Amanda hurt in so many places that the pain in her arm no longer preoccupied her. She sat for some time, panting from exertion and terror, listening to the now muted crashing of her pursuers. She couldn’t stay here. When they got to the edge they would simply shine their light down and there she’d be, caught. She was tired of falling downward, and so she started to crawl painfully up the crevice she had landed in. It was wet, cold, and muddy. A small stream coursed along the bottom. The pebbles, roots, and rubble under her were clawing at her knees, and her one good hand was raw from the pull of branches and twigs. The bushes were getting thicker as she moved up; suddenly she got to the point where the effort of pushing her way through the tangle of stems and branches was more than she could manage. She began to cry, long racking sobs that tore at her bruised ribs and aching throat, and she stopped moving. For a long time she remained immobile, crouched on her knees, her chest heaving and tears flooding her cheeks. Then she lay down on her good side and drew her knees up to her belly under her kilt as tightly as possible. The cry of “See that white?” still echoed in her brain, and she was determined to hide under kilt and blazer, so providentially made of ample quantities of hunting green wool. With her good hand she twitched down her skirt as much as possible, then attempted to arrange her injured arm in a comfortable position. Pain throbbed throughout every nerve, and she slipped once again into black, whirling oblivion.

Night had fallen quietly in the townhouse in the suburbs. Oppressed by the silence and the tension, he suddenly leapt up from his chair. He could wait no longer. He leaned over and switched off the ten o’clock news. There could be nothing on it tonight that would be of any interest to him. He needed action. Perhaps the last time he had not chosen his site carefully enough. This time he would reconnoiter in good military fashion, probe the weaknesses of the enemy, and choose the best place to strike.

He picked up the map, the pens, and the notebook, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the garage. He opened the overhead door very gently, bending over and peering out to see if anyone was watching him. All clear. He hoisted it completely, rapidly backed the van out onto the driveway, and swiftly closed the door again. He reversed onto the street with the slow deliberation that he had cultivated as a driver, turned, and set out. It was good that he was alone in the house, with no one to ask him where he was going, no one to get suspicious, no one to betray his position to the enemy. But if she was the enemy, could she betray him to it? No. She was already—that was too confusing. She was a spy. That was it. It had been a good idea to get rid of her.

He swung on and off Highway 401 with the same steady caution that he always used; then he drove along a busy street, turned, and headed slowly toward a long space without housing. He stopped. This was it. But as he began to open his door he saw in the park entrance a familiar yellow car. The interior light went on as the front door opened, and two uniformed officers were captured in blinding clarity. That was close! He drew his door shut again and very gently pulled away, proceeding at a measured pace to the next intersection. He turned right, stopped, looked around, and pulled out his flashlight. He examined his map with care, and finally marked another yellow dot against another patch of green. He carefully traced with his finger the network of roads that led from one green space to the other and put his map away again. He sat motionless in the dark for a very long time, alert for the sound of pursuit, like a hare who hopes to baffle the hounds with rocklike immobility.

At long last he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away. It was a cautious fifteen minutes from the first area to the next, and he arrived exactly within the time estimated. This time he made a preliminary reconnaissance excursion the length of the road that skirted the green space, and when he came to the small track used by the parks department for maintenance vehicles he was horrified to see two patrol cars sitting on the grass, overhead lights on, officers chatting to one another through their open windows. This was it. They had worked out his tactics, and the squeeze was beginning. He had always known that it would only be a matter of time before the enemy deduced his plan of action and tried to forestall him. His head pounded with excitement. But they couldn’t have worked out the full extent of his strategy. They wouldn’t know that he was also capable of attacking close to home. He turned carefully and headed back in the direction he had come from.

The long bridge over the Humber River in the farthest northwest stretches of the city was absolutely deserted. He stopped the van on the bridge and waited for fifteen minutes for signs of pursuit. None. He opened the door on the passenger side and climbed out. Still nothing. He peered over the edge of the bridge. down into the black ravine to the even blacker narrow band of water at the bottom, noted with satisfaction the one heavily treed slope, and mentally fixed in his brain the location of the footpath that shimmered slightly in the light of the almost full moon. He was right. They hadn’t been able to work things out this far. He would still be able to act, although it would be dangerous. He felt dizzy with elation. He would have to return on Friday, however, to find a suitable opponent, as he had planned. He climbed back into the front seat of the van and headed sedately home.

Amanda awoke groggily, and then shrank back in terror as a bright beam of light shone directly in her eyes. She shut them tight, waiting for the blow. Nothing happened. When she opened them again, the light still shone, but all was quiet and tranquil. Its source rode peacefully above her in the heavens—the moon. She was soaking wet and bitterly cold. Every part of her ached except for her arm. It screamed in pain. She was thirsty, and her stomach twisted and rumbled, whether from nausea or hunger she could not tell. She slipped back into unconsciousness.

The next time she woke up the bitter cold was the first thing she felt, then the thirst and the pain in her arm and chest. She shivered uncontrollably and slipped back into the void. After what felt like a minute she opened her eyes and realized that she could see. The sky was silver and birds were chattering in the dawn. What time was it? This seemed to be the most important question of her life. If it were almost sunrise, then when does the sun rise? Tears trickled down her face as she tried desperately to think. She shifted position and moved her arm; it reacted swiftly, burning into her consciousness with pain. With a cry, she grabbed it and felt the watch on her wrist. But she could neither bring her arm to her face, nor force herself to sit up and look at it. She tried to raise her head far enough to see it; the moon swam dizzily and blackness closed in again.

Something warm and bright touched Amanda’s cheek, and her dream of fires and comforting things rapidly changed to one of hot, burning, destroying things and she awoke again. The sun was shining brightly through the budding branches, and stray warm beams touched her here and there. It took a long time for her to understand why she was lying in a pool of water, trembling with cold, with a burning pain in her arm and chest. But it was daylight. Surely nothing dreadful could happen to her now. Someone must come and rescue her. She thought of the long painful crawl up to this point, of how far down it was to the path below, and of how impossibly far up it was to the park above her. Despair caught her. Then through the singing of birds and chattering of squirrels she heard a confused murmur of voices. She listened sharply. They were male voices, but she didn’t recognize them—yet. There seemed to be more than two, but it was impossible to say whether Rick and Jimmy had gone to bring back friends. Then individual words rose out of the general babble and drifted up to her. The voices were apparently down on the path. “Take this side and divide it up—you three. We’ll try up there” floated up to her. It was people looking for her.