I rolled over, got hands and knees on the ground, was grazed by a fist, scrambled up.
Fingers dragged at my ankle.
My behavior was ungentlemanly. I kicked the fingers away—found the man’s body—kicked it twice—hard.
Jack’s voice whispered my name. I couldn’t see him in the blackness, nor could I see the man I had shot.
“All right here,” I told Jack. “How did you come out?”
“Top-hole. Is that all of it?”
“Don’t know, but I’m going to risk a peek at what I’ve got.”
Tilting my flashlight down at the man under my foot, I snapped it on. A thin blond man, his face blood-smeared, his pink-rimmed eyes jerking as he tried to play possum in the glare.
“Come out of it!” I ordered.
A heavy gun went off back in the bush—another, lighter one. The bullets ripped through the foliage.
I switched off the light, bent to the man on the ground, knocked him on the top of the head with my gun.
“Crouch down low,” I whispered to Jack.
The smaller gun snapped again, twice. It was ahead, to the left.
I put my mouth to Jack’s ear.
“We’re going to that damned cottage whether anybody likes it or no. Keep low and don’t do any shooting unless you can see what you’re