by Jean Thomas
The dense cover of pines thinned after another mile or so, becoming a mix of conifers and leafless hardwoods. They could see the sky clearly now. No sun this morning. It was overcast, threatening snowfall again. Being more in the open like this, they were vulnerable to the rifle power of the enemy. There was one advantage to this openness, though. Sufficient snow on the ground to satisfy their thirst, even if that same snow did leave a trail of their bootprints.
Eve didn’t expect to welcome another snowfall, but that’s just what she did when the first flakes began to drift down, obliterating their tracks behind them. Gentle though those flakes were in the beginning, they did, in time, make the going tougher.
She knew she should be concentrating on nothing but putting one foot in front of the other and not wasting her energy on anything else. But her mind couldn’t seem to obey that order. She found it dwelling on all her emotions, stemming from what she and Sam had shared last night. Did it have any significance at all for the future? Or had it been just two people reaching out to each other in desperate circumstances? Something that was certain to evaporate when his memory returned?
“Thank God,” she whispered under her breath when Sam finally called for a rest break.
They sheltered under a huge spruce, seating themselves side by side on a log. Eve felt she was free to speak now.
“I’m not foolish enough to celebrate, but is it possible we’ve lost our friends?”
“We’ve managed to shake them for now, but they’re out there somewhere.”
“Any theories on that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe just waiting for the snow to clear so they can try finding us again in the chopper. They certainly can’t take to the air in this weather.”
Eve had another question for him. “Is it my imagination, or has the land been sloping gradually downward? Not that I’m objecting, mind you. Down is certainly better than up.”
“You’re not imagining it. I noticed it last night when I managed to outrun the goons on our tail. I’m thinking we’ve entered a drainage area.”
“Which means?”
“That there’s a stream ahead of us. And if there is, it’s bound to lead somewhere. Like a settlement of some kind on a riverbank.”
“Ah, that’s why you chose this direction.”
“Hopefully, it’s there and within our reach.”
If we don’t perish first from hunger and cold, she thought, but she didn’t put that into words. She noticed he was looking at her and that he had a big, goofy grin on his face. “What?”
“Hate to tell you, angel, but your nose is running.”
She would have resented any other man calling her angel like this all the time, but from Sam it felt good.
“Oh, great—just what a woman wants to hear. That her nose is leaking.” She opened her shoulder bag and began to search through its contents. “I know I have tissues in here somewhere, but wouldn’t you know I can’t find one when I need it.”
“Maybe Ken Redfeather carried a supply.” His hands began to grope through the pockets of the coat he had inherited from their pilot. He was digging into a breast pocket when she noticed a strange look cross his face.
“Something wrong?”
“Uh, no. Sorry, there don’t seem to be any tissues in the coat.”
“It’s all right. I’ve found my package of them.”
It was true he hadn’t located any tissues in the pilot’s coat. But what he had discovered buried in the depths of that breast pocket had been far more interesting, he thought as they continued on their way. And potentially useful. He hoped.
It would have been just a bit too obvious if he’d gone and withdrawn any of those foil-wrapped packets. Not that Sam had needed to do that, anyway. His fingers were familiar enough with the product to tell him exactly what they were. Condoms.
Ol’ Ken Redfeather, he decided with a private little chuckle, must have been planning a good time for himself after he delivered them to their destination. For all Sam knew, the pilot had had a girlfriend waiting for him down in Calgary. Too bad that connection would never happen now.
Sad really, and not something he should be chuckling about. Especially when he had so much else to occupy his attention. The weather, in particular. Not only was it snowing harder with a rising wind, but the temperature had plummeted to a frigid level. He was worried about Eve.
“How are you doing?” he asked her.
“Managing. But a pair of skis would make the going a lot easier. The downhill variety.”
She was right. They were currently descending a long hill, where the snow was building so rapidly that plowing through it was increasingly difficult.
The hill sparked another memory for him, this time from his boyhood. He could see himself sledding down just such a hill and out across a frozen pond. Somewhere in rural Michigan, he thought. He must have been raised in Michigan.
He hoped for other breakthroughs to follow that one, but none occurred. He’d just have to be patient and wait for them.
“Is it only in the desert that you see a mirage?” she wondered, peering ahead of them through the falling curtain of white. “Or is it possible to see one in a snowstorm?”
“I wouldn’t know. Why?”
“Because it’s either a mirage I’m seeing down there, or it’s that stream you promised me.”
Sam could see it now, too, below them. The stream that proved his faith in the existence of one. It wasn’t a mirage either, but a reality. From what he could tell in the driving snow when they reached its bank, it was a narrow, winding river, its solidly frozen waters offering them an open highway through the wilderness.
“Which way?” Eve asked him.
“To the left. And don’t ask me why. It just feels to me like that’s downstream, and downstream seems better than upstream.”
“Well, you’ve been right so far, so let’s do it.”
She sounded enthusiastic enough about his decision, but Sam’s concern about her deepened with the snow as they followed the river. He could see she was growing tired. He needed to find a refuge for them, one that provided food. But there was no sign of any habitation, nothing but the endless, unbroken forest on either side.
In one way the river was in their favor. Except for occasional drifts, around which they were either able to detour or had no choice but to wallow through, the wind had swept the ice clean of such obstacles. But that same wind punished them with a biting cold.
Hell, why not call it what it was? A genuine, freaking blizzard. At least there was no helicopter diving down on them. Not in this stuff. But there was Eve and his fears for her. She was struggling along bravely at his side. But her progress was an uncertain one, requiring his steadying hand whenever she stumbled, which was happening more frequently as they advanced.
There was something else Sam didn’t like. Instead of saving her breath, she began to talk. And of all things, considering they had eaten nothing since yesterday, what she talked about was food.
“Do you like bread pudding, Sam?” She gave him no chance to respond. “The secret ingredient for my bread pudding is molasses. It’s no secret down in Louisiana. Molasses bread pudding is a very popular dessert in Louisiana.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh, yes. I know a lot about Louisiana cooking. I hope one day to operate my own restaurant featuring Louisiana dishes. Not the trendy Creole and Cajun fare, but genuine down-home cooking. I think the Midwest could use a restaurant like that, don’t you?”
“What happened to being a senior editor of a magazine?”
“That was never my dream. I just kind of drifted into it. See, I was freelancing reviews of metro-area restaurants, and the magazine liked my writing. They needed an assistant editor and offered me the job. The money was good, and what with Mom’s Parkinson’s disease getting worse, that was important. Then when the senior editor left the magazine, and the salary for that position was even more tempting…”
“The dream got lost.”<
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“Not lost, Sam. Put on hold. I’ll get back to it one day. I’m a very good chef. Chicken gumbo and rice is one of my specialties. Rice is a staple in Louisiana. They grow it there, you know.”
He found it interesting that she was sharing all these revelations about herself, even though this was hardly the occasion for them. With his memory still largely untapped, he was able to offer nothing worthwhile about himself in response. All he could do was listen and worry.
Eve was huffing with exertion by now. He should have tried to silence her, but she seemed to need to talk. He humored her, letting her ramble on cheerfully about sweet potato pone.
But that was a mistake. He realized that when, describing something called shrimp remoulade for him, her phrases began to get repeatedly disjointed.
“Shrimp…that’s a Louisiana staple, too…bet you know that already, Sam…everybody knows that…I think they do…but not about the hard-boiled eggs maybe…no, not about the hard-boiled eggs…minced very fine, those eggs should be…”
Yeah, it was a mistake. She was beginning to sound almost delirious. Dazed by hunger and exhaustion. He had to get her out of this miserable weather. But how, where?
From what he could tell in the blinding snow, there was still nothing out there but the forest. No shape of anything resembling a shelter for them.
He’d lost all awareness of how far they had traveled on the frozen stream. It might have been a considerable distance or only a couple of miles. All he knew for certain was that their situation had become dire.
The conditions couldn’t be any worse than what they already were, he thought. Or maybe they could, he realized when they rounded a bend in the stream and found themselves suddenly confronted by a barrier.
“A wall, Sam! Isn’t that strange? What’s a wall doing here in the river?”
It wasn’t a wall, not in the sense that Eve meant. No human hands were responsible for it. It had been constructed by nature out of earth, rock and uprooted trees. A high, solid arm flung across the width of the stream, leaving only a narrow gap on the far right side through which the waters must have flowed before they froze. That gap now was choked by a pile of tumbled chunks of ice, some of them as large as boulders.
Yeah, Sam was able to understand what had happened, but only because the snowfall thinned for a few moments, permitting him to see the enormous wound against the hillside, which rose so steeply and sharply off the left bank of the river that no snow had collected there. A wound still so raw that the upheaval must have occurred as recently as last fall before the land had frozen, leaving the area stripped of all growth.
“It isn’t a wall, Eve,” he corrected her. “It’s the result of a landslide, and we have no choice but to climb over it. Think you can manage?”
“Will there be anything on the other side worth climbing over for, Sam?”
“I hope so, angel. I hope so.”
What else could he tell her, even if he expected them to find nothing on the other side but what they already had on this side? More of the same. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to keep going. He couldn’t permit them to do otherwise. Not as long as there was any chance of survival.
“Then I’ll try,” she promised him.
But her flagging strength matched neither her courage nor her willingness to continue. Even with his assistance, his gloved hand drawing her up over the tightly packed rocks and trees, catching her when she started to stagger and fall, she was unable to tackle it. She collapsed before they reached the top of the landslide that blocked their way, sinking to her knees with a mirthless little laugh.
“I can’t, Sam. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. You go on. There’s no sense in both of us dying out here.”
“Nobody is dying,” he said fiercely. “Got that?”
“Yes, but—”
“No more talking. That’s an official order.”
According to her, he was an FBI agent, so the command he’d just issued seemed appropriate. To his relief, she voiced no further objection, not even when he crouched down beside her, gathered her up in his arms and rose to his feet.
What with the bulky parka she wore and the cumbersome bag over her shoulder, not to mention her thick boots, he expected her weight to be a challenge for him. But somehow, even though he had to climb with her to the crest of the landslide, she didn’t seem like a burden. Maybe just because he liked the way she felt in his arms, her face nestled against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck.
Still, he was thankful when he reached the summit, where he stopped to fill his lungs with air. The curtain of snow that had eased long enough to reveal the origin of the landslide had lifted altogether. From this height, he had a clear view of what lay below them on the other side of the barrier. And it was not more of the same.
Only yards away from the foot of the landslide, the river widened, spreading out into a frozen lake rimmed by forest. To Sam’s further amazement, he could make out a small clearing off the shore less than a mile away. Not a vacant clearing either. There was a log cabin there beneath a canopy of pines.
A miracle? Or the mirage Eve had talked about earlier? It was hard to tell through the haze of flakes that were falling again. If he had to choose, though—and he did—he was going to believe in the reality of that cabin.
“Can you see it, Eve? There’s a cabin out there on the lake! The shelter we’ve been praying for!”
Her only reply was a long sigh. If this was all she was capable of, then it was imperative that they reach that cabin as quickly as possible.
Carrying his precious cargo, and with no further hesitation, Sam picked his way carefully down the rough, treacherous slope. The going should have been easier when he reached the bottom and was able to strike out across the level ice. It wasn’t.
The wind on the river had been bad enough, but out here on the open lake it was ferocious, made worse by the snow that had descended in force again, stinging their faces like needles of ice. A snow that obscured all sight of the cabin in the clearing.
He couldn’t afford to make any mistake and miss that clearing, which was why he hugged the shoreline, even if a direct route across the lake would have been faster. Nor was he willing to trust the ice over deeper waters where the crust might not be thick enough to support them.
“Sam?”
Another blessing. Hearing her voice meant she was still with him. “What is it?”
“Can I talk now?”
Her request had him chuckling. “Yes, you can talk now.”
“Then what I want to say is, you should put me down. I can walk again. I’m rested, and I must be too heavy for you to go on carrying me like this.”
“Just stay where you are.”
That she didn’t argue with him about it meant she hadn’t recovered her strength. Besides, crazy though it might be under the circumstances, he continued to enjoy the sensation of her in his arms, the way she felt all soft and compliant and trusting against him.
He even liked the sound of her voice when she started to babble again.
“I really am a good cook, Sam…I’ll show you what a good cook I am…if I can get my hands on a stove and some ingredients…do you suppose there will be food in the cabin, Sam?…I hope there will be food of some kind…”
“Me, too, angel. Me, too.”
Not until they reached the edge of the clearing did Sam notice there was a small building down on the shore. Probably a boatshed of some kind. He spared it no more than a quick glance. He was interested in nothing but the log cabin itself situated above them under the tall pines.
The slope was an easy one to ascend, permitting him to examine the structure as he headed toward it, Eve still in his arms. Its windows were shuttered, meaning it couldn’t be occupied. He figured it must be an isolated fishing cabin used only in the warmer months. There was certainly no sign of anyone here now.
Steps mounted to a covered porch stretched across the face of the cabin. There was a generous supply o
f firewood stacked against the wall and a bench beside the front door. Only when he lowered Eve, placing her gently on the bench, did Sam realize his arms ached from having borne her up that ridge and around the lake, all the while battling his way through the glacial wind.
Didn’t matter. All that counted was getting them inside and getting a fire going. The wood here was evidence that a fire was possible. They both needed the warmth of a healthy blaze, Eve in particular. She was silent now, having talked herself out long before they reached the clearing. Not a good sign.
“I’m going to leave you here, but only long enough to find a way to get us inside. Okay?”
She nodded, sagging against the log wall behind her. He hated leaving her, even for a few essential minutes, but at least she was out of the wind.
The front door, a solid barrier, was locked when he tried it. He might have known that entry wouldn’t be easy. No choice but to find another way in.
Leaving the shelter of the porch, he worked his way around the side of the cabin, folding back the hinged shutters as he went. The windows, too, were all securely fastened from the inside. Not that he wouldn’t hesitate to break a pane to get at one of those locks, but only if it proved necessary.
He had much better luck at the rear of the cabin. There was another, smaller porch here, and when he tried the back door it rattled in its frame. All it needed to force it was his shoulder thrust hard and repeatedly against its planks. With one final, mighty shove the door burst open.
Hallelujah, he was inside!
Although his effort had damaged the lock and the latch, the door itself was still intact, enabling him to close it behind him and keep it shut by propping a chair under its knob.
He was in a small kitchen. Off to one side were open shelves. As poor as the light was, he could make out some glass jars that looked like they contained a variety of dried foodstuffs. Things like rice and beans. Thank God they wouldn’t starve.
He wasted no time in inspecting either the layout of the cabin or its furnishings, noting only there was a stone fireplace as he strode rapidly through the dim interior to the front door, which he unlocked and opened.