“Yeah.” He swung around to look at the quickly moving storm, then back at the plane again. Was it closer than before? “They want our virus.Badly.”
For the first time since they’d started this terrible trip, Angel almost wished they’d left the samples back at base. Almost, until that nightmarish image flashed back—that moment when Sampson had put his gun to Alex’s head, and the handful of seconds afterward, when disbelief morphed into gut-squeezing shock. It would never leave her. The whole thing—thefeelingof it—had been imprinted into her brain, into every cell, every part of her being.
Her eyes flicked from one quickly approaching threat to the other. In one direction, the blizzard swept angrily toward them, in the other, the red dot grew larger, carrying men who would do absolutely anything to get their payload. “What are you thinking?” she asked, afraid she knew the answer.
“I’m thinking we’re screwed.”
“Right.” She nodded. They already knew that anyway.
Closer now, the wind whipped ice crystals into the air, like sugar spinning into cotton candy. Even through the whistling, she thought she heard the sound of an engine.
“What do we do now?”
He shoved his empty bag away and grabbed his ski poles, so she did the same.
“We run.” He turned and led her straight into the coming storm.
Chapter 20
This was the stupidest thing Coop had ever done.
Or maybe not. Maybe leaving the base took the cake. Or, if he was being brutally honest with himself—which he was, as usual—it was refusing that dance the other night.
If he’d known what they’d be up against, if he’d realized how close death hovered, well, yeah. Fuck it. Maybe he wouldn’t have worried about maintaining a safe distance. Maybe he’d have calculated the danger, accepted her offer, and risked the burn.
Right now, as he fought, head down, shoulders up, through what had to be a Condition 2 storm, he wanted only one thing—and that was to be back in that warm, snug sleeping bag with Angel Smith in his arms.
He’d urged her to walk beside him, where he could see her, but even that was getting tough with the ice crystals pummeling them like tiny glass daggers. For five hours, they forged through the storm, making close to no headway and exhausting themselves in the process.
Even during their quick breaks, they’d exchanged no words—the hurricane-force gales carried all sound away—and not a look had passed between them, since they were goggled and suited and covered up to within an inch of their lives.
And even then, the ice got in. Through zippers and holes, anywhere clothing hadn’t been tucked quite right, the storm delved inside, as sharp and surgical as a blade.
As he skied, his attention was divided almost equally between the GPS unit, his compass, and the vague red shape of her. He’d developed a rhythm: five paces, a glance down, another five, a look back. He turned to look over his shoulder and found that her figure was smaller than before, so he slowed. When she didn’t immediately catch up, he stopped.
“You okay?” he yelled. A wasted effort. Instead, he tried for a thumbs-up. No response.
Shit.
He stepped out of his skis and tromped over just as she slumped over her poles. When he put a hand on her arm, she shook her head slowly, every line of her body sagging in defeat. Her black mask was coated in ice crystals, as his own must surely be.
She spoke and the tail end of whatever she said reached him—a long, lowO, which could’ve been aNoor a wordless moan. He tightened his hold and leaned in. This time, the wind circled them, leaving the space between them as eerily calm as the eye of a hurricane, and he heard it.Go,she said.Gooooo.
It lit a fuse under him, as combustible as whatever those assholes had used to blow up the power plant. And just like that, he wasn’t mad at the storm anymore, or at the men who’d put them in this position. He was mad at her. Enraged that she’d give up this easily after fighting so hard to survive the attack. How could she let him down like this when all they had was each other?
“No!” The one word punched a hole in the wind. She jumped as if startled. “Sit.” He pointed at her sled, not waiting to see if she obeyed before turning to unpack the necessities from his.
At some point, a few minutes in, she joined him in his fight to keep the tent from being snatched by the wind’s greedy hands. When, finally, he’d staked it out as best he could, he sent her inside with the pads and sleeping bags and whatever else she could carry. If the gale picked up at all, her weight could be the only thing standing between them and homelessness.
Nearly blind, he hacked at the ice beside the tent, building as much of a wall as he could.
He was bent double by the time his muscles gave out. Everything hurt, but it would hurt a lot worse if he didn’t get inside. Warmth. Hydration. Angel.
He dropped a dozen pieces of ice by the entrance to the tent and forced his way in. By the time he’d zipped both layers up behind him, the storm had poured another pile of the stuff onto the tent’s floor.
His heart tried to shove its way through his throat when he finally focused on Angel. She was in the sleeping bag, hunched over the stove, staring at him, her big, bottomless eyes hopeless.
“Can’t,” she said through clattering teeth. “Can’t light it.”
