Chapter 25
Steph
The beacon screen glowed brighter than it should have. Steph hunched over it, trying to dim the glow as she typed with stiff fingers, fumbling several times before she got the message right. Send help now. She hit transmit and waited.
The narrow branch of the gulley had dropped deeper as it went north, the walls climbing over her head until she was standing in a channel of rock, tree roots, and frozen earth, the bottom relatively clear of snow. Whatever wind scoured the open ground above didn’t reach here.
It was dim and smelled of dirt. Roots jutted from the packed earth at intervals, thick ones near the bottom and thinner ones up high, where the trees began at the rim.
The beacon buzzed.
She angled the screen toward the sky.
Message received.
They would be there soon. She had to believe that. And they’d come in prepared and take the proper precautions. Steph fought back tears. She just hoped it really would be soon. Jack was drawing three snowmobiles and three rifles away from her and buying her time.
But how much time? And was he safe?
Okay. Think.
She couldn’t stay there. That was clear.
She’d known it even as she pressed herself into the trench and sent the message.
The trench was shelter, but it was also a trap.
One way in, one way out, and no room to move if someone came down into it.
Jack had told her to find somewhere to hide.
She needed to find some place better than this.
Steph tucked the beacon away and looked up at the rim.
The roots were the answer. She reached for the lowest one, testing it with her weight.
Solid. She had removed her mittens before sending the message, and they were now tucked in a pocket.
Her fingers were feeling the cold. She flexed them.
The liner gloves were thick enough to provide some protection, but being outside for so many hours had taken its toll.
She worked her way up slowly, testing each grip before committing, using her feet against the packed earth between the roots.
The cold made her hands slow and her fingers clumsy, and she focused on each move the way she focused on the next step during the deep miles of a race.
Not the whole climb. Just this root. This foothold. This reach.
She was near the top, and she stopped. One more upward step, and she’d be peeking above the surface. She had no way of knowing what was up there. Or who was up there. One of the poachers could be lying in wait, expecting her to appear and then . . .
Steph closed her eyes and took in a deep breath through her nose as she listened for anything that might give her a clue as to what to expect. She released the breath and repeated the exercise.
She heard nothing and knew she needed to make a decision. Back down or go through with it.
Back down wasn’t truly an option.
Now or never, she said to herself.
The open ground spread out in every direction. The snow had lessened, giving a somewhat clear view of the area. She scanned her surroundings, watching for movement or reflected light or anything that shouldn’t be there.
Nothing. No machines. No figures moving through the snow.
The trees were thick ahead of her. Beyond the forest, maybe three hundred yards out, a dark line of rock rose against the brightening sky. It was big enough for crevices, for overhangs—a place to hide, like where she and Jack had sheltered before.
For all she knew, it could be the same outcropping. Hard to tell. The dark had twisted everything and turned familiar paths into confusion. Fear hadn’t helped.
Fear for Jack most of all.
Jack. Where was he? Was he safe? The sound of the snowmobiles was faint from where she was. She pushed that thought down and focused on the rocks. She could weave through the trees and make it to the rocks.
Back in the rocks, she’d have the same issue with the GPS as before. What if there was an emergency message, something that couldn’t be delayed?
She kept looking. The forested section was dense, but was it tight enough that she could hide without being found? She didn’t think so. She forced herself to slow down her mind and reassess.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced to her left.
Not far from where the trench ended was a mass of deadfall and brush.
It had probably been there for years, branches coming down in storms and piling against the birches, brush filling in around the base.
The snow had settled over it, and the whole pile was half white and half the dull gray-brown of old wood.
Tight and irregular and part of the landscape.
Steph studied it. At the base of the pile, where the brush met the ground, there was a gap. Not obvious. Not large. But a gap.
She got her bear spray from her jacket pocket and held it in her right hand.
Then she started moving.
She belly crawled on her elbows and knees, keeping her profile flat against the snow.
Every inch of open ground between her and that pile was a problem she was solving one elbow-pull at a time.
She moved carefully, not rushing, keeping her head down, the bear spray in her right hand pressing into the snow with each pull forward.
Ten feet. It felt like a hundred.
She reached the edge of the pile and put her face close to the gap at the base and looked into it.
It was dark inside, but not completely. The deadfall created a lattice that let light filter through in thin strips.
The interior was larger than the gap suggested.
Not standing room, not even close. But she could get in and make herself small, and she would be surrounded by wood and brush on all sides.
Steph glanced back at the path she’d made in the snow. It was obvious from where she’d dragged herself along.
Well, that’s not good.
Keeping herself low and as small as possible, she searched for a loose branch from the pile. She spent many minutes messing up the furrow she’d created and moving the snow outward. It didn’t look great, but at least it was no longer an obvious trail from the trench to the brush pile.
It’ll have to do.
She shimmied through the gap headfirst, pushing through on her elbows, pulling her pack through at an angle, the whole entry taking longer than she wanted. A branch caught her jacket, and she worked it free without rushing.
Inside, she turned carefully until she was facing the gap she’d come through, and settled in. She could sit cross-legged and had just enough room to twist her torso. The bear spray lay near her right leg.
The engines were still there but distant, a sound at the edge of hearing rather than something she could track.
Her breath fogged in the enclosed space, and she breathed in slow and even through her nose, the way she’d trained herself to do when her heart rate wanted to climb without her permission.
She thought about Jack drawing a machine out of the gulley and away from her. His insistence that she find some place safe to hide. She still thought it was a dumb idea and hoped to be able to tell him that soon.
Maybe someday they could laugh about it. Laugh about how he ran off like a superhero there to save the day.
She hoped so.
The ping of a rifle caused her to yelp. She threw her hands over her mouth, heart beating in her ears.
Jack. She had no way of knowing if the shot had found its mark.
More shots cracked. She flinched with each one, counting them in her body while her mind refused to follow.
The trees swallowed the sounds, scattering them in every direction.
She couldn’t tell how far, couldn’t tell which way.
Only that Jack was out there and men with rifles were trying to end him.
Another shot.