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through the air.
    The bear brought its great paws crashing down on to the front of the second snowmobile, crushing it instantly and sending the pilot tumbling across the snow. The huge beast ignored the man, now curled into a ball on the ground in a last-ditch effort to protect himself, and launched herself at the last two snowmobiles which were trying to take evasive action. One swipe of the bear’s huge paw sent one driver flying into the trunk of a nearby tree. Directly behind, the driver of the fourth snowmobile piloted the craft straight into the animal. The driver was thrown from the snowmobile, but the bear was propelled backwards, letting out a roar of pain and anger as she came down on to all fours.
    Anderson, covered in snow, used the momentary distraction to get to his knees. Using the broken snowmobile as a rest, he laid his rifle on the top and aimed at the bear through the weapon’s night sight.
    The bear, recovering and still protecting her cubs from the perceived threat, reared back once more on to her hind legs, raising her arms above her head, ready to smash them down into the body of the driver which had hit her. And then her chest erupted in a spray of blood as Anderson opened fire, peppering the thousand-pound mammal with an entire magazine of high-velocity ammunition.
    Anderson watched in wonder as the bear stood still for several moments, as if contemplating her injuries. Anderson was halfway through reloading his rifle when finally, with a deep, rumbling groan, the huge animal fell to the ground, dead.
    Moments later, ignorant of the danger, the two cubs came bounding over, nuzzling the dead bear and emitting wailing cries.
    Anderson ignored them, anger taking over. The snowmobiles were out of action, and who knew what state his men were in.
    With a sigh of resignation, he accepted that Karl Janklow had escaped.
    Janklow finally came to rest at the bottom of the mountain. Even though the snow was thick and deep, he had still smashed into fallen branches, rocks and stones on his way down. He was badly battered and barely conscious. He staggered to his feet, half falling through the last of the trees, and stumbled out of the forest on to the dark grey asphalt of a road.
    He turned one way, then the other, and saw lights heading towards him.
    He held back, worried it might be more soldiers from the base, but then he saw the multi-levelled lights and realized it was a commercial truck. Almost delirious with the joy of a survivor, he stepped out into the road, waving his good arm frantically.
    The truck sounded its horn, and Janklow wondered if it was going to hit him and end everything right there and then; but then the brakes were applied, and the huge truck started to slow down.
    By the time the truck driver got out of the cab to help him, Janklow had passed out and lay unconscious on the icy road, his head filled with a single thought before oblivion.
    I’ve made it.

2
    A LYSSA D URHAM’S FINGERS pinched the tiny outcrop of rock with a vice-like grip, the sides of her painfully tight climbing shoes pressed against the almost sheer surface for added traction.
    She was free-climbing a one-hundred-foot granite cliff face, a short climb for her but made difficult due to the low temperature, which ensured the wall was covered in a thin layer of ice.
    In earlier years, she would have done the climb as a free solo, without ropes for protection, but now, as the lone parent of a beautiful eight-year-old daughter, she was not willing to risk making that child an orphan. And so she used ropes, but only to save her if she fell – she wouldn’t use them as an aid in her climbing.
    Her daughter, Anna, was higher up the mountain, skiing. Alyssa was a good skier herself, but Anna was something else – she’d started at the age of five and shown a natural aptitude for it. They went to the mountains every opportunity they got, which wasn’t as much as Alyssa would have liked. Her job was demanding, and there was