Well, relatively alone.
He glanced at the shatterproof glass separating him from the four cells containing his trial subjects. At least the two-way mirrors afforded him privacy.
Time to get to work on a permanent solution to a difficult problem. Thankfully, he knew just what to do.
Chapter 32
Day 12—156 Miles to Volkov Station—1 Day of Food Remaining
Coop watched Angel lick the wrapper of a protein bar and hated himself.
They’d pushed through. Made an effort, a really strong effort to add miles, but the human body wasn’t made for this shit. They’d spent twelve days on the ice, and if they hadn’t lost their food, they could have done twelve more.
But after this final dinner, there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d make it.
Ford couldn’t wrap his mind around that, here in the tent’s warm orange interior on what was possibly the last night of their lives. Or maybe that could be tomorrow. Or the day after.
He’d never make love to her. Never hear her laugh again.
His brother, Eric, would never know what had happened to him. He wished he’d reached out more often. Especially since Eric had been there for him—always.
He and Angel had saved their final dried meal for tonight, as sort of a celebration, he guessed. One last taste of something. A last shared pleasure.
He was hungry for something else, though. The only thing keeping him moving through the coldest, roughest days of his life—her. Every day, every mile, every step was made with the promise that he’d hold her in his arms that night.
In silence, they dipped into the lukewarm bag of rehydrated food—a chicken curry, which he supposed was okay as far as last meals went. They were huddled together, for warmth, yeah, but also because this was how they lived now: as a unit.
Which didn’t mean they were alone in this tent. Oh no, exhaustion hung above and between them, sat on their chests and shoulders, oozed into their pores, its presence as solid as theirs. The wind, too, made a good show of it, robbing them of their peace and privacy. And then there was the ice itself, hell-bent on stealing what was left of their humanity.
“Hate the wind,” Angel said, echoing his thoughts without any animosity.
“The wind doesn’t care,” he said, immediately regretting how morose he sounded.
“Wind don’t care,” Angel imitated in a high, bratty voice. It was the most excited sound she’d made in days.
He blinked slowly. “What?”
“Remember those honey badger videos?” At his blank look, she went on. “The crazy, nasty-ass honey badger? You know, ‘This is honey badger. Honey badger don’t care.’ No? Nothing?”
He shook his head, eyes bright on her.
She sighed. “Some guy redid the audio narration for a nature documentary about honey badgers. Years ago.” Her words were more spaced out than they used to be, as if she couldn’t get breath or kept losing her way in the middle of what she was saying. “It was hilarious.” She screwed up her face, pursed her lips. Even chapped and burned, they could never be anything but beautiful. “Anyway.” She motioned toward the howling wind, the joke over now, fatigue back after a brief respite. “Reminded me of that, you know? Wind don’t care. Doesn’t matter that we’re here. Nothing matters.”
Her features flattened out again, narrower than when they’d left the station, her cheeks too hollow, her eyes swallowing up her face. Those bones were beautiful, fine and sharp, with a tilt to the nose that he’d never noticed before, as if taking away the flesh put it all into clearer perspective. On a strange level, though he preferred her healthy and flushed to sharp and sallow, there was something intimate about seeing her like this.
Jesus. He pushed his palms into his eyes, hard.
“It’ll blow if it wants to, won’t it? Feels like it’s started to wear away at me, like erosion’s already begun and it’s skimmed off parts I’ll never get back.”
He swallowed back a pointless wave of rage. There wasn’t room for that shit in here. Not between them. Not now, when shoring up the good was more important than reflecting all the bad.
Later, bodies entwined in their shared bag, with the noisily crackling ice beneath them and the midnight sun washing everything in its glow, Ford felt the rare urge to talk.
“Eric’ll be upset.”
She shifted against him. “Eric?”
Right. That was a bit of a non sequitur, wasn’t it?
