by Lee Taylor
What had she done? Her indecision could cost their lives— and the life of Connor's mother. She should’ve let Judd dig them out.
Except Judd wouldn't have gone down to rescue them, she thought bleakly. He’d have let them die while he chased Connor and her and caught them, somehow, even if he had to shoot them. If Judd ever got the jewels, the rest of them were dead.
With Ira gone, Ramone's threat became real again. She could already see the calculation in his eyes as she walked past him to take the lead.
Grim-faced she motioned them forward. They only had about an hour until dark and they had hardly made any progress today.
Dropping down this slope had put them closer to the cabin than the van. If she went left instead of right, she could lead them close enough to the cabin that she and Connor could make it tonight.
Wearing mittens on their feet would hold back frostbite. Once there, she could dig out an old pair of boots and run to the highway for help. Connor might have to wait— she didn't think any of her father's boots were still there.
Another decision. Left or right? It could cost them their lives or save them. She was leading. She had to decide.
Dear Lord, help me make the right choice.
As they entered the tree line, Mary swung toward the cabin. If Connor wished to try for the van, she had just added more time to the trek.
The sun set in less than an hour, but Mary pushed on forty-five minutes longer until the last edge of twilight remained. She stopped in a small clearing surrounded by trees on three sides and a twelve-foot drop-off on the fourth.
She felt like they had been traveling all day instead of just a few hours. The constant strain sapped her energy, her mind, her will to resist. She had to force herself to focus on the possibility of escape.
Walking around the clearing to check it out, Mary looked over the edge of the bank. Too steep to climb, but the snow was over four feet deep. If she and Connor managed to leave tonight, the jump down shouldn't hurt them. It would put them immediately out of hearing from the tents.
Removing her gloves, she stared down at her hands, red and rough, chapped from the many days in the open. When would Judd cut off Connor's finger? Tonight? Tomorrow morning? She dreaded stopping, as it meant bringing that awful moment closer.
Dropping her pack about ten feet from the bank, she motioned Connor over. As she stripped off the Velcro straps, Ramone walked over and stood guard close to them, too close to allow her to slip Connor the knife. Ramone's dark eyes followed Mary's every move, devouring her with intent.
She’d pass Ira's knife to Connor inside the tent. Then maybe he could get Ramone's gun. She opened the tent and placed her camping supplies inside. As she reached for Connor's pack, Ramone stopped her. "Leave it. He's sleeping outside tonight."
"Who changed the arrangements?" Connor's voice grew quiet.
"I did."
"That's not—" Mary said.
"Stay out of this, Mary," Connor said.
"But he can't—"
"Stay out!"
"Don't fight him, Connor. Avoid trouble," she cried. How could she give him the knife? She looked quickly over at the others. Wes was undoing his pack while Judd had started to walk out to gather firewood. Judd stopped for a minute, then turned and walked into the woods, saying nothing.
No help there.
Ramone laughed, the sound destroying Mary's stability. "I make the rules, now, McLarren. And I say you sleep outside tonight, tied to a tree like a dog, while Mary and I get all cozy. Thanks to her, we're short one tent, or didn't you notice?"
Connor didn't speak, his rage expressed in his stance.
Her mouth dry, Mary pointed toward her things already in the tent, hoping to get Connor to enter. "You'll need a stove. Come inside. I’ve an extra one in my pack."
"He won't need it," Ramone said, "although I'll be generous and let him have his sleeping bag."
But I need to give him his—"
"Shut up. Move. Over there." He indicated a young fir growing by itself just above the drop-off. Another tree had fallen next to it at some time and scraped all the branches off one side, leaving it as bare as the soul of the killer.
"It's bed time for you. Play time for me."
"Mary...." Connor's gaze seemed to burn through her. It wasn’t reproachful, as it should’ve been. After all, she had cost them their freedom. Instead it was a gaze of dark desperation, as if he was pushing himself toward a decision.
Even as she watched, it changed, subtly, into a resolution so fierce his eyes seemed to glow. It frightened her. What had Connor decided?
To fight? With the men armed? Surely he’d not try anything that suicidal. She spoke quickly, hoping to prevent a futile attempt to rescue her.
"Go on." Already her mind was closing down on reality.
The two men paced slowly over to the young fir tree, Connor carrying his pack in his arms, their snarling voices coming as from a far distance, the volume rising as they neared the tree.
Don't provoke him.
Her thoughts came too late. Connor threw his pack at Ramone and jumped toward him, knocking him over. The shot came, as she had expected, with the sudden violence of an avalanche.
The two figures separated, the taller one falling to the ground, staggering, then tumbling over the twelve-foot drop-off out of Mary's sight. The other figure strode to the edge and fired five shots downward before straightening, turning, coming toward her. Eyes bulging with evil.
Ramone.
33
The scream rose out of the past, stunning Mary with its violence. She swung around to see who was screaming, but only Wes stood there, a few yards behind her. She turned back to see Ramone advancing through the dim light, his evil presence consuming her— then realized the sound came from herself.
Mary choked yet the scream continued, echoing around her. Tearing at the fragile threads holding her to reality. Holding her to Connor.
Shock sealed her mind, isolating one thought. I’ve killed Connor.
The moment collapsed in on her, beating her down into an abyss. Time shot rapidly away, yet paradoxically all motion slowed, her senses high-pitched, aware of each micro-second.
Once again she saw Connor's body tumble over the edge. Murder done, as she watched. Murder done, because of her.
The burden she’d carried since her mother's death engulfed her. She approached the edge of sanity. Balanced there.
Faces whirled around her, drifting, their lifeless eyes accusing her. The past and present blended together. She heard again her mother's screams, felt again the helplessness to change events.
Images flashed by— dusky roses, lying on a grave. Her mother, fragile, still, one hand outstretched, her beautiful long hair tangled about her neck like a frayed cord. Lifeless eyes staring up at her. Faces relentlessly pursuing her mind through the dark recesses.
Connor's face, so beloved, so earnest, as he pleaded with her to run when they had the chance. Connor, whom she loved. He couldn’t be left in the snow. She must retrieve his body.
The thought pulled Mary back to the present as her search and rescue training asserted itself. Alive or dead, every person, every body had to be retrieved. With a rush the blackness cleared away.
A metallic sound, familiar yet alien, intruded into her thoughts and she focused on it.
Ramone, gun in hand, had shoved in a new clip. He motioned her to enter her tent, but she barely saw him, her mind still occupied with the image of Connor tumbling over the edge.
She started forward, pausing only when Ramone stepped aggressively into her path.
"Where are you going?" he demanded, his loud voice yanking her completely back into the present.
"Connor. We can't leave—"
"Forget him," Ramone said with a snarl. "He's coyote meat." Shoving his gun into its holster, he swaggered closer— a hungry mountain cat with tail twitching as he relished the fear of his prey.
He had her alone now, with no one to stop him. Lust
consume his features. "You've got a real man now, babe, not someone who hides behind a woman's skirts."
"He's worth a hundred of you."
"He's dead. And I'm moving in."
"No!" She backed up, and Ira's knife jabbed her in the side, reminding her of its presence.
"Stick Ramone," Ira had said. But to kill someone, even to save herself, filled Mary with revulsion. She hesitated, then as Ramone paused to remove his coat, his movements jerky in his haste, she pulled the long blade from its sheath—carefully, lest he see it. The smooth steel felt alien in her hand.
I can't kill him, she thought. I can't!
Then yourself, a voice within her urged. Hurry! Before he reaches you.
She clasped the handle of the knife and pressed it against her palm, the cold steel reminding her of its function. Swallowing hard, she jerked it up under her throat.
Ramone stopped, throwing up his hands. "No!"
"Yes," she said, knowing she had no other choice. If she put the knife down Ramone would be on her like a cat on a mouse. Her hand trembled as she pressed the blade against her throat.
A scrunch of snow alerted her to Wes' presence, but too late— he struck her elbow with a sharp, paralyzing blow. The knife flew from her fingers, landing flat on the snow.
With a small cry she dove for it, but Wes shoved her roughly away so that she fell on her back.
Ramone stepped forward and Mary cringed, pulling herself into a tight ball. She wanted to slide into that black pit and stay forever, but the blackness refused to come. Now, when she needed it— wanted it— her mind refused to abandon the horror of the present.
"Ira's knife," Wes observed as he picked it up.
"How'd she get it?" Ramone demanded.
"Must've took it from him."
"So that's what she was doing. Had us put up a tent, then lifted his knife while she acted like she was soooo worried. Well, she doesn't have it now."
He reached for Mary and Wes grabbed his arm.
"You crazy fool. She's the only one who kin guide us. If you go after her, she’ll lead us off a cliff."
"She's okay. She hasn't blanked out."
"She might if you—"
Ramone swore and shoved at him. "Get out of my way, birdbrain. It's all an act she puts on."
Mary pulled herself into a tighter ball as Wes brandished the knife.
"We need her. So help me, I'll use this on you."
Ramone laughed. "You and who else, little man?" He knocked Wes aside, then gasped as Wes slashed him across the hand.
As they struggled for the weapon, Mary could almost hear Connor's voice, urging her to escape.
Now!
Jumping up, she ran past them to where Connor had fallen. She stopped at the lip of the embankment and looked down.
Nothing.
No body.
Connor was not there.
She felt momentary confused. Had someone carried him away? Of course not. Then had Ramone missed? Surely not that close. They had been only about four feet apart. Yet Connor must be able to move....
There! A path broken in the snow below her, headed toward the woods. Connor was alive!
Joy surged through her— exhilarating, energy-giving, life-strengthening joy. It fueled her spirit.
He was alive! Alive!
Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
She started to jump down after him, but stopped. Their snowshoes. Also Connor's pack containing his sleeping bag. They didn't have much of a chance without their gear.
Mary spun around— and almost ran into Ramone, who was clutching at his midsection. The haft of Ira’s knife protruded from between his fingers.
Ramone dropped to his knees and she circled him. Judd had re-entered the clearing from the far side and Wes ran toward him, yelling and waving his hands wildly.
Mary sprinted to her tent, grabbed her pack and their snowshoes, then charged back to the embankment.
"Hey!" It was Judd, yelling. "Come back here!" A shot rang out like an angry bee whizzing by. She ran harder.
"Don't shoot her." It was Judd's voice. "Just catch her."
No longer worried about a bullet, Mary snatched up Connor's pack, threw it over the edge, then jumped after it.
She landed awkwardly in the snow, but regained her balance, jammed her feet into her snowshoes, grabbed their packs and ran after Connor. She spotted him about forty feet ahead, and started shouting his name.
He was falling every few steps, but still alive. He turned and looked at her with astonishment.
"Mary! What happened? I was trying to get back up—"
"He shot you!"
"Yes."
"How badly...?" she cried, running up to him. She reached up and touched his face with wonderment.
"We can't talk. Let's go."
"But you're bleeding." She could see the dark wetness covering his left hand where he clutched his side.
"It'll wait. Here they come."
Spinning around, Mary spotted a figure picking himself up off the snow as another jumped down beside him.
"Your snowshoes," she said, tossing them down in front of Connor.
"Did you get everything?" Connor asked, as he quickly thrust his boots into the harness.
"Almost."
"Hurry." He grabbed his pack and shrugged into it. "Go!"
Mary plunged forward into a desperate run, Connor close behind. Having survived this much, they could survive the rest. Two shots followed, one hitting Connor with a dull thud that made Mary glance back, worried.
"Hit my pack. Run! With their rifle gone, we've got a chance."
Another shot lashed through the darkness, spurring Mary on faster than she’d ever run on snowshoes before. She ignored safety and scrambled down into a gully and up the other side.
The trees were a blur as they ran, the night offering little help in avoiding danger. But the alternative was worse, so she ran fast for a few minutes, then settled into the steady, cross-country pace used in her rescue work.
Ten minutes later, Mary stopped in a small sheltered area. The trees hovered around them, black shadows above the white snow.
"It's too dark to see the trail markers. We have to stop long enough for me to get my headlamp out."
"Not yet. You get enough light from the snow. We can travel, if we go slow enough."
"But your wound.... Let me bandage it."
"If they catch up, I'm dead."
"But we must stop the bleeding."
"I've shoved my hand in it."
Mary's knees threatened to collapse. "In it! Connor, how bad...? Let me see!"
"Not now—"
"Yes, now. You can’t lose any more blood."
"It's got to be quick, Mary."
Shrugging off his pack, he pulled up his coat and shirt. The bullet had gone right in and out, ricocheting off the rib cage, the dark wound in contrast to his white flesh. It was messy, painful, but not life-threatening if the bleeding was stopped.
Putting on her headlamp, Mary grabbed two large dressings and placed them over the holes, then bound them tightly down. "There. That should keep it under control. Where else are you hit?"
"Nowhere."
"But he fired five shots after you fell."
"He shot downhill, in the dark. It’s hard to judge. His shots were high— he hit the snow just beyond my head. He was in too much of a hurry to get to you."
Relief swept over Mary, leaving her grinning inanely.
Connor started to slip his pack back on, but Mary stopped him. "Let me take your sleeping bag."
"But—"
She unfastened the tie straps as she spoke. "My pack is almost empty. I left my sleeping bag, tent, and most of the cooking supplies behind. You don't need any extra weight."
"I guess not. I'm thirsty."
"Water! I'm not thinking. Oh, no!"
His water bottle had caught the last bullet. She showed it to him, then tossed it away and handed him hers. "Drink it all."
<
br /> "But you'll need some."
"Later."
When he finished, she packed loose snow into the empty bottle and tucked it inside her coat, counting on the heat of her body to melt it down into a small amount of water. Not comfortable, but it was better than chilling her body by eating ice-cold snow.
"Turn your lamp off when we leave the deep timber," Connor advised her. "A light can be seen for miles in the darkness."
"You're right. Remind me, if I forget. I don't want to advertise our whereabouts."
Putting the pole star off her left shoulder, Mary headed due east. Her mind sang with happiness. She felt lightheaded, almost giddy with relief. Free at last. Not only that, but they were fully dressed and fairly close to the cabin. They could rest there, then head for the police and safety. Safety— and a future. Perhaps together.
The nightmares that had terrorized her dreams since her mother's death hadn’t reoccurred after the first night at the farmhouse. Having Connor beside her had meant all the difference. He was her lifeline to sanity. As long as Connor stayed with her, she’d be able to live a normal life.
Yet what kind of life waited for her once Connor reported back to his ship? She couldn't marry a man whose job forced him to leave her for weeks on end, although she thought she could handle the potential violence of his job now. After what they had been through, she understood Connor's reasons for staying in the military.
Mary pushed onward through the half-darkness, enough light reflecting off the snow to enable her to see through all but the darkest forest areas. She suddenly realized the light came from the Snoqualmie Summit ski slopes. The clouds overhead reflected the bright lights used by the night skiers. Looking up, she could see the clouds were brighter in one direction. It served as a compass, and she pressed onward, confident of not losing her way.
Of course Judd would also notice the ski-area lights. If he caught her, there’d be no way she could lead him back into the mountains.
A half-hour later, she heard Connor fall as they traversed a steep section. Turning, she hurried back to him.
"Are you all right?"
"Just weak. My legs feel like rubber. I keep tripping over the snowshoes."
"We need to stop—"
"No. We must keep going. We're leaving a trail anyone can follow. Do you know where you're headed or is it too dark for that?"