She stared over at Monk, looking for answers to that explosion. But he simply tucked a blanket more snugly around Father Bailey. There was nothing more they could do. Even sedated, the priest moaned, still lost in a torturous nightmare.
As we all are.
The vehicle braked hard, throwing her forward.
Tucker called back. “Need help! Extra eyes.”
Monk motioned for her to go, staying beside his patient.
She pushed up and shambled clumsily to the front, stepping around Marco. As she reached the front, Tucker signaled Kane off the passenger seat. She dropped heavily, taking the dog’s place.
Out the window, the woods had dropped away at the shoreline of a frozen lake. With the headlamps off and the sun nearly set, the world had closed down to only a handful of meters past the bumper, all framed by heavy snow.
Tucker edged the Tigr up to the lake’s shore.
“Where’s the other snowmobile?” Elle asked.
“Lost ’em. I think I caught a glimpse of ’em shooting across the lake.”
She turned to him. “Are we supposed to go on foot from here?”
“If so, it seems like the others would’ve waited for us here.”
She continued to stare at him.
“At least, I hope I’m right.” He shifted into gear and headed out over the lake. “Can you keep watch on the ice on your side?”
Once they set out, she rolled her window down. The cold bit her cheeks, but it helped calm her feverish terror. Tucker kept a steady pace across the lake, quicker than she would have preferred. Ice popped and groaned under the tires, loud enough to be heard over the low grumble of the engine.
She held her breath and glanced behind the truck. “That explosion...”
“I heard it, too. Don’t know what it means. But right now, we have to deal with the problem at hand.”
Off in the distance, the faint echo of sirens still rang from the base, spurring them to go faster. As they continued, Elle called out a few times, whenever the ice shattered under a tire, spreading outward in a spiderweb of cracks. Stress strained each minute into an agonizing ordeal.
“Up ahead,” Tucker said. “Lights.”
Wary, he slowed, but there was nowhere else to go.
As they crawled forward, headlamps flared to the right, rushing toward them.
Tucker flinched their truck away.
Out of the snow, the Berkut shot into view. One side was dented and blackened. Kowalski perched on a seat in the back, shouldering an assault rifle. The mounted machine gun was gone.
Kowalski called over to them as the Berkut drew alongside the truck. “Just getting here? This way!”
Yuri guided them forward.
Ahead, shadows emerged, forming the wings of a plane and the bulk of the other snowmobile.
The Tigr closed on their position.
Once there, they unloaded. The plane’s single prop was already turning, its engine warming. It explained why the others had abandoned them. They must have shot ahead to alert the pilot and get the aircraft readied. They all knew time was short.
Yuri climbed out of the Berkut. His face was a mask of blood from a deep cut at his hairline.
Tucker looked toward the shore. “What happened back there?”
