"Move straight to the woods, hear me?" Sloane nods, wide-eyed, and I continue. "There's a clearing right through that thicket." I point to a spot between two pines that tower above the rest. "Wait just beyond there and I'll come to you."
"Dane, I can't?—"
"Go, Sloane, or they'll come around here and kill us both." I shove her hard, and she stumbles a few steps, but once she starts running, she doesn't look back. Every footstep is a path leading right to her, but hopefully, I can get to the snowmobile and find her before Cal's men do.
I watch her for a second before slinging my bag onto my back and creeping along the side of the house.
The headlights shine on the front, still illuminating what’s left of the inside of my living and dining rooms, and in the distance I can hear the whir of sirens, at least two, which means both deputies are on their way, maybe cops from other jurisdictions too.
But with Cal thinking they have us pinned down, no one is watching the fenceline. I usually have goats out here in this pasture, but this year, I culled the herd and decided goat meat was better than goat's milk, so there aren't any noisy critters to give me away as I creep through the darkness one post at a time until I'm almost to the barn.
Only when I sit down on the snowmobile do I draw the unwanted attention of the eight men I count standing on my driveway by their SUVs. Shouts erupt, followed by the stomping of feet which is quickly drowned out by the roar of the engine as it turns over. And then I'm off, weaving between my barn and outbuilding toward the woods as another hail of bullets comes after me. I hear them ping on the back of the snowmobile, but I manage to escape being hit by any of them as I vanish between the trees and follow Sloane's footprints to the clearing.
I'm barely stopped before her arms are around my waist, legs straddling the machine as she tucks into me, and I take off again.
"Hold on!" I shout over the engine noise.
I gun it, sending the snowmobile flying across the snow. Bullets chase us, kicking up powder around the runners. The men are running now, trying to get angles to bring us down before we're out of range. But the engine holds, pulling us away from the property and the men who want us dead.
The SUVs can't follow in this deep powder and even if they could, the terrain is too steep and cluttered with trees. I weave between trunks, taking us deeper into the forest where vehicles can't reach, following paths I've memorized over years of hunting and tracking large game.
Sloane's arms are tight around my waist, holding on with desperate strength as the engine screams up a hill. It's a racket, and I'm sure they can still hear us, but outside of returning to town for warmer clothing or buying their own machines, they can't track us. We'll be safe for tonight, at least, but unless we get another snow storm, it doesn't matter where we go. They'll be able to track us.
"Where are we going?" Sloane shouts in my ear.
Hers is a good question. The cabin's not safe anymore and town is compromised. Cal's people know where we are, and though they can't come after us immediately, there's no doubt in my mind that they'll try.
I don't answer her because I have no answer. The forest isn't a safe place this time of night. I know if the engine weren't so loud, we'd be hearing the howl of wolves right now, and though bears are mostly tucked in for their hibernation, there isn't anything saying we won't run into one of them either.
So I pretend I didn't hear her and I turn left, hooking around toward the valley that leads back closer to town. As long as we're out here, we're safer than back there. I just hope we can put our brains together and think of something.
Because if Cal's men don't find us and kill us, hypothermia just might.
18
SLOANE
The world is nothing but cold darkness and the roar of the snowmobile engine beneath us. My arms are locked around Dane's waist, face pressed against his back, trying to shield myself from the wind that cuts through every layer of clothing. We've been riding forever, settling lower into the valley, putting distance between us and his cabin, and my heart is still racing.
The tears I've shed are ice on my eyelashes and the wind whisking them away from my cheeks has left frostbite. I'm the foolish one who went to town and made a scene. From what I could tell, the sheriff was already going to come at Dane over those packages, but there's no doubt in my mind the men came to Dane's place following my snowmobile tracks, not the sheriff. I should’ve stayed home like he told me to. This is all my fault.
Then the engine coughs and sputters and the snowmobile momentum dies slowly, until we glide to a stop in the middle of nowhere.
"No." Dane's voice is tight with frustration as he slams a hand onto the handlebar. He tries the ignition, but it sputters for afew seconds before dying. "We're out of gas," he grunts, and I sit back, giving my aching arms a bit of a break.
"You have a spare, right?" My teeth are chattering so hard I can barely form words. I back up on the seat and give him space because it's obvious he's upset about it.
"Under the seat." He climbs off stiffly, and his clunky movements show how exhausted he is. "The Jerry can should be enough to get us another twenty miles or so."
I get up, and he offers me a hand when my legs wobble a little. Between the adrenaline and being exhausted, I'm feeling weak enough to collapse. I don't know how Dane is still going so strong. He's powering through while I'm nearly falling apart.
He retrieves the can from the under-seat storage and begins refueling while I hug my arms over my belly and try to stay warm in the breeze. It's beautiful up here, even in the valley between the twin peaks. The snow stretches out, blanketing everything for miles undisturbed other than our single track through the snow, and I feel like I'm in a postcard or snow globe. Moments like these should be treasured, but we're running for our lives. There's no time to sit and marvel at the beauty of creation right now.
"I'm sorry for going into town after you told me to stay put. I should've listened to you." Dane glances up at me and sighs a puff of air that floats away in the wind like a cloud.
Then he finishes pouring and sets down the can, turning to face me. "Maddox was always going to find us. Maybe your trip to town sped up the timeline, but he had professionals tracking us. This was inevitable."
"You don't know that."
