by Jasmin Quinn
Jackman couldn’t help but smile. “We have to go check it out at least. Dean, Finn, I expect you both want to go.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dean said as Finn nodded. Jackman flicked his eyes to Mack. “You too. Go along. Keep these guys in line. If he’s alive, I want him back here alive. Hands off. Bring Esma in too. I want to know why the fucker was flying in my airspace. Esma’s more likely to break before he does.”
Dean took charge. “We’ll go first thing in the morning if the storm’s cleared. I’ll pull together the supplies, some men. Nika, we’ll need comms.”
Nika nodded, was back at her screen. “The storm is moving off, still cloudy, which is good. It will be warmer. I’ll get the communications in place and a GPS set up so you can easily locate the plane.”
Finn squeezed Nika’s shoulder affectionately. “I’ll help her.”
Jackman looked to Mack, who shrugged. “I’ll go get some sleep so one of us can think straight tomorrow.” He turned and strolled out of the room as the rest of the group watched him.
Nika turned to Jackman. “The new guy is… different.”
Jackman nodded. Couldn’t disagree.
Chapter 36
After they rested, warmed up, Rusya took a closer look at Esma’s head wound. It was on the top of her head, covered by her hair, deep enough that it would scar, but her mess of curls would keep it from being apparent. She might have a concussion, but the cut was no longer bleeding and he could do nothing but apply more antiseptic to the wound. She had a few other scrapes, but nothing serious and other than his dislocated shoulder and a gash over his right eyebrow, he was in reasonably good shape.
His mind kept straying back to the word lucky. Not something he’d used before, didn’t believe in it, but all the things that could have happened that didn’t. The plane didn’t disintegrate on impact, they hadn’t been ejected, dying from exposure before they woke up. They weren’t seriously injured. They would be able to walk away from the crash. They could have died. Esma could have died.
A trace of guilt filtered through him at Evan’s death. He’d been a good man. Rusya felt a burden weighing him down, exhaustion and sorrow haunting him. He was philosophical about death – it would eventually happen to everyone. Birth and death, the two things humanity had in common. He wasn’t afraid of dying but realized now that he was afraid of Esma dying.
Fool. He was a fool.
They kept their exchanges limited to what was necessary. He didn’t know what to say and he thought Esma was afraid to say anything. She was still alive and she seemed to want to stay that way. A survivor. And fearing his temper, but that was truly spent. Look where it got him. Evan’s death on his hands, he and Esma stranded on Jackman’s turf.
As they huddled together, as he held her in his arms, he wondered if he truly would have thrown her out of the plane onto Jackman’s compound. His rage would have cleared eventually, but maybe not soon enough to save Esma. Then what? His heart stuttered at the thought, but at the same time, everything had changed. The trust was lost, the love…
In the wreckage of the plane he was glad for her presence. She didn’t cry, didn’t get hysterical. She was in process of trying to save Evan’s life when he regained consciousness. She was truly a remarkable woman.
They’d turned to their backs. His right arm pained him and she couldn’t put weight on her left. She’d shifted into him, her gloved hand inside his coat, splayed across his stomach. “We shouldn’t fall asleep,” she murmured, her voice soft, the edges of her words lethargic. “We might have concussions.” Then she dropped off, her breaths deepening, evening out. He let her sleep, didn’t shake her awake. They needed their rest, their strength for what was to come. For tomorrow. His last thought before he too fell asleep.
♦ ♦ ♦
Rusya woke to an eerie stillness. The storm had passed and dawn was leaking through the gap in the wall. Esma was still curled up next to him, her hand on his chest and as he looked at her, his eyes burned. He tried to sort his feelings, find something inside him, but he felt hollow. His life was imperfect, always had been, but he’d never believed in happiness anyway. He thought that life was a series of difficulties interspersed with occasional and fleeting moments of happiness. Esma had given him a moment of happiness, but now it was lost in her betrayal. His anger was gone, replaced by a profound sadness. A broken heart, maybe.
He shifted and Esma mumbled something, then her eyes popped open. “I slept.” Her words were laced with disbelief.
“Me too. We were tired.”
She jumped to her knees, her eyes roaming the plane hull, her words spilling out of her mouth. “We have to leave, Rusya. We have to get moving. Get to a treeline.”
He kept his voice calm, steady though he understood her anxiety. “We will. It’s early. No one can drive up to us out here, so there’s time.”
“They’ll have snowmobiles. They’ll go faster than we can walk.”
A little surge of guilt rose in Rusya. Esma was clearly afraid, even more so than last night. He didn’t terrify her, Jackman did. It was a revelation and he tried to reassure her. “Anto will come for us. What we need to do is make sure we’re fully prepared to get out of here so that we don’t die of exposure or anything else while we’re walking.”
Esma nodded a couple of times. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” She stood up quickly, then dropped back down on the cushions. Crumpled into Rusya’s arms. “Dizzy.”
He sat up, eased around her. Clipped out angry words. “Slow down, Esma. Take a breath.” He sounded like an arrogant prick, intended to. Better she be angry than panicked. She would be more effective.
A dark glare replaced the fear that was clouding her eyes. “Right.”
He tried to sound less superior as he folded the blanket that had saved their lives last night. “There’s a logging camp to the north with a runway. That’s where Evan was trying to go before he lost control. That’s where Anto will start from.”
Rusya wondered if that was smart. Jackman would think that too. But south, nothing that he knew of but Jackman’s compound. Closer, but Anto would be coming. So north. A logging camp would mean shacks along the way. A place they could shelter, start a fire. A place that would protect them from cold, maybe from bullets. A place where he could defend them.
Esma didn’t question his reasoning. “Okay, then north.” She rooted around with her free arm, pulling together supplies, pulling things out of the emergency kit and stuffing them into a pack. Candles, matches and tinder. “There’s chemical hand and feet warmers.”
Good, Rusya thought as he crawled past Esma and pushed open the door on the plane. Walking would heat their core but their feet and hands were the most at risk for frostbite. He surveyed the landscape. It was still dusky out. The ground was covered in snow, but not too deep. He could see stretches of grass under it. It would be slow going though. The sun in the east so if they walked to the left of it for a couple of hours, they would be heading north. He looked in that direction as he jumped down from the plane. The treeline was 3 or 4 kilometres off, maybe more. Not far, but not close either.
He stuck his head back inside. “Is there a compass?”
“I’ll check.”
He left her to the packing as he trudged around the plane, taking note of the landscape, looking south, listening for sounds of motors. Nothing. This part of the world was hushed, still asleep except for the soft sounds of snow falling off trees. He circled his plane, his folly, and inspected the damage. A man died because of him. That happened, he’d made it happen, ordered it many times, but not this way. Not over something so… he groped for the right word, couldn’t find it.
He let the thought go as he made his way back to the door of the plane. Esma poked her head out. “I found a compass and packed what I think we’ll need. There’s only one pack so we’ll have to take turns carrying it.” She dragged it to the door with her working hand, then jumped out. Lithe, like a little cat. The snow crusty and she so light she didn’t sink
into it.
He moved to the door of the outside storage compartment, tried to pry it open, Esma at his shoulder, pushing her way in. “It needs two right arms, let me help.”
It was dented but they managed to open it a little, enough that Rusya could get his hand under and pull it the rest of the way. Not much of use, but a rope and axe, both of which might be needed. Rusya attached them to the pack and then pulled it out onto the snow. Esma made a grab for it and Rusya stopped her with his hand to her chest. “I’ll carry it.”
“No. You shouldn’t put that kind of weight on your shoulder.”
He looked at her darkly. “And you have a broken arm. I’ll carry it until I can’t, then you can carry it. But right now, save your energy.” He didn’t usually indulge his masculine ego, but he had no intentions of letting a five-foot nothing women who didn’t even dent the snow with her weight carry a heavy pack while he walked beside her. Not a goddamn fucking chance that would that happen.
He shouldered the pack and stalked off. Walked 100-yards towards the treeline and turned. Esma was right behind him, literally walking in his footsteps. He cocked his head at her. She shrugged. “Probably won’t make a difference, but they’ll underestimate us if they think we’re only one.” Rusya nodded, smart woman. He wondered exactly how well-trained she was. Wondered how lethal she was.
It was cold as the sun came up and swept the landscape, but no breeze, which helped their progress. Rusya kept an eye behind him, wanted to make sure Esma was in his sights. Finally he stopped, turned. “Hold onto my jacket, so I know you’re there.”
“I’m here,” she said softly but reached out and took the sleeve. An hour later they were at the treeline. As Rusya walked a few feet into the trees, he felt a sense of relief that they finally had cover. Took a look back. “What do you think? How far have we come?”
Esma followed his line of sight. “Maybe three kilometres. So far no activity behind us.”
“In an hour. Not fast enough. If we walk for eight hours, we’ll only make it 24 kilometres. And that’s supposing we aren’t blocked by anything like water or a drop off.”
Esma nodded, looked past him into the trees as she held the compass. “There must be logging trails that will lead us to a shelter. If the camp is north, and we keep going north, we’ll run across something.”
Rusya studied her as she looked solemnly back at him. He guessed at the very least, if he was going to be stranded and in danger, then she was the right person to have along. “Let me know if you have to stop.”
Esma grinned. “I wouldn’t mind a quick bathroom break before we carry on. It’s been a while.”
Rusya’s heart hurt as she smiled, but he held it inside, nodded. For him too. After, they moved on, north, adjusting their path as they needed to. Not talking, stepping carefully through the dense forest, their progress slowing as they made their way deeper into the trees, deadfall blocking their way, forcing them to detour here and there. Easy to get disoriented when they lost sight of the sun.
It was well past noon when they saw the first signs of logging. An expanse of stumps, trees gone, a field. This was good, they moved through the field quickly, saw what appeared to be a snow-covered logging path, followed it for a few kilometres. Easier going and downhill so they made better time. Then the shelter in the distant, Rusya saw it first and pointed to Esma, who let out a shuddering breath, relief threaded through it. As they walked, she picked up sticks until she had an armful. “We’ll need a little fire.”
“It’s a signal to whoever may be out looking for us.”
Esma nodded. “Hopefully Anto. We’ll need the warmth.”
The shelter looked closer than it was and the shadows were deepening as they finally reached it. Night was coming and they’d encountered no one, heard nothing but the sounds of nature. It was eerie at times for Rusya. He was not ashamed to admit that he was not a woodsman, not a camper, had not even roasted a marshmallow on a stick. He liked being outside, but on his terms. Not in winter, not in Russia and definitely not in some sort of broken-down logging shelter.
It didn’t make him any less grateful, though.
Inside, it was dry and unremarkable. A small pit with a makeshift flue and a stack of wood beside it. Enough that they could set the fire and warm themselves, maybe enough for a night. And they had long-burning tinder to supplement it. Rusya dropped the backpack and Esma rooted through it, pulling the matches, a tub candle, and the blankets out. “We need more wood, Rusya. As much as we can get before we lose daylight.” He nodded as she lit the candle and placed it near the small plastic covered window.
They stepped out and gathered what they could. Rusya picked up small branches, bark, trapping it against his chest. It was painful, his shoulder ached, and he felt the creep of exhaustion. He’d lived through worse, but those memories were distant and right now he was too raw and uncertain. He made his way back to the cabin, dropped his armful and walked off again. He kept an eye on Esma, whose focus was profound. She carried as much as could with only one working arm, bundle after bundle until it was dark and too dangerous to be out.
In the distance, they heard the howls of wolves.
Once inside, Rusya lit the tinder, and it blazed, then small sticks to build up the flame and bigger logs to add warmth. He used the wood that had been in the shelter first, it was dry. There was a small cot bundled in a corner and while Rusya fussed with the fire, Esma dragged it out into the centre of the room, near the fire pit, tossed some blankets over the mattress and then sat down. Rusya rooted around in the pack, found the bag of rations and a couple of water bottles, then sat next to her.
They kicked off their boots, their gloves, undid their jackets. Rusya saw the relief in Esma’s face, and her exhaustion as she wriggled her feet and flexed her fingers. His admiration for her grew. No other women in the world would have this kind of resilience. He thought of all the things he wanted to say to her but couldn’t form the words. Instead, he unscrewed the cap on a water bottle and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she took it, brought it to her lips and drank it down. Every last drop.
He smiled a little, did the same with his water bottle. Threw his in a corner and picked up two more. He had no intentions of being out here in this Russian ice box for another night, so didn’t feel the need to ration the food they had with them. “Looks like beef jerky,” he said as he offered her a package of rations.
Esma tossed her empty bottle in the direction he’d thrown his and took the food. “I could eat anything right now, I’m so hungry.” She ripped the top off the foil package and took a bite, chewed for a full minute before swallowing, then looked down at the food. “It’s horrible.” She grinned and took another bite. Rusya smiled, ripped the top off his and took a bite. She was right, he thought as he chewed.
Chapter 37
The day had not unfolded as badly as Esma feared, but she couldn’t keep the desperation from quelling up inside her. They were in Jackman’s territory. Alone, lost, injured. Rusya’s shoulder, her arm. And her head. Though she downplayed it, she was sure she had a concussion. Frequent dizzy spells, some nausea and a low-grade headache. But she didn’t slip into a coma last night, woke up this morning feeling like shit, but that was better than feeling nothing.
When they set out, Rusya led, she followed, hanging onto his coat when he asked. At least it mattered to him that he not lose her. They’d walked most of the day and she was starting to despair that they wouldn’t find shelter. They could make a shelter if needed, but it would necessitate them taking turns on watch. To keep a fire burning. They would be vulnerable to wolves and other predators out in the open and of course, they needed the warmth from the fire. Outside, at night, it would get frigid and no fire would be warm enough. She doubted even the all-weather blanket would do the job.
They found the clear-cut as the sun was starting to edge its way down, and the cabin shortly after. It was a miracle that the cabin had enough fire wood. Maybe
it was rule of the logging company that the shelter always be well-stocked. Even so, they gathered more wood, so that they didn’t run out. She figured they wouldn’t stay here long. She wondered about Jackman’s plan. Would he send men after them or to the logging camp or both? And Rusya’s men, Anto. Would they get there ahead of Jackman, and how? A plane at the logging camp? Would they even be able to use the runway there or would Jackman prevent them from doing so?
As she and Rusya settled in front of the warm fire, Esma was glad for the truce. If Rusya had still wanted her dead, he could have snapped her neck by now or put a bullet in her. But who knew? She’d created this fantasy in her head that he was the ideal man. They needed each other, but maybe when this was over, when they were found, he’d kill her or leave her to Jackman’s judgement. She didn’t have to tell Jackman the truth of what happened, but that was irrelevant. Jackman would kill her anyway, her usefulness to him had ended.
And if Anto got to them first, before Jackman, what would happen then? What would he do? He seemed to be staunchly in Rusya’s camp, but maybe that was an act. It was his job as an operative of Jackman’s to insinuate himself, report back. She didn’t know him well, trusted that he was honourable, but was there truly honour among killers? And then the question she tried hardest not to think about. What if no one found them and they couldn’t find the camp? She had more survival skills than Rusya, that much was obvious. Some of her training took place in these woods. But they couldn’t last out here in the cold indefinitely.
They ate the rations, drank more water, then settled on the cot, lying side by side, Esma on her right side facing the fire, curled into Rusya, who held her to his chest. The cabin was warm enough that they shed their coats, pulled the blanket over them. They were safe for the moment, she hoped. The search would stop when the sun went down. Only a fool would be out in this area of Russia at night time. Well, a fool and maybe Anto.