He heard a pop, then felt a sharp sting chew at his side. The force of impact spun him around like a dancer. Blood sprayed against the perfect white, decorating the snow in a perfect circle. Taggart clutched at the wound, felt the warmth spread from inside him, then sank to his knees in the snow and fell face-first onto the ground. The cold felt strangely refreshing on his skin.

The sound of running footsteps drew near. Taggart applied pressure to the hole in his side and waited—waited for help to finally arrive.