Chapter 13 #2
A lie, of course. It was most definitely not just a car to his mind. What had she cost him? Too much. She touched his shoulder. “No, she was a special car, and I’m sorry you lost her trying to help me.” On impulse, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his brow.
He sighed and nestled closer, and it was the most comforting sensation she’d experienced since before her brother was murdered.
Her mouth drifted to his temple. How easy it would be to kiss him properly, to let the feeling seep into her fragile glass heart that hadn’t beat right for a very long time.
But there was such a thin coating around that battered organ.
One crack, one tiny fissure and it might disintegrate into a pile of useless shards.
She edged away, patting her pockets to be sure she had her phone. “I really am sorry,” she mumbled.
He caught her eye, lifted his chin, and smiled. “Are you kidding? Nothing to be sorry for. All this is fodder. My wilderness classes are going to love hearing about this.”
The bravado didn’t quite cover his regret at losing his beloved Jeep.
In silent agreement they crawled the entire length of the fallen tree, which took them to a cluster of firs that had formed a blockade against much of the landslide flow.
The trunks had allowed a mass of rock to collect in a haphazard swath, which would enable them to climb farther away from the sticky mess.
To make it to the rocks required them to step off into the ooze, which mercifully only rose to their knees. Thick mud rushed to encase them. Each step required enormous effort as the muck weighed down their legs, but they soon cleared the worst of it.
Upon reaching more stable ground, they supported each other and used sticks to scrape off the mud as best they could.
Her jeans were sodden and stiff, encasing her in a freezing sludge.
The clock on her almost useless phone added to her worries by showing that they were heading into late afternoon.
Another evening was approaching, and now they had no shelter and no vehicle.
The idea of enduring another frigid night, wet and exposed, was almost unbearable, and her body began to tingle with fear. Weak, hungry, cold, shelterless.
She also had no idea in which direction they were moving.
Gideon does.
He was the only thing keeping her from outright panic.
After checking his bearings on the compass from his pack and a printed map he kept in a plastic bag, he led the way farther down into the glade.
She couldn’t hear over the crunching of twigs under her feet, but she thought he said something about a trail.
Twenty minutes of walking warmed her only slightly, and Gideon stopped at a marker she hadn’t even noticed. No words, just the universal hiker logo, an arrow, and the ominous numbers 15.5. She prayed they wouldn’t have to cover all those miles to achieve Gideon’s purpose.
“Will it take us around the slide to the airstrip?” she said, chafing her arms.
Gideon stopped and wiped a streak of mud from his forehead.
“Zee, gonna be honest with you. The airstrip is a solid ten miles from here, and the only two direct routes are off the table now. We’re wet and it’s going to be full dark soon.
Our primary goal right now needs to be finding shelter and warmth.
At least someplace where I can build a fire and pray we aren’t spotted.
Shelter and warmth aren’t optional. If we don’t acquire them, you won’t live long enough to see tomorrow, let alone an airstrip. ”
The frustration in his voice prickled her own. She wanted to answer, provide a plan, another option, a way he hadn’t considered, but there was nothing. He was right. Maybe he’d been right all along about her plan. Everything seemed suddenly unimportant under the weight of her discomfort and fear.
Her fingers were so cold she couldn’t hold her phone, and the trembling in her legs increased. The mud had hardened into armor.
“All right,” she said. “The trail’s the answer?”
“I hope so. There might be a campground along the way or a backpacker’s respite of some kind.”
That didn’t seem likely to her with the unkempt condition of the trail, but she held her tongue and followed Gideon. At this point, maybes were the best they could do. He’d slung the backpack over one shoulder, and she realized he was favoring the reconstructed one.
Her heels were already blistered and raw and her legs might as well be two pieces of wood, but they limped along, shivering as what sunlight there was sank low behind the trees.
Faster, her mind urged, pushing her on toward some phantom place where she wasn’t permeated with cold and misery.
When he slowed, she pulled alongside to find another trail marker, but this one pointed the way to someplace called Boatyard at Lake Louise.
She brightened. A boatyard meant walls, didn’t it? And walls meant relief from the biting wind. In unspoken agreement, they pushed on.
What he expected to find at the boatyard, she couldn’t say exactly, but her imagination furnished all kinds of optimistic visions.
Maybe they could even find a boat to borrow, to motor down the river until they happened upon a waterfront house with someone at home—or not.
She’d be happy to accept breaking and entering charges if they could find someplace with a working phone and hot water.
Even tepid would do because her extremities were slabs of unyielding ice.
A garage? Woodshed? Doghouse? She struggled to match Gideon’s pace, though she knew he’d slowed to accommodate her.
Another half hour took them along a wide sweep of riverbank and finally to the inlet where a small boathouse appeared, hovering over the water as if floating there. The water level had risen so that the bottom of the structure was submerged.
With as much speed as they could muster, they hurried toward the neatly painted building.
The rear and sides were made of varnished wood slats.
The front opened into slips for four boats, the spaces dark like missing teeth.
She could see the vague outline of two boats secured as well as possible against the elements.
The residents of the river houses, of course, had their own places to dock their vessels.
This one probably served several dwellings tucked farther back into the greenery.
A peek inside revealed only an inky dark interior. She paused to allow her eyes to adjust as they entered. Four slips, two boats, and merciful protection from the wind. Gideon bent to examine one vessel.
The sound of an engine made them both straighten. Gideon ran to the entrance, and she followed. Help?
To her dismay, she saw an ATV, similar to the one Kevin had driven, but the two men in the front seat were hideously familiar.
She shrank back into the shadows, holding her breath.
“Al and Jerry.” Gideon was scanning wildly, trying to figure a way out.
The ATV was parked at the drive, windows open. No chance they could sprint out the way they’d come in.
Jerry’s voice cut through the stillness. “I still say the helicopter oughta be up. Why should we have to tackle this area in a crappy all-terrain vehicle?”
“Because we messed up and let them get away at the stables. They made us look like idiots. Now we gotta make it up to the boss or pay. Our necks are on the line, or don’t you remember?”
Jerry laughed. “He chewed you out royally, didn’t he?”
“Us, man. Us.”
The response was indistinct, but Al’s angry tone grew more conciliatory. “Clerk in town spotted them. They came this way, all right. They’d have to.”
Gideon’s teeth ground together. Al and Jerry had made it to the landslide. It wouldn’t have been hard to track their direction.
“What happens if that dam lets loose?” Al said. Springs creaked as the two men got out of the ATV.
“Then we’re gonna hightail it out of here and let the water take care of business.”
“Boss won’t like it unless we bring back bodies.”
“Well, boss has his house all nice and safe on the mountain. Not like he has to worry about drowning like us worker rats.”
“Let’s just disable these boats in case they make it this far.”
“All right,” Al said.
There was no way out, both entrances blocked. In unison she and Gideon moved to the edge of the slip.
Not in the lake. Anything but plunging into that deep freeze.
But there was no other way. Gideon silently affirmed it with a finger pointed at the water. He went in feet first without even making a splash.
His head bobbed up and he blinked. Behind her the boards creaked.
Every sinew screamed at her not to do it. She looked down at Gideon. He was shivering, jaw clamped tight. He raised his hand to her, urging and reassuring.
Still her body resisted until the voices grew closer.
Do it, Mackenzie. Do it or die.
She stepped off as quietly as she could.
The cold hit like a hammer. Gideon grabbed her wrist, and they swam under the wood of the docking into the dark shadows. The smell of diesel and tar was pungent.
The beam of a flashlight began to cleave the shadows.
“Look at this,” Al said in a whisper.
Mackenzie’s heart dropped.
“Wet tracks here,” Al said.
The footsteps grew more hurried, and the distinct sound of a gun being drawn from a holster followed.
“They’re in here,” Jerry whispered. “Go to the other side. We’ll pincher them.”
Divide and destroy. Jerry’s boots scuffed across the planks as he passed their hiding spot, then stopped at the next boat slip.
“Any sign of them?”
“Footprints not showing here. Check the boats.”
Gideon and Mackenzie watched, still as they could be, looking up through the skinny gaps between the boards.
Mackenzie struggled to keep her panicky breaths quiet and shallow.
Her limbs quaked so badly she was making ripples in the water.
Al’s shadow flickered past, closing in. She saw his rifle held tight.