The silence around me is worse than any sound. Every step I take down the ridge feels deafening. The earth slips under my weight. Packed patches of snow groan under my boots. I barely keep myself from slipping down on my ass the rest of the way.
I move quickly when my feet hit flat ground, pressing close to thicker trees, crouching as I move. I don’t want whoever’s inside to know I’m out here. At least, not until I know who, or what, I’m facing. My hands ache from anxiously clenching around the barrel of the shotgun. I pray the forest I’ve always loved will be the shield I desperately need.
The smoke curls lazily, rising through the treetops to the darkening sky. It’s proof of warmth and life, but is my unexpected company wanted by whoever’s inside? Or am I walking into a trap?
The hut looms, teasing like a bad decision waiting in the wings. Its single window offers no insight, the glass opaque beneath layers of frost and filth. I creep closer, every muscle screaming at me to turn back. My palm presses to the rough, splintered wood of the weathered wall. I inch forward, forcing my trembling legs to obey.
I draw in a deep breath, pushing up on my toes to peer through a streak in the glass. Faint shapes blur on the other side, softened by a flickering firelight. I pick at the pane withmy gloved fingers, breaking through the thick layer of grime to see clearly. Except my breath fogs the new spot, reducing my view until my eyes water from squinting.
A lumpy mass lies frozen on the floor. It’s too human in shape to convince my mind it’s anything but. It takes staring too long for my brain to register that the dark blue jacket is Scott’s. My heart thunders so violently, I nearly faint from all the excess oxygen coursing through my veins.
“Scott…” I mouth his name, not daring to let the sound penetrate the air. Yet, a wimper slips from my throat before I can stop it, the high sound like an untrained puppy. I slap a hand over my mouth, horrified that my body’s betrayal might give me away.
A shape in the corner moves.
Not the mass, I’m now confident, is Scott’s unconscious body. Something beyond it, tall and slow shifts, a shadow sliding along the opposite wall. It’s there and gone in a blink, but my blood runs ice-cold.
I stumble back from the window, inching precariously along the wall of the hut. My distracted panic causes the shotgun to topple into the mud. My knees give, sliding me down the rough planks until I’m crouched low in the muddy slush, teeth clenched hard to keep from screaming. My lungs heave, dragging air in ragged bursts I can’t silence. I press a fist to my lips, eyes squeezing shut.
What do I do? Go in gun ready? Run? Hide?
My brain scatters in a thousand directions, none of which seems to be the right choice. If it’s Scott in there fucking unconscious, I can’t abandon him. Especially not now, after trekking this deep into the woods. Night’s almost upon me. The last of the daylight vanishes by the minute.
I won’t be able to follow my footsteps back. I’ll get lost,wandering until my body shuts down from the cold or the fear finally takes my heart out of its misery.
I could actually die out here.
I swear I can hear my heart ticking down the seconds I have left to choose before whoever is inside opens that door and finds me crouched down in the mud.
FIFTEEN
AVA
Idon’t get to choose in the end. Flattened against the wall of the hut, breath caught tight in my throat, I strain against the quiet. Metal scrapes and a groan rips through the woods like a howl of something ancient angrily awakened. Every hair on my body prickles in alarm.
The thud of heavy boots descending creaking steps ratchets my anxiety, each impact a hammer strike on my nerves. I’m frozen in place, only around the corner from exposure. I should move away, crawl through the filth to safer ground, but fear grips my spine, keeping me immobile.
Squelching beneath footsteps sounds closer. Their movements are uncaring, stomping against the melting frozen crust. Whoever it is, they don’t seem to be in a hurry. And why should they be? I’m impeding ontheirspace.
My body jolts into action, my brain finally coming online right in time. I scuttle along the side of the building, the fabric of my gloves snagging the rough planks. Rounding the back, my boots skid in the drifts, looking for purchase. It doesn’ttake much to make it around to the opposite corner, away from the steady footfalls that were heading my way.
I curse, realizing my mistake when I look down at my empty hands. The shotgun is long forgotten, which is a tragedy. More so, when it threatens to become a beacon of my arrival. Rounding the final corner, toward the front steps, I keep low, eyes scanning the way I originally came.
A form, with broad shoulders and what looks like dark, wild locks tucked beneath a knit cap, treks up the ridge. They angle away from me, eyes set in the direction they’re heading. I’d be clear as day if they turned back, even as dusk settles. Their stride is steady, hoofing it across the path I carved through the forest, not worried about hiding their footprints.
I should have taken more time to erase mine as I moved.
What if they’re going back for me?
The question zings through me like an electric shock. They dumped Scott here like unwanted cargo, and now they seem to be circling back for the other half of the package. Is their plan to drag me back here unconscious, too? Or is it something worse?
Tears prick my eyes, hot against the cold air. My own selfish mind betrays me, whispering awful truths I don’t want to hear.
What if this was never about Scott? What if he was simply in the way?
I should have left when I had the chance. I could be running toward safety right now.
Realizing how bad this could turn out if I’m left to defend myself kicks my self-preservation instincts into overdrive. But I can’t give away my location. If anything catches their eye, they’ll turn and rush back, overtaking me in seconds while I squat here unarmed.
