Belaski studies the surface of the Forest Service road; no new tracks in the snow.
He stares past Lauren at the ground fronting the cabins—unchanged since he left it.
“Pull in over there,” he says.
The woman, Rimes, slows—she steers the Jeep into the clearing between the trees.
The last few miles she hasn't spoken; since he took her cell and threw it out onto the highway.
The cabins are undisturbed—the woods dark, deserted. “Alright,” Belaski tells her. “Cut the engine.”
She puts it into park, shuts off the motor.
He jumps out, steps level with the driver window, points the gun. Some got the urge to talk, he thinks, to sound off. More were like her. Silent, calculating.
Rimes’s face is frozen, a rigid mask.
He opens up her door. “Get the hell out.”
Eyes on him, she unhooks her seat-belt, slides out, stands in the snow.
“Lauren,” Belaski says. “You want to help your brother? Get your ass out here.”
He hears the rear door of the Jeep click open.
“Up in that cabin,” he says.
Lauren gets out, steps forward, wading into the snow, her wrists still zip-tied together.
Belaski flicks the muzzle of the gun at Rimes. “Get on up there.”
“Anthony...” Lauren calls.
“Shut your damn mouth,” Belaski snaps.
Lauren claws at the edge of the cabin door, jamming her fingernails into a gap in the frame.
Belaski steps up, grabs the door, yanks it open. He levels the gun at Agent Rimes. “You're going to carry him out. You and her together.” He pushes her inside.
The air in the cabin feels frozen, an ice house. On the plank floor, Anthony is slumped in his ropes, his back against the iron stove in the center of the room.
Lauren drops to her knees, reaches out, lifts her brother's head from his chest.
“You sick fuck,” Rimes says. “You left him here? You left him out here all night?”
Belaski twists his mouth, drives the butt of the gun into the FBI agent’s face.
Rimes staggers, falls backward into a pine table. She hits the floor, head cracking against the hard, bare boards.
Anthony looks up, blinking—his face gray, hands locked in the park ranger's steel cuffs.
Belaski steps to Rimes—she's not moving, her eyes are closed. He pulls the big survival knife from his pocket, unsheathes it, moves across the cabin, behind the stove.
He squats. Puts the serrated top-edge of the blade against Anthony’s ropes. Sawing back and forth, he slices through the fibers.
Anthony gives out a groaning sound.
Lauren leans in. “Alright. It’s alright. Hold on. We'll get you out of here...”
Belaski watches Rimes, works the knife back and forth, pulling, twisting. The rope comes free.
Lauren stands, gets her hands on her brother's ice-fishing jacket, pulling in the folds of fabric, closing her fingers into a grip.
Anthony shifts his legs, moves his torso. He falls to one side.
“Come on,” Lauren says.
Belaski steps around the stove, puts away the knife, the gun still out.
He reaches down, grabs Anthony, lifts him.
Lauren ducks a shoulder beneath her brother’s arm.
He draws his legs beneath him—stands, unsteady.
Belaski lets go, walks to Rimes, still laid out on her back.
He kicks her in the kneecap. No wince, no reaction—no sign of pain in her face. “Get him outside,” he says to Lauren. “Get him out in the Jeep.”
Lauren staggers with her brother, hands slipping on his jacket.
Belaski reaches down to Rimes, holds the gun at the FBI agent’s midriff.
He pulls at the bottom edge of her fleece jacket. Beneath it, fixed to the belt of her pants is a Glock 23 in a nylon holster. He takes it, sticks it into a pocket, pops the stud on her leather cuff-holder. He takes out the cuffs. Removes the key from the lock.
He crosses the cabin, steps out after Lauren and Anthony into the glare of light.
The smell of the forest is sharp in the air.
Lauren and her brother limp toward the side of the Jeep.
“Open up the rear,” Belaski says.
Lauren stares back at him. “What? What for?”
“Just do it. He'll be fine.” He steps from the cabin door, jogs to the driver side of the vehicle. Rips the keys from the ignition.
Lauren’s eyes drill him.
“I'll finish this,” Belaski says, “then we haul.”
He raises the gun an inch, strides back to the cabin.
“Wait,” Lauren calls out.
Belaski steps through the open door, enters the room, crosses to Rimes, laid out flat.
He levels the gun at her head.
“Wait,” Lauren calls behind him, at the door. “Jesus Christ, wait. Don't do that.”