A flash of red caught Tony’s eye. It was a slight, quick thing. Just a dot in all that white. There and gone, and he leaned his head against the window and squinted. What was it? Just a fraction of something, but definitely red. Or was it pink? A color somewhat between the two, and Tony remembered the word. Coral. That was the color. Wasn’t Julie wearing a coat that color? He couldn’t remember, but it was something bright and pretty. Tony pressed his lips in a tight line. Sunlight bounced off the glass, and the sharp glare forced his eyes back to the interior. Nothing, Tony decided. It was nothing. Just a trick of the light. He squeezed Sid’s hand, keeping perfectly silent, perfectly still. They can’t stop anyway. They can’t even hear what I say.
Across from him, Carter sat hunched over, his head bent to his chest, and he held himself still. Tony bent his head too, eyes on his brother’s face, and swallowed hard.
He didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.
Outside, a thin gray line took shape on the ground. Interstate 70 heading east into the city. The helicopter flew on.
JULIE
Location: Bills Peak, tree line
Elevation: 10,500 feet
Julie had been climbing steadily for some time, eager to reach a ridgeline and get a signal. The trees were thick on this slope, an army of pines and aspens that made it impossible to pick a straight route through. But Julie wasn’t bothered; she was on a mission, and soon enough the foliage and air thinned. She was almost there, and she continued on, eating a banana with one hand while schussing through soft powder. She tossed her banana peel into a drift just as the helicopter appeared over the hill, zooming over her so fast with a crescendo and fade out that she didn’t even have time to blink. The helicopter flew past her over the trees.
“No!” Julie screamed, realizing her mistake. Which way? Which way was it going? She’d been skiing several hours, and now she had no idea whether to return on the trail she’d left or continue on to the top. Leah and Matt must have gotten the call through! They are searching! Impulsively, she turned, deciding to return to Carter. She was a fast skier, and the way back was mostly downhill. If the helicopter was heading to the cabin, it would have to land somewhere. It might take them an hour or longer to complete an extraction. And if she hurried, she might make it. It was all downhill from here.
Renewed by confidence, she swooped down the hill, heading back to the cover of the trees. Stay in the tracks, she thought, and as she cut a path through the trees, a bright blur of gold flashed in the corner of her eye. Something was coming, and it was moving fast, much faster than she was.
The mountain lion struck her sideways, a T-bone collision, and it flung her over, cartwheeling onto her head. Steaming animal breath hit her face as it raked its claws across her back, thankfully protected by her pack and nylon parka. But the cat dug in, curling her into its grip with a tight feline hug, back legs thrusting at her like a spring-loaded device. Julie gasped, striking out with her pole, stabbing the point blindly until it made contact. The cat snarled and Julie screamed back as it leaped off, only now knowing what it was that had just attacked her.
“Stop! Dammit!” She stabbed both poles forward like fencing swords, but the mountain lion didn’t run. “Back!” It flattened down into a rug before her, amber eyes boring into her own. “Back off! Now!”
Tail twitching like a serpent, it spat a hiss, revealing long yellow canine teeth. Julie stabbed once more with her pole; she was dangerously off balance on her skis, and she knew she couldn’t allow it another chance to strike. The metal tip of the pole caught the cat’s nose, and it screeched a horrible gut-chilling noise. Startled by the pain, the cat seemed to reconsider, and with another flick of its tail, it turned and bounded up the slope. But Julie didn’t wait to see it go. She was already flying wildly down the hill, still screaming, still thinking the cat was coming for her, and in her panicked state she swung sharply right. Trees were everywhere. Branches caught her shoulders, smacked her arms and legs, everything threatening to knock her flat. Julie tucked herself together and bent her knees, picking up speed. She wasn’t going to let it catch her. Not now. Not when she was so close. Don’t look back, she thought. Just keep going. Don’t stop. Another sharp curve came up and she cut it neatly, digging her edges in. Faster. Go faster. The woods opened up suddenly, blue sky everywhere. Above her. Below her. Everything was blue. Because in her haste, Julie had just launched herself straight off a cliff.
It was high. Over five hundred feet. Six hundred and thirty-seven feet, to be exact. Adrenaline was everywhere, flooding every synapse, snapping every nerve. Strange thoughts flickered in her mind as she shot out into the air, arcing up like a ski jumper. An open window, pink gingham curtains fluttering in late afternoon sunlight. The thick slapping of flip-flops on hot pavement, a lime Popsicle melting sticky sugar down her chin, her hair streaming out behind her as her father pushed her on her new blue bicycle. The sun, the mountains, the snow sparkles in front of her face whirled around her. She was still heading up, reaching the zenith of her path. The tug and pull of an ocean wave, the salt in her mouth, her mother’s dry cool hand on her forehead, the scent of her skin, lilac and basil and Ivory dish soap, lemon-yellow fireflies winking on and off in the dark blue evening as she chased her older sisters across the lawn, damp grass slick and cool between her toes.
Julie’s eyes were wide open now, seeing everything, and as she began her descent to Earth, she gasped. Not in fear, but in pure amazement. Pure wonder. Because as she watched the view spread out in front of her, all bright blue and white, with heaven and Earth indistinguishable, it turned into the best dream she’d ever had. A dream she never wanted to end. And for those few moments the dream was real.
She was flying. And it was beautiful.
DAY 4
THE HUNTER
Location: West of unknown river
By the time the sun was directly overhead, the cat had reached the river. The scent trail had been weak at first, but now it stood stock still between the aspens, eyes half shut, smelling. It was strong here. Recent and close. The cat moved with a long, pacing stride down the ravine, mouth open and breathing deeply. The river held little interest, but the animal stopped long enough to lap a quick mouthful of water. Satisfied, it continued on downstream, picking its way over rocks as smoothly as the river itself.
A few yards later it froze, scruff bristling to attention, and growled deep in its throat. A different smell was here, concealing the original. The cat snorted and backed away. Nervous, it leaped over the fallen timber, catching another whiff of the trail as it cleared the limb.
It circled back, confused. The cat would not climb the log; it would not cross the river. Not here. It stood quietly, examining the other bank.
The stink of bear was overpowering, so it moved down the bank, looking for a crossing. But the river was wild and raging here, and so it continued downstream, forced by insistent hunger. The last creature had startled it, just enough for it to get away, leaving the lion with a bloody mark on its muzzle. But the injury was nothing compared to its need to eat, and it would not give up so easily again. A few miles downstream there was a precipice of rock jutting out across the water—a twelve-foot jump to the other side. Which would not be a problem for the cat.
MATT
Location: Crude shelter, southeast of unknown river
Elevation: 9,000 feet
It wasn’t light that woke him, but sound. A cutting thud. A mechanical whine. Matt reeled through his catalog of common noises until his brain landed on a winner.
Helicopter. Chopper blades. The whupping beat grew and then ebbed.
His eyes popped open, but everything was shadows, dim outlines of gray and black. Was it the same helicopter as before? Were they still looking? How could they fly in the dark? With one hand he pushed the pack out the opening—sunlight streamed in like a flood. How long have we been sleeping?
He had built the shelter in the early afternoon—at least, judging by the sky he’d thought so.
They must have slept straight through the night, and as he inched out from underneath the tarp he saw the reason for his confusion.
Snow. At least a foot of new powder covered everything, muffling every sound in the woods except for the one that woke him. The whup, whup, whup of blades faded overhead. Where was it? Here the trees were thick as carpet; he couldn’t go running off into the snow even if he wasn’t worried about getting lost. He was wearing only sandals.
“Leah!” He lifted the end of the tarp, carefully sifting off the snow. It was light and fluffy as talcum powder, not the heavy, wet cement that would have collapsed their tent. He cringed. Don’t even think about that. Leah was curled up, hands tucked into her armpits, head barely visible from the coat. She was so still and pale that a flash of panic flared behind Matt’s eyes. Spots and blobs of darkness crept into the corners of his vision. He opened his mouth, then shut it, terrified by what the truth might be.
But it was simple.
She was either alive or she wasn’t.
He touched her hair, somehow believing the answer would be obvious when he made contact. But it wasn’t. He wiggled her shoulder. “Leah, wake up.” Pressing his palm onto her neck, he held his breath and counted to ten.
On eight she groaned and he released his hand. “What time is it?” Her voice was thick with sleep.
“Don’t know. Morning, I think.”
“Early?” she whispered.
“I heard a helicopter.”
“When?” She raised her head out fully from the coat, like a turtle poking out of its shell. Dark purple shadows decorated the skin under her eyes, making her look like she’d been in a boxing match and lost. “Where?”
“Just now.” He cocked his head, hearing only silence. He was positive he didn’t imagine it.
She wiped her eyes, and Matt saw her fingers shake. “What direction did it go?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see it.”
“But you just said . . .”
“I said I heard one,” he replied. “I did. Honest.”
She didn’t argue, but sat up and looked around her, disbelieving. “It snowed!”
“At least a foot, looks like.”
“Shit.”
“Why? Is that bad?”
“Well, it’s not good.” She pushed herself to a tilted stance, a bit too shaky for Matt’s comfort. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the woods. “It’ll be harder for them to see where the avalanche was, harder to spot the trail we made.” She shook her head, red curls bouncing, the only lively looking thing about her. “Well, whatever trail we made is gone.”
“I guess we’ll have to make a new one.” Matt found the clothes and boots where he’d set them out to dry, but now they were covered with snow and still wet, at least the boots were. The leather was so stiff it felt frozen; he doubted she’d be able to wear them. He was stuck with his sandals, but if he could layer on another pair of socks, and then wear the snowshoes, it might work. He hoped so; he didn’t really have much of a choice. He clapped the boot soles together with a hollow thump. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Like I have a hangover.” Leah pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Without the fun part the night before.”
Matt nodded; he felt the same. Dry and gummy mouth, thick furred tongue, gritty eyes and aching head. Everything on his body ached, especially his toes, and he stamped his feet trying to get circulation going while looking for the snowshoes. He had set them next to the boots and he had to dig around with a stick before he found them. After he crammed on another pair of socks and strapped the snowshoes around his sandals, he looked up to see Leah’s expression. Matt couldn’t tell if she was in pain, frightened, or just annoyed.
“What’s wrong?”
“You can’t go walking around in that!” She glanced down at her boots, which were actually his. “You should put these back on.” She sounded embarrassed, but she also looked like she’d rather jump back into the river than take them off. She shuffled unsteadily forward in the fresh snow toward him.
“I will,” he said, holding her pair up, laces tied together in a fat wet knot. “As soon as these dry out we can switch.”
“Well, then let me wear the snowshoes first.”
“No, you need to keep your feet warm.” Matt didn’t want to tell her that he had been afraid she might die last night, that in some ways she looked as if she had, and now returned as a specter, some faded shadow of herself. Death warmed over was the expression Matt’s mother used on occasion. No, thought Matt. Not a good choice of words, no matter how accurate.
“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll switch off every mile.”
He didn’t ask how many miles she thought it would be. It might be easier if he didn’t know. “I’m hungry.” He didn’t know why he bothered stating the obvious. There was no food. He folded up the tarp into a small square, then coiled the rope.
“Me too.” Leah stared blankly at the trees. “I could go for some breakfast.”
Breakfast. His stomach twisted on the word. Images of steaming buttermilk pancakes, shimmering with a glaze of butter and a cascade of maple syrup, flashed in his head. Sizzling peppered bacon, poached eggs that released their golden liquid yolks at the touch of a fork tine. Pork sausage links, plump and glistening with fat and spices. A mound of hash browns, crispy with burned edges. He could eat all that right now, plus a few chocolate-glazed doughnuts, and wash it down with strong black coffee.
He scooped up a handful of snow, forcing the mental food porno from his head. “I guess this is breakfast.” He crunched it in the back of his mouth, and it dissolved like a chunk of cotton candy, minus the sugar.
“We just need to keep going down this way.” Leah took the tarp and rope and zipped them into her pack, then swung it on her shoulders. She stumbled sideways a few steps, looking a bit drunk, but Matt knew her pack was like his—mostly empty. They wore all the dry clothes they had left, and he wondered, given her condition, if he should offer to carry the pack. Immediately, he dismissed the idea. She’d never let him do that.
With a quick snap, Leah clipped the buckle around her waist and shortened the straps, tightening them around her like a cage, as if this would somehow help her stay upright. “We should hit something soon, especially if we keep heading down. Probably a road.”
“Do you think the helicopter will come back?”
“Maybe.” Leah glanced up at the sun, checking the position.
“Do you think they found them?”
“God, I hope so,” she breathed, dropping her shoulders. “Then they’ll know about us.”
“I wish I had my phone.” Matt bit down on his tongue, remembering why he didn’t. Even if he did, the battery would be dead by now.
“Well,” Leah said, “the bear probably would have eaten that too.”
“Have you ever heard of these things happening out here before?”
By these things, he meant the following:
Avalanches. Mortal wounds. Hypothermia. Bear attacks. What else did he forget? What else was there?
Matt thought of Murphy’s Law. Whatever can go wrong, will. That seemed to be true, and it was getting truer by the minute.
“I think these things happen all the time,” Leah answered. “It’s just that they’ve never happened to us.” She started off, legs shuffling and hesitant, and to Matt she resembled a prisoner just released from a dungeon. Tired and shaky. Hopeful, yet wary. She squinted in the sunlight, slowly breaking a new trail through the snowfall. Matt followed.
• • •
They made strange tracks. Matt followed Leah’s boot prints, high-stepping in the snowshoes in an attempt to keep his socks free of snow. It worked for a minute—the exact amount of time it took for his legs to start shaking. His gait descended to a plodding shuffle.
“That bad, huh?” Leah asked, her voice abnormally loud in the still morning. The snowfall had muted the landscape, and not just with a lack of color. The s
ilence was a weight all its own, a muffled blanket on their backs.
“I’m already tired,” he puffed. “And it’s still early.”
“We can switch. I can snowshoe for a stretch.” She bent down and unlaced the boots.
“Okay.” Matt thought she was in a pretty good mood, and he wondered if that was a consequence of coming so close to dying. She also looked better. The purple shadows under her eyes had faded to lavender. “You sound better,” he offered as they traded footwear.
“I’d be better if I had some coffee and a plate of huevos rancheros,” she said.
“Oh,” he groaned, stomach twisting. “Yeah, let’s not talk about that.” He shoved his cramping feet into the Merrells. They were warm, but underneath his socks, on his right foot, his toes burned in a way that he’d only ever felt once before. He pressed them, wiggled them, trying to get the circulation going, but they felt as hard as pebbles. Not good.
“Okay, let’s talk about you instead.”
“Let’s not.” Matt cringed, tightening the laces over his forefoot. Maybe if he tied them tight his feet wouldn’t ache so much. Or would it make it worse? “I’m not very interesting.”
“Everyone’s interesting if you really get to know them.”
“Not me.” Matt thought so far the only truly interesting thing that had happened to him was, in fact, happening right now. And if evading death as many times as he had in the past two days was interesting, he figured he was now the most fascinating person on the planet. “You seemed really out of it last night,” he said, changing the subject. He decided loose boots were better than tight, and tied the laces lightly. He flexed his feet.
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