“He’s lying in the snow.”
He got up and turned to the window, where the light from outside bled into the room. “He’s going to freeze to death.” He turned and swept past her, out the door. She came out to see him rush down the stairs, his gait a little stiff, then grab his jacket and head for the door.
And out into the blizzard.
How was itthat Dawson went from one tragedy to the next? The blizzard turned the blackness lethal as he kicked through the snow on the stairs, his boots crunching. When Caspian ran past him at the bottom, his feet nearly went out from under him.
Light shone from the outside floodlights on the barn, as well as from the machine shed beside it, the door to the shed open.
The man lay in the puddle of light, face down.
Blood stained the snow.
Dawson ran-slash-limped over to him, grabbed his shoulders, and turned him over.
Griffin. He lay unconscious, blood seeping from a gash in his head.
“Griffin—buddy. Wake up!” He ignored the terrible coil tightening his chest. Notnow.
Snow swirled around him, and Griffin might have given a moan.
The guy wasn’t so big that Dawson couldn’t carry him, a different day, a different time. But now...
C’mon,God. Beon my side.
Seemed like a vain ask, but why not?
Caspian danced around him, barking.
“Calm down. I know, I know.” He got up, put his hands under Griffin’s shoulders, and started to wrestle him toward the house.
The blizzard fought him. His stupid knee buckled, and he fell, Griffin half on him.
He lay back, breathing hard.
Caspian came up, nosing him, then plopping his head on his chest and whining.
“I know.” Useless. He struggled up, again the dog bounced away, barking.
Weird that no one had heard any commotion.
“C’mon!” He repositioned his hands on Griffin’s jacket, began to drag him.
A motor sounded not far away, and Dawson looked up.
A man on a snowmobile came screaming out of the shed. Big, wearing a heavy jacket, goggles, and a wool hat, heavy leather mittens gripping the handles. He seemed encrusted with snow.
“Hey!” Dawson shouted, and Caspian turned, his barking almost frenzied.
The man didn’t look back as he motored up the street.
What was he doing in the garage? But it didn’t matter. He kept tugging at Griffin, who’d started to rouse.
“Griff!” The shout came from behind him, and in a moment, Donald and Abe hustled down the stairs. “What happened?” Donald lifted Griffin’s legs, Dawson on one arm, Abe on the other, and they shuttled him toward the lodge.
Another man came out and took Dawson’s place, clearly seeing him limp.
Shoot. But he relinquished the hold, and they carried Griffin up the steps.
