Jason hunched over to try and protect himself from the icy wind as he drove the snowmobile down an incline, heading for a trail he knew of farther down the mountain. He just hoped it was still unblocked, because if it wasn’t, he would have to backtrack to his starting point and try another direction.
Urgency pumped through him. The storm had cost him precious time already, preventing him from getting out of here last night as planned.
He should have been in Idaho by now, on a nice warm bus heading to meet his sister in California. Instead he was stuck out here, half-frozen and forced to find an alternative route out of these damn mountains.
His fingers were like ice inside his insulated gloves. Last night had been the coldest, longest night of his life. The weather had forced him to go back to the shack. Even inside it he’d half-frozen to death.
He’d run out of fuel for the wood-burning stove at around one in the morning. Soon after that, the wind had torn part of the roof off. He’d spent the rest of the night huddled next to the barely-warm stove beneath a nest of tarps and blankets, wondering if he’d make it to morning.
Now dawn was approaching. Moving around in the daylight increased the risk of being seen. He didn’t know what had happened to the two people he’d gone after yesterday, but since he’d taken one snowmobile and burned the rest of their shit, they’d probably frozen to death.
The snowmobile tipped forward as he started down the slope. Snow sprayed him as the vehicle tore through the powder covering the denser snow beneath. Just as he was about to reach the bottom, the skis hit something. The handlebars snapped sideways, making the vehicle torque in midair.
He flew off the seat, the breath whooshing from his lungs when he plowed face first into the thick powder. Immediately he shoved up and struggled to his feet, shaken. Snow seeped down into the collar of his jacket and up his sleeves, the intense cold burning his already chilly skin.
The snowmobile was lying on its side a dozen feet away. He trudged over to it and yanked out the rifle that was now sticking end up out of the snow. Slinging it across his back, he grabbed the handlebars of the snowmobile and struggled to wrestle it back onto its treads.
Finally he succeeded, panting and sweating, the melting snow inside his clothes creating icy rivulets along his skin. But the snowmobile wouldn’t start. He tried everything he knew to get it going, and the bastard wouldn’t turn over.
“Fuck!” he snarled, and began gathering up the contents of the backpack that had strewn everywhere during the crash. The snowmobile had been his only chance of getting out of here without the cops hot on his trail, and now he was back to being on foot. In the middle of a goddamn blizzard.
Straightening, he stared through the swirling snow at the shadowy peaks rising ahead of him. He’d never make it to the pass on foot. Not with the weather turned to shit and his only shelter ruined.
His heart sank, his frustration building, rising in a red tide of anger. He needed to find shelter and hide until he could find another way out of here, but the only other building he knew of within reach right now was a partially-constructed one down in the valley near the creek. He’d have to go back down the mountain and risk taking the shortcut again to get there.
Anger pulsed through him, helping to counteract the cold and the bitter sting of disappointment. He was down, but not out. He still had a rifle and supplies, and he knew how to survive.
He shrugged into his backpack and slung the rifle over his shoulder before starting his retreat back the way he’d come. With every single step, he plunged thigh-deep into the snow. Covering fifty feet felt like he’d trudged the length of a football field. But he kept going, stopping when he couldn’t catch his breath, then carrying on.
It took him over an hour to reach the start of the shortcut. Because of the incline the snow hadn’t settled as thickly on it. He half-jogged, half-skidded his way down the trail he knew by heart. But when he finally emerged onto the wider trail at the bottom, his racing heart stuttered to a halt.
Ski tracks. Two sets. Leading down the same trail he had to take.
He reached back for his rifle, his gaze jerking left and right as he searched for the skiers. Had to be the same people as yesterday. No way anyone else would have been up here so early, in this same spot in these conditions. How the hell had they made it through the night out here?
His pulse thudded in his ears. They’d seen him. Might be able to ID him, and would definitely be able to give his location away now that he was stranded. And now they were between him and the only place of refuge he knew of for miles around.
He tightened his grip on his weapon, mind made up. They had to die.
There was no other way for him to escape. He had to kill them both and get down to that building to hide until it was safe enough to move again.
Moving with purpose, he started down the trail. Following the tracks, his rifle at the ready.
When he crested a slight ridge partway down the trail, he paused to scan below him. Through the falling snow his gaze immediately shot to the two figures skiing down the trail almost directly beneath him.
He swallowed, his heart rate kicking up. He stepped closer to the edge of the ridge, carefully feeling along with his right boot to make sure he didn’t step on unstable ground. There was no sound but the dying wind.
They hadn’t seen him. Didn’t know he was up here. His conscience needled him. It almost seemed unfair for him to pick them off this way, but he had no choice.
Jason tugged off his right glove with his teeth, brought the rifle to his shoulder and took aim at the man. He was out front. Bigger, an easier target. And once Jason killed him, the woman would likely freeze in terror or stop to try and help him, making her an easy kill.
He angled his body to make the shot, his index finger shifting from the trigger guard to curve around the trigger.
The ground shifted beneath his right boot.
He lowered the rifle and jerked back, the momentum making him tumble into the snow. He jerked his head up in terror to see the edge crumbling inches from his feet. Disappearing a bit at a time and plunging down the cliff face.
Jason frantically scrambled away as the ground in front of him disintegrated and tumbled down right where his targets were.
“HALFWAY THERE,” BRAXTON said to Tala over his shoulder, trying to encourage her. Her lips had a purple cast from the cold and she was pale. And even though she was still hurting, she refused to let him carry her.
She nodded in answer and kept coming, her strides awkward and jerky. Partly from the ruined binding he’d wrapped some duct tape around a while back to try and hold it together, but mostly because of her leg.
“Tal, let me carry you,” he said again. The storm was definitely easing now, giving them a bit of visibility to work with. He could ski with her on piggyback, or even across his shoulders. “At least for a while.”
She shook her head. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Keep going.”
While he loved and admired her determination and inner strength, he hated to see her hurting, and worried she was doing long-term damage by insisting on continuing to ski with her leg the way it was now.
He stopped and turned to face her, ignoring the way her lips thinned and her jaw flexed. “Stop,” he commanded her, unable to stand it any longer.
“I can…keep going,” she insisted stubbornly.
He reached out and wrapped a hand around her nape to bring her to a halt, her eyes raising to his inside her goggles. “Do you think I’ll see you as weak if I carry you? Is that the problem?”
She averted her gaze. “No. I can do this.”
“And I don’t want you in any more pain than you already are.” He released her to shift the straps of his ruck. Then he reached for her, intending to pull her onto his back, and he heard it.
A shifting sound, then a low, ominous rumble overhead.
Tala’s head snapped up, and when he followed her gaze, his heart seized.
A wall of white was barreling down the cliff straight at them. Less than two-hundred-yards and closing, fast.
“Move!” he shouted, grabbing her arm to fling her in front of him.
She scrambled to get her skis in place, then began frantically using her poles to get momentum. Braxton was faster, helping her with a shove on the back just beneath her rifle harness.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
Before he’d gone a dozen strides, the wall of debris reached him. It picked him up, pushing upward like a rising wave. He had just enough time to throw his arm at Tala, catching her across the back to fling her out of the way.
His last sight of her was falling forward, her skis coming loose as she plunged headfirst away from the debris flow. Then the wall closed over him. Engulfing him from all sides in a crushing embrace.
He couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe as it trapped him, carrying him down the slope like a pebble caught in a raging river.
It was like being caught in a frozen washing machine. Instinctively he fought to bring his arms up and cover his face and head.
Rocks and branches slammed into him from all sides, punching the air from his lungs. Over and over he tumbled, losing all sense of direction, unable to escape.
Endless seconds later, he slammed into what felt like a wall beneath him and plunged to an abrupt stop.
He wasn’t sure if it knocked him out, but when he opened his eyes again, pain flashed through his back and ribs. He was trapped in freezing, pitch blackness, struggling to suck in air through the tiny pocket he’d created in front of his face with his hands.
Through the panic flooding him, his brain kicked back into gear.
Tala! She was alone, helpless if her prosthetic was broken, and might have been caught in the avalanche with him.
Fight or flight kicked in, the need to get to her eating him alive. Get out. You have to get the fuck out. Tala needs you.
He struggled to move his limbs, fighting the crushing wall of snow entombing him. Every move cost him. Using up the air he’d managed to save. Already he was light-headed, his precious oxygen supply rapidly dwindling to nothing.
And the whole time he fought to get free, his mind screamed at him. Warning him that he was running out of time.
If he couldn’t get out in the next minute, he wasn’t getting out at all.