Bobbie
It takes me a moment to remember where I am.
Then I remember what I’d done before I fell asleep, wrapped in the sleeping bag and Dag’s arms, and I freeze up.
My God, I’d practically thrown myself at the man.
I can feel a hot flush burn my cheeks and I’m glad he can’t see me. Maybe that’s what allowed me to be so bold and forward when he was trying to stop things before they went too far.
Mortifying.
If, by some miracle, we get out of this alive, I’ll never be able to look him in the eyes again, but I have no regrets.
A smile pulls at my lips in the dark as I relive our earlier, rather wild coupling in my mind. It had been a while for me and Dag is not a small man in any respect, so I’m feeling it now. I’m a bit sore, but in the most delicious way.
I shift to stretch my muscles when I notice his body heat is missing behind me. The silence seems heavier without the sound of his deep breaths. Pushing up into a seated position, I peer into the darkness around me.
To my surprise I can make out the edge of the dresser and when I let my eyes roam, I notice other rough outlines I hadn’t been able to make out earlier.
Somehow faint daylight must be filtering in from somewhere.
I scan the room and catch on what is left of the doorway, noting it appears brighter. No sign of Dag, though. What if something happened to him?
Getting to my knees, I shove the sleeping bag off me and fight the wave of claustrophobia when I realize how close the ceiling is to my head. If I were to reach up a hand, I’d touch it. Afraid to call out for Dag, I start crawling toward the only way out of this room—the doorway.
When I slip through the opening, I notice there’s even less space to move here and I drop down to my stomach. It’s brighter here, though, the light has a bluish hue as it trickles through the pack of snow. If I weren’t so petrified right now, I might appreciate the magical sight more.
Underneath me the snow is smooth, a track flattened by the slide of a body. Using my elbows for leverage, I pull myself along the same path Dag must’ve taken, feeling the walls of snow closing in on me the farther I get. My guess is he recognized a possible way out and followed it, but I know to my core he would have come back for me. There’s no way he would’ve left me to fend for myself, which can only mean he wasn’t able to come back for me.
That’s why, when black dots appear in my peripheral vision, I force my focus on the brighter light ahead. I can’t afford an anxiety attack now. Not when Dag is out there somewhere, possibly in trouble.
The tighter the channel gets, the more I have to wriggle to get through. Normally I don’t have any major issues with the extra padding on my body but right now I wish there was less of it, and I vow to add some exercise to my daily routine if I get out of here.
I can feel fresh air on my skin and have to squint against the almost blinding sunlight when I stick my head out of the cold tomb I didn’t expect to survive.
I hear a sound I can’t quite place and inches from my head snow sprays up, hitting my face like sharp, cold needles.
“Bobbie! Get down!”
That’s Dag.
My head spins to the left—the direction of his voice—and I gasp when I see a deep red trail leading behind the branches of one of the few surviving trees not felled by the rush of snow.
Blood.
This time I hear it—a dull crack—at the same time something burns the side of my head and I duck, letting myself slide back down the narrow hole. The single shot is followed by a salvo and the snowpack starts caving in, taking me with it.
* * *
Dag
I watch helplessly as the snow starts to collapse right where moments ago Bobbie’s head disappeared.
The shooter was lying in wait when I channeled my way to the surface.
I’d dozed off for a bit, depleted after coming more forcefully than I can ever recall. When a cramp woke me up, I immediately noticed there was some light filtering in. Rather than wake Bobbie—who didn’t move when I removed my arm from around her—I decided to investigate first. No reason to raise her hopes and then have to squash them, but the light indicates there may be an area where the snow layer is thinner and easier to get through.
It could’ve happened when the fridge gave way to the weight when the snow likely shifted. It would’ve been impossible to tell while still dark outside but it showed with the coming of daylight.
I was surprised how easy it was to get through, and intended to head right back down to get Bobbie out when the shot went off. I knew I was hit when my left leg collapsed under me. I was a sitting duck with no immediate cover, only the sidearm which I somehow managed to keep on me.
While firing off a few rounds in the direction I imagined the shooter to be, I was able to drag myself about ten feet or so. There I found cover behind the top half of a tall pine tree still visible above the snow.
Then the waiting game began, trying to wait out the shooter and hoping he or she would get impatient and do something that would allow me to pinpoint their location. Instead, Bobbie found her own way out, her mass of now-matted hair poking out of the snow.
The shooter reacted instantly, taking a shot at her.
Big mistake.
As I called out a warning, I kept my eye on the tree line where the shot had come from and this time when they fired, I could see the barrel flash. Not only do I now have an exact location, but I’m fueled with anger at the attempts to kill the woman who managed to surprise me with her courage and passion.
She’s blown every reservation I had out of the water, and for the first time in many years I want to explore something more, but I may never get that chance.
Counter to anything my training and years of experience have taught me, I completely disregard the danger and scramble to where I last saw that chestnut hair disappear.
“Dag!”
Neither Bruce’s voice or the gunshots immediately following stop me from my objective—getting to Bobbie.
I have nothing but my bare hands to dig and within seconds they’re numb. My efforts are sluggish and clumsy, but when the snow I pull out starts to turn pink, I throw myself into the task with renewed urgency, ignoring everything around me. Blood means she may have been hit.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been digging, all I know is what I read somewhere once; after fifteen minutes your chances of surviving being buried under snow reduces dramatically. Behind me I hear the crunch of boots in the snow.
“Move,” Bruce orders, trying to shove me aside.
“Gotta get her out,” I rasp without looking at him.
“You’re hurt and you’re barely moving snow.”
Firm hands grab my shoulders from behind, pulling me away, and I don’t even have the strength to fight them. On my back in the snow, hands start to examine me and I struggle to keep my eyes open. Bruce is digging and two more people join him, using their hands to scoop out the snow.
“Got her.”
Bruce’s top half disappears into the cavity they created. The two other men hold on to his legs and start pulling him back. I watch as he reappears, holding onto Bobbie’s snow-covered, still form.
The three men crowd around and I no longer see her. Darkness is creeping in on my view and I try to blink it away when I notice Bruce break away from the group and heading toward me. He drops down on his knees and leans his head close.
“She’s alive, my friend. You kept her alive.”
I close my eyes and let the darkness take me.