Chapter 25
Orion
I’m trying so hard to keep track of my teammates that I feel like I’m barely looking for Fenrir.
I do what I can to scan our surroundings, but with all this snow, I can’t afford to lose track of my team. We’re spaced out with about sixty feet between us, our usual search pattern, and their searchlights keep flickering in and out of view due to the heavy snowfall.
Despite the hours of searching, the only things illuminated in the moonlight are the dark figures of my teammates and Hestia’s pink hair whipping in the wind. We’ve seen no trace of Fenrir, the lost dog.
According to his owners, he’s large and has fluffy black fur, so at least he’ll stand out in all this snow.
We left a lure with Fenrir’s family and set up a few more around their location. They stayed by their car in the hope he would return to it, since that’s where he ran off from.
The lures should help, they’re a mixture of strongly scented foods that would appeal to any canine. As soon as Magnus broke the seal, the smell blasted us in the face. We’re carrying lures on us as well, though with all this wind, I can barely pick up the pungent scent.
We’ve been walking for close to an hour, and the snow is only getting heavier. It’s starting to feel like with every breath, I’m at risk of inhaling snow rather than air.
I have my teammates checking in every ten minutes via radio. So far, all reports have been the same: no sign of Fenrir.
I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to search. We might have to wait for the storm to pass and come back tomorrow.
Animals are smart enough to hunker down in bad weather. With his thick fur coat, Fenrir would be fine cocooned in the snow for a night. I don’t want to leave him out here, but I’m afraid we’re at risk of being buried ourselves.
“No signs here,” Charm says through the radio.
Has it been ten minutes already?
I check my watch. He’s right, it has been. The others sound off with the same report. I reply last, yelling into the radio to keep going for another ten minutes.
I’m losing track of time in the monotonous landscape, repeating the same motions, like driving on the highway on autopilot.
I set my watch to vibrate every ten minutes.
After checking to make sure Hestia’s colorful locks are still with us, I count my packmates. I can feel them in the bond, but it’s best to have a visual too.
Recently I’ve felt like there’s a blank space in my mind, an empty spot that itches and chafes where I should be feeling Hestia. I need to bond with her so I know she’s okay, that she’s happy. So I can tell if she needs something I can provide.
That sensation is even worse now that I can barely see her. I would feel so much better if I could sense that she’s safe.
I’m not worried about Hestia taking care of herself, but accidents happen. The snow is disorienting, and with the way it’s piling up, it’s hard to tell where it’s safe to walk.
We did just find that unrecorded mineshaft. There could be more waiting to collapse at any moment.
A crackling noise interrupts my churning thoughts, but nothing comes through the radio. It’s the one that connects to dispatch, not our short-range radio. The sound quality isn’t usually like this, but all our long-distance frequencies have been bad today.
“Pause while I radio dispatch,” I tell my teammates.
I hold down the talk button, and it doesn’t sound like it connects.
I talk into it anyway. It’s possible I just didn’t hear it over the wind.
Except there’s no reply.
My packmates send questioning feelings through the bond. Apparently I didn’t manage to hide my concern.
I send calm thoughts back despite my unease.
I cycle through a few troubleshooting steps and get nothing but static.
I swap out the long-range radio for the satellite phone, typing in the number from memory.
I push my hood back and hold the bulky phone up to my ear, heart pounding as it rings. The phone said it was connected to a handful of satellites, which should be enough, but usually it gets signals from more than a dozen.
After a few rings, it connects, and I close my eyes in relief as a voice comes through, “Rescuer dispatch. Is this Team Montanus?”
“This is Montanus, Orion speaking,” I say.
“We’ve been trying to contact you. Your call was resolved half an hour ago, you need to leave the area immediately,” the operator says.
I radio my teammates, telling them to join me, before replying.
“Why didn’t you call the satellite phone?” I say flatly, or as flat as I can while yelling to be heard.
“We tried that, it didn’t go through. What’s your location?” the operator says.
I tell him our coordinates after checking the GPS. Our dot keeps shifting, but it’s a narrow enough range to give them an estimate of our whereabouts. We’ll be returning to our vehicles soon anyway.
“There’s an abandoned cabin a few miles from there. There’s no telling what kind of shape it’s in, but it’s your best bet,” he says.
“Was there an emergency call from there?” I ask. I don’t think the call cut out, but what he’s saying doesn’t make sense.
“No, it’s for your team. The edge of the blizzard is over you now, and it’s only going to get worse. You’d be walking right into it if you tried to go back to your station. Finding shelter is your safest option,” he says.
“What about the Hollvinrs?” I say.
“They left shortly after the dog returned. They called to let us know he’d been recovered, and we advised them to leave as soon as possible since the storm was coming in fast. They should be off the mountain ahead of it.”
“How do we get to this cabin?”
Henri and Charm checked the radar every twenty minutes, and it never indicated a blizzard like he’s suggesting. Though if our long-range equipment isn’t working, it’s possible the storm was already blocking our signals.
“Hold,” the operator says.
I clench my jaw, irritated at being put on hold when my team is at risk, though logically I know he’s helping us.
My teammates are all here now, so I update them on the situation while we wait.
“But the Hollvinrs, are they okay? And Fenrir?” Hestia asks, worried for them rather than herself.
“They’re just fine. Dispatch said Fenrir returned, and they got down the mountain before the storm,” I tell her gently.
She nods, relieved, and I smile even though she can’t see it behind my mask.
“Radar still shows a mild storm bringing ten inches of snow at most,” Charm says.
Henri shows me his tablet, and I check it even though I believe them. I should have realized the projection wasn’t right with the snow this heavy.
“Montanus, are you there,” the operator says.
“We’re here,” I say, suppressing the urge to snap at him.
He’s not the one I’m actually angry with for putting my team in danger.
He rattles off the coordinates, and I pull up the location on the GPS, sharing it with my teammates.
It would normally be a forty-minute walk for that distance with this terrain. In our current situation, working against the elements, it will take at least twice as long.
Our vehicles are in the opposite direction, and based on what the operator said, there’s no time to go back for them. I doubt the roads are even passable at this point.
“Is there anything else we need to know?” I say.
He reads off the updated storm predictions. I listen while preparing for the trek and mentally calculating our supplies.
Magnus is already pulling out ropes to connect to each other. The line will ensure we don’t lose anyone in the storm.
I let him get the others attached while I deal with dispatch.
He puts Hestia in the middle as she should be, with Cato just behind her. Magnus is at the back behind Henri, and Charm is in the front, holding the loose end of the rope.
“We’re heading out, I’ll check in once we get there,” I tell the operator.
“Check in every thirty minutes!”
“The storm is already too strong to be stopping that often. If you don’t hear from me in two hours, then you can call us,” I yell back.
We have to get moving and stay moving.
He argues, but I hang up and tuck the giant phone back in my bag.
I shake myself out of the snowdrift that built up around me and attach myself to the front of the line. After making sure my teammates are ready, I set off.
We find our rhythm and keep pace at a steady clip.
I hope to get to the cabin in under two hours, but if not, I’ll use a precious few minutes to notify dispatch and make sure my teammates are holding up okay.
We’re conditioned to hike or climb for hours, but struggling through the snow and wind is draining, every step a fight.
I’m never more thankful for our bonds than in situations like this, even as it makes that empty spot chafe all the more.
At least I can see her through Cato’s eyes. He has his hand on her shoulder in case she falls, though she’s keeping up just fine.
That’s not enough. I want to feel her breath as if it were my own, feel her heart beating strong and steady next to mine.
Someday I’ll have that, if she lets us. I know we can make her happy.
For now, I watch our omega through my packmate’s eyes as I lead them through the storm.