“My wilderness survival training covers every kind of danger. The answer is always the same. Stay together.”
“And if staying together gets us both killed?”
“And if splitting up gets you killed and leaves me alone out here with three armed men and no backup?”
He had no answer for that. She could see it across his face.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Left. It’s wider and might put this branch of the gulley—” she gestured toward the one that went to the right “—between us and the snowmobilers.”
“It’s wider, which means the snowmobile coming up the gulley can follow.”
“I don’t think so. It was too narrow back there. He’ll need to stop soon.”
“He could come on foot. Especially if he sees our tracks.” He pointed down to the obviously compacted snow against the wall where they’d been walking.
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
“How far?”
“I’m not certain. But it takes us away from them.”
Jack looked at the right branch one more time. Steph waited. She’d said everything she had to say, and adding more wasn’t going to help either of them.
He wasn’t done with the argument. She saw it in the tightness of his jaw and the way he studied the route she wanted to take, as if he were calculating every variable. He believed splitting up gave them a real chance, and inanother context, he might have been right. Out here, though, he was wrong, and she needed him to accept that and move.
“Let’s go.” He lifted his chin toward the wider branch.
Steph held her smile.
They moved together, pushing forward, the engine sounds still present. She kept her eyes ahead and her breathing controlled and her hand close to Jack’s arm in case the footing changed without warning.
The sound reached them before she had time to react to it.
Not from above. Not the mouth of the gulley on the far end.
From the branch they had taken. The low growl of an engine, inside the cut with them, was heading straight for them and gaining fast.
Chapter 24
Jack
The sound bounced off the walls and filled the cut until it was impossible to tell exactly how far away it was. Too close. One machine was coming from the south, steadily edging toward them. The other was in this wider section and barreling down on them. So close Jack could feel the vibrations. And somewhere else, in the distance and faint, but still there, was the third machine.
The snowdrifts were lower here, maybe three feet and wind-scoured. Climbable. A few trees were on the other side, taking advantage of seasonal runoff water to put down deep roots. Beyond that, he didn’t know. He assumed there’d be more forest. But it could be open ground where they’d be unable to reach cover quickly or easily.
“We have to go.” Jack kept his voice below the engine noise.
“We’ll go back to the other fork. It’s narrower. They can’t follow us.” Steph was already moving. He caught her arm.
“Take it and find some place to hide.”
She stopped and looked at him. “Jack—”
“Listen.” He tilted his head. The engine was still coming, closing the distance. “There’s no time. You take the skinny fork, get to a place you can shelter, curl up in a ball, make yourself completely invisible and send a beacon message. Tell them we need help now. We’re out of options.”
She shook her head. “We stay together.”
