“Stay low when you get inside,” he said. “Don’t stop moving until you’ve got cover.”
“Same goes for you.”
The engine was closer. It wouldn’t be long until it appeared to their right. “Now,” he said.
Steph moved. She hit the drift at a run and went up and over it in two steps, her legs punching through the crust at the top, and then she was over the edge and dropping into the gulley. He heard her land, heard the snow compress under her, and then her voice came up. “Hurry.”
He went over the rock and crossed the six feet of open ground. The snowbank was harder than it looked, wind-packed solid near the surface and giving way without warning underneath. He punched through on the second step, lurched forward, then caught himself with both hands and scrambled over the top.
The gulley dropped away sharply on the other side. He slipped down its slope. The snow came up to his thighs, and he drove forward toward where Steph was already pressed against the gulley face, chest heaving.
He got to her and turned.
The drift above them blocked the sightline from the open ground. For the moment, they were invisible. The noise from the other machine was louder now. If he wasn’t in the gulley, he was close to the mouth.
He looked up the gulley wall. The trees on either side leaned in close, their branches heavy with snow. Enough cover to matter if they moved carefully.
Steph looked at him. He looked at her.
The engine above them stopped.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them made a sound. He kept the pistol in his right hand and his back against the wall and watched the top of the frozen divide.
A long moment passed.
Then a voice—male, flat, and carrying over the snow with no effort at all—said, “I know you’re in there.”
Chapter 23
Steph
The man had gone quiet.
That didn’t make Steph feel any better. She stayed pressed against the gulley wall, her shoulder against Jack’s arm, and listened. The poacher knew they were in the gulley.
She touched Jack’s arm and tilted her head to the right, toward where the gulley narrowed and curved. He caught her eye as she gave a single nod.
They kept their backs tight against the wall, sidestepping while praying the way the snow curved into a drift above them would keep them hidden and the man wouldn’t start slinging bullets on a whim.
Where was he? After telling them he knew they were there, he’d gone silent. The machine idled but hadn’t moved. From the tone of his voice, Steph knew it was the leader. He scared her. They all scared her, but him especially. And quiet meant she didn’t know where he was. Quiet meant he could be planning anything. Doing anything.
She placed each foot with care, testing the snow before committing weight. The gulley floor was uneven, deep in some places and wind-scoured to near bare ground in others.
She kept her steps deliberate, her breathing controlled, and her eyes on what was ahead of them. Beside her, Jack matched her pace, pistol still in his hand, his body closeenough that she could feel the warmth of him through both their layers.
Steph kept moving and kept listening, trying to stay ahead of the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.
The wet snow had drenched her pant legs up to her knees. The cold made everything ache. But now was not the time to think about it. The pain cave was real, and she’d been here before. Pain was temporary. Of course, she’d never been in the pain cave while being chased by maniacs with guns, but that was beside the point.
Jack was managing something similar. She could see it in the deliberate way he placed each step, the slight compensation in his movement that hadn’t been there hours ago when this was a simple training session to learn how to work the sleds.
This was entirely different.
They had been pushing hard through cold and dark and fear for hours. Her fitness had carried her through hard things before. It was carrying her now. But underneath the part that kept moving, there was another part that was very tired and very aware of how long they’d been out there and that the people trying to find them had machines and rifles and the patience of men who killed for money.
The idling engine revved. He was moving now, tracking along the top of the gulley—the same direction they were heading. She picked up her speed, being a little less careful about noise with the sound of the engine vibrating through the air. Jack matched her.
“Why didn’t he come after us?” she asked, barely above a breath. “He knew we were in here. He said so. Why stay on the machine?”
