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SHE WENT BACK OUTSIDE and saw, with dismay, that she was losing light quickly. Was it that late? She had much to do before nightfall and too little time. She repacked everything quickly on the sled and got into harness.
Snow began to fall, tiny flakes. Ah, that explained the fast loss of light—invisible above the gray, ash-ridden air, there were clouds too. A snowstorm would decrease visibility.
And cover her tracks. Both their tracks once she rescued Benjamin. Good. Fine. Snow all you want. Snow harder.
Her spirits rose a fraction. Here was one worry that could be traded in for a hope. It had been a long time since she felt nature had been kind to her, but this snowstorm was a blessing.
She pulled the heavy sled along the worn path back toward their lair. She came to the bridge and crossed it. Then she turned aside, towing the gear. She curved under the bridge supports and pulled the sled out of sight there. Shrugging out of the harness, she took only enough time to grab a drink of water.
Before mounting a rescue, she had to find a safe place to hide them. If she could get Benjamin away from those people, she couldn’t take him far. No way could she outrun a hunting party while pulling the sled—and maybe pulling Benjamin too. She had to find a place where they could hole up for a few days.
And, once she had him, she had to be moving fast. The snow continued, and she knew that it was filling in tracks—hers and the sled runners. Good. Let it keep snowing, please.
She jogged once again, moving quickly through the side streets, quartering the neighborhood, hunting for a building, an intact wall, anything at all that could serve as shelter. The snow fell faster.
Finally, at the end of the fourth street she checked, she found what she was looking for. A long mound of snow had drifted up to shoulder height. She dug down into the snow, finding a lone concrete wall, some sort of traffic barrier at a dead end, that backed the snowdrift. This was okay. She’d make it work. She didn’t have time to look for anything better.
She was back at the bridge in a fraction of the time it had taken her to do the search. Strapping into the harness again, she moved the sled to her hiding place. Night was coming on fast, now. She’d be trying to find Benjamin in the pitch black of a snowy night.
Back at the drift, she got out of harness and immediately fell to work, digging with her arms. It was just like making a snow fort as a kid, back in northern Ohio’s harsher winters. Just like that—except this was for life and death, not neighborhood bragging rights. She dug a long tunnel next to the wall, pressing the snow upwards, making a solid roof overhead. The tunnel had to be long enough and wide enough for the sled, plus another foot all around so she could move around the sled.
She dug on hands and knees, mostly using her arms, working hard enough to build up a good sweat. There was no time to fool with taking off a layer of clothes; she’d need them again soon. She got a tunnel dug, but she needed more space. She could feel the time ticking away as she scrambled to the other end of the drift and began digging again, aiming the best she could for the end of the first tunnel. Her aim was true. Finally she broke through, linking the two tunnels. Then she smoothed the excavated snow out at the far end. A light coating of snow and no one would think the drift had been disturbed.
When she was done, there was almost no daylight left. She hauled the sled over and shoved it into the near entrance. She took the nylon rope, her sleeping bag, water, her knife in her left pocket, bullets tucked into both pockets. She emptied out her pack and added her few precious matches from her survival kit and her hardware selection in her pack’s outside pouch. She slung her rifle across her back and rebuilt the end of the drift, leaving an entrance just wide enough to wiggle through.
Snow was still falling, and that—she hoped—would help cover the signs of her activity. In the morning, she’d get out here at first light and better disguise her work if she needed to, in case anyone hunting for them did get close to this spot. But she would do her damnedest to keep that from happening. They couldn’t check every inch of the town. Could they? She shook off the thought. That had to be a worry for tomorrow. Tonight, just get Benjamin rescued and hidden from sight.
By the time she had reached the bridge, night had overtaken her. Her eyes strained in the dark, but it was useless. All she saw were the vaguest of shapes and over all that, a wash of spots, like interference on a blank TV channel.
Dropping to her knees, she took off a glove. Like a blind woman, she felt ahead of herself for her own footprints, finally thinking she had them. They were filled in with a coating of snow, half an inch or so. If the snow kept up at this rate, they would get several inches by morning, and her tracks would be filled in. She would hope for that, but she couldn’t count on it.
The only things she could count on now were her wits, her strength, her fledgling gun skills, and her luck. Not a lot to work with, but it was all she had—along with a rough plan.
Using the guideline of a curb, she got herself aimed in the right direction. She moved methodically, counting her paces, committing the numbers to memory. Even that was a long shot, but it might help her find her way in the dark, might make enough of a difference. When she had to turn, she made precise 90-degree turns and began counting again.
Periodically, she dug down through the snow to assure herself that there was roadway under her fingers, that she hadn’t drifted off course. The snow kept falling; she could feel it on her face like spider webs.
Twice she got off-track and had to light a match to find the path. She built a mental map, so many steps down this route, so many feet between those burned trees. 90-degree turn there, a hundred and forty paces, turn again. It took her a long while to retrace her route in the dark. She was aware of every minute passing.
By now, she had no idea what time it was. Straining ahead to see something, anything, she realized she did see something, a dim orange glow in the distance, bare illumination.
As she moved forward, the light flickered. It was a fire, a wood fire, far ahead of her. It had to be them. If it wasn’t, there was another group of people alive out there too. But the chances of that were nearly zero. They’d have killed each other or joined together. The light was her beacon. She moved with more confidence now.
The downside was, when she got within the light’s glow, they’d be able to see her too. She’d have to be damned careful and stay in shadow as long as she could.
It had taken her a long time to get here. It must be nearing midnight by now. What were they doing still awake? Maybe they set a guard. Would they do that with only five people? She was still worried about untold numbers, hidden inside the ruins of the house.
She backtracked to the main path and set up her only trap. Using part of the nylon rope and the screw hooks twisted into burned tree trunks to secure it, she strung a trip wire across the path. It might slow down a pursuer only twenty seconds, which wasn’t much, but if she heard someone fall over it, it could be enough time to let her turn and fire the rifle at the noise.
Edging around the encampment, she made her way to the spot she’d found earlier today. She stayed in the shadows and crept forward until she could see over the same drift.
There was someone sitting by the fire. Benjamin? No, of course not—couldn’t be that lucky. It was the teenaged boy in the brown jacket, his face turned three-quarters away from her. He sat without moving. Was he asleep? Was he alone?
And where the hell was Benjamin? She waited for several minutes, bringing the rifle up to aim it at the boy, but nothing happened. Finally, the boy moved. So he was awake.
She had to make a move, take a chance, and get this show on the road, as her father used to say. And she had to do it without making much noise.
She inched around until she was exactly behind the boy, so he couldn’t catch her moving in his peripheral vision. The snow around the campfire was trodden down, but she’d still make noise on it.
So she had to move fast. She rose. Coral adjusted her grip on the rifle, holding it by the middle of the barrel.
She sprung out, racing across the clearing to the boy. When she was halfway to him, he heard her. Turned.
She swung the rifle like a baseball bat and hit him on the side of the head. He toppled over.
The crack of the blow to his skull split the night. Coral got the rifle in her hands, aiming it toward the ruin of the house, then at the tent, and back to the house, expecting people to pour out at the sound.
Her heart pounded as she waited. And waited. And waited.
But no one came out.
No one seemed to be awake. But where was Benjamin?
She moved to the tent and swept the front flap open with her foot, aiming the rifle inside. There was someone in there.
Thank all the gods, it was him. Benjamin and no one else. She dropped the rifle and fell to her knees by his side, ripping off a glove and touching his swollen face.
His skin was freezing cold. Was he dead? Her fingers trembling at the thought, she reached to his neck and found his pulse. Her own pulse was pounding so hard in her fingertips, the only way she could feel his was that it was so much slower. Her own heart was trip-hammering.
She shook his shoulder. He didn’t stir. How bad off was he? Only a single thin blanket covered him. He had to be hypothermic. Fuckers. Rage at them gave her strength.
She backed up and took hold of his feet, pulling him out of the tent. How much more damage she was doing to him by moving him, she didn’t know. But she had no choice. They had to get out of here. And fast.
She turned to the boy, still slumped to the side. He looked so young and innocent.
Coral took out the new hunting knife. She grabbed the boy’s chin and lifted, exposing his neck.
She pressed the blade to his throat.
She couldn’t. He had protested the rough treatment of Benjamin. And he was a kid.
A kid who’d chase them and kill them in a few moments. Shit. She took a deep breath and plunged the blade in, meeting resistance. She slid it sideways, and it cut into the flesh. He made a sound and she trembled, terrified that would bring others. She gritted her teeth and yanked hard. Something gave and hot blood spurted out onto her hands.
Was he dead? She waited until the blood spurts slowed. She was panting, fighting back nausea all the while. The blood pumped no more. Yes, dead, surely. She’d intentionally killed her first human being.
She wiped her hands and knife in the snow and slid the knife back into her jeans.
Then she turned to Benjamin.
In the firelight, he looked awful. She wanted to cry at the sight of his battered face. No, she couldn’t afford the luxury of getting emotional. She had to stay rational.
Hardening her heart again, she lay her rifle across Benjamin’s belly. She pulled Benjamin by both ankles, aiming for the edge of the snowdrift she had hidden behind earlier. Backing up, she pulled him through the snow. Three times, the rifle rolled off, and each time she took the time to balance it back on Benjamin’s body.
She lost light behind the snowdrift. Her eyes had adjusted to the firelight, and she could see nothing now. The whole world was black, except for the dim glow over the drift.
She ran back to the fire and grabbed a slender burning board to bring back. It made a torch that allowed her to see.
Shrugging her pack off, she got everything ready as fast as possible. She shook out her sleeping bag, put Benjamin onto it, wrapped rope around him and the bag several times, and then tied each end of rope to his ankles, leaving two ends of rope that she wrapped several times around her wrists before grabbing in her hands.
It would have been better if he could walk, but she had planned for this possibility too. She was going to pull him like that, one rope in each hand. Hopefully, the snow on the ground would cushion his head from any rocks.
She stood and heaved at his weight. The sleeping bag moved easily down the slope of the drift. Adrenaline made the load seem less. She went backward, puffing, feeling a crazed sense of triumph, fueled by her adrenaline high, inching away from her sputtering torch.
Then she was back to the main track and it was time to remember her footfall counts. She figured she should double all the numbers. Moving backward, hauling Benjamin, she was taking pretty short steps.
Another hundred steps, another hundred. At every moment, she expected pursuit to catch up to her.
Coming to a stop, she looked up and saw the fire glow was dimmer on the horizon. This was far enough from the enemy camp to take a second to check him.
She gave a quick feel over Benjamin’s form, to make sure he was securely strapped on, make sure he was still breathing, and then she took off again, facing forward now, speeding as fast as she could over the newly-fallen snow. The weight of Benjamin on the bag was surely erasing her tracks. The snowfall would finish the job, covering the track of the bag being pulled along.
She had no idea how long it took her to get back to the bridge. It seemed like an hour, at least.
She wondered when they’d change guard shifts back at the camp. She had no doubt whenever the next one awoke they’d search everywhere for her, day or night.
Across the bridge, she slowed and began picking her way more carefully, counting her steps, making precise right angle turns. Benjamin’s weight made that a challenge, but she wrestled him around at the turns and kept on track. She turned down the final street—she hoped—and followed it to the end.
Her foot slammed against the concrete traffic barrier. She groped forward and felt the end of it. A few steps to the left, and she would have missed it altogether in the dark.
Using her last match, she found the entrance to the tunnel. She pulled the sleeping bag over, getting Benjamin to the entrance, and then crawled in before him. She pulled him until her butt hit the sled. She crawled back and stopped up the entrance until it was just large enough to let some fresh air in. She wriggled out of her pack took Benjamin’s sleeping bag from the sled and put it down, got herself onto it and pulled him under the sled, banging her head a couple times in the process. She slithered out and groped for the extra blanket that she’d left ready at the top of the sled’s load. She crawled into his bag and piled the extra blanket over them both.
Her rifle she kept loaded, ready just beside her left arm, pointed out the tunnel.
What she’d give for some light now. But they had no more matches, no lighter, and she hadn’t even thought to look for any at the Walmart. She’d have to wait for dawn to see what she was doing. Until then, she couldn’t do much more for Benjamin—just keep him warm.
She lay down beside him. Until she knew his injuries, she was afraid to put any weight on him, so she didn’t wrap herself around him. But she got right up against him, molding her body to the side of his. He was terribly cold.
“You’re safe,” she whispered to him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, and you’re going to be fine.” She wondered if he could hear her.
She hoped she was telling him the truth.
