Chapter 31
Steph
One of the machines was ahead of them while the driver of the other one pushed them toward him.
Steph knew this was what was happening. When they’d set out, she wasn’t exactly sure where to go or how to hide from them.
But now a plan was forming. A plan that just might be what they needed to reach safety and a good hiding place until the rescuers arrived.
What was taking them so long? The time they’d estimated had come and gone. She hadn’t felt the buzz of her beacon for ages. All she could figure was something had gone wrong and the rescue was delayed.
Brilliant, Steph. Of course it’s been delayed. Otherwise, they’d be here by now.
The only option was to keep moving so the man on the machine running alongside them didn’t decide to shoot at them.
They were getting close to where they might be able to do something to change things. With each step, the timber opened, the space between trunks widened, and the canopy pulled back. Whatever advantage the forest had been giving them was running out, but that was part of the plan.
She kept her voice low. “If we can get ahead of them, there’s a culvert that goes under the road.”
Jack paused for several beats. “How far?”
“Not far. But there’s a chance that’s where the other machine is. He might know about it, too, and hopes he might catch us there.”
“Rick.”
“What?”
“The other guy’s name is Rick. He’s the one in charge, I think.”
“Oh.” She guessed it made sense he knew their names, though she doubted they introduced themselves when taking him hostage. “Well, Rick might be waiting for us.”
“Do we have other options?”
She shook her head. “Not good ones. We could double back. Hope to lose the other guy—do you know his name?”
“Graham. He’s the youngest one. I don’t think he’s fully on board with the plans but will probably do what is expected of him.”
“Fabulous.” Steph was tempted to ask about the other guy, the one she’d hit with the limb, but the memory of how he looked kept her from wanting to know him any better. One of the blows had been strong enough to knock him out. She hoped that was all it had done.
“Isn’t it?” Jack chuckled. “So, the culvert is our best option?”
“As long as it’s not a trap.”
“But we won’t know until we get there.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
Jack paused only a moment. “Lead the way.”
He was allowing her to lead, trusting her to use the knowledge she had of the area, and that was something. She’d do what she could to get them out of this mess.
And when they did, they would finish the conversation started earlier. Conversation. That wasn’t a conversation. That was Jack having a full-on meltdown.
She was still angry and wanted to give Jack an earful.
She had several choice words in mind, which included ungrateful, condescending, and jerk.
A few more came to mind that she hoped she’d be able to keep from saying aloud.
Words that her mama would have threatened to wash her mouth out with soap if she used them.
The anger had been doing what anger does when you don’t have time to address it—sitting just below the surface, burning hotter as time went on. She pushed through a low branch and kept moving. Now was not the time to address it. Survival required everything she had. The rest would wait.
Jack hadn’t said a word about the culvert being risky. She’d half expected it. Maybe a quarter expected it. The thought moved through her with a sharp edge, and she let it pass. He hadn’t said it. She’d give him that much.
They moved through a section of snow-covered deadfall, and she picked the route carefully, stepping over the larger trunks, angling around the worst of the debris.
Behind her, Jack cleared the same obstacles without complaint.
Whatever his feet felt like on the frozen ground and sections of debris, he wasn’t letting it show in his pace or his movement.
She’d noted that about him last night when they’d been training, when it was all still fun and games and not life or death.
He didn’t dramatize the hard parts. He worked through them.
She filed that away with everything else she wasn’t thinking about right now.
The sound of the snowmobiles shifted. Graham had changed direction, the engine pitch climbing as he pushed harder. Rick’s was quieter, not working as hard and difficult to hear, especially with the whine of the one closest to them. Did that mean he was sitting somewhere? Idling?
Was he waiting just ahead at the culvert, rifle at the ready, anticipating her head to pop out from the trees and prepared to take the shot? Jack might think Graham wasn’t interested in killing them, but she knew that didn’t hold true for the leader.
She’d known it about the other man, too, the one at the camp that had been watching over Jack. When she’d seen it was him, she knew there was no option to go easy. She understood she was going to need to use everything within her to put him on the ground and make sure he stayed there.
Thinking about how she’d beaten him was going to cost her many sleepless nights; she was sure of that. But she’d do it again if she had to. Jack might not have appreciated it, but Steph believed she’d made the right call. The only call.
They were getting close to the culvert, and the tree line was changing.
She adjusted without breaking stride, angling in the correct direction, using a dense stand of timber to keep them covered.
Jack matched the adjustment without being told.
No conversation needed. She moved, and he read it and followed.
The timber was thinning fast now. The culvert wasn’t far ahead. She came to a stop, staying behind one of the larger trees. Jack moved in beside her.
“What do you think?” he asked, his mouth near her ear.
“I can’t tell if he’s there. The other machine is still too loud.”
“Yeah. We need to take it slow. Let’s get closer so we can see the culvert and make sure he’s not there.”
She scanned the area. It was between fifty and a hundred yards until the trees opened up. The culvert was part of the water runoff system, and the area around the culvert was a heavily graveled ditch where the trees and other foliage had been removed years ago.
She assumed road workers maintained the area, keeping it clear so the runoff wouldn’t back up. The road was fairly high up, the culvert passing through the hillside. The size of the culvert concerned her. It was more than a pipe, but could they actually wriggle through it?
Could Jack get through it? He was broad-shouldered and tall. Both could cause issues.
“See those trees up there?” She pointed.
“The two that look like they’re fused together?”
“Those, yes. Let’s get to them and see if we have a better view.”
They reached the trees in seconds, and as she had hoped, it gave them a better view of the area. The culvert and ditch were exactly as she remembered. And even better, the snowmobile was nowhere in sight.
“What do you think?” Jack asked.
“Looks good. But I think we should make another short run. Maybe to the edge of the trees?” She pointed to another spot that looked like it might provide enough cover for both of them. “We can reassess there and, if it’s still clear, make a run for it?”
Jack was quiet as he looked at the tree line past the ditch. His head turned in slow increments, his gaze shifting toward the culvert. His chin lifted slightly as he looked up the bank and took in the road.
“Not a very big opening.”
Steph sighed. Exactly what she was afraid of. It looked small in the dark. Too small. She could probably fit, but could Jack?
“It’s not,” she agreed. “I think I can duckwalk through it. You might need to kind of . . . shimmy.”
“Shimmy?”
“Can you do it?” Her tone had more snap than she intended. She met his gaze. “I mean . . . really, can you?”
“I can do it. Let’s get closer, make sure it’s safe, and get this done.”
She gave a nod and took off for the next set of trees.
Everything still looked good. Completely clear.
Which didn’t mean it was. There was every chance Rick had parked the snowmobile somewhere and set up a sniper’s nest, waiting for them to appear.
Calculating the distance, she estimated about thirty feet of open space. Not far, yet too far.
“I’ll cover you,” Jack said. He had the rifle up, and his eyes were on the timber beyond the ditch.
She looked at him. His jaw was set, and his hands remained steady on the rifle despite the damage to his wrists. His white base layer was stained with blood at the cuffs. Whatever his stocking feet told him about the frozen ground beneath him, none of it showed on his face.
Something moved through her. A familiar flutter in her stomach that threatened her heart. She pushed it back down.
“We need to be fast,” she said.
“Get inside the culvert. Don’t stop until you’re at least ten feet in. I’ll be right behind you.”
She gave a nod and silently added, “I hope you fit.”
Thirty feet felt considerably longer than thirty feet. Her legs drove her forward, and she kept her eyes fixed on the culvert entrance, the dark mouth of it in the embankment ahead.
Her breathing was controlled, and her focus was narrow. She covered the ground and dropped into a crouch at the entrance and kept moving. It was wider than it looked from a distance. Wide enough she believed Jack might be able to fit without too much issue.
At the ten-foot mark, she stopped and turned around. C’mon, Jack. Come on.
Steph couldn’t see Jack, only bits of the gravel runoff ditch until darkness claimed it.
Somewhere deeper in the timber, the engine still droned, its sound floating thin and distant through the cold air.
She crept forward a few feet to try and catch a glimpse of Jack.
A gunshot sounded, followed by a second and then a third.
“Jack!” she called.
She couldn’t see him, but she heard the sounds of heavy breathing and gravel scattering.
Steph scrambled backward as he dove inside, another shot ringing out as he continued headfirst into the culvert. He landed with an oomph and a slight roll onto his back. Before Steph could blink, he was sitting upright, rifle aimed out of the culvert.
“Move. Get to the other end.”
Steph crawled on her hands and knees, moving as fast as she could. A layer of ice coated the bottom of the metal culvert, making the motion more difficult. Another shot sounded, causing her to flinch.
“Are you okay?” Her words came out in a breathless stream.
“He missed hitting me.”
As she approached the far end of the culvert, she considered her next move.
Popping out into the open without scanning the area seemed reckless.
But staying inside wasn’t an option either.
It wouldn’t take much for the shooter to get to the end of the culvert and shoot at them.
Fish in a barrel again, not for the first time since they started running for their lives.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“Get out and get to cover as fast as you can.”
Steph stayed just outside the culvert, scanning the area as she pressed against the hillside. The darkness was absolute and made seeing anything a challenge. A shape began to form to her right, possibly a clump of brush about fifteen feet from the culvert’s opening. She made a beeline for it.
Jack emerged a moment later, still in a crouch. He moved immediately from the culvert and pressed himself flat against the embankment, out of the sightline from the road above but still near the opening.
“What are you doing?” Steph hissed. “Get over here.”
He hesitated as he looked from Steph to the culvert opening. He gave a nod and rushed toward her. She shifted to make space. He slid in beside her, rifle up, covering the opening.
They were both breathing hard. She let herself have ten seconds of it and then pulled out the beacon. No new messages. Steph shook her head as she typed.
Where are you? We are being shot at. Again. We need help now.
“At least the machines can’t follow us through,” she said as she put the device back in her pocket.
“They can get off the machines.” He still held his position.
“Maybe they’ll decide we’re not worth the trouble.”
“Rick won’t decide that.”
She didn’t argue. From everything she’d observed, she’d come to the same conclusion about the flat-voiced man.
From this distance, the engine sounds were different. It was harder to tell what they were doing. The steep incline of the embankment on the other side made it unlikely they’d go up and over. But they might. If they were desperate enough to stop her and Jack, they’d risk it.
The concealment the brush provided would do little to protect them against bullets if they made it to the road above.
“We can’t stay here,” she said.
“Agreed.
“I sent another message and reminded them we’re in danger.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.” She was honest about that. She’d been honest about it every time he asked, and she wasn’t going to start guessing now.
He nodded, accepting the uncertainty without comment.
She was still angry with him. That hadn’t changed. The anger was cleaner now, less hot, the kind that came after the first sharp edge wore down and what was left was something she’d have to actually deal with at some point. Not now. Now they were crouched in too little brush and in too much danger.
“The road is above us,” Jack said, tilting his head toward the embankment. “They could come on foot. We might not hear them.”
“Yes.”
“And if they come through the culvert— ”
“One at a time,” she said. “On their hands and knees.”
He looked at the rifle. She looked at it too.
“We would have an advantage,” he said.
It wasn’t a comfortable advantage. But it was real. The narrow metal tube was the one place their single rifle mattered more than the numbers against them.
The engine sounds cut out.
He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. “We can’t risk it. We need to move.”