“Well, we’ve got the mountains here and…more mountains. We can call ’em foothills farther west.”
“Right.”
“And what’s past that? You flew here. Remember?”
She closed her eyes, going back over the area around Schink’s Station and her flight here.
“The river feeds into the lake at Schink’s Station.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “Mountains, mostly bare, and the taiga’s a lot sparser there. Just that and the river.” His shrug was apologetic. “No place to hide.”
“Well, crap.”
“That’s about right.”
***
It was a long, hard hike west, over treacherous, half-frozen ground. They walked throughout the day without a hitch, which Elias was just paranoid enough to find worrisome.
Where was the search party? The reinforcements? Why weren’t they back out, tearing up the sky with their helicopter?
He glanced over his shoulder and forced his gaze past Leo to scour the landscape. Was there someone out there, right now, following in their footsteps?
Something tickled at the nape of his neck and, without hesitation, he pointed to the side, pleased when she continued to follow precisely in his footsteps—using rocks and branches and dry ground whenever available—veering slightly south from their direct westerly path.
Something wasn’t right. He had no idea what it was or how he knew it, but one of his senses was sounding the alarm.
When he paused to scope out their surroundings again, Leo watched him closely, eyes wide. She lifted her eyebrows and shoulders in a silent query.
He gave his head a little shake and continued to search.
She drew close and whispered, “Hear something?”
“No.”
“See something? What is it?”
“Don’t know.”
Though her nod looked a little hesitant, she joined in his search. The problem was that, even after five minutes spent in perfect silence and stillness, watching and waiting, there was no physical sign of what he sought.
Dark clouds had gathered in the sky by the time they started moving again, and still he wasn’t confident. A good tracker wouldn’t show themselves. They could be out there, biding their time, waiting for the opportunity to strike. To come for the virus.
That he and Leo didn’t have.
At first, the rain was so gentle it was almost undetectable. A cold mist seeping into hoods and under gloves, covering his beard so subtly he didn’t notice until he ran his hand over it and found it dripping water.
He didn’t want to stop, couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there, slowly and inexorably tracking them.
Then there was the constant burning in his side and, worst of all, the worry that he’d drawn Leo into something she wouldn’t survive.
She whistled low and he turned, adrenaline spiking.
“Can’t go much farther with the rain.”
“Call this rain?” He leaned his head back and got a frigid face full, then shook himself like a dog, pleased when she smiled in response.
“Even if it’s just a drizzle, it’s a cold drizzle.”
