Working alone, the feeling was intensified—like Russian roulette with only one empty chamber. A fire team could almost simultaneously check every angle. One man swinging left, one right, one high, and one low, with additional spotters at your back. They used hand signals and touch, a silent language all of their own. With no one to watch his back, Jack had to be looking over his shoulder at the same time he swept the room. Each time he shoved a door open, he pressed his back against the wall and scanned behind him, too. He felt the sweat dripping down under his layers of clothing.
He cleared the first floor. Every room was deserted, and there was no sign of Eric, Ollie, or Cornelius. At the top of the stairs, he paused in the darkened hallway. All the doors were closed, faint strips of light underlining them. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but Bree thinking Charlie had hit her wasn’t doing anything to calm his nerves.
He tried a door, but the knob didn’t turn. He stepped back and froze, his boot ready to kick it open.
Take a second, he cautioned himself. Rushing gets people killed. If someone’s waiting inside, kicking the door open tells them right where you are.
He decided to check the other doors first. The room directly across the hall was empty. He made sure the next two rooms were clear as well. Then he returned to the locked door.
He wiped the sweat from his hand, dried the handle of the ax, and tucked it under his arm. His boot slammed into the door, shattering the wood around the lock. The door flew open, and the sound boomed in the narrow hallway.
The beam from Jack’s flashlight cut through the darkness as he swiveled left and right, revealing an ordinary supply closet. Lining three walls were shelves sparsely filled with boxes, bags, and bottles. Jack stepped back into the hall, listening intently, sweeping his light back and forth. He then took an extra minute in the closet to look for fuses and communication gear, but found none.
The second floor now clear, he headed for the staircase at the end of the building, where he could see his breath in the cold. The whole lodge was chilly with the generator out—except for the great room, kept somewhat warm by the fireplace—but the cement and steel in the stairwell made it as cold as a Siberian gulag. It was also as black as a crypt. Jack tried to walk softly, but his footsteps echoed in the tight space.
Two flights of stairs led to the first floor. At the bottom, to Jack’s right, three doors led back into the lodge—one into the first-floor hallway, two into the rooms at the end of the hallway. A short passage to his left led to the exit door.
As Jack’s light fanned the passage, a dark smear on the wall caught his attention. Five feet up from the floor, the stain was the width of a thick paintbrush and about a foot long, sparkling when his light reflected off the ice crystals in the frozen liquid; it took Jack a minute to realize it was blood.
On the cement floor, close to the exit, a large puddle of blood had spread. That amount of blood was a very bad sign. The puddle was nearly two feet in diameter, running along the base of the wall. Jack knew the average adult had around one and a half gallons of blood. He tapped the edge with the ax handle. Frozen solid.
Jack moved quietly toward the exit door and raised his ax. If someone wanted to attack him, this was the place to do it. The door creaked loudly as he opened it.
The wind blasted inside—it sounded like a freight train bearing down on him. Suddenly losing the ability to hear if someone was charging up behind him, he paused to focus his flashlight so that he could see in that direction. He held the door propped open with his leg and waited. After a few moments, when he felt sure there was no one behind him, he peered through the storm.
The wind had blown the snow away from the side of the building except for a snowdrift about twenty feet from the door.
Jack’s heart hammered in his chest. At the base of the snowdrift, he saw two rounded black shapes, a pair of boots, sticking out of the snow.
47
No Hanky-Panky
Mrs. Stevens’ eyes widened. “How do you make sense out of all that?”
“It’s a log file. It looks worse than it is. I was checking out the crew forum where they shared ideas and stayed connected when they weren’t on location. I just got to some posts from Mack Carson.”
“What are you hoping to find?”
“I want to see if I can figure out who Mack went climbing with. I think it’s way too coincidental that Charlie was killed in an avalanche and so was Mack.”
“What are all those numbers?”
“IP addresses.”
“What’s that?”
“Each computer has an IP address,” Alice explained. “I can tell where the computer was located for any of the crew members when they posted.” Alice stopped scrolling. “That’s weird.”
“Did you find something?” Mrs. Stevens asked, completely mystified by the rows and columns of digits.
Alice opened up an earlier log of the forum and highlighted Charlie’s IP address. “Give me a second.” She sat up straighter and felt herself shift into a zone. Like athletes when they let their muscles take over and everything around them slows down, Alice felt in tune with her computer as her fingers glided over the keyboard. Screens flashed and data popped up in windows that she shuffled across the monitor like a conductor, until a collage of information covered the screen. After several minutes she leaned back in her chair, shaking her head.
“What did you figure out?” Not for the first time, Mrs. Stevens reminded Alice of a kid asking, “Are we there yet?”
“Charlie lived in California with his parents. But almost all of his posts for the last two years originated in Boulder, Colorado.”
“Vacation?”
Alice shook her head. “No. In between seasons five and seven, Charlie posted almost every day from Boulder.”
“Maybe he moved in with someone?”
Alice nodded and highlighted another IP address. “Look at this address.”
Mrs. Stevens squinted. “It’s the same address, isn’t it?”
“It is. But here, it’s associated with a post that Bree made. There are a dozen more, from both of them. Charlie and Bree were posting from the same IP address. They must have been living together.”
“But why wouldn’t they tell anyone?”
“They couldn’t!” Alice jumped up. “It’s in the employee handbook. There’s a no dating, no hanky-panky policy for all Planet Survival crew. If someone found out Bree and Charlie were dating, one of them would have to leave the show. Even if they were just sharing an apartment, it wouldn’t look good to the brass, so they would have to keep mum.”
Lady jumped up and pranced over to the door. A moment later, someone knocked.
“Lady’s like an early-warning system, isn’t she?” Mrs. Stevens said. “Does she do that for me?”
“She moves even faster for you,” Alice said with a grin.
Alice opened the door, and Kiku stepped inside. “Hello, Alice. Hello, Lady.” She smiled and patted Lady’s head.
“Hey, Kiku. Have you met my landlady, Jan Stevens?”
“Very nice to meet you.” Kiku gave a slight nod and turned back to Alice. “If it is not an imposition, I was wondering if I may take Lady for a walk.”
48
Don’t Shoot the Messenger
Jack knocked on Abe’s door. “Leah, it’s me, Jack.”
He heard the bureau scraping across the floor and then Leah unlocking the knob. He was glad they were still taking precautions—considering all he could tell them about the predator that still lurked somewhere very close by was that it had claimed another victim.
Abe lay in bed, unmoving; Frida and Bree sat on the other bed.
Jack asked Leah if they could talk outside. Leah followed him to the room next door.
Jack motioned to the room’s only chair. “Please sit down.”
She crossed her arms.
Jack sighed. “Ollie’s dead.”
Leah’s legs wobbled, and Jack grabbed her arm and eased her into the chair.
She was mute, shaking her head, but as usual, she didn’t freak out. Jack wondered what streets she had toughened up on. “He was stabbed in the stairwell at the opposite end of the building. I found his body in a snowdrift just outside the side exit.”
“You didn’t leave him there, did you?”
“Yes, I had to. Listen, we can’t have anyone else taking off on their own. I need you to make that very clear to the others.”
“Me? Why not you?”
“I’m going to the weather station. Blizzard or no blizzard, it can’t wait any longer. Do you think we can move Abe into the great room? It’s important that everyone sticks together.”
Leah shook her head. “We can’t move Abe. Harvey says he’s bleeding internally and if we move him, it might kill him.”
“In that case, everyone’s moving into Abe’s room. You’ll sit on each other’s laps if you have to.”
Leah exhaled, gritted her teeth, and stood. “I’ll get everyone in there. Somehow.”
“Everyone except Wally,” Jack said.
“You’re going out with him? Jack, no. He tried to kill us! He might have killed Ryan!”
He clasped her shoulders to steady her. There was no time for an argument now. “But there’s no way he killed Ollie, is there? He’s been tied up the whole time. Which makes him as trustworthy as anyone else around here.”
“I guess…” She looked uncertain.
“I’m taking him with me to help search for the PLB. He can show me where it was. We probably have one shot at this—we’ll be lucky if we can make it to the weather station and back in this storm.”
“But that means… it has to be Eric. The rest of us were always together when Bree was attacked and when Ollie was killed. It can’t be any of us.”
“Was everyone all together, every minute?” Jack asked. “Cornelius disappeared. Chiri went alone to look for him. I assume the others went to the bathroom at some point?”
Leah sighed. “Whoever it is, our best chance to survive is with you here, Jack. You stay—I’ll go to the weather station.”
“No. It’s you they need. These people trust you, Leah. Keep them together. I need to get moving.”
“You’re going right this second?”
Jack pointed toward Abe’s room. “Can he really afford to wait?”
Leah’s forehead creased with concern. “He’s so much worse. I don’t think he has much of a chance as it is.”
“I’m leaving, now. You know what to do.” He gave her shoulders one last squeeze, and raced down the stairs to get Wally and fight against the beast one more time. This was a rematch Jack needed to win.
49
Tracks in the Snow
When Jack crested the ridge, he was relieved to find that the worst of the storm had passed. Gusts of ice still pelted their exposed skin, but at least they could walk upright and see farther than twenty feet into the dark-gray sky. And it didn’t hurt anymore just to breathe. Of course, this time, instead of being partnered with the good-natured Chiri, Jack was paired up with Wally, who whined and moaned the entire way.
When the weather station finally came into view, the damage was less than Jack had expected. Half the roof on the side of the building next to the propane tank had collapsed, along with the wall on that side, but the rest of the building was still standing.
Wally was less impressed. “This is a total disaster!”
“You have insurance.” Jack pushed Wally forward, yelling over the wind. “Maybe you can get upgraded equipment.”
Wally craned his neck at the pile of steel jutting out behind the building. “I just installed a new satellite dish up there.”
“Go.” Jack put his hand against Wally’s shoulder and nudged him forward.
Wally planted his feet. “Wait. It exploded, right? What if there are more explosives? You go first!”
Jack grabbed Wally’s shoulder and half dragged him to the door.
The windows were shattered, and the lingering smell of smoke wafted in the cold air. Jack shoved the door open and peered inside. It was odd to see snow blanketing the floor.
Wally started to walk past him, but Jack blocked his way. “You stay here. Did you have any spare fuses, and where exactly is the PLB?”
“We keep emergency stuff in that cabinet next to what’s left of my bed. There are no fuses that I know of. But get out of my way. I need to get some stuff.”
Jack shook his head and pointed up. “The roof could come down any minute in this wind. Unless whatever you want is worth getting killed over, you’re staying here.”
As if to prove his point, a slap of wind blasted more snow into the building. Wood creaked, metal groaned, and though Jack wasn’t certain, it did look like the roof leaned even more.
Wally took two steps back and pointed at the ground. “I’ll wait here.”
Jack stood at the doorway and stared across the threshold. What he’d said to Wally was true: he was taking an enormous chance going into an unstable building that could collapse at any moment. He was used to taking risks, and he even enjoyed it, but there was a difference now: Alice. Ever since she’d accepted his proposal, whenever he put his life in danger, he knew it was their life he was putting in danger. If he got killed, the life they would have had together would die with him. And after all the loss in Alice’s life, what would losing him do to her…?
He sent up a quick prayer, stepped inside, and trudged toward the cabinet through the snow, which was thigh-deep in places. The swirling drifts had hidden broken windows, and furniture and equipment had been flung far from their original spots. An overturned table had blocked most of the snow from the area in front of the cabinet. He yanked it open and scanned the shelves.
No beacon.
He glared back at Wally and held his thumb down. Wally shrugged.
The PLB has to be here. I’m gonna find it, Annabelle, don’t you worry. Jack moved everything inside the cabinet around, while the roof above his head groaned, and dust fell all around him. There were no fuses, either. He wasn’t exactly sure of the size and design of the PLB. A small table with a drawer stood a couple of feet away, half covered in snow. As Jack turned to try the drawer and looked back to check on Wally, he noticed something he’d missed on the way inside. He’d been so focused on getting to the cabinet, he hadn’t looked at the snow in other areas. But now he saw a trail of shallow depressions, running alongside Jack’s fresh boot prints. The blizzard had almost covered them, but not enough to hide what they were.
Footprints.
Someone had beaten him to the PLB.
50
Anyone Home?
“Where are you going?” Wally shouted.
“Cornelius’s camp is right down there.” Jack pointed to the steep hill on the right. At its base, Cornelius’s red tent poked out from among the rocks. “I want to check and see if he’s there.”
Jack didn’t say anything about the footprints and the missing PLB to Wally. He may have been tied to a chair all night, but Wally could also be working with someone.
“I’m exhausted. Can we just go back to the lodge?”
Jack pointed to a formation of rocks partially sheltered from the wind. “Rest in there. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Wally moved to the back of the rocks and sat down. “I thought we had to stay together,” he snapped.
“If you just shut up, no one will know you’re hiding there,” Jack advised.
Wally frowned and scooted back into the cold shadows.
The rocks next to the cliff were only dusted with snow, thanks to the gusts and shifting winds that shrieked and swooped around the mountain like angry birds of prey and blew the rocks clean every few minutes. As Jack picked his way down the icy path, his legs burned, and so did his back. It was like walking a balancing beam in constant motion. But each step brought him closer to Cornelius’s tent.
Jack called out as he approached. “Cornelius! It’s Jack! I’m not going to hurt you.” He stepped up to the tent and
pulled back the flap.
Two frightened eyes peered out from the back of the tent. Cornelius was crouched low in the darkness, clutching a tent pole with a hunting knife strapped to the end. He pointed his makeshift spear at Jack, his trembling hands making the blade wobble back and forth. “I’ll kill you,” he growled. “Get back now or I swear I’ll run you through.”
Still holding the tent flap back with one hand, Jack held out his other hand palm out, like he was calming a frightened child. “I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. I got a much better chance against this mountain than I do against Eric.”
“Do you really think you’re safe alone out here in this blizzard?”
“Yes, I do. Back in the lodge I’m a fish in a barrel. And I don’t know who to trust. I’d rather fight something I knows, like a blizzard.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with you. And I trust you.”
Cornelius eyed him suspiciously. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because if you were the killer, you would have found someplace in the lodge to hide, instead of risking your life and running out into a blizzard to stay alive. And I understand wanting to be in your natural element. Look, I don’t know who to trust either, so I’m not going to tell anyone you’re out here. If anybody shows up, you know that I didn’t tell them where you are. Keep your guard up.”
Cornelius nodded. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“And try not to snore.”
“Are you nuts? You think I’m gonna get a wink of sleep with Eric out there?”
Judging from the white knuckles around his spear and the wild look in his eyes, Jack believed him. “Did you go to the weather station before coming here?”
Jack Frost: Detective Jack Stratton Mystery Thriller Series Page 21