If I can figure out how to remove my battery, install it in the Jeep, then coax it back to life, I might be able to drive until the tank runs out and find help. Maybe that’s what Scott would want.
But then a thought slams into me. If he’s bleeding and injured, every second counts. He needs me.
I clutch the cold barrel of the gun, probably holding it wrong, but I’m praying to God I don’t actually have to use the thing. The sound of my breath is loud enough to expose my position to anyone who could be listening. My chest heaves,torn between running for safety and loyalty to the man I’m falling for.
He wouldn’t leave me out there alone. He’d come after me.
A branch snaps somewhere deep in the forest, hidden by the thick pine needles. It’s swift like a thunderclap, making me flinch. The sound locks my decision in place.
“Hold on, Scott. I’m coming.”
FOURTEEN
AVA
The forest swallows me as soon as I step past the last white lip of the clearing. The cabin and vehicles vanish behind me, lost in a nightmare of snow and too much distance. All that remains is the endless press of trees that goes on for miles.
The air shifts, growing colder under the canopy, when it should block out the unrelenting wind chill. Twigs crack and pop against the soles of my boots. The meager layer of snow under the treetops is the only thing reminding me I still exist on this plane and haven’t traveled to Narnia.
When the divots against the earth end my map, plentiful crimson droplets bead against the interspersed whiteness. The stark ruby points in the frost give me hope of finding him. But each one makes my stomach lurch. A jarring reminder that Scott is out here injured.
Is he pulling himself away from a threat, or is the threat dragging him away from rescue?
I try not to picture him harmed, the strength gone from his solid frame. The thought gnaws at me anyway, leavinglingering panic clawing in its wake. If he’s hurt, what am I going to do? Carrying him is out of the question. Moving him anywhere quickly is a sick joke. I have to hope that, if I find him—no, when I find him—he’s able to move on his own.
More trees pop up in my way, crowding closer the deeper I go. Their limbs catch on my coat, ripping slits against the material.
I’d laugh at myself if I weren’t so scared. I’ve spent my entire life exploring these woods. I doubt there’s an inch within a ten-mile radius I haven’t walked, but none of it’s recognizable at the moment with my hysteria taking hold.
Whenever the wind shakes the branches above, snowflakes drift down in slow, silent spirals. They land, settling against my nose and lashes. Light filters through in thin gray slats, the day already dulling, and I wonder how much longer I’ll have before the forest plunges into total darkness. My pulse stutters just thinking about it.
“Scott…” I whisper his name.
The call dies instantly, swallowed by the thicket. I know damn well even if he’s within a stone’s throw, he won’t be able to hear me. I’m too nervous to announce my presence more than each footstep already is, but the dead air pushing in around me begs to be broken.
A low sigh passes through the trees, a breath that doesn’t belong to me. A shiver tickles down my spine. I don’t dare call out again. If something else is close enough to hear me, I’d rather not know.
Something catches in my periphery, stirring between the trees to my left. My breath solidifies in my throat. Whipping my head to follow it, I raise the shotgun and point in its direction, but nothing’s there, just a shift of shadow.
Must have been a deer or a fox. It could have been nothingat all, just my eyes deceiving me in the half-light. But the prickle at the back of my neck doesn’t fade. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Followed from just out of sight.
I keep moving, swinging the gun from side to side, forcing one foot in front of the other. I’ve gone too far to chicken out and head back now.
The measly trail begins to scatter. Drops thin out, smears fade, until I’m left squinting at broken twigs that could have been made from the weight of a body or natural decomposition from the environment.
My straining eyes ache from searching. I’m not a tracker. I know nothing about what to look for other than what I can remember from the random survival tips my dad used to share with my brothers and me. It takes everything in me not to collapse right here and instead push forward. My internal self continuously needs convincing that the next step, the next tree, the next rock, will reveal another mark.
The ground pitches upward without warning, the slope slick beneath the crusted muck on the bottom of my boots. My thighs burn as I climb, carefully placing each step after checking for traction. My fingers grab tight around thick roots as I balance the gun in my other hand. By the time I drag myself to the top, I’m dizzy and trembling, breath puffing in frantic clouds. Clearly, I need to hit the gym more often.
But then I see it.
Nestled in a hollow below, half-hidden behind a cluster of trees, is a rundown hut that should be condemned.
It sits one with the ground, leaning like it grew out of the earth itself and then rotted in place. The wood is blackened with age, the roof slouching under a heavy layer of pine needles and melting snow. It’s too small to be lived in, nobigger than a shed or a hunting blind, but a thin, twisted ribbon of smoke snakes upward from a hole in the roof anyway. My stomach lurches at the sight. Someone’s inside.
Relief and dread crash into each other in my chest. Scott could be there. He could’ve dragged himself inside, found help, or a safe place to hide out.
But what if… no. I can’t finish the thought.
