Threemoreshotsinrapidsuccessionricochetedoffher boulder, ripping off chunks and shards of granite. Carine screamed, startled, frustrated, angry. And scared now.

A rock shard from her boulder struck her in the forehead, and her mouth snapped shut.

Good God, were they aiming at her?

Were they trying to kill her?

She curled up in a ball, knees tucked, arms wrapped around her ankles. Blood dripped from her forehead onto her wrist. She felt no pain from her injury, but her heart raced and her ears hurt from the blasts. She couldn't think.

Once again, silence followed the rapid burst of shots.

Were they reloading? Coming after her? What?

She tried to control her breathing, hoping the shooters wouldn't hear her. But what was the point? They had to know now, after she'd screamed, that she was behind the boulder.

They'd known it before they'd shot at it.

She couldn't stay where she was.

The low ridge crested fifteen feet above her. If she could get up the hill, she could slip down the other side and hide among the trees and boulders, make her way back to her car, call the police.

If the shooters tried to follow her, she'd at least see them up on the ridge.

See them and do what?

She pushed back the thought. She'd figure that out later. Should she stand up and run? Crouch? Or should she crawl? Scoot up the hill on her stomach? No scooting. She'd be like a giant fluorescent worm in her orange vest. Take it off? No-no time.

She'd take her day pack. It might stop or impede a bullet.

Or should she stay put? Hope they hadn't seen her after all?

Every fiber in her body-every survival instinct she had-told her that she'd be killed if she stayed where she was.