“You called for backup!” Mark spat, eyes wild. He trained the pistol on Tom to shut him up and looked up at the chopper as it hovered in. Tom rolled to the side as Mark fired once. The bullet struck the tree where Tom’s head had been a second earlier.
Then the helicopter’s light swept them. A commands voice thundered over a loudspeaker: “Drop your weapons! Hands where we can see them! County units!”
Mark threw the pistol in the snow and dropped, furious and stunned. Men in white cold‑weather gear slid down ropes and moved fast and controlled. It took seconds to get Mark handcuffed and face down in the snow.
Tom lay panting, dazed and bleeding from bruises and a scraped arm. A uniformed officer helped him up, offered water, and wrapped him in an emergency blanket. Tom pointed to his boot where the torc had been, and the officer’s eyes widened.
They put him in the chopper, pressed a thermos of warm water into his hands, and listened as he explained everything on the flight back. Mark Donovan slunk in the opposite direction, handcuffed and quiet.
