No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

rolled on knees and elbows, kicking up flecks of snow in a
bruising tumble—
“Where is she?”
“I see her—”
Ten somersaults down, the ground flattened again and she
landed hard and dizzy. She scrambled upright. Kept going.
Hurtled through prickly undergrowth with outstretched hands,
branches breaking against her palms, slashing bare skin. Then
the terrain dropped again, and again she fell—
Their voices growing distant: “I … I lost her.”
“There, there—”
Sliding on her back now. Fir trunks whooshing past.
Right. Left. Right. No stop this time. The slope kept going,
and so did she, slip-sliding over ramped snowdrifts,
accelerating to dangerous speed. She raised her arms, trying to
slow herself, but hit another rock shelf. Another impact
punched the air from her chest, rag-dolling her sideways. Up
and down lost all meaning. Her world became a violent
tumble-dryer, an endless, crashing kaleidoscope.
Then it ended.
It took her a few seconds to realize she’d even stopped
rolling. She’d landed sprawled on her back, her eardrums
ringing, a dozen new bruises throbbing on her body. Time
seemed to blur. For a dreamy moment, she nearly blacked out.
To her left, a fir tree made a strange little shiver, dropping
an armful of snow and peppering her with wood chips.
Then she heard an echo from uphill — like a whipcrack
— and she understood exactly what had happened, and she
staggered upright and kept running.
* * *
Ashley blinked away the Beretta’s muzzle flash and aimed
for a second shot, but he’d lost her amid the brush and studded
boulders. Too much tree cover.