34
SHANE
“Avery!” My voice is ragged from yelling.
All I see as I run down the trail is the booted foot. The person’s down and unmoving.
“Avery!”
I reach the broken stone cabin. There are scattered clothes.
The body is too big to be her. It’s a man. Blood is everywhere, and half his face is cut up and unrecognizable.
My head jerks from side-to-side. There are two sets of skis. She was here. Is she wounded? Dying nearby?
“Avery!” I yell again, listening for her.
Please let her be alive. I’ll do anything. Just let me find her alive.
I spotboot prints and a blood trail in the snow. I sprint through the woods, following the tracks.
When I reach the stream, I see her.
Avery stands at the edge with sleeves that are soaked and dripping. My black knife dangles from her fingers, pink droplets falling from the tip of the blade.
“Avery?”
She turns slowly, her expression vacant. Her pretty face bears a red scuff on one cheek, but it’s not lacerated. Just wet and pale. Her shirt is soaked and so blood-stained I can’t tell if she’s wounded. It’s also not clear whether she’s been crying, but there’s a shattered look to her.
I walk closer, but slowly. “Ave?”
Her throat convulses as she swallows. “I heard you, and did what you said,” she murmurs. “I heard you. I waited for my moment.” A long breath escapes through her pale, parted lips. “I didn’t stop. Not until I was sure.”
Jesus.As panic eases, realization dawns.His mangled face, that was all her, and now she’s in the aftermath.
Her voice is like a haunted house, empty and creaking, whispering with tragedy.
“Good,” I say gently. “You did what you had to do.” My own lips are bone dry. I lick them, studying her.
I can’t tell if she’s physically injured or just in shock. I need to move close enough to check, but I’m afraid she’ll bolt. There’s a look to her that worries me. She reminds me of a deer that’s caught a hunter’s scent. Wary, watchful, spooked.
Her right hand shakes, the knife vibrating back and forth like a tuning fork. She tilts her head. “I don’t know what to do now. We didn’t talk about that.”
“Come here.” My hand reaches out, beckoning her. “Come to me, baby.”
After a beat, Avery walks closer to stand a couple feet away. The knife twitches in her grasp, causing drops of bloody water to sway on the tip before they fall.
“Yours. I stole it.” She lifts the knife higher and, when I don’t reach for it, adds, “Want to hear something crazy? I don’t know how to close it.”
I take it and fold the blade away, then engage the safety.
She shivers, and her teeth start to chatter. Her eyes track the knife’s path into my pocket, like she needs to see it reach a secure location.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Nnn-ott me.” Her voice is like chains rattling.
“I need to get you inside, someplace warm. Come here, Ave.” I hold my arms out, beckoning her, and she finally walks into them. I press her against my chest, and for the first time in hours, I can breathe. “I thought I might lose you. Never been that scared in my life.” My confession is barely louder than the wind.
