Sight UnseenHalleck never heard the sharp crack until the bullet knocked him over. Lying bleeding and sightless, the brittle shards of snow gale-driven on his skin, another cold stabbed through him as he heard the little girl cry out. Instinctively, numb with the wind and frozen with fear, he lifted his head, drew a breath and yelled, “Stay down.” Then he prayed that if there was a God she would stay down, that she would not get up, let herself into the deadly cross hairs that found him, that she at least would survive. At the same moment, he felt his shoulder, the warm blood cooling in the gelid December blasts, he doubted that she could. Somewhere out there, up to half a mile away, hidden, unseen, unhurried, an expert sniper was lining up his next shot. He did not want Halleck. His bullets were not for him. They were for Janey. And unless he could think of something in the next three seconds, one of those bullets would find her, exploding her little head like a dropped melon. Cold and powdery, the swirling snow had gathered knee-deep around him, miring him down. Throbbing in his shoulder, the pain, at first hot and sharp, was strangely dull. Not cold, he knew, but shock. And suddenly, unexpectedly, terrifyingly, he felt faint, dizzy. Not now, he thought, please not now. Lifting his head again, exposing himself too much, he shouted, “Stay down, Janey. I’m coming.” As he pulled himself toward her, another shot rang out.
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