Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)

Unaware, he and Remi had stepped back, causing the muddy ground at the edge of the hill to crumble under their weight. They both lost their balance and toppled over the edge of the steep hill.

Sam crashed into a maze of greens and browns swirling in front of him as he slid at breakneck speed down the hill.

He lost his grip on Remi’s arm and she vanished from his sight as he grabbed at tree branches and fern fronds, trying to slow his descent.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The volley of return gunfire sent birds screeching from their roosts. Sam spotted a fallen tree coming up on his left. He twisted sideways and tensed as he slammed into what felt like a big pile of mush that stopped his momentum. Stunned, and covered with slime from a tree trunk that had rotted from years in the damp forest, he wiped the muck off his face. He moved slowly, feeling for injury. It took a minute before pain began to register, but, fortunately, the decayed tree had softened his impact. Nothing was broken.

“You fool!” Ivan’s voice carried down. “You let them get away.”

“No way they could survive that fall,” Jak replied. “Or this.”

Each gunshot sent Sam’s heart thundering.

Remi . . .

The firing finally stopped when Jak ran out of shells.

“You see anything?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing. Climb down. Make sure they’re dead.”

“And what?” Ivan growled. “Break my neck? Better we drive down and check the hill from the lower road.”

“What about Lorenzo?” Jak asked. “Just gonna leave him here?”

“Dump him down the hill. Let him rot with the Fargos.”

They rolled the body off the road, and Sam heard it crashing through the underbrush. Finally, the SUV’s engine started. The vehicle was heading up hill, not down. They’d have to drive until they found a wider turnout for the large SUV before it could change directions.

“Remi?” he called softly.

“Down here.”

It sounded like she was about fifteen feet below him. He let out a sigh of relief, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath until that moment. “You’re okay?”

“Bruised but still in one piece.”

“They’re looking for a place to turn around.”

“I can see the road below us. It’s pretty close.”

“I’ll come to you. Let’s see if we can’t get across the road before they get here. They’ll be searching up, not down.”

He moved away from the thick growth of rotted tree that had stopped him, then looked around for his gun. He saw it about eight feet up the hill, half buried in the mud. The slick ground made the climb up difficult. He had to dig in his heels several times, while using the plants like steps, as he maneuvered upward to retrieve it. The descent was even more treacherous as he made his way to Remi. When he reached her side, he brushed some of the mud from her face. Like him, she was covered in debris from the forest floor.

“Let’s not do that again,” she said.

“Not too soon anyway.”

Looking up from where they’d fallen, Sam saw the trails they’d left as they slid down—a clear indicator of where they’d been. “We’re going to have to be careful not to leave tracks.”

Her gaze followed his. “Any ideas?”

They had at least twenty feet to get to the road below. “Let me go first. Step where I do.”

He eyed a tree trunk about five feet down. The slope wasn’t as steep as above them. He jumped, landed on the roots, then turned. “Ready?”