Snow (12 page)

“How are we—” she started.

“You first.” He folded the towel over the window and grasped her around the waist. “Feet first.” Mike kept his voice calm, knowing the moment she panicked, they were both dead. “Take your time. You’re going to have to hold onto the window while I climb up. Okay? Liliana?”

She met his eyes, inches from his face now as he held her. Terror waited in her gaze but she nodded, lips set in a stubborn, straight line.

Relief crashed through him. Honestly, if he had to be in this situation with anyone other than a member of his team, he was glad it was her. She wouldn’t break on him.

He helped Liliana get her feet through the window and slide downward. She breathed steadily, didn’t yelp or freak out. Her hands gripped the windowsill and then she lowered herself, keeping her right arm up so the cuff chain wouldn’t pull.

Something slammed into the door behind him.

Mike’s heart shot up but he remained calm, grabbed the windowsill and pulled himself up and through. He’d measured, sure, but it was still a tight fit and his shoulder caught something, pain lashing his skin. Liliana had the sense to step back from his path as he launched himself the rest of the way and landed in the snow beside her.

The rear of the motel was dark but for the moonlight hitting the snow and reflecting against the white. Snow drifts arched downward and then tall, skinny bare trees filled the area ahead of them. Woods that would thicken the deeper they went. A creek about a kilometer beyond the motel.

His fingers laced with Liliana’s. “Move. Fast.”

She didn’t complain, crashing ahead with him as he started through the snow. They had a few blessed moments before the snow seeped through their clothes, soaking their pants and dripping into their shoes.

“Won’t he follow our footprints?” she asked as they clambered through the trees.

He would. Mike was hoping she wouldn’t think of that in the moment. “I’m counting on me knowing the area better than he does. We’ll lose him.”

A flashlight would be good as they navigated the woods, the thick drifts of snow making running more difficult and forcing them to slow, but it would make them more of a target than they already were.

Minutes passed with just their strained breathing as they ran and steps crunching against the snow. The moonlight peeking through the canopy of bare branches above was enough to navigate. Mike’s hands were cold—freezing as the wind picked up—and he absently grasped Liliana’s, squeezing her trembling fingertips between his. The creek sounded in the distance, sharp trickle of water guiding him forward.

Eventually they hit the icy bank that gave way to running water. The creek shone like glass in the light, trickling over stones. It wasn’t deep but ice gathered around the edges near the shore, suggesting the temperature was freezing and only movement kept it from icing over entirely. The banks on either side of the creek were steep and difficult to navigate as they climbed down one toward the water.

“We’re going to get hypothermia,” Liliana mumbled, blowing out a shaky breath.

He had nothing reassuring to say to her. “Probably.”

And with that, he tugged her straight into the water.

The creek made for difficult walking, water pushing at their legs. Rather than simply cross it, he led her in the direction of the current. Water soaked their shoes, weighing their feet down, and numbing their skin. After several minutes of silence, Liliana stumbled beside him; he glanced at her to find her shaking from the cold, her big eyes meeting his.

He wasn’t in much better shape himself but at least had training, enough that he knew his body wouldn’t up and quit on him, or go into shock at the wrong moment.

He stopped at her side and scooped her up out of the water, one arm under her legs while the other awkwardly crossed her back. The cuffs were in the way but she shifted, got her arms around his neck to make it easier. Their combined body heat brought him a moment of reprieve from the cold and he kept going, pushing his legs as fast as they would go.

“You’re l-lucky I’m too cold to sing Whitney Houston right now,” she mumbled, her teeth chattering.

“Very grateful for that.”

“Although with the water and t-temperature, it’s a l-little more Jack and Rose, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t like that one either.”

“I p-promise not to breakout ‘My Heart Will Go On.’”

“Appreciated. Because I’d cut off my hand and leave you here.”

Ten minutes of trudging through the water, her clutched in his arms even as the cold got to him and he feared he’d drop her, and they came upon the small bridge at last. He knew now precisely where they were and could’ve collapsed with relief if he didn’t know how much farther they had to go.

“I can walk, I think, just don’t put me in the water,” she said, and he obliged once they reached the bridge. Her feet touched down and she grasped the railing, held on as her legs wobbled. Mike got himself on the wooden bridge at her side and glanced around, taking stock of the woods around them. The trees thickened ahead and visibility would drop once more.

There was no sign they’d been followed, but if this guy was as good at tracking him as he was supposed to be, they wouldn’t see any evidence of him. That Liliana was still breathing at his side suggested the confusion of the woods worked in their favor.

He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore and it took two tries to grip her hand at last. They were chained together, it didn’t actually matter, but he felt better knowing they were linked through flesh rather than the metal ringing their wrists.

Cold had settled down deep into his body, so cold he could barely feel it anymore. Which wasn’t a good sign. He quickened his pace and after a few minutes of walking, Liliana easily kept up. He was glad to keep her out of the water but the rest probably did her body more harm than good—the moment they stopped, it was so much harder to get started walking again.

The ground dipped down and trees eventually thinned, enough that a large dark shape formed ahead.

“C-cabin?” Liliana said in a low voice. Her arms wrapped around his, the weight of her hanging off of him. At least his shirt sleeves were longer, she’d come out in a T-shirt and was shaking now.

He nodded, not trusting his voice. His teeth chattered too and anything he said would be stuttered, showing just how cold he was too. His body was weakening, the adrenaline long gone and a crash rapidly approaching. Darkness crowded around his vision.

They started down the hill toward the snow-covered log cabin and his left foot slipped, body went down. Liliana hissed his name but he barely heard it. Just thirty, forty feet to temporary safety and warmth, but exhaustion weighed him down.

“You’re bleeding!” Liliana’s voice cut in and out around him. “Damn it, O’Hara, why didn’t you say you were bleeding?”

Probably because he didn’t realize he had been, the cold numbing his skin. He struggled onto his knees as she pulled at him, slipped in the snow again. Black crowded over his vision.

Safety, she needed
safety
, but his cold, exhausted body wasn’t cooperating and he slumped forward limply.

****

Shit, shit, shit
.

Liliana sent a futile glance at the cabin, then back down at O’Hara. She had no idea how long they’d been out there but away from the trees, standing over him, she saw the dark stain against his shoulder and arm. She felt around his shirt and encountered tears in the fabric. Did he get shot? Was it the glass from the window? Damn it, she had no idea, but he’d bled
a lot
. And then he’d carried her through most of the creek, no wonder he was fading.

She crouched lower, got his free arm over her shoulder. It was awkward with the cuffs, crossing their other arms over their torsos to keep together, but she managed to get some of his weight on her and to encourage him to stand. His eyes were open but lids at half-mast, blinking like he couldn’t focus. If they had more light, she expected his lips to be blue—hers as well.

No lights were on the cabin that she could see—this thick snow piling up suggested it was abandoned. He’d known it was here, maybe it was his. Either way, they had nowhere else to go.

What should’ve been a quick sprint down the hill turned to a long, arduous trek as Liliana struggled to keep him on his feet. They slipped and slid every few steps and she had horrible visions of them tumbling and breaking limbs or bones, but thankfully made it to the bottom with nothing more than bruises.

Snow down here, at the back of the cabin, was up to her thighs. She pushed through, past a tarp-covered wood pile, onto the cabin’s old wooden deck and around to the front door.

O’Hara straightened a little as they got there, like maybe he was  slightly less likely to pass out. He thrust his hand against the doorway and blinked a few times, holding himself up.

Liliana reached for the doorknob.
Please be open, please be
—

The door struck a little but wasn’t locked and a shove against it with her shoulder got them inside.

Snow spilled across the dark floor. She felt around the wood-panelled wall but didn’t locate a light switch. Theirs steps echoed as they walked in, floorboards creaking with every movement. O’Hara managed to get the door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

Liliana started forward, was stopped short by the goddamn cuffs again.  She shivered, the room not that much warmer than outside; although they were sheltered by the elements, she faintly saw her breath fogging the air.

“K-key?” she managed, lifting her arm to indicate the cuffs.

“Fuck.” She couldn’t see him well in the dark but imagined his shoulders sagging. “Nightstand.”

Wonderful. “Is there a l-light?”

He groaned and his feet thumped on the floor, his arm once more brushing hers. A moment later light shone—he held up his cell phone with the flashlight turned on, swinging it over the room.

Twice the size of the old motel room but that was it. Old worn couch under the window, fireplace, bed. A kitchenette with a hotplate on a counter by a sink, two chairs and a table. Doors at the back probably led to a bathroom and closet.

O’Hara started forward, his steps heavy and labored. “Summer cabins. Rented to tourists. No one’s up here during the winter.”

That was clear now. The mattress was covered in plastic and had no sheets. Dust had gathered on every surface. Probably no electricity either.

Logs waited to the side of the fireplace, but that wouldn’t do them much good if they didn’t have a way to light them. “Do you have any matches?” she asked, dreading the answer.

Sure enough, he shook his head, but instead headed past the fireplace and bed toward the bathroom. “They might have supplies of some kind here.”

She wished they could’ve split up to look but in the glow of the flashlight, O’Hara was looking pretty pale. It wouldn’t be right to leave him even if she could. “You’re hurt. You need medical care.”

“Priority is heat.”

In that, she could agree.

The bathroom was tiny, just a toilet and shower—not even a tub—and a small rickety cupboard below the sink. Within it was a box with items that rattled when O’Hara lifted it. He settled the box in her arms without opening it, then went for the linen closet. Vacuum-sealed plastic bags with bedding, thank
God
—he grabbed one of those as well, and they hobbled back to the main part of the room.

They crouched by the fireplace and Liliana immediately pulled open the box to rifle through the contents. A box of first aid supplies—she set that aside. Some toiletries, little samples of soap and toothpaste. A comb. Hair elastics. Three tampons. Condom. Broken toothbrush. A button. Q-Tips that looked dirty. Like someone had swiped all the random items around the bathroom into one box at the end of the season.

There at the bottom waited matches and Liliana heaved a huge sigh of relief.

They moved some logs into the fireplace and rolled up dusty newspaper left in a pile nearby. Her fingers barely obeyed her and it took three tries but eventually she got a match lift and held her breath as she leaned forward to light the paper.

It caught, orange flames dancing wildly and reaching for the wood.

Liliana sat back on her heels, shoulder sagging and head tipping forward. God, she was exhausted. Her skin started to thaw and with it came the sting of the heat. All she wanted was to curl up by the fire and sleep.

Miles to go and all that
. She drew herself up again. “Let me look at your arm.”

“It’s—”

“It’s not fine, c’mon.” Her knees creaked as she unfolded herself and got standing again. O’Hara took an extra moment as well but he stood too, lifting the box of meager supplies with him. She grasped the edge of the sealed bag of blankets and they moved toward the bed. Tore off the plastic protecting the mattress, opened the one holding the blankets, and emptied bedding onto the bed.

She sat, kicked off her soaked shoes and socks. Her shirt was damp but the cotton would dry—not so with her jeans. She unbuttoned those and worked the rough, soaked denim down. It rolled off of her legs and she kicked it away. Fresh goose bumps rose on her bare legs, her skin wrinkly from the prolonged exposure to the wet fabric against her skin. Warmth slowly spread through the room as the fire picked up and orange light flickered, tossing long shadows over the space.

O’Hara sat as well, still moving stiffly. His eyelids looked heavy and while Liliana didn’t have medical training, she was pretty sure it was a bad sign.

“Hey, hey. Stay awake. If you pass out, I’ll have dead weight to drag, and I’m not strong enough.” She pulled the first aid supplies from the box while he moved sluggishly to slide off his shoes. She glanced at his jeans, where the built up snow had melted and stained them dark. They could wait, though—his immediate injuries were her concern. The shirt was caked with blood, all up and down his right arm, and the fabric was stiff from the cold. She leaned over his back, the chain of the handcuffs jangling between them, as she plucked at the shirt. “Take it off. Is the plumbing running? To wash it out?”