"The only thing I need, you bastard, is to be left alone."

"Tyler . . . ."

"Cowards!" I yelled, some part deep within me shocked at this insanity, but the rest reveling in it. "That's all you are! Cowards! Go home, Tom. Get all warm and dry in your nice warm cabin. Kiss your wife hello and don't worry about me. Just . . .go home. I'll do this myself."

For that one horrible second in time, all I felt was hate. I hated them all, but I think, more than that, I hated myself.

"Tyler, please. . . . ."

"No! Leave me alone!!"

He wouldn't, though, and grabbed me in a tight bear hold that I didn't have the faintest prayer of escaping, insane or no. Like some sort of trapped and wild animal, I fought for all I was worth, kicking and scratching and even biting, but he bore my rage patiently.

And when my rage turned to grief once again, he turned me in his arms, held me close and tight, and stroked my dirty, wet hair as I sobbed my sorrow into his massive chest.

"Is Pop ok?" I asked from my position on the couch, my badly damaged knee thoroughly cleansed and swaddled in several layers of towels and propped on two pillows.

Tom smiled slightly at me as he entered the living-room from Corinne's room, where he'd taken Pop when we'd arrived back at the cabin. "Yeah. He was having some chest pain. From the tension, I think."

I sat up straighter. "He needs to get to a hospital then."

"Nah. He's stubborner than you about those things," he said with a pointed glance. "I gave him the medicine he takes for those attacks and he's resting fine now. A little sleep and he'll be better."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's happened before. Doc Steve checked out his ticker and it's ok, for the most part. Just relax. He'll be fine." He crossed the room to stand beside the couch. "How're you?"

"I'm ok."

"You really need to get that knee checked out, Tyler. I'm not a very good nurse."

"You did just fine. And I will. Have it checked out, I mean. Later."

He chuckled. "Peas in a pod, you are." Then he looked out the window. "I just checked with John on the CB. The rain's setting to clear and we're getting ready to go back out again."

"Ok."

Smiling, he reached out and ruffled my hair before turning to leave.

"Tom?"

He turned back. "Yeah?"

"I just want you to know I'm sorry for what I said back there. I didn't mean any of it, you know."

"I know, sweetie. Grief makes us do some crazy things. Just remember, Morgan's my friend too. And I'm not gonna stop until I find her. None of us are."

Suddenly shy, I looked down at my hands. "I know," I mumbled, yet again on the verge of tears. "And that means the world to me, Tom." Then I lifted my chin and looked him dead in the eye. "I need for you to believe that."

"I do, Tyler. Believe me. I do."

Several hours later, Pop shuffled out of the bedroom, his hair a corkscrew of tangles, his eyes red, his face pale and drawn and stubbly with a couple day's growth of beard. "How ya holdin' up, Tyler?" he asked, voice rough with sleep.

"I've been better. You?"

"Same." He yawned and stretched, then sat down in the chair next to the couch upon which I was lying. "Any news?"

"No."

He nodded, then looked out the window. "Weather's cleared up. That's good, at least."

"Thank heaven for small favors." It sounded sarcastic and, in truth, it was. I was hanging on by the tiniest, most frayed of threads, but more determined than ever not to again give into my anger and sorrow.

And, indeed, the night had cleared beautifully. The breeze seemed gentle as it swayed the pines and the stars and moon formed a beautiful tapestry across the sky above. Tom had opened the windows before he left, and the air was cool and fragrant as it brushed against my skin.

We sat for awhile in companionable silence, listening to the chorus of frogs as they chirped for their mates.

Then they went silent and I looked over at Pop, who'd also noticed and was rising slowly from his chair, his face set in stony lines.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"Dunno. But I aim ta find out. Them bastards don't stop unless there's danger about."

"A bear, maybe?"

"Maybe. Or somethin else." Going to the corner of the room, he grabbed his rifle and threw back the bolt. "Stay here. I'll check it out."

"Not on your life," I replied, easing myself off of the couch and placing my bare feet on the warm floor.

"Tyler, ya don't need ta be getting up with yer knee like that."

"I'll worry about it later. Let's just see what's out there."

Willing myself not to collapse as the sharp spears of pain drove up my leg and into my gut, I put some weight on my leg, nodded once with teeth clamped hard enough to draw blood from my lip, and hobbled across the floor, putting my hand on Pop's narrow back as we continued through the dining-room and out to the rear of the house.

We both scanned the darkness seen through the screens of the back porch, seeing nothing save for the gently rustling trees. "You ready?" he asked me, rifle held securely in his hands.

"Yeah."

With one foot, he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the patio with me close behind.

The eerie silence continued, broken only by the rustling leaves and the hum of the wind through the trees.

"I don't see anything," I whispered.

"Me neither. That's what's got me worried."

I was tempted to shrug it off, but the tension Pop was giving off wouldn't let me. I stood still as I could, willing the pain in my leg to recede, if only for a brief second's respite.

Then I saw something; a movement in the bushes Ice had planted between the edge of our property and the road, a movement that was not caused by the wind. I stiffened, my heart racing anew, the pain finally forgotten as a new danger presented itself.

Next to me, Pop, also aware of the movement, raised his rifle slowly, socketing it snug against his shoulder. "I ain't in the mood for playin' games, whoever you are, so do us both a favor and c'mon out before I start shootin." His voice, though low, was steady and strong.

The rustling continued.

"Do it, now, or I swear to God I'll pull this trigger and ya won't be doin anything again."

After another moment, a white rabbit, fat with summer's bounty hopped from the bushes and twitched his impudent nose at us, his eyes red in the porch lighting.

I sagged against Pop in relief but he remained steady, rifle not moving a millimeter.

"What is it?"

"Rabbit's got blood on it."

"Oh shit." The tension in me redoubled and my eyes searched again the dark night.

"Last warning! C'mon out!"

A figure rose from the bushes like a beast from a nightmare, blood-covered and ragged and holding a pistol aimed directly at Pop.

My gasp of horror was loud in my own ears.

But something as close to a premonition as I'll ever be blessed with again reached in and grabbed my soul and sent my arm out pushing the rifle a way a split second before Pop would have fired. "No!" I screamed. "Don't shoot!"

"Get back inside, Tyler," Pop ordered, bringing his rifle to bear again. "I'll handle this."

"No!" I yelled again, grabbing the gun with desperate strength. "Don't shoot! It's Ice!"

"What?"

"Look, Pop! It's Ice! Don't shoot! Please!"

His eyes squinted as he looked at the gore-covered apparition who was still standing, gun pointed at him. "Morgan? That you?"

"Step away from her, old man. Step away before I kill ya."

"Do it, Pop! Put your gun down and step away. Please."

"But . . . ."

"Please!!"

Slowly, he lowered his gun and took three careful steps away from me, his eyes still glued to Ice's savaged body and glittering, deadly eyes. Her gun was rock steady as it tracked his progress.

Standing alone, I slowly raised my hands. "Ice? It's me. Angel. Please put the gun down, ok? I'm fine. He didn't hurt me. Please put the gun down."

The gun swung back to me, her expression unchanged. If the Angel of Death had form and face, I was looking at it right now. "Please, Ice. Put it down. No one's gonna hurt you, love."

Her stance wavered for a brief second as her eyes closed, then opened again. "Angel?" she whispered.

"Yes, sweetheart. It's me." I tried to smile through my tears. "Welcome home."

As if hit by a strong blow from behind, she seemed to crumple. The gun fell from her hands and she dragged herself from the bushes. I almost screamed when I saw the damage that had been done to her. Most of her clothes had been torn clean away, and she was bleeding heavily from more than a dozen wounds, including two obvious gunshots to her left thigh and right side, just above her hip. Her face was covered in blood from a heavily bleeding wound just above her eyebrow. The skin of her arms and legs were scratched and torn and covered with mud from where she'd no doubt fallen many times during her journey.

I hope I'll never live long enough to ever experience the massive strength she needed just to move those few feet separating us.

I rushed out to meet her half way, crushing her in a hug that would have killed a mere mortal.

"I killed 'em, Angel," she whispered into my ear, her voice husky and raw. "I killed 'em all. They won't hurt you ever again."

And then she collapsed against me, unconscious, bearing me to the ground with her as her desperate journey home finally ended.

"Holy mother a'god," Pop swore as he materialized beside me. "I wouldn't a believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I'm still not sure I believe it."

"Help me get her in the house, Pop," I returned, pulling my body from beneath Ice's and cradling her head in my hands. "Please."

"Alright. You get 'er shoulders. I'll get 'er feet. Let's see if we can do this without droppin' her."

On three, we lifted her carefully. Dead weight, she felt almost impossibly heavy, and my knee was seriously considering retiring from the business. I took a few shuffling steps backward before I had to stop, my leg trembling too violently with pain to bear the additional weight. Ice's head lolled between my arms.

"We've got to put her down, Pop. I can't . . . ."

"Alright, Tyler, alright. Lay her down nice an' easy. We'll figure out somethin' else."

Just then, headlights shown in the driveway and a truck came to a skidding halt a few feet from us. Tom jumped out, his face flushed with excitement. "Pop! Tyler! John just found . . . . Jesus Christ! Is that Morgan?!? How in the hell . . . ?"

I looked up at him. "Tom. Please. Help. We . . .I . . .can't . . . ."