Chapter 11
This fucked-upsituation isn’t Shae’s fault. I know that. She’s not the one who kidnapped us at gunpoint. But Jesus Christ have things been insane since the second I met her. I mean, what more could possibly go wrong?
We’re probably going to freeze to death in the middle of the goddamn Canadian wilderness, assuming that’s where we are. We don’t even know that for sure.
I can’t think about that crap.
I have to focus on how we’re going to survive the night. I consider the options. As far as I can figure, if we walk a little ways and there are no outcroppings or other natural formations that would serve as a shelter, then I suppose we cover ourselves with as many pine branches as possible. A fire would be amazing, but fuck if I know how to start a fire out here. I feel totally helpless, and I fucking hate it.
For the past twenty years of my life, I shadowed my father and absorbed everything I could about what it took to survive in the world—in our world. How to detect betrayal and lead a family organization. What business pitfalls to avoid. Who makes the best allies and how to negotiate deals without getting killed. My father exposed me to a wealth of information over the years, but everything I ever learned means jack shit here. This isn’t just another world; it’s a whole other universe.
Then there’s Shae. She may not feel like I’m responsible for keeping her alive, but I do. That’s who I am. I feel an enormous pressure to get us out of this, and I have no goddamn idea how. The weight of it keeps me from pushing to catch up with Shae when she starts her march south. I need a few minutes to wrap my head around everything that’s happened. I’m so damn preoccupied that I almost miss the fact that Shae is limping.
“You hurt?” I call ahead to her.
“I’m fine,” she snaps over her shoulder.
I sigh out a cloud of foggy breath and increase my pace. When I’m close enough, I grab her wrist to stop her. She turns and levels me with a look of indifference so icy it makes the wind out here feel balmy.
“You’re limping.”
“And? It’s fine. Just tweaked my ankle at some point.” She tries to turn back around, but I stop her.
“Let’s check it out. You can sit on that fallen tree over there.” I point at the log on the ground not far from us.
“Seriously? We don’t need to waste time on this.”
“We’ll waste time on what I say we waste time on.” And you are not a waste of time. “Now, you going to walk over there, or do I have to carry you?”
She glares, then half stomps, half gimps to the log. She undoes the laces to her boot with an aggressive flair to make certain I feel her disdain, then shoves her foot in my direction. I squat and take her foot in my hands, carefully slipping off her sock. A tinge of bruising has formed around the outside of her ankle along with a little swelling, but it’s not awful. I slowly give the joint a full rotation, watching her intently for signs of pain. It’s nothing too great that she can’t mask.
“I suppose you’ll survive.” I put her sock back on like I would for my little niece and nephew.
“Like I said, I’m fine.” She’s trying to be petulant, but her tone has lost its bite.
I sit beside her on the log while she laces her boot back up. “We need to make a plan. I doubt anyone knows that plane went down—those guys weren’t the type to register a flight.”
“We can’t be too far from civilization. We were, what … a half hour from the airstrip?”
“That could be a hell of a long trip on foot.”
“True,” she murmurs defeatedly.
“Let’s focus on the plan for tonight and take it one step at a time.” One day at a time. “It doesn’t seem to be getting darker. I’d thought the sun was setting, but I’m guessing that’s just how daylight looks around here.” I’m glad we still have light but have no idea how long it will last. “We can keep going a bit farther, but if we don’t come across anything soon, we need to work on a shelter.”
“Yeah. I’d like to keep walking a little farther. Maybe it’s foolish, but I feel like if we keep looking, something will come up.”
I note the earnest hope in her eyes—golden flecks that spark brightly against the blue background of her irises. Even in these dire circumstances, she can’t help but be optimistic. That is the foundation of her bold charisma, I suddenly realize. It’s not an air of cocky confidence. She’s an eternal optimist, and I find that surprisingly admirable. Few people can take life’s hits and continue to get back on their feet with a smile.
“At least we’re dressed decently.” I stand, noting how that optimism has a way of rubbing off.
“Jesus, Donati. Your boot is covered in blood. It’s soaked into the leather.”
“I had to stop that shooter. Couldn’t use my hands, so I had to make do.”
Her gaze flicks up to me. “Thanks for that,” she says softly. It’s the first sign of genuine vulnerability I’ve seen from her, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced. To have her give me that softer side makes me ravenous for more.
“We’d better keep moving.” My voice is as ragged as I feel inside, raw with emotions I can’t begin to name.
I help her to her feet and follow her lead. We walk for another half an hour. Urgency gnashes its frothing jaws at our heels, keeping us moving at a steady pace. I can’t remember the last time I had anything to eat. My stomach tries to complain, but adrenaline is an efficient silencer. We keep going because we have to. Neither of us would have been content to give in without having at least checked out the area. We have to try, but daylight finally dims, and the chill in the wind grows unbearable.
“Shae, stop. It’s getting darker. We can’t keep up the search anymore tonight.”
She lifts her head and peers around as if just noticing the dwindling light. “Fuck,” she curses under her breath. “What now?”
“I say we collect as many needle-filled branches as we can, maybe dig out an area next to one of the bigger trees, and make a sort of shelter. Cover ourselves with the branches, essentially. The snow isn’t as deep here, which helps.”
She nods. “We need water. I’m so damn thirsty.”
“We can probably use something in the first-aid kit to hold snow as it melts, but in the meantime, we might have to eat some snow. Just don’t let yourself get too cold.”
We break apart and start hunting for branches that suit our purpose. Too large, and they’re too hard to break off the tree. If they’ve been on the ground too long, the needles don’t stay on. We need as much insulation as we can find.
I go from tree to tree, gathering what I can. I’m about to turn back with an armload of branches when I hear Shae call out my name. She’s far enough away that I can’t tell if she’s in danger or simply looking for me. Fear shoots through my veins. I drop the branches and run in the direction of her voice. When I finally see her, a wide grin on her face, I stop and bend at the waist to catch my breath.
She’s okay. Everything’s okay.
Except even that short run was utterly exhausting when I’m so low on food and sleep. It’s not a good sign.
I stand back up as she approaches.
Shae grabs my hand and pulls me behind her. “Check it out. I think I found something.” She retraces her steps through the trees, then stops and points. “Look, it’s a cabin, right? Isn’t that some sort of shed or cabin?”
The dim light, a forest of tree trunks, and distance make it hard to tell exactly what it is, but it’s definitely something. And something is a hell of a lot better than nothing.
“Let’s go check it out.” Hope gives renewed energy to our steps, and before long, we’re in view of a tiny log cabin. While it’s not large, the logs used in its construction are thick and sturdy. It’s in good condition, though not currently in use from the looks of it. The window is boarded over. No smoke coming from the chimney. I’d guess it’s some sort of hunting retreat, which makes me wonder if civilization isn’t far.
I look at Shae, who looks back at me with a brilliant grin that could warm the coldest night. I can’t help but smile back, and the next thing I know, she’s in my arms, and I’m spinning her around as she squeals with relief.
A boulder the size of a city bus lifts from my chest.
We have shelter. We’re going to survive the night.
When I set Shae’s feet back on the ground, there’s a lingering second before she pulls away.
“We should work on getting inside and gather some firewood before it’s completely dark.” She keeps her eyes averted to the cabin.
I go to the door and knock. “Hey there! Anyone home?” I call plenty loud so anyone in the area can hear, then squat to examine the lock. “You still have that pocketknife by chance?”
“Shit, no. It’s buried back in the plane rubble.”
“Maybe there’s something in the first-aid kit that will be useful.” I’d rather not damage the door trying to get in. A cabin isn’t nearly as helpful against the cold with the door busted down.
“While you work on that, I’ll gather some wood.” She gets to work while I open the kit and start searching through its contents. The canvas bag is surprisingly well-equipped. Aside from medical necessities, there’s a sewing kit, several glucose pouches, and the basics for a water filter. Among the medical supplies, I find a pair of metal tweezers. I pull them apart like I would a wishbone, then use one of the broken halves to pry at the deadbolt. I figure I have a better chance of sliding the bolt in from the side rather than trying to pick the lock. The wood is relatively young, and after some wiggling, I can feel the end of the tweezer hit metal. I work the tool back and forth while giving the door a little shake until it finally gives way.
Fuck, yes.
I barely get a look inside when I hear Shae call my name again, but this time, there’s no question her voice is dripping with fear.
I whirl around and see tiny Shae holding a bundle of sticks with a giant bear not ten feet from her. He’s sniffing the ground and shifting his weight from side to side like a fighter waiting for the bell to ring. I don’t understand what the fuck a bear is doing out in the middle of winter. Don’t they hibernate? At the same time, I should have known something like this would happen right when we thought we were in the clear. Nothing could ever be so simple as a warm, empty cabin where Shae is concerned.
Even in the middle of winter with no food, this thing has to be a solid four hundred pounds. One hit would drop her for good.
“Don’t. Move,” I tell her calmly, while my insides are screaming.
“Boots,” she whispers. I … I think he followed … the blood … on your boots.” She speaks in quick, quiet bursts, and though I told her not to move, she’s slowly inching backward. My guess is, she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
The bear’s rocking intensifies before he lets out a deafening roar that sends my stomach barreling into my feet.
Jesus Christ, this is bad.
“Shae, I’m gonna count to three. On three, you toss the wood at his face and run for the cabin. Door’s open.”
“He’ll chase me.”
“The wood will stop him at first, and I’ll meet you halfway to keep him back. Your turn to trust me, okay?” I urge her gently but firmly.
Shae nods shakily.
I use my shoe to shove the first-aid kit through the door behind me then unzip my jacket.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Shae does exactly as I said and tosses the branches at the bear, who rears back in surprise. At the same time, I shove my hands in my pockets, then lift my jacket up like a sail to make myself look as big as possible. I draw deep down to a primal part of me that never quite evolved and roar my fury. I let out all my frustration and anger about the past two days. I tap into the grief of my father’s death and release every pent-up emotion held captive since his loss.
I loose a battle cry my ancestors would have been proud of, and it works.
The bear pauses long enough for me to reach Shae. But the second I turn my back to follow her to the cabin, I see the bear lurch forward out of the corner of my eye. I sweep down and grab a branch that Shae had dropped and swing around to slam the thing like a bat across the bear’s face just as he swipes at me.
He pulls away and begins a retreat, but not before those monstrous claws rake across my upper arm. I ignore the pain and run as fast as I can for the cabin. Shae waits inside, slamming the door shut behind me the second I’m through.
“Shit, Renzo. You’re bleeding.”