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vomit again as he held back the mop of bloody hair to feel for the carotid artery at the neck. There had been nothing.
    He choked back his tears, bitterly regretting that he had got her into this situation in the first place.
    Janklow kept skis in the back of the SUV. Shorter than conventional skis, they were designed for cross-country use, a sport he enjoyed and one of the reasons why he had chosen this remote posting. He’d made it across the road with his skis and boots just seconds before Anderson’s team had arrived on the scene, and was off down the mountain before Anderson reached the annihilated SUV.
    But now, with the cold wind whipping against his face as he shot down the mountain, weaving in and out of the trees, he heard the sound of engines behind him, high-pitched, straining.
Snowmobiles
.
    He knew they would be able to catch him but he would not give up. The will to survive, to
live
, overrode his fear, adrenalin pushing him further and faster than he would have thought possible. Part of his mind wanted to give up, to just sit down in the snow and wait for the killers to finish him off. But a deeper part, one he never knew existed within him, spurred him on. And so he continued his run for freedom.
    Colonel Anderson piloted the lead snowmobile, leading a squad of four vehicles down the mountain, powerful headlights letting him see all obstacles long before he reached them.
    He knew Janklow had a head start, but against engine power, the man had no chance. And the tracks in the snow were as clear as day.
    Anderson admired the man for his efforts, and the evening’s action was certainly a diverting change from the normal routine, but it would soon be at an end.
    The sound of the snowmobiles was louder now, and the snow around Janklow was lit up by the snowmobiles’ headlights.
    And then the terrifying sound of gunfire penetrated the still air once more, and Janklow watched in terror as the soft snow was ploughed up around him, missing his skis by inches.
    He swerved in and out of the trees faster, cutting down at an angle across the mountain to a narrow pass that he thought the larger vehicles might not get through.
    He saw the lights turn to follow him, bullets ripping up more of the snow. He hit a shelf and jumped, flying through the cold air for what seemed an eternity before landing, taking the shock through his knees and hips, careening up on to a single leg before regaining his balance and carrying on down the steep slope.
    He heard gunfire again, felt something hit the back of his arm. Looking down, he saw a gaping wound in his coat at the bicep, and realized he’d been shot, the bullet passing straight through his arm. He felt dizzy, started to lose balance, but then his peripheral vision caught movement, and he momentarily forgot about the pain and shock and turned to see what it was.
    His eyes went wide as he saw two small bear cubs. They stopped playing and watched him. Even as he carried on down the hill, his mind processed the information that the bear cubs were scared. And that would mean—
    The adult bear came charging towards him, snow churning up behind it, teeth bared and reflecting dimly in the faint moonlight. Janklow’s heart almost stopped, but he aimed himself towards a log with a drift of snow lying up its side. He sailed up it just as the huge animal reached out for him. He flew off the other side in a high arc, hit the ground and stumbled, blood loss from his arm making his coordination suffer, and then he was rolling, the skis striking the ground and flying off into the trees beyond, his body curling into a pain-filled ball as it shot down the mountainside.
    Anderson recognized the sound and knew he should avoid the area but he simply didn’t have the time, and before he knew it his headlights picked up the ferocious image of a bear charging through the snow towards him. He pulled off left at the last minute and his snowmobile slammed straight into a tree and sent him sailing