They began to dig in the snow around the van. Kurt found one of the Chinese men. He took the man’s weapon and then pulled him free, noticing that his foot was a mangled bloody mess. For a second Kurt wondered if he’d shot himself by accident, but the wound was strange, it didn’t go through and seemed to have come in from the side.
Gamay, he thought. He tossed the stunned Chinese man aside and shouted to Paul.
“She’s under the van. She shot them in the feet.”
Paul dropped down and began digging under the bumper. He paused at a muffled sound. Gamay was shouting at them from inside the snowpack, but the sound was closer to the front of the van.
He moved to a spot where he could hear her more clearly and dug once more, soon finding her outstretched arm. “Hold on!” he shouted, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “We’re going to get you out.”
He dug ferociously and soon reached her face. Snow and ice had stuck to her hair and eyebrows, making her look like an old woman. He brushed it off. “The van is crushing me,” she said. “It’s got me pinned.”
Kurt reached up and began shoveling the snow off the van, tearing through it like a human snowblower. It poured off the roof in all directions, a huge mass of it sliding down the windshield. The springs creaked and the van rose up an inch or two.
As Kurt cleared the snow off the van, Paul cleared the snow from around and underneath Gamay, creating more space. He was soon pulling her out.
She tried to stand, but had no strength in her legs. Paul helped her up. “Let’s get to the rig.” She leaned on him as they marched to theorange vehicle. Joe jumped out to help and they eased her into the back seat, where she could lie down.
—
As Joe and Paul helped Gamay, Kurt returned to Ridley and rolled him over. His blood had marred the snow red, and his face was an ashen mask, but his eyes were open.
“Where’s the damn plane?” Kurt asked.
“Get me to a hospital,” Ridley managed to grunt. “I’ll…tell you then.”
The man was gasping for air.
“You’re not going to make it to a hospital,” Kurt said bluntly. “You’ve been shot in the liver. You’ve lost a ton of blood. The next voice you hear is going to be your maker’s. You want to meet him as a traitor?”
Ridley stared at Kurt. He was so used to lies and deception he doubted everyone and everything. “Go to hell.”
“I might one day,” Kurt said. “But you’re going to get there first. Last chance for redemption. Where’s the plane?”
Ridley said nothing.
Kurt began to walk away. “We’ll find it ourselves. Enjoy the afterlife.”
“Wait,” Ridley croaked.
Kurt stopped and turned.
“It’s on the lake,” Ridley said.
“Which lake?” Kurt said. “There’s a hundred lakes around here.”
“The fish-head lake,” Ridley managed. “Up at the top…”
“Top of what?”
Ridley coughed and brought up a load of blood. He was fading fast. “It’s in…the middle.”
Kurt figured that was enough. If Ridley wasn’t lying, they’d beable to find it. And if he was lying…well, then they were just back where they started.
“Who shot you?” Kurt asked. He assumed the Chinese had tried to grab him instead of paying for the information.
“It was Aaaaa…” Ridley whispered.
The faint utterance of a longafaded on the wind. It was the last sound Ridley made. Whatever might have followed that syllable died along with him.
