10
I gasped and looked down in a panic, my paddle smacking against the canoe as I clutched my midsection. But I wasn’t bleeding, at least no more than I had been before.
I may not have been shot, but the canoe wasn’t so lucky. Water poured into the hull through a dime-sized hole at a rate comparable to my wide-open kitchen faucet.
“Sonofabitch!” Emmett said, looking from the gun in his hand to the punctured canoe hull. “s**t!”
“Syd, are you okay?” Mike yelled.
I nodded, but my ears were still ringing and I couldn’t find words. Sure, I was grateful that I wasn’t the one leaking, but it was too surreal, watching our vessel fill up with water while a man still held a gun pointed in my general direction. Minus only one bullet, with a few more to go.
“f**k!” Emmett continued, lifting his
