CHAPTER 48
Evander
Something is very wrong.
My eyes fly open. Phoebe clings to me, one leg thrown over my thigh. She’s breathing, so that’s not the issue.
I’m on my back. We’re bundled up. I see daylight filtering through the wool blankets over our heads. Everything smells like fire.
It all races back to me—what’s happened, where we are, and all the intensely personal shit I shared with Phoebe last night.
Totally out of character for me.
Not that I’ve done anything in my usual way since—
Hold up.
I throw off the blankets. The light hurts my eyes. It’s too bright.
It’s too fucking silent. There’s no wind.
“Phoebe, wake up.”
“Hmmm?” I gently remove her octopus limbs and give her a gentle shake.
“Wake up. The storm’s over. We need to prepare for rescue.”
“What?” She springs upright and blinks against the light. “The storm’s over?”
“Yes. We have work to do.”
I slide on my ass to the small, tarp-covered archway. I peel the tarp back, get myself outside and on my feet, then help Phoebe to a stand.
“Holy shit, Evander.”
I don’t know what to gawk at first.
It looks like a bomb went off.
Hissing charcoal is all that remains of the shack and outbuilding. Debris has been tossed around on the snow like a spray of black ink on a white tablecloth. Thin tendrils of smoke still rise into the sky.
The river rock chimney toppled straight down in the blaze, forming a small stone mountain.
Whatever was in there is no more. And by the looks of it, there must’ve been more than a container of kerosene and a half bottle of rot-gut whiskey to feed this destruction. Whatever it was, I’ll never know.
As I move my focus to the bigger picture, I can’t quite process what I’m looking at.
Never have I seen snow like this in Nevada. Accumulation is well over my head, and I’m looking at drifts rising as high as a two-story building.
If I hadn’t shoveled pathways every day, we’d have no way to move around out here.
“Is this real?” Phoebe asks.
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“I have to pee,” she says. “I’d rather wait until we’re rescued but I’m not sure I can hold it any longer.”
“Probably not a wise approach, Phoebs. I don’t know how long it will be before Declan spots us, but I’m sure he’s already looking.”
I lift her up and throw her over my shoulder, carrying her through the fresh snow to the makeshift outhouse.
“Watch the bladder,” she says, laughing.
While she pees, I do the same. I start shoveling a narrow walkway for her and look around for what I can use as a distress signal. Not that I’ll really need one. This black scar on the landscape can probably be seen from space.
I’m sweating under the sun. It’s got to be thirty degrees warmer that it was yesterday. Another five degrees and the snow will begin to melt, and that means the next huge headache will be flooding.
I remind myself to take it one natural disaster at a time.
I look up to see Phoebe walking toward me. She’s pulled her mask down around her neck and removed the parka hood. Her smile is almost as bright as the burst of morning sunshine.
“You look pretty happy with yourself,” I tell her, leaning my uninjured forearm on the shovel handle.
“I am happy. With a lot of things. The storm’s over and the sun’s shining and I finally peed, and you’re here. It’s a lot to be happy about.”
I let the shovel fall and open my arms. She steps inside and snuggles against me.
“We’re going home,” I tell her.
“We’re really getting out of here,” she says.
“Told you so.”
She raises her face to me. It’s such a pleasure to see her freckles in the daylight. “You said we have work to do—what kind?”
I share my plan with her.
First, I hack away at the ATV with the snub nose shovel, until it hit paydirt—the rearview mirror. I smack it hard with the handle and it breaks. I grab a sizeable shard and angle it to catch the sun.
“See that?” I tell Phoebe. “Declan will notice the flash from miles away.”
She roots around in her parka pocket and pulls out the distress whistle. “I’ve still got this, too.”
“Perfect. Now for a safe zone.”
Since we’d need a front loader to haul away enough snow to create a helicopter landing pad—and we’re fresh out of heavy equipment—I choose another approach.
We pick a spot away from any trees or obstructions, and Phoebe and I hack out a thin path in that direction. Then we use the shovels to flatten down a platform of snow.
We retrace our steps to scrounge around in the fire site for the two biggest pieces of blackened wood we can find. We drag them to the platform and place them into a large ‘X’.
And that’s it. It’s all we can do. I’m confident that it’s enough.
But there’s one last thing. I can’t believe I almost forgot!
“Be right back.” I drop a kiss on her cheek and move as fast as I can back to the snow shelter.
I crouch down to wedge myself through the little doorway, then reach my hand all the way inside. I grab it. It’s true that I’m not usually a sentimental man, but this is one memento I will be putting to good use.
I shove the Beefaroni can into the utility pocket of my coveralls and crawl backwards from the cave, then squeeze my way back to our pickup spot.
Just then, I hear it—the unmistakable, rapid thumping of helicopter rotors.
As I reach Phoebe, she turns to frown at me, hands on hips. “Do you hear that?
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep.”
She’s still frowning. “Are you sure this is a big enough spot for him to land?”
The answer is no, and that’s why I haven’t used the words “land” and “helicopter” in the same sentence. Because this will be an aerial rescue.
Phoebe’s stories about the Rio Grande Gorge and the Sears Tower have left me a little wary of broaching the subject too far in advance.
Now’s the time, because the thumping is becoming a roar. “Blow the whistle and wave your arms, Phoebe!”
I flash the mirror. But I can already tell by the bank and turn that Declan sees us. He’s headed our way.
“Hey, Phoebe!”
She raises her eyes to me. She’s already figured it out. “He’s not landing is he?”
“We don’t have a choice, baby!” The sound is so loud I have to shout.
“No!” She shakes her head. “I can’t!”