Snowblind (21 page)

The roar of the rotor wore on Lorraine's nerves. Fifteen long minutes had passed since Josh had left the chopper. Strong gusts of wind rocked the aircraft. He's not going to be able to fly out of this, she thought. We'll be stuck down here with a maniac on the loose.

Her growing fear made her angry at herself. "Get a grip," she scolded. "You didn't use to be like this." She remembered her years in the army reserve. Her two deployments to Iraq. Nerves of steel. A leader of men. "
Kali," an Indian recruit in Baghdad had called her — the black warrior goddess, the bitch of destruction.

The explosion of the IED had changed everything.

Lorraine couldn't stand the noise any longer. She pulled on her headphones to block the sound. It deadened the howling rotor but did little to calm her nerves. She couldn't stop thinking about the killer. What if it had been him who shot the flare? What if he'd been trying to lure them down.

What if he killed Josh?

She heard a loud beeping in her ears.

"What the hell...?"

The beeping stopped. Lorraine froze in her seat. She had forgotten about the sensor on the nose of the aircraft.

Someone had just passed in front of the helicopter.

Lorraine whipped off the headphones. "Josh!" she called, shouting over the noise. "Is that you?"

The rotor whirled overhead. She heard no other sound.

"Josh?" she called again.

Nothing but the sound of the wind and the blades.

Lorraine's heart pounded in her chest. She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline shooting through her body. "Oh God... oh God..." Her hand searched frantically over her door for the lock. The lock was still shut. She began tearing at her seatbelt, ripping open the buckles with her trembling hands.

"Hurry... hurry..."

She barreled over the control sticks, tumbling onto the pilot's seat. She groped the door, found the lock, shut it.

She scrambled between the seats toward the rear compartment. Her coat pocket caught on something. She was stuck. "Shit!" she screamed, ripping it free. She tumbled onto the floor in back, crashing into the seat. She climbed up on her knees, reached for the door—

The door whipped open.

A howling wind roared into the cabin. Lorraine scrambled back, cowering in fear. "No... no..."

Strong hands grabbed her throat.

*  *  *

Josh heard a scream on the wind. A shudder went through him like a jolt. He stopped, listened, his visible breath ripped by the howling gusts. He heard the faint hum of the rotor.

"Lorraine..." he said aloud.

He was standing on the frozen river, Kris's bloody body hanging limply in his arms. He walked under a copse of willow at the bank, lowered her into the snow.

She stirred. "Josh..."

Josh knelt beside her, staring at her with a grimace. He had to leave her again.

"Josh..." she stammered, reaching out.

He held her gloved hand tightly between his palms, lowered his face to hers. "Kris, can you hear me?"

She nodded vaguely.

"There's something wrong," he said, "I've got to leave for a moment. You'll have to wait here. Don't move. I'll be back as soon as I can. I've got to hurry."

He started up, but she pulled on his hand. Josh was surprised by the strength she had left. She was trying to speak, her words lost in the wind. He lowered his ear to her lips.

"Eyes..." she whispered. "His eyes..." She pushed his hand to her coat pocket. Josh reached inside, pulled out the flare pistol. He looked at Kris, he looked back at the gun. The barrel was empty.

Kris pulled her left hand from her other pocket. Two cartridges tumbled out into the snow.

Josh picked one up, slipped it into the barrel. He tucked the other one back into her pocket. Then he wrapped her fingers around the handle of the gun.

"You keep this," he said. He pushed her hand with the pistol back into her pocket. "Stay awake, Kris. Do you hear me? You have to stay awake."

She nodded weakly. Josh stared a moment at her bloody face. Then he got up quickly and hurried off toward the chopper.

The blizzard was blowing thickly now. He couldn't see more than twenty feet through the swirling snow. He jogged in his snowshoes along the frozen shoreline toward the sound of the idling rotor. The dark form of the helicopter slowly emerged out of the whiteness.

Josh slowed down, approached the aircraft warily. The whirling blades whipped up swarming clouds of snow. He ducked down low and moved through the swirling mist toward the black body of the chopper.

The rear door hung open, banging against the fuselage.

Josh swallowed, his heart pounding, a nauseous feeling of dread in his gut. He crept toward the open door.

At the threshold, he peered into the dark interior. Swirling flakes of snow filled the air. He climbed up inside.

"Lorraine?"

The chopper was empty. Lorraine was gone.

Josh felt the air leak from his lungs. A sudden panic gripped him. "Oh no," he cried. "Oh God, no." He stumbled out the door, falling to his knees in the snow. He crawled through the blowing powder under the whirling blades, his heart pounding.

Then he saw the giant's footprints, trailing off in the snow. His mouth opened in terror.

He's got Lorraine.

Josh rose trembling to his feet, his back bent under the roaring blades. The tracks led off through the swirling snow across the frozen stream.

He started to follow them, his mind wild with fear. But just beyond the blowing rotors a sound stopped him dead in his tracks.

A frightful, half-human, bellowing roar resounded off the far cliffs, cutting through the howling wind and echoing down the canyon. The horrible cry filled Josh with a shuddering sense of dread. This was no mere murderer. This was — as the police chief had said — an animal, a beast, a monster.

How could Josh stop him? He cursed himself for not bringing his rifle. He had left the flare pistol with Kris. He had nothing, not even a knife or a club.

Now the baying of timber wolves filled the swirling air of the canyon. Their wild cries ripped through the wind. Josh recalled the photo of Frosty and the arctic wolves hunched over a corpse on the frozen tundra. The slitted band of skin across the killer's eyes.

"His eyes," Kris had said.
His eyes.

Josh turned suddenly, hurried back to the chopper, clambered up through the open door. Behind the rear bench in the storage compartment, he found the emergency kit, and ripped open the tin box. Inside was a flashlight, matches, a medical kit, and three emergency hand flares. Josh stuffed the flares into his coat. Then he opened the long steel toolbox.

Most of the tools were light and small — screwdrivers, pliers, a ball-peen hammer — but when Josh lifted out the top tray he uncovered in the belly of the box a glimmering collection of large steel wrenches. Among them was a hefty, eighteen-inch-long open-end pipe wrench, used for locking the huge rotor bolts. Josh took the heavy steel wrench in his gloved hand and quickly scrambled out of the chopper.

He followed the tracks, jogging out toward the middle of the frozen stream. Beyond the fanning rotor, the footprints showed clearer, unobscured by blowing snow. The impressions matched those that had pockmarked Erin's ski tracks — the long, wide stride of enormous boots — but with a peculiar difference: these prints were deeper.

The added weight of Lorraine's body, Josh realized.

He prayed to God she was still alive.

Panting breathlessly, he pursued the trail of prints across the frozen stream, the sound of the rotor swiftly fading in the wind behind him. As he padded up onto the far shore, he saw that the human footprints had been joined by wolf tracks — three or four large predators, their paths criss-crossing the deep prints.

Josh listened, but the wolves had quieted, the howling had stopped. He searched the blinding snow ahead for some glimpse of the giant. He saw nothing, and pressed on, following the tracks into the whiteness.

Canyon walls suddenly loomed above him. Josh slowed his pace, sensing a presence in the blowing snow. A low growl echoed under the wind. Josh listened, moved warily forward, his pulse racing.

Then he heard a piercing scream.

"Lorraine!" Josh raced into the snow toward the shrill sound of her cries. She appeared out of the white squall at the bottom edge of the cliffs, fighting off a growling onslaught of timber wolves. They bit and tore at her limbs as she crawled back along the rock wall, kicking the snarling beasts with her boots.

Josh leapt into the fray, swinging his heavy wrench like a club, bashing the bodies and heads of the animals until his weapon dripped with blood. A small feisty predator locked its jaws on Josh's wrench-wielding wrist. He screamed in pain, the weapon dropping into the snow. He kicked the animal in the groin with the metal toe of his boot; the wolf wailed, released its grip. Josh scrambled, grabbed the wrench, the wolf nipping at his feet. Josh turned, whacked the creature across the neck, cracking its spine. It collapsed stone dead in the snow.

A large dark wolf with luminous gray eyes sunk its fangs through the leather of Josh's boot and into his ankle. Josh cried out, kicked his foot loose with a horrible scraping of teeth on bone. Then he grabbed the wrench out of the snow, whirled around and smashed the snarling animal's skull, the wrench embedding in the shattered bone. The beast fell dead at his feet.

Josh turned to Lorraine's screams. She was fighting off two brown wolves, one with her upper arm in its teeth. Josh howled, swung his bloody wrench, bashed the biting wolf against the rock wall. He swung back at the other, cracking its ribs with a crunching thud. The whimpering animals limped quickly away down the canyon wall.

Josh wheeled around, wrench in hand, crouched and ready for the fight. Only one predator remained — the leader of the pack — a huge, blue-eyed gray wolf, its fur singed from the gasoline fire, its silver face charred and bloody. The predator crept slowly forward, snarling viciously, its flared snout baring fangs.

Josh held his ground, his weapon raised. He charged, screaming, howling at the beast. The animal turned and slowly loped away.

Josh turned back to Lorraine. Two wolves lay dead in the snow beside her.

Frosty was nowhere to be seen.

"Josh..."

Lorraine lay bleeding in the snow. Josh dropped the wrench and hurried to her side. Her jacket had been torn in several places, with blood seeping through the sleeve of her upper right arm. Her bare hands were lacerated with ghastly bites and cuts. One boot had been pulled completely off her foot; the sock was torn and soaked with blood.

"The foot's broken," said Lorraine when Josh straightened her leg. She breathed through clenched teeth.

Josh found the boot in the snow. "I've got to put this back on," he told her, "or the foot will freeze."

Lorraine nodded. Josh carefully slipped it back on her foot. Lorraine flinched, gritting her teeth. Josh laced up the boot.

"He strangled me till I passed out," said Lorraine, a bitter scowl across her face. "When I woke up..." She cringed, fighting back tears.

"Josh... That fucking bastard fed me to the wolves!"

Josh looked around them, peering into the snow. He wondered where the maniac had gone.

"I've got to get you back to the chopper, Lorraine. I left Kris down the river. She's hurt bad."

"Did you find Andrea?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "She's dead."

The grimace slowly faded from Lorraine's face.

"I can walk," she said finally, "if you can give me some help."

Josh stood up, wincing from the pain in his left ankle. He picked up his wrench, tucked it in his belt, then took Lorraine's good arm and helped her up. She held her mangled foot off the ground. Josh slung her arm over his shoulder, and they began walking back toward the frozen stream.

"I'm sorry, Lorraine, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should've never asked you to do this."

Lorraine limped weakly at his side. "Just do me a favor, will 'ya? If you find that goddamn Wolfman...
Kill him
."

Kris awoke slowly, snowflakes caressing her face. She lay beneath the willow branches, their long tendrils whispering above her in the billowing wind.

Josh has come for me, she thought. He's come to take me home.

She felt herself drifting back into the darkness again, lured by the fatigue that seeped like wine through her weakened body. Resisting its power, she pulled up her injured leg, triggering a bright spasm of pain that sharpened her senses. She conjured up the warm sound of Josh's voice: "Stay awake," he had cautioned her, "You have to stay awake."

Again she began to drift down into the dark. She straightened her leg. The pain shot through her like an electric shock. She gasped, panted for air. "I've got to hold on," she mumbled. "I've got to stay awake."

Tears came to her eyes. The tears turned to ice on her cheeks. Her body shook with the bitter cold. Her feet, her hands, her limbs were numb. How long could he be gone?

She felt her mother's arms around her, hugging her good-bye. Her soft hair smelled like roses, a lock caressed her cheek. She heard her whisper in her ear, "I love you, Kris. I'll miss you." She felt a kiss good-bye. Then she floated like a snowflake through the never-ending dark.

*  *  *

Josh laid Lorraine down across the rear bench of the helicopter, raising her injured foot gently onto the seat. Her limbs were shaking visibly, she'd lost a lot of blood. He pulled out the wool blanket from behind the seat and spread it over her.

"You better hurry," she said, her weak voice barely audible beneath the roar of the rotor. "She's gonna freeze out there."

Josh scanned the interior of the chopper, then looked at her. "Will you be all right?"

"Go," she said.

He grabbed his blood-stained steel wrench, pulled open the rear door. "I'm locking it," he shouted, pulling down the latch. Then he climbed out into the blowing snow, and yanked the door shut behind him.

Bending under the whirling blades, he quickly found his trail. His original snowshoe prints had become pale indentations in the sweeping snow. He jogged back over them along the riverbank, limping slightly, the steel weapon clenched in his fist, his eyes peeled into the white blizzard. She's not far, he thought, and as he ran he checked his watch, wiping blood from the foggy crystal. Less than thirty minutes had passed since he and Lorraine had landed in the canyon. Josh was amazed — it had felt like hours. He thought of Kris lying alone in the snow. He was scared to death he'd taken too long.

Blood seeped into his leather boot, his ankle throbbed with pain. The wolf's fangs had cut deep. He thought of the blood on Kris's coat, the open wound in her thigh. The wolves, he thought, will smell her blood, they'll track her through the wind.

And Frosty. Could he, too, smell the scent of her blood?

Josh quickened his pace, stumbled, fell headlong into a rising snowdrift. His left snowshoe had come loose. He fumbled with the straps in his gloved hands, frantically lashing them back over his bloodied boot. His cold hands trembled, his lungs burned with the frigid air. He quickly scrambled back to his feet, and hurried on, limping his way up the bending shore.

The low willows bloomed suddenly out of the whiteness. Josh slowed his pace, approaching warily, his eyes scanning through the falling snow. He saw no wolves, he heard no howls — only the gusting of the wind, and the distant hum of the rotor. He hurried ahead to the willow trees. He brushed aside the beaded branches.

"Kris?"

She was gone.

"Kris!"

Josh's heart pounded wildly. He screamed her name, searching madly beneath the trees, thrashing through the dangling branches, his fear turning to panic. "Oh no... — NO!"

Kris was gone.

He stared at the place where he had left her. Blotches of rust-colored snow mottled the imprint of her body. The imprint extended out from under the trees. Josh followed it and saw the footprints. Frosty's footprints — barely visible because the body had been dragged behind them through the snow! Once out from under the trees, he had picked up her body and headed across the snowy stream.

Josh gaped down the trail of his deep footprints. Anger and dread battled in his breast.

He tightened his grip on the wrench, and clenched his teeth to the wind. "I'll kill him," he said in a vow to God.

"I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch!"