The sharp crack of a shot split the silence over the bog. Victor didn’t wait for the bullet to find him. He shoved off hard from the slick log and threw himself into the black water. The round blasted a spray of rotten wood chips from the exact spot where he had been standing a second earlier.
The icy muck closed over his head at once. His mouth and nose filled with the foul sting of sulfur, rotting weeds, and old mud. Victor grabbed blindly at slick roots under the water, hauling himself toward a thick stand of dead reeds. The heavy pack dragged him down, setting every muscle on fire. He surfaced only when his chest felt ready to burst.
Dense morning fog lay low over the bog. From the corduroy path came muffled cursing and the hard metallic sound of a bolt being worked. Victor froze chest-deep in the freezing water, his white fingers clamped around the stiff reeds. Even the smallest movement sent a dull throbbing pain through joints locked by the cold. He began moving slowly, silently, through the reeds, sinking deeper into the peat.
It became a grim, exhausting piece of work. He grabbed frozen hummocks, pulled his waterlogged body forward, and slipped under again into the stinking muck. The cold pushed through every layer of clothing, turning his own skin into something numb and foreign. Nearly two hours later, the sounds of heavy footsteps on the path finally faded away. Victor dragged himself onto a firm clay bank, leaving a long furrow in the flattened brown grass behind him.
His quilted coat quickly stiffened with a crust of dirty ice. Muddy water streamed from his pant legs. Victor pulled down the metal zipper at his chest with fingers that barely worked. The handkerchief was soaked through, but the hard cold shape of the brass casing was still there. With great effort he got to his feet, bracing himself against the rough trunk of an old birch, and started toward the highway.
The paved streets of the county seat met him with the sharp smell of hot rubber and the sweet scent of fresh bread from the local bakery. People on the sidewalk recoiled from him, covering their noses with scarves. He carried the thick swamp stink of standing water and rotting wood. Wide wet prints marked the clean gray pavement behind his heavy boots.
The pale county administration building met him with warm dry air. The lobby smelled distinctly of bleach and cheap vending-machine coffee. A young security guard in a pressed blue uniform jumped in front of him, one hand going to the black rubber baton at his belt. Victor simply looked at him from under the brim of his wet muddy cap without breaking stride. The guard dropped his eyes and stepped aside.
The second floor was absolutely quiet. A heavy oak door with a brass handle led into the main meeting room. Victor leaned his full weight against the polished surface. The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges, letting him into a large room bright with electric light…
