow my tracks in the snow. He seemed confused. The moonlight barely penetrated this deep into the forest and he was having trouble following my trail.

I fumbled for my cell phone, stopped. There was something on my hand. Blood. I didn’t have an ache in my side because of running. I had been shot. I opened my coat, pulled up my shirt. More blood. I grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it against the wound. The snow quickly darkened. My body heat melted it and rivulets flowed into waistband of my slacks. The damage didn’t seem too bad in the moonlight, but what did I know? I gathered more snow and held it against my side while I worked my cell with one hand, using my thumb to punch the numbers 911.

“Officer down.”

I spoke so quietly the operator had trouble hearing.

“Officer down,” I repeated, forcing my voice higher. I gave the address, explained that Mallinger had been shot and by who—that I had been shot—that I was being stalked by the shooter. The operator didn’t seem to believe me, kept saying, “You’re kidding.” Still, she passed my call for help to both the city of Victoria Police Department and the Nicholas County Sheriff’s Office without hesitation. She told me to stay on the phone.

Testen’s head jerked up and he held it at an angle that suggested he was listening for something. I deactivated the cell phone. I was breathing deeply and rapidly and the noise distressed me. I covered my mouth with my hand, hoping my breathing sounds wouldn’t be heard at any distance.

I wondered how long it would take for help to arrive. If it was the Twin Cities, the first squad would have been on the scene within two minutes. But this wasn’t the Cities. There was no telling where the nearest cop could be.

The wound wasn’t bad. Movie heroes would call it a mere flesh wound and then ignore it. Pardon me if I wasn’t as hardy as those guys. I gathered up another handful of fresh snow and winced in pain as I pressed it against the injury. I started running some more, pushing deeper into the woods.

The snow didn’t seem quite as deep under the thick trees, only about a foot. It was hard going, but not as hard as it had been. Still, after fifty yards I was breathing rapidly and I began to feel warm inside my coat. Soon I was perspiring freely. I had trouble seeing in the woods and tripped several times over branches hidden in the snow. I dug up one of them and began carrying it as a weapon—it was three feet long, two inches thick, and better than nothing.

The branch gave me confidence. My original plan was simple. Avoid Testen, cross the park, find a street, find a house, wait for help, don’t get lost, stay alive—simple. Now I was thinking about taking the battle to him, wound or no wound. Circle around and attack Testen from behind. Or lie in ambush and hit him as he passed.