“No. Hold on. I’ll get you out.” I keep a hold of the branch but shift my body around so I can reach my hand out, hoping the toes of my clogs will catch on the ice to get me more pull.
“L-l-let m-m-me go.” He’s breathing harder as frost thickens across his face.
“No. I’m not going to let you drown,” I bark back. “We’ll find somewhere to go. You’re not giving up now.”
“G-g-o. L-l-live. Y-you c-c-can s-s-still ha-ha-have a l-l-life. I—” His breaths become shallower the more he talks. I wish he would just focus on moving toward the ledge. “I l-l-li-ved m-m-mine. Y-y-you d-d-don’t n-n-need m-m-me n-n-now. L-l-let g-g-go?—”
I yank the branch to my side, knowing he’s still got a grip on it, but the branch goes flying, and I slide backward.
He let go.
The image of him grabbing my arm two nights ago, telling me to use his back for support. To get some sleep. I don’t know if he slept.
You don’t need me now.
“Yes, I do. I still need you. You need me. We’ll make it out of here together,” I snap at him.
I throw myself to my knees, clawing at the frozen ground, reaching for his hand as if it’s within physical reach. “You’ll fall in. Don’t.”
I’m still reaching for him as he begins to sink sinking.
I can’t blink or breathe. All I can do is watch him let go.
Watch him staring, while also dying.
Shivering until his body submerges under the water’s surface, his face skyward, eyes open, shock.
My chest might collapse. I’m wheezing. My heart’s bleeding. But I drag myself away, leaving a man behind for a direction with no destination. My bones are brittle, limp, and shaking too hard to keep going as night falls. I use a tree for support, begging it to keep me alive.
“I need to get back to Rosalie. God, help me.”
My eyes are heavy, and the tree bark scrapes against my cheek as I rest for a weary moment. The tree replies, but in creaks and croaks. My arms tingle, knees melt.
The tree crackles again…No. It doesn’t. That isn’t the tree I hear.
Footsteps. Footsteps crunch in the snow. Too close to me.
“Don’t move,” a man says.
A metallic clink shatters the frozen forest air. Then the cock of his rifle.
The end of me.
FORTY-ONE
ROSALIE
Present Day: January 18, 1945
I slept approximately three hours last night after my legs refused to thaw. Willing myself to doze off was a battle, knowing I was putting myself farther behind the Stefan’s path. A tree, pulled partially from its roots, left a ditch and burrow large enough to squeeze into. I nestled within my coat, praying I wouldn’t freeze to death in my sleep.
At the first hint of dawn, I climbed out and kept moving east in the guided direction from the map Weyman threw at me. I’ve kept up my pace, not only for the bit of warmth, but to catch up on lost time.
Lost time—Papa’s worst fear.He wouldn’t have slept. He would have kept walking until he collapsed, especially if it was to find Mama. Those minutes and hours could be the difference between life and death for Stefan, but also, me.
I won’t find Stefan if I’m dead. It’s impossible to reason with logic or pause time. Or maybe it’s just time that has no logic or reason.
The woods used to offer gifts from the earth—food, firewood, sounds of nature, peace. Now, it looks different, feels different…as if all the good it once held has been stolen. There is no food. The firewood is far too damp to start a fire, even if I wasn’t afraid of being spotted, and nature—it’s frozen, still, and eerie. Only the sound of angry winds travels through the branches.
