She went to the door, pulled away the chair she’d propped there, and slid open the bolt.
“What are you doing?” said Elaine.
“I want to find out if I am imagining things.” Maura pulled on her jacket and zipped it up.
“You’re going outside?”
“Why not? You’re the one who thinks I’m going insane. You keep insisting there’s nothing out there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Arlo saw a face at the window. It hasn’t snowed in three days. If someone was standing outside, their prints might still be there.”
“Will you just stay inside, please? You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m proving this to myself.” Maura picked up the kerosene lamp and reached for the door. Even as she grasped the knob, she had to beat back the fear that was screaming at her: Don’t go out! Lock the bolt! But such fears were illogical. No one had tried to harm them; they themselves had brought on all their misfortunes, through a series of bad decisions.
She opened the door and stepped outside.
The night was still and silent. No wind blew, no trees rustled. The loudest sound was her own heart, pounding in her chest. The door suddenly opened again and Elaine emerged, wearing her jacket.
“I’m coming, too.”
“You don’t have to.”
“If you find any more footprints, I want to see them for myself.”
Together they circled around to the side of the house where the window faced. They had not tramped this way before, and as Maura scanned the snow by the light of the kerosene lamp, she saw no footprints, only unbroken snow. But when they reached the window she stopped, staring down at the unmistakable evidence revealed by the lamplight.
Now Elaine saw it, too, and she sucked in a breath. “Those look like wolf tracks.”
As if in answer, a distant howl pierced the night, followed by an answering chorus of yips and wails that sent shivers racing across Maura’s skin. “These are right under the window,” she said.
Elaine suddenly burst out laughing. “Well, that explains the face that Arlo saw, doesn’t it?”
“How?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Elaine turned toward the woods, and her laughter was as wild and uncontrollable as the wails coming from the forest. “Werewolves!”
Abruptly, the howls ceased. The silence that followed was so complete, so unexplainable, that Maura felt her skin prickling. “Back inside,” she whispered. “Now.”
They ran through crusted snow, back to the porch and into the house. Maura slid the bolt home and dragged the chair against it. For a moment, they stood panting, saying nothing. In the hearth, a log collapsed into the bed of glowing ashes, and sparks flew up.
Elaine and Maura suddenly stiffened and looked at each other as they both heard the sound, echoing through the valley. It was the wolves, howling again.
NINETEEN
Before the sun rose the next day, Maura knew that Arlo was dying. She could hear it in his breathing, in the wet gurgle in his throat, as though he were struggling to draw air through a water-clogged snorkel. His lungs were drowning in fluid.
She awakened to the sound and turned to look at him. In the firelight, she saw that Elaine was bending over him, gently wiping his face with a washcloth.
“Today’s the day, Arlo,” Elaine murmured. “They’ll be coming to rescue us, I know it. As soon as it gets light.”
Arlo inhaled a tortured breath. “Doug …”
“Yes, I’m sure he’s made it by now. You know how he is. Never give up, never surrender. That’s our Doug. You just have to hang on, okay? A few more hours. Look, it’s already starting to get light.”
“Doug. You.” Arlo took in a ragged breath. “I never had a chance. Did I?”
“What do you mean?”
“Always knew.” Arlo choked out a sob. “Always knew you’d choose him.”
“Oh, Arlo. No, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Time to be honest. Please.”
“Nothing ever happened between Doug and me. I swear it, honey.”
“But you wanted it to.”
The silence that followed was an answer more honest than anything Elaine could have said. Maura remained silent and still, an uncomfortable witness to this painful confession. Arlo had to know his time was running out. This would be his last chance to hear the truth.
“Doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “Not now.”
“But it does matter,” said Elaine.
“Still love you.” Arlo closed his eyes. “Want you … to know that.”
Elaine put her hand over her mouth to smother her sob. The first light of dawn lit the window, washing her in its glow as she knelt beside him, racked by grief and guilt. She took in a shuddering breath and straightened. Only then did she notice that Maura was awake and watching them, and she turned away, embarrassed.
For a moment, the two women did not speak. The only sound was Arlo’s hoarse breathing, in and out, in and out, through rattling clots of phlegm. Even from across the room, Maura could see that his face had changed, his eyes more sunken, his skin now tinged with a sickly green cast. She did not want to look at his leg, but there was enough light now to examine it, and she knew she should. This was her responsibility, a responsibility that she wanted no part of, but she was the doctor. Yet all her medical training had turned out to be useless without modern drugs and clean surgical instruments and the icy determination to do what was necessary: to cut off a screaming man’s leg. Because that was what needed to be done. She knew it even before she exposed the limb, before she smelled the stink of what festered beneath the blanket.
“Oh God,” Elaine groaned, and stumbled away. Maura heard the front door swing shut as Elaine escaped the fetid room in search of fresh air.
It has to be done today, thought Maura, staring down at the putrefying leg. But she couldn’t do it alone; she needed Elaine and Grace to hold him down, or she’d never be able to control the bleeding. She glanced at the girl, who was still sound asleep on the sofa. Could she count on Grace? Did Elaine have the fortitude to hold firm despite the screaming and the pitiless rasp of the saw? If they buckled, Maura could end up killing him.
She pulled on her jacket and gloves and stepped outside. She found Elaine standing on the porch, drawing in deep breaths of cold air, as though to wash the stink of Arlo’s rotting body from her lungs.
“How long do you think he has?” Elaine asked softly.
“I don’t want to talk about countdowns, Elaine.”
“But he’s dying. Isn’t he?”
“If nothing is done.”
“You and Doug already did something. It didn’t help.”
“So we have to take the next step.”
“What?”
“Amputation.”
Elaine turned and stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“We’re left with no other choice. We’ve gone through all the antibiotics. If that leg stays on, he’ll die of septic shock.”
“You were the one who didn’t want to do surgery before! Doug had to talk you into it.”
“Things have gotten a lot worse. Now it’s not his leg we want to save. It’s his life. I need you to hold him down.”
“I can’t do it by myself!”
“Grace will have to help.”
“Grace?” Elaine snorted. “You think you can trust that spoiled brat to be useful for anything?”
“If we explain it to her. If we tell her how important this is.”
“I know her better than you do, Maura. She’s got Doug completely under her control, and he’ll do anything for his little princess. It’s all about keeping her happy, about making up for the fact her mother walked out.”
“You don’t give her enough credit. She may be just a kid, but she’s smart. She’ll understand what’s at stake here.”
“She doesn’t care. Don’t you get that about her? She doesn’t fucking care about anyone but hers
elf.” Elaine shook her head. “Don’t count on Grace.”
Maura released a breath. “If you’re the only one who’ll help me, then we’ll need rope. Something to tie him down on the table.”
“You really plan to go through with it?”
“What would you have me do? Stand by and watch him die?”
“They could come for us today. They could be here in just a few hours.”
“Elaine, we need to be realistic.”
“Another day won’t make a difference, will it? If they show up tomorrow, it will be soon enough.”
“Doug’s been gone for two days. Something’s gone wrong.” She paused, reluctant to admit the obvious. “I don’t think he made it,” she said quietly. “I think we’re on our own.”
Elaine’s eyes suddenly glistened with tears, and she turned and stared at the snow. “And if you do it? If you cut off his leg, what are the chances he’ll die anyway?”
“Without antibiotics, I’m afraid his chances aren’t good. No matter what we do.”
“Then why put him through it? If he’s going to die no matter what, why torture him?”
“Because I don’t have any other tricks in my bag, Elaine. It’s down to this, or just give up.”
“Doug could still send help—”
“It should’ve come already.”
“You need to give him time.”
“How long do we have to wait before you accept the obvious? Help isn’t coming.”
“I don’t care how long it takes! Jesus Christ, do you even hear what you’re saying? Are you serious, cut off his fucking leg?” Elaine suddenly sagged against the porch post, as though too weary to support her own weight. “I won’t help you do it,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Maura turned and looked at the road leading out of the valley. It was another brilliantly clear day, and she squinted at the glare of the morning sunlight on the snow. We have one last option, she thought. If she didn’t take it, Arlo would die. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but in that room, she could smell the inevitability of what was to come, unless she acted.
“You have to keep him hydrated,” she said. “As long as he’s awake enough to drink, keep feeding him sips of sugar water. And food, if he’s able. All we’ve got left for the pain is Tylenol, but we’ve got plenty of that.”
Elaine frowned at her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re now in charge. Just keep him comfortable; that’s the best you can do.”
“What about you?”
“My cross-country skis are still up on the Suburban. I’ll pack some overnight gear in case I don’t make it out before dark.”
“You’re going to try skiing down the mountain?”
“Would you rather be the one to do it?”
“If Doug couldn’t make it—”
“He may have had an accident. He may be lying somewhere with a broken leg. In which case, it’s even more important that I get started now, while I’ve still got a full day ahead.”
“What if you don’t come back, either?” Elaine asked, desperation in her voice.
“You have plenty of food and firewood. You and Grace could hang on here for months.” She turned.
“Wait. I need to tell you something.”
Maura paused on the porch and looked back. “Yes?”
“Doug and I, we were never together.”
“I heard you tell Arlo.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why does it matter?”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“To be honest, Elaine, what happened or didn’t happen between you and Doug makes absolutely no difference to me.” Maura turned toward the house. “All I care about right now is getting all of us out of this place alive.”
It took her an hour to fill a backpack. She stuffed it with food and extra socks and gloves and a sweater. From the garage, she was able to scavenge a tarp and sleeping bag, items she hoped she wouldn’t need. With any luck, she could be down the mountain by nightfall. Her cell phone battery had drained to nothing, so she left it in Elaine’s care, along with her purse, and packed only cash and ID. On a thirty-mile journey, there was no room for even one unnecessary ounce.
Even so, the pack weighed heavily on her shoulders as she started up the valley road. Every step took her past reminders of their earlier ill-fated attempt to leave. Here were the rutted tracks left by the Jeep as it had struggled to climb through the snow. Here were the footprints they’d left after they’d abandoned the stranded vehicle and walked back down, dragging Arlo on the sled. Another hundred yards, another few hairpin turns, and she began spotting Arlo’s blood on the snow, tracked down the road on their boots. Another turn of the road, and there was the stranded Jeep with the broken tire chain. And more blood.
She paused to catch her breath and stared down at the churned snow, stained in different shades of red and pink, like the icy confections you slurped up on a hot summer’s day. It brought back the screams and the panic, and her heart pounded as much from that terrible memory as it did from her trudge up the hill.
She left the Jeep behind and kept walking. Here the snow was broken only by Doug’s footprints. Over the past three days, they had partially melted in the sun, and had hardened into icy crusts. She continued her climb, unsettled by the thought that she was following in Doug’s footsteps, that every step she took he, too, had taken two mornings ago. How far down the mountain would she be able to follow this trail? Would there be a point when it suddenly stopped, when she would discover what had become of him?
Am I bound for the same fate?
The road grew steeper, and she was sweating in her heavy clothes. She unzipped the jacket, pulled off her gloves and hat. This climb would be the most strenuous part of her journey. Once she reached the main road, it would be a mostly downhill glide on skis. That, at least, was the theory. Yet Doug had failed to complete it. Now she was beginning to wonder if she was being reckless, attempting a feat that Doug, so fit and athletic, had been unable to complete.
She could still change her mind. She could turn around and head back to the house, where they had enough food to last them until spring. She reached a viewpoint from which she could see the settlement far below, where smoke was curling from the chimney of their house. She was not even at the main road yet, and already she was exhausted, her legs aching and wobbly. Had Doug felt as weary when he’d reached this point in the climb? Had he paused at this very spot, looked down at the valley, and debated the wisdom of continuing?
She knew what he chose; his footprints left the record of his decision. They continued up the road.
So, too, did she. This is for Arlo, she thought. His name became her silent chant as she walked. Save Arlo. Save Arlo.
Pine trees soon blocked her view, and the valley disappeared behind her. The backpack seemed to grow heavier with every step, and she considered dumping some of the contents. Did she really need those three tins of sardines? Wouldn’t the half jar of peanut butter provide enough energy to get her down the mountain? She debated the issue as she huffed up the road, the cans clanking in her pack. It was a bad sign that she was already considering such a move, less than two hours into her journey.
The road leveled out and she spotted the sign ahead, marking the viewpoint where they had caught their very first glimpse of Kingdom Come five days ago. The valley was so far below her now that the settlement looked like a toy landscape, decorated with artificial forests and flocked with fake snow. But the chimney smoke was real, and so were the people in that house, and one of them was dying.
She turned to continue the trek, took two steps, and came to a sudden halt. Staring down at the snow, she saw Doug’s footprints marking the route ahead of her.
Another set of prints trailed behind his. Snowshoes.
She knew they’d been left after Doug came this way, because they overlaid the impression of his boots. But how soon after? Hours later, a day later? Or had Doug’s
pursuer been right behind him, moving ever closer?
Is he now right behind me?
She spun around, heart hammering as she scanned her surroundings. The trees seemed closer, as though they had somehow crept in on the road when she wasn’t looking. The sun’s glare left her half blind to the gloom under those heavy branches, and her gaze could penetrate only a few feet into the woods before the shadows veiled her view. She heard nothing on that silent trail. No wind, no footfalls, only the sound of her own frantic breathing.
Get the skis. Get down this mountain.
She began to run, following the trail of Doug’s footprints. He had not been running. His stride continued as it had before, steady and even, his soles leaving deep impressions in the snow. At this point, he had not realized he was being followed. He was probably thinking only about the task ahead. About getting on his skis and starting his glide down the mountain. It would never occur to him that he was being followed.
Her chest ached and her throat burned from the cold air. Every step she took seemed deafeningly loud as her boots cracked through the icy glaze. Anyone nearby would think that an elephant was lumbering through. A wheezing, clumsy elephant.
At last she spotted the chain strung across the entrance to the private road. Almost there. She followed Doug’s boot prints the last few dozen yards, past the chain, past the RESIDENTS ONLY sign, and saw the Suburban, still tipped on its side in the ditch. One pair of cross-country skis was missing from the roof rack.
So Doug had made it this far. She saw the parallel tracks left by his skis as he’d glided away down the road.
She waded into the ditch, sinking thigh-deep in snow, and unlatched the second set of skis from the rack. Retrieving the ski shoes would take longer. They were inside the Suburban, and with the vehicle lying on its side, it was a struggle to lift the heavy door. When at last she managed to swing it open, she was out of breath and panting hard.
Suddenly she heard a distant rumble. She went still, listening through the pounding of her own heart, afraid that she’d only imagined it. No, there it was—the sound of an engine.
A snowplow was coming up the mountain.
The Rizzoli & Isles Series 11-Book Bundle Page 230