by Fiona Quinn
Gingerly, Anna moved to the edge, lay down on her stomach and wiggled around until her legs dangled into the space. She lowered herself slowly down. When her feet found something solid beneath her, she stood. Only her eyes were above the drop-off. She reached out to help guide Finley down. She knew he probably hated being coddled. He was putting up with it out of necessity.
He dropped down to sit on a rock and lay his head in his hands, stifling a moan.
Anna lifted the tactical binocular and switched on the night vision capability in the gunmetal grey of nightfall. The wind whipped the snowflakes across the lenses. The ice particles tapped the metal housing. Anna adjusted the sights, wondering how long the batteries would last. She took her time working systematically from her far right to her far left, clearing the area before she prepped their camp.
No such luck.
They weren’t alone.
There was a snowmobile working its way through the trees due east of the car.
In the hours since they started off, they’d travelled just over six kilometers, according to the map. A kilometer and a half per hour under these conditions was right about what Anna had calculated. It had been slow, deliberate movement, but they’d kept a steady pace. As she’d hoped, the blowing snow had done an adequate job of covering their tracks as they went. That snowmobile she’d picked out was still at a good distance. It wasn’t following their path, yet. If it could hold back another twenty minutes, there wouldn’t be anything left to see. No way to trace them to their camp.
Anna watched the snowmobile head toward the creek bed a klick to the south according to the computer readout at the bottom of the binoculars’ lens. Anna wondered if they’d drive over the bank.
If they didn’t know it was there and weren’t paying attention, it could happen.
She wasn’t holding her breath.
It was a nice thought for the moment. It opened up some possibilities. The two riding the mobile would have the same communications issues as she and Finley were having. If she moved fast enough, she might be able to intercept the men and snag a ride out of here. Get Finley to the emergency room before his head exploded.
It would really suck if he died.
Anna considered the possibility of getting that snowmobile. The decision to do that would presuppose that it was in good working condition, and it was full of gas. She’d have to kill the men to do it. Silently. Hide the bodies. Anything else would flag this as the way she and Finley had escaped. If she was being honest with herself, taking on two guys in a life or death fight, with her body wrung out from the day’s fiascos, wasn’t the smartest of decisions, even with a gun and surprise on her side. If she were being really honest with herself, she wasn’t super-human, and that scenario could never work out.
Anna dropped her hand to Finley’s shoulder. “I’m doing recon. I’ll be back in a bit.” She slid the backpack from her shoulders and unrolled the car mats. She set one on the ground for Finley to sit on and the other she set up against the bank for him to lean against. They were under the shelter of a large exposed root. In this grotto of sorts, he was out of the weather. He’d probably be okay for a short while on his own.
She wrapped him in the Mylar blanket, then the thick fleece blanket and stood back to observe. He blended in fine. The dog hair helped with the camouflage effect.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Anna whispered. “Promise?”
He raised a thumb to agree, and she took off. She put her hand on the bank and jogged forward a hundred paces before she dropped her supply bag. She thought Finley was a hurting puppy, but there was also the off chance he was faking it. With that bag, he’d have what he needed to stay alive. Without that bag, it wasn’t likely that she would survive. She just wasn’t clear yet what role he was playing. Not enough to risk her life, anyway. She left it there behind a rock. It was heavy, and she was tired and needed to be nimble.
She pushed as hard as she could. The snow helped to amplify the dimming ambient light. She counted out her paces; each stride in the snow was about a meter. Every two hundred and fifty strides, she’d stop and do a sweep with the binoculars and reassess.
The counting kept her on task. Kept her mind from doomsday scenarios. Drowned out her panic.
So far so good, she gave herself a pep talk as she whispered, “Two hundred, two hundred and one.”
She kept herself going. Pushing. Pushing. She’d had two Coke’s at the car and a meal replacement bar. It was all she’d had to eat that day. The lactic acid was building up in her system, and she gripped at the cramp in her side.
When she got to her second check, Anna realized that the men had beaten her to the creek bed and were now taking a break. The men on that snowmobile had lit up their cigarettes, watching another snowmobile head their way, its headlight bobbed past the black trunks of the trees. Anna tucked the binoculars down and shifted herself into stealth mode.
Cigarettes and chatter. Maybe someone would pull out a flask. She might not end up with a vehicle. But intel would make this trek worth the risks.
Anna was under the lip of the ridge, slinking silently step by careful step until she was right under them. Anna was wearing the two coats, Mulvaney’s FBI jacket was under her digital grey hunting jacket. The hood was pulled up and cinched down. She’d painted mud over her face. All of that would be useless if the men had thermal or night vision capabilities.
Laughter crackled through the night.
The wind picked up the hum of conversation. The sound of it seemed too large against an otherwise sterile soundscape. Anna reminded herself the snow’s silence put her in jeopardy. There were two sounds that carried through the woods: the sound of someone saying shhhh and the crack of a stick under foot.
Each step put her at risk.
Finally, just below the klatch of men, Anna hunkered down with her back to the bank.
“Cold as my ex’s heart out here. My balls got icicles hanging off them.”
“You finish your grid?”
“Near enough to call her done. Cal wanted me to sweep up the creek bed for a couple of miles, but there’s no reason for them two to walk north from here. If she were heading north, she should have done it from the road. But if Zelda had the chick’s topo map, then she’d believe there’s no help in that direction. My guess is they’re south of here, heading for the highway.”
“We still have a bit to go. We’re on our last east-west sweep on our grid.”
“What Cal thinks we’d find in this storm has got me stumped.”
“They had to go somewhere.”
“Okay now, think. That was one hell of an accident. Killed two of ‘em.”
“Pshh, Johnathan was a moron. He was about to die anyway. No real loss there.”
“How do you think he ended up out there in shorts?”
“Like I said, he was a moron.”
“So he’s dead and that was the worry. His ratting.”
“Now the worry is someone’s got the FBI chick’s phones.”
“Zelda.”
“Zelda’s cool. She’s good people. I bet she’s gone to ground. One of three things is gonna happen, mark my words. One, she’s going to show up at the cabin tonight with a gun in the back of a special agent’s skull. Two, she’s going to call in to tell us that she found some idiot on the road who turned around and took her to a hospital. Three, the two of ‘em are dead somewhere else.”
“Thrown from the car, and we just didn’t find ‘em?”
“Can’t be that. The FBI chick was stripped. Her socks were gone, her boots set out with no laces. Zelda did that. No dude would think to strip socks off a woman’s corpse. I agree with Bob, she found a way to a hospital, or she’s got her feet up in front of the fire at the cabin while we’re out here with frozen ball sacks.”
One man’s voice ran into the other. Anna didn’t recognize any of them. “Bob” – didn’t ring a bell. They all seemed to have an opinion about her though. So far, it sounded like they all considered her
a team player. If push came to shove, she might make that work for her.
“Hand me that, I need a swig.”
“I say, finish these cigarettes and let’s head back and see what the other team’s turned up.”
“Dark’ll be full on us in another fifteen minutes.”
“We need more searchers. Are they bringing them in?”
“They put a call out, but what with the weather, a bunch of our local boys are out earning some extra bucks plowing with their trucks. They have to run the routes again tomorrow to clear tonight’s accumulation. I don’t expect them to show up much before lunch. We’re still rousing the troops, they’ll be getting themselves out here. I know we have a couple dog teams coming in.”
“Those dogs’ll have a hard time of it with this wind. The scent cone is gonna be pretty wide.”
“Doesn’t matter, we have to find them. Cal says if they have the bitch’s phone we’re cooked but good. The boss owns that house.”
“So how do we catch ‘em?”
“We out think them.”
“Good luck with that, Pearlman. Your smarts against a special agent and Zelda’s?”
The men laughed heartily at Pearlman’s expense. Anna knew Pearlman. He was medium everything, including IQ, but he was a hell of a good shot.
“I heard they’re bringing in Bella. That’ll take care of the problem right there. Besides, Zelda and the special agent are on foot, and we’re on snowmobiles. It’s not like they could outrun us or anything. I got a twenty that says they’re already dead.”
“I’ve got a twenty that says they’ll die in their camp tonight.”
“Okay, I’ll take that bet. I say we find them in their camp but alive tomorrow.”
“How about you Pete?”
“You’ve met Zelda. I wouldn’t bet against her. And if Cal’s right, and she got hold of that chick’s phone, she’s running because she knows her number was up. I’d caution you all, while we’re out here trouncing around in the storm, Zelda’s probably got a couple guns on her and enough ammo to take us all down. Watch your six.”
Chapter Seven
Finley
Finley was in his head, trying to make sense of things.
Mistakes. He kept making them, and it was unnerving.
He was used to being sharp and agile. He could keep his eye on a target, take care of a crisis under hand, and plot his next move all at the same time. He could trust that what he needed from his body, his body could and would perform. He’d tested that theory in enough life or death situations, and so far, so good. Maybe he’d used up his supply of get out of jail free cards.
His current state sucked.
Things would be a hell of a lot clearer for him if he understood Zelda’s game.
Zelda had made him promise not to fall asleep, and she was right. With his head injury, that was dangerous. But the longer he sat on the mat, the harder it had been to keep his eyelids from blinking shut. Finally, he’d dragged himself up, folded the blankets and set them carefully in the grotto to keep them clean and dry.
He’d been up on the far side of the creek, dragging dead wood over to the opening and dumping it down the bank. They’d need to cover the front of the root overhang to try to keep the wind and snow off them while they slept. He figured he’d better take advantage of what daylight he had while he had it.
It had been a long time since he’d been a boy scout. He still knew a thing or two. And if he squinted, he could see past the blaze of pain, shooting from head to foot, to get the job done.
He kept at his task until it got so dark he had to feel his way tree to tree. He jumped down the bank and sucked a breath between his teeth to keep himself from hollering with pain. It was past time he could have more pills, but Zelda had taken the pack with her. He was sure it was by design.
What he wasn’t sure of was if she’d come back.
He didn’t expect her to come back.
He was talking himself out of his panic.
If she wanted him dead, she would have killed him back at the car. Easy. She could have choked him out, exploded the car, put a bullet through his brain. This whole save-the-fed set up had him perplexed. Maybe she thought she could trade her heroism for a lighter sentence or a walk on the whole thing.
And he wasn’t persuaded she was trying to save him.
Could be she just needed to convince him to walk to the creek bed, so he could die here, and no one would ever find his body. Just needed him to disappear.
Why?
He couldn’t come up with a reason. But he had just about convinced himself that Zelda was long gone, when she whispered, “I’m back.”
He jumped at the tickle of warm breath on his ear. How did she sneak up on him like that?
“I’m going to start a fire,” she whispered, picking up an armful of the branches. “There were a couple of snowmobiles up the way, but we’re clear now. Can you stay here and break some wood?”
Finley ground his back teeth together but didn’t say a word as she walked back to the overhanging root. If she started a fire, they’d be seen for miles around. If she didn’t start a fire, they’d probably freeze to death.
Six of one, six feet under of another.
Or something like that.
Finley decided he had trust issues.
Big time.
He also decided that his brain had taken a beating, and he was in bad shape.
Hungry.
Tired.
And so damned cold he couldn’t feel his fingers or the tip of his nose. Anything negative, he needed to swallow down.
Embrace the suck.
He got to work on both the wood and his attitude.
When he heard the crackle of fire, Finley gathered his armful of wood and followed the warm yellow glow that painted a circle under the tree, picking his steps carefully.
Zelda had dug a Dakota fire pit, a two-holed pit with a tunnel running between them for air flow. It was an effective way to light a fire in strong winds and to keep that fire secret. The collapsible emergency shovel from the car trunk lay against a rock. He hadn’t considered that. He hadn’t considered stripping the car for useful equipment like the rubber floor mats and the shovel. He hadn’t considered the possibility of making this kind of fire that was almost invisible, used less wood, and put out a hotter heat. He’d just bumbled and stumbled along since the car did its trapeze act.
It was scary how many things he’d missed along the way. Big chunks of the day were lost to him.
It was scary how bad his neck and head hurt.
He was just fucking scared.
He’d been here in dark places plenty of times before. Lived in them for long periods. His job was to be scared, suck it up, buttercup, finish the mission. But this time, his fear was in his own capacity to think and process and make good decisions.
This was life-threatening stuff.
“Come sit here,” Zelda said, pointing to the place she’d just vacated.
He hated to do it, sit while there was work to be done, but his head spun with vertigo.
Zelda held out the bottle of pain pills and half a protein bar. “Sit down before you fall down. I’m too tired to drag your unconscious ass into the shelter, so if you don’t want to stay out here tonight, you’re going to go sit, and not make my life any harder.”
He bit at the finger of his glove and yanked it off to reach for the meds.
Cross-legged on the car mat, Finley leaned his head back and watched as Zelda got busy arranging the saplings and branches he’d gathered on the outer edge of the root. She pulled a heavy-duty plastic tarp from the pack and wove it between them. She’d brought the windshield sunshade and placed it, so the reflective surface circled opposite the fire, radiating heat back from the flame.
She’d thought this through before they left the car.
Clever.
Zelda dragged the rest of the branches over and arranged them against the root ball. He was glad he’d done something to cont
ribute. It wasn’t in his nature to sit back and receive.
The stack was thick enough to support the snow she shoveled into place. It cut the wind gales down to zero. He heard her packing the snow down, making it sturdy enough that the setup wouldn’t collapse down on them as they slept.
“This is a prototype,” she said. Standing on the outside of the shelter, she lowered the plastic over the opening in front of the fire leaving a small space at the bottom for the warmth to flow in. Those were the first words she’d uttered since he’d sat down. If she was in the same straits as he was, she was too tired to chat. In too much pain.
Finley knew about his own pain, but Zelda hadn’t said a word about what happened to her in the crash. Something had to have happened to her. You don’t just fall out of the sky and walk away unscathed. “Looks pretty good to me,” he said. “Where’d you learn this? From the Southern Iron Cross?”
“No. I had some training elsewhere. The concept here is that this works like a greenhouse, the heat from the fire warms the air and that air stays trapped inside the plastic.”
“Not many people are hiking around with a sunshield with their pack.”
“True,” she said as she pulled off her coat and hung it on a line she’d rigged beside the fire. “But that’s not required according to this theory, just a booster. I’m debating the Mylar blanket. I’m not sure what the best use will be. It’s pretty flimsy and won’t do us a lot of good if it shreds.” She pulled off Mulvaney’s coat and hung it up next to what Finley recognized as Mulvaney’s pants – they must have been wet from earlier when Mulvaney landed in the snow.
Finley touched the neck collar Zelda had rigged for him and realized it must have been made with Mulvaney’s sweater. It was a good tactical move to strip Mulvaney and use all the survival resources at their disposal; and still, it had a pretty sizable creep factor in that mix that wasn’t part of a civilian’s paradigms. Now that he was thinking through her behaviors, Finley was reading them as something he’d see with military special operators.