He laughed again, eyes wild, and kept pointing the gun at her chest. She felt the heat of the rock against her back and could not think what to do. If she rushed him he would shoot her. But if she did nothing he might shoot anyway. She was frozen with fear and helplessness. At least on the cliff face her fate had been in her hands. Here there was nothing to do.

“Look, why don’t you let me go? We won’t tell anyone what you’re doing back here, and we won’t say a word about the kid.”

A.J. shook his head exaggeratedly, like a young child hearing an answer he didn’t like. “No, no, no, Gwen. That! Won’t! Work! You’ve seen too much, you know too much, you all have to go. First you, ’cause you’re the leader now. Then your friends.”

Gwen realized with horror how helpless Tracy and Oscar were. And they believed that A.J. was dead.

“I’m impressed you made it this far by yourself,” he said. “I wouldn’t have picked you to be the one to hold it together. But maybe you’re the toughest after all.” And now he had a different kind of smile, and a chill went up Gwen’s spine. “I sure did enjoy watching you in the river.”

She thought of their rest at the edge of the creek, how good it felt to wash off several days’ worth of dirt and sweat. Now, knowing that A.J. had been watching, she felt violated, naked. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why don’t you take off your clothes for me?” he said, voice rough and low. “I’d sure like to see you up close.”

Gwen shook her head no and squeezed her arms tighter.

“Come on.” He stepped forward and touched the gun to her chest; she could feel the hard metal probing through her clothes. “Show me what you’re good for.”

Gwen didn’t move. Now lust and anger darkened his face. He raised the gun to her temple and grabbed her breast. His hand went under the fabric and pinched her nipple hard, then moved up and squeezed her throat. She felt the roughness of his hairy arm scraping her chest. “Undo your pants,” he said, “or I’ll undo them for you.”

Suddenly he jerked away and cried out in pain. There was a flash of white fur. He was dragged back a couple of steps and the gun fell from his hand. The dog had sunken her teeth deep into his calf, and she was whipping her head back and forth, growling, tearing through the flesh. The blood splattered on her muzzle and onto the rocks.

“Get the fuck off me!” A.J. cried. He jerked and flailed, pounding the dog’s back and head, and as he spun with her, he kicked the gun and it flew off over the ledge. Timber yanked and twisted and he fell to the ground. Gwen had moved to grab the gun but now it was gone; then she remembered the bear spray. She unzipped the lid of her pack and pulled out the canister and removed the plastic safety. She stepped over and expelled a quick powerful blast right in A.J.’s face. His forehead, cheeks, nose, and hair turned a bright, sickly orange. He cried out—an awful, gargled sound—and his hands went up to his face. “I can’t breathe! I can’t see!” he gasped. “What the fuck did you do?” Then: “Jesus Christ, I’m burning!”

The orange spray swirled back toward her. She felt the heat on her face and her eyes began to sting. She stumbled back a few feet, reaching out to grab the rock wall; her lungs were burning as if she’d swallowed fire. She could barely open her eyes but when she did, she saw that A.J. was writhing on the ground on his hands and knees, scratching at his face as if trying to rip off the burning skin. He was gasping, hyperventilating, crying in pain.

“You blinded me, you fucking bitch! I can’t breathe!”

The dog was standing a few feet back from him and sneezing. A.J. was wriggling closer to the edge. Gwen stumbled back over to him, waving her hands in front of her as if to clear away smoke. He was gagging now, grasping blindly at the dirt. She put her foot against his hip and shoved hard; he fell over onto his back, right at the edge of the cliff.

“I’m going to kill you, you bitch!” he rasped, reaching blindly, but she stepped up and pushed him again with her foot; he didn’t realize what was happening until he started to fall. He grabbed at the rock but there was nothing to hold and he tipped out over the edge and was gone. A horrible scream came out of him and echoed through the canyon. He tumbled down the cliff face, screaming all the way, until he crashed on a rocky ledge two hundred feet below. His head hit a rock and split apart like a melon. His body lay broken and still.

Gwen could only keep her burning eyes open for a few seconds at a time, but she looked down anyway to make sure he was dead. Then she turned to look at Timber. The dog was sitting back three feet from the edge, tongue lolling out, gazing at the mountains, as if enjoying the beautiful view. How had she gotten up here? Had she found another way? She must have, that crazy dog; she must have left soon after Gwen did. Her muzzle was soaked with blood and her teeth were red; there were speckles on her chest and sides. She kept sneezing, big events that made her whole body shake. But other than that, she seemed unharmed.

“Thank you,” Gwen said. “Good girl.” She wanted to pet the dog’s head but when she touched her own skin, a new burning would begin, like spot fires. Her face felt as if it might burn off. Just beyond the ledge there was a patch of snow the size of a swimming pool, and she picked up her pack and stumbled over to it. When she got to the snow she fell to her knees, scooped it up in handfuls, and pressed it to her burning face. She remembered something she’d read about pepper spray—was bear spray the same thing?—and pulled out her water bottles, rinsing out one eye and then the other. Holding her eyes open made them burn even more but she didn’t know what else to do. When the water was gone she buried her face and hands directly in the snow. Finally, the pain began to subside. She sat back on her heels, noticing that her pants were soaked through at the knees. The dog stepped up and tentatively licked her face. She jumped back and her tongue flashed out and she curled her lips, trying to get rid of the terrible taste.

“Sorry, girl.” If it had been this bad from a backdraft, she couldn’t imagine how A.J. had felt. Thank God Tracy had made her bring the bear spray. But it wouldn’t have made a difference if the dog hadn’t come.

Once the burning sensation eased a little, she sat and collected herself. What to do now? How to signal to the others? She couldn’t go back—she’d never make it across the cliff face again—and she needed to press forward. It seemed like she should let them know that A.J. had reappeared. But maybe not. He was dead, he was gone, and that knowledge wouldn’t necessarily help; his brother might still be out there. As for the other guys, José’s friends, she didn’t know.

She looked up and to her left, and a whole new part of the range was visible now. There was a gap she hadn’t been able to see before, maybe half a mile away. Two small, sharp peaks like the spires of a castle, with a windswept cirque between them. The top of the cirque, between the peaks, was lower than the other gaps she’d seen. She could walk straight up. But there was snow—a field of untouched snow stretching at least a hundred yards down from the top. Maybe that was a good thing; maybe her shoes would sink in, and that might help her footing. Or maybe, if it was hard, she’d slide backward. Damn, she thought. I wish I could ask Tracy. She felt another surge of nervousness. But then she thought of what had just happened, of A.J.’s body lying broken, and she knew that she could handle it.

“What do you think, pup?”

Timber smiled at her, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. Gwen felt slightly frightened by the knowledge of what the dog could do. But Timber had saved her, given her the few seconds she needed to get to her pack. And besides, she was glad for the company.