Hugging the banks would get him out of the water and provide cover, but then he would not be able to see any attack coming. The creek bubbled softly around rocks and fallen branches that were rotting in the damp, moisture-laden air. The bed of the creek was a cobbled morass of polished stones as big as his fist and as smooth as eggshells. He stared thoughtfully down at them for a moment, the water rippling around his boots. Ethan could no longer feel his feet and his hands were numb from the cold. ‘You see anything yet?’ Lopez asked. ‘Nothing,’ he replied, ‘but it’s not throwing rocks now.’ Lopez seemed surprised to realize that the bombardment had indeed stopped. The screech that had echoed through the forest moments before had clearly spooked her and he could hear her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts as she stayed close to him. Ethan squatted down, and picked up a handful of the big round stones from the bed of the creek.
