by Lee Taylor
At first she thought someone was signaling to her, then realized it was sunlight reflecting off windshields. The highway! She hadn't realized it could be seen from here.
If the group crossed this ridge, they'd be sure to see the flashes and know they were close to the same highway where they had left the van.
They would react violently, she knew, picturing their bad tempers, which had grown as their feet and bodies grew sorer.
She must go back down.
Doing a fast kick turn, she almost knocked over Wes, who had climbed up behind her in the few seconds it had taken to comprehend what the flashes meant.
She had to keep him from seeing them. She had to get him— all of them— turned around.
24
Panicking, Mary hurried off the ridge, grabbing Wes' sleeve as she went.
"Wrong way. Come back!"
He didn't move. Had he already seen the flashes from the car windshields?
She ran past Ira and down to Connor's level. To Connor she hastily whispered, "You can see the highway from up there!"
She stood beside him, trembling from shock, praying that Wes would come back down without seeing anything.
She raised her voice to call to Judd, who was climbing up behind Connor. "Save your steps. I took the wrong fork at the lake. We've got to go back."
Her voice came out higher pitched than normal, making her feel she was screeching. Would Judd notice anything? Would he want to go to the top and look for himself?
"The lake?" Judd exclaimed, stopping and staring back over his shoulder.
Mary flicked a glance out of the corner of her eye at Wes, still standing where she had passed him, body slumped, not looking like he wanted to move at all.
Mary pointed toward the jagged mountain ridge northwest of them, needing to say something, hoping she didn't talk too much in her nervousness that she made them suspicious.
"I need to be on the other side of that. The trail splits at the lake and I didn't realize I was wrong until I got up here where I could see."
Judd stared hard at her, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "You sure that's what happened?"
"Of course."
"I thought you knew the route?"
"Everything looks different covered with snow."
He frowned, looking skeptical.
"I used to follow my dad up here during the wintertime. I didn't pay as much attention to the route as I should have... plus the avalanches have made me reroute so often, I—" She was chattering, she knew, but couldn't stop.
"Then cross down into the valley and go up the other side. Why go back to the lake?"
Mary moved a few more steps downward, hoping Wes would leave his spot and join them. He was starting to look around now that he had rested a bit, and panic tightened inside her.
She faced Judd. "We can't short cut this slope... it would avalanche on us. I was trying to go around it, this way... but it puts us off the trail too much. That's how people get lost... leaving the trail."
"I think it'd be hard to get you lost."
"Anyone can get lost."
"Are you?"
Should she say "Yes?" or "No?" She wanted them to follow her off this ridge, so she said, "No— at least, I don't think so. I’m just on the wrong trail. I know where I am now."
She took four more steps downward, bringing her to Judd's level. Connor turned and followed, and... and finally Wes moved his feet and he and Ira joined them.
Ramone had been bringing up the rear and now he turned and started back down, leading them off the ridge. It took another hour to retrace their steps to the lake, where they had spent the preceding night.
"Where's the trail?" Judd demanded, his temper surly from what he would see as extra walking.
"There." Mary pointed along the lake where the other trail started off a quarter of a mile further on. "Let's go."
"We'll go when I say we go."
She straightened around, looked at him. "Of course."
"We'll rest for ten minutes, then go."
"Fine. I could use the break."
Ten minutes later she led the way out onto the lake, using the flat, snow-covered surface as the best route to the trail.
"Strange you missed it," he growled, when she finally started up the trail with its trees well-marked with old blazes. There was a large sign posted—now only about three feet above the snow—listing all the alpine lakes and the distances to each one. Signs such as this could make them suspicious, as this sign showed Pratt Lake to be three miles off while the sign at a previous lake they had passed said Pratt was only 2.2 miles away.
She planned an irregular route as she had to make sure she didn't re-cross their tracks, at least not until a heavy snowfall wiped them out.
Her mind swung to the trail ahead. There was not that much land in the Pratt Lake quadrant. Because of the ski areas and the way the highway curved around, she had hemmed herself in on all sides but one.
North. If she had to, she could lead them north for many days before having to swing south again.
But no one said anything as they marched past the signs and along the trail, and Mary gave a small nod of satisfaction to herself. All was going well.
When Mary pointed out a new uphill route, Wes groaned audibly. "I need another rest," he complained, dropping his pack and flopping down to sit on it. "My feet are killing me."
Although they had barely gone a mile that morning, Ramone quickly followed suit, carelessly dropping the rifle beside him. "Mine too. I've got blisters on top of blisters."
With a nod, Judd sat down also. It was another indication that the men's feet had gotten worse. The bandages they put on every morning had to be coming loose and rolling up within their boots, creating problems on their own. Steeling her emotions against their pain, Mary had hidden all the mole skin and flexible bandages.
Connor had not sat down, but propped himself up against a tree, next to Mary. She liked having him there, but hoped he would remember that he had to act crippled too.
"I don't even feel mine anymore," Ira said. He pulled out his knife and a small bear he was whittling from a chunk of wood and cut expertly into the soft pine.
"Well, I sure do," Wes complained. "I'm glad my pack's not heavier."
"How come yours is so light?" Ramone demanded.
"I didn't say that. I said—"
"My pack's heavier 'n yours."
"You hoarding food?" Wes snapped.
"No, you little weasel. 'Side's, I need cigarettes. I ran out yesterday. You got any?"
"A few, but you ain’t getting any. I'll run out tomorrow. How much longer we gotta walk?"
"'Till we get there, dummy."
Mary paid little attention to their constant bickering, rejoicing that Connor avoided the two. He had evidently developed some patience in dealing with them. With the lighter pack, he was regaining his strength, even though he didn’t get enough to eat.
He wasn’t as quick to fight as he had been when they started, giving Ramone fewer opportunities. Without Connor provoking them, all four of the kidnapers had grown more careless.
"Let's go," Judd announced after twenty minutes. "Sitting here's not going to make our feet feel any better. We still have to go over this ridge."
Grumbling, they got to their feet and picked up their packs. Ira shoved his knife back in his sheath and tossed the now-finished little bear around in his hand. He handed it to Mary and walked away. Astonished, she examined its tiny face, then slipped it into her pocket.
She stared in wonder at Ira, who was busy putting on his pack. He didn't speak, just stood, waiting to leave. Wordlessly, she led the way out.
She pushed hard for the few hours left in the day, as if making up for lost time—and as she gained the north face of a slope, saw with satisfaction that she had put Denny Peak between them and the highway.
Her feet felt like leaden weights. Mary lifted first one, then the other.
Tired. She could feel the perspiration bu
ilding up under her clothes and knew it was time to stop before she dehydrated, or had an accident. She and Connor must stay healthy.
Walk, walk, walk. At times like this she wanted to give up and lead them to the cabin. What could be worse?
Being dead.
She forced herself to remember her neighbor. The image of his lifeless body chased away her doubts— doubts that had only risen due to exhaustion.
"Survivors don't give up," she mumbled to herself, and took control of her emotions once more. “Face your dragons.”
She wondered how the men felt. She wanted them so exhausted they wouldn’t be able to turn over tonight, much less worry about what she and Connor were doing.
As long as these murderers followed her blindly, she’d lead them through the mountains continuously, keeping in the open on the chance that the helicopter would return.
She was silently congratulating herself when Ira spoke up, his quiet voice carrying well in the still air. He had a sharp clip to his vowels, a nasal sound that just barely touched his voice. Mary could pick it out from the deeper tones of Judd and Ramone and the higher pitched whine that was Wes.
"Hey, Judd, have you noticed? When we started out, Mount Rainier was over our right shoulder, later it was behind us, and now it's off to our left."
25
Found out! Ira’s words took the wind out of Mary.
She looked over at Mount Rainier. It protruded into a clear sky, its distinctive volcano shape too well known for anyone to mistake.
She had been living in a fool's world, thinking she could lead Judd's gang around without one of them noticing. The weather had been too nice for subterfuge.
"She's leading us in circles," Ira said. He removed his dark glasses to wipe off the moisture and she met his accusing gaze.
"Circles?" Judd bellowed, jerking his head up to stare at Mount Rainier. "Circles?"
He swung around as if to seek trail markers stuck up in the snow, marked "Wrong Way." The veins on his forehead became pronounced, their vivid presence emphasizing the anger exploding within.
"That's what I said." Putting his glasses back on, Ira pointed at Mary. "If you want more proof, look at her face."
Mary could feel the flush of heat staining her cheeks and spoke quickly, hoping that somehow she could cover her actions. "We've had to circle some of the more dangerous areas. Ira just happened to look when—-"
"Circling's over," Judd interrupted. "We go straight through 'till we reach the cabin."
"But, but... The avalanches— " She could see by his face that he wasn't going to accept her excuse.
“Straight.”
Her spirit disintegrated. From now on they’d watch where she led them.
"How much longer to reach the cabin? I want a definite time frame."
"I... I can't say," she stammered. "Three, four days. Maybe more."
"Then I will. Three days. No more, no less. You want lover boy to live, you lead us the right way. No more tricks. Ira, you keep watching that mountain."
Mary's mind churned. What should she do? Why hadn't she and Connor discussed what to do if this happened?
She desperately sought for a plan of action—any plan. They were close to the cabin at this point. They could reach it in a day.
But Connor kept emphasizing that she mustn't take them there. So she had to continue away. But where?
Go deeper into the wilderness until they ran out of food? Get "lost," forcing Judd or Ira to take the lead and perhaps really wander in circles?
She hadn't prayed for snow before, but if she ever needed a snowstorm, she needed it now. Anything to mask her route.
"Well?" Judd thundered. "Move out. And in the right direction this time."
“Okay.” Mary reached down and needlessly adjusted her snowshoes, her mind racing furiously.
Should she lead them to a different cabin? One without the chest? Mary focused on that, elated at the thought. Yes. That was a possibility.
She couldn’t lead them to her father's cabin. So, she’d head for a different one.
"We'll have to travel faster, but we should make it in four days," she told Judd as she straightened up. “Unless the weather—"
"All right. Four days. Period! No exceptions."
"I can't help it if the weather changes," she snapped, short-tempered with Judd and his ultimatums, angry at the situation he had placed her in. But, she decided, anger had its good moments, when it overrode fear and pushed a person into a decision.
She’d keep going north-northwest, staying in the deepest wilderness area until they were clear of Snoqualmie Pass, then start looking for a cabin— maybe one on a road in from Steven's Pass, although that was a long way away.
The worry surged upward and Mary pushed it away. She had to deal with things when they came.
Worry was something Connor wouldn't allow. He kept telling her she was a survivor and could make it. She didn't consider herself one, but it felt good to reach a decision and act on it, whatever the outcome.
Without trying to think of other possibilities, Mary led the small group out once more.
They hiked in silence, Mary setting as hard a pace as Judd's footsore men allowed. She and Connor were down to one fuel bottle, so after three hours of steady walking, she stopped in a small opening in the dense forest. It was earlier than usual, but Mary camped wherever she found a good site, rather than when the clock said to stop.
She examined the large stump in front of her, its height bringing it up above the snow pack, its semi-hollow interior making an ideal reflector. She could build a fire in it and the snow wouldn’t put it out.
"It's too soon to stop," Judd protested, thumping up beside her, bellowing his impatience.
"Not really," she said. "We need time to gather wood."
"Wood? Why? We've two fuel bottles left."
She didn't feel like arguing. "It's never wise to use up your last fuel bottle, in case of an emergency. Connor and I have only one. We need to save all three."
"So what do you plan to do?"
"Make one fire for all of us. That's why I stopped here. This hollow stump will make a perfect fireplace. We can put the tents right here."
"Wood's wet," Wes pointed out with the whine in his voice that always made Mary want to swat him. "And we've nothing to cut it with."
Mary took several sideways steps to the nearest Douglas fir and snapped off three of the lower branches.
"This is what you gather," she said. "Douglas fir self-prunes itself. All the lower branches will be dead."
"Oh."
"They're dry and will burn well. You can break them over your knee, if you have to. The larger ones we can prop up against the fire and push in as they burn."
Mary looked around at her attentive audience. With their uncombed hair, beards, and dirty clothes, they barely resembled the group she had led out.
She knew she didn't look much better.
She pushed back a strand of wet hair and took off her pack. "We don't need a fire to burn all night. Just enough to cook a meal and melt water."
"Okay. We'll stop here," Judd said, appearing relieved to have an excuse to get off his sore feet. He dropped his pack. "Wes, you and Ira gather wood. I'll help Mary put up the tents."
"I ain't goin’ out there," Wes protested. "It's too easy to git lost. An' remember the way she fell through those branches— outta sight in a shot." He glanced fearfully out at the thick trees, towering some sixty feet overhead. As if in response, several dropped their loads of snow with dull thuds.
"Scared?" Ramone jeered.
"Course not. I ain't skeered of nothin’."
"Then get going," Judd commanded. "You've got your gun. Shoot if you get lost."
Muttering, Wes stalked off and began breaking branches, keeping well within sight of camp.
Judd untied Connor. "You gather from the trees close by. That’ll keep you out of trouble. Ramone, stand guard for now. Keep an eye on him. Wes," he yelled, “you can go further
out than that.”
“Not me, Boss. This is as far as I go.”
Ramone moved to a central position, gun in hand, eyes on Connor, looking for a reason to shoot.
Connor checked his wrists, rubbed raw by the strap's edges. He took off his pack and set it beside Mary's, staying well away from Ramone.
All afternoon he had wondered where Mary was leading them. He hoped she wasn't actually going to the cabin, now that Judd had given her only four days.
Moving among the trees, he snapped off the dead branches. He had an armful in a matter of moments.
He assessed the situation for possibilities of escape. With two men out gathering wood, their chances improved. He could slip into the trees, circle around and catch Wes and Ira unaware as they worked, maybe get their guns.
He carried his armful back and dumped it in the spot Mary indicated, then went out for more. Wes came in, then Ira, each with an armload.
The wood was too plentiful. Gathering it wasn't going to take them far enough away from the campsite. Judd could easily call them back in once Connor slipped out of sight.
He might be able to get Wes as he returned, grab his gun, and then....
Then nothing. They’d just hold a gun on Mary until he gave up. He could leave and go for help, but they knew that he wouldn't leave Mary alone—even if he did know the way out.
He dropped down into a tree well—the deep depression that surrounded almost every evergreen—and gathered the branches there. He could hide out in one of these, maybe make Judd think he had left. Or leave, circle around and come back to Mary after dark.
But they’d be alert, ready to grab him as he came in. And they wouldn't leave Mary alone in the tent.
Connor snapped the small branches off roughly, refusing to give in to frustration and despair. If they were to escape at all, he and Mary had to do it together.
When they escaped, he corrected himself. When. The time would come. He just had to be patient.
He paused for a moment to pray. Gaining strength from it, he climbed out of the tree well and tromped back to the campsite. Mary had the tent up and supplies inside and was beginning to lay the fire in the stump.