Chapter 11
Dressed in their coats, with hats and gloves that Larsen provided, Jem and Tean followed the head of security out into the storm again. The heavy layers helped, but the cold still cut at Jem’s cheeks and left his lips and eyelids like sandpaper.
He kept an eye on Tean. In a lot of ways, the doc was as much of a survivor as Jem, and when it came to anything outdoors, Tean was certainly the expert.
But Tean also had a tendency to—well, not take care of himself.
The cold was one example, yes. But also, until Jem had made it a personal mission to change things, the way Tean ate, the way he dressed.
The way he had lived. Like his body was a used car that got fuel and all the scheduled maintenance, but that was it.
So, if Tean got cold—even if he got really cold—he wouldn’t say anything until he had to.
But even with the thicker drifts clogging the walkways, and even with the wind ripping at their coats, Tean was steady and surefooted, so Jem just chugged along in his wake.
Larsen stopped when they were about halfway, by Jem’s estimate, to the chalet where Brigitte and Gerald were staying.
There was nothing noticeable about this particular stretch of snowy walkway, but then Jem noticed the high-vis orange poking out of the snow—a traffic cone, he guessed, that Larsen had used to mark the spot and that was now already buried in snow.
“I don’t know what you’re going to find,” Larsen shouted over the wind.
Tean crouched and began running his gloved hands through the snow.
He worked slowly, drawing his hands through the snow in straight lines.
It only took Jem a moment to see what the doc was doing, and then he moved to the other side of the walkway and copied him.
He didn’t know the technical name for it, but he knew Tean was making a grid, doing his best to sift through the snow in the most effective way possible.
Larsen spotted it a moment later and joined in, and together, they worked their way through a section of the walkway that was bounded at each end by supports for the cover.
When they’d finished working through the snow in one direction, they rotated ninety degrees and did it all again, digging lines at right angles to the first set.
By the time they’d finished, Jem’s hands were numb even through the gloves, and his knees were soaked. Larsen’s cheeks were red, his face grim. Snowmelt speckled Tean’s glasses.
They’d found nothing except some clumps of bloody snow.
“I didn’t notice anything when we found him,” Larsen said, “and that was three or four inches ago.”
Tean gave a nod and got to his feet.
“No footprints,” Larsen said. “Not even from the staff member who found him. The snow was coming down too hard.”
Jem opened his mouth to ask something, but the question flew out of his head when he saw the camera tucked under the covered walkway. “What about that?”
Larsen shook his head. “They don’t work on the generators.”
“Well, fuck,” Jem said. “Are we wasting our time out here?”
Tean frowned, but finally he said, “I don’t know.”
“Who found him?” Jem asked.
“One of our room service staff,” Larsen said.
“They were still delivering to the chalets—even though they’d been told not to—because some of the guests were offering big tips.
She’s back at the lodge if you want to talk to her, but she’s not going to be able to tell you anything.
She found him on the ground, ran to the closest chalet, and called it in. ”
Jem blinked snow out of his eyes. “God. Okay, Tean?”
“I think we’ve done all we can here. We should collect some of the blood, at least. I’m not sure what more we can do without sieves or screens, and even then, I don’t know that we’d find anything.”
“I can bag it,” Larsen said. “Keep it frozen, right?”
Tean nodded.
“We need to talk to my mom,” Jem said. And then he said, “To Brigitte.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Larsen asked.
Jem shook his head.
Clapping a hand to his hat against a stronger burst of wind, Larsen shouted, “I’ll be back at the lodge! Stay out of this weather!”
Jem hunkered down in his coat as the head of security waded off through the snow. The wind shifted, and he had to blink against the stinging grit. For a moment, in that darkness, the world tipped, like he was falling.
A hand caught his arm.
Tean called over the storm, “Jem?”
Jem shook his head. He blinked. His lashes were stiff, almost frozen. And then he said, “Come on,” and started toward the washed-out glow of the next security light.