Chapter Six
ELIZA
Matt's urgentshout tears through my dreams. “Eliza! Avalanche!”
My eyes snap open, my heart already racing. For a split second, confusion rules. Avalanche? Here? Now? The words make little sense, my sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up.
Then reality crashes in, adrenaline flooding my system. I'm out of bed in an instant, stumbling as my feet hit the cold floor. My mind whirls, grasping for the safety protocols I've known since childhood but never had to use. Years of drills and warnings from my brothers become painfully relevant.
“Matt!” I call out, my voice shaky but growing stronger as memory takes over. “The bathroom! It's the tiniest room, no windows!”
Matt bursts into the room, his face taut with urgency. In the dim light, I can see the fear in his eyes, but there's determination there too. “Let's go!”
We rush through the main room, the distant rumble growing louder by the second. The vibrations make the floor move beneath my bare feet, and I'm struck by the sheer power of nature. Avalanches are always a possibility when living in theshadow of the mountains, but experiencing one is something else.
We reach the bathroom as the world seems to explode. Matt pushes me inside and follows, slamming the door shut. “Get in the tub!” I scramble in and he joins me, positioning himself over me—one arm braced against the wall, the other holding me close.
The roar is deafening. The cabin shudders violently around us, and I'm certain the walls will give way any second. Terror grips me, the kind that makes my chest feel tight, like I'm drowning. I cling to Matt, burying my face in his chest. This could be it—this could be how we die. His heartbeat is rapid but steady against my ear, a lifeline in the chaos, and I hold on to it, desperate for anything solid in a world that feels like it's crumbling.
Time drags on, but finally, the chaos subsides. The roaring fades to a distant rumble, then to an unnerving silence, broken by our ragged breathing and the occasional creak of settling timber. Relief floods through me, my body still trembling from the adrenaline. As my grip on Matt loosens, I realize how close we are—the steady heat radiating from his body, his calming steadiness. What started as fear now gives way to a flutter of something else, something surprising that I can't quite push aside.
“Are you okay?” Matt's words rumble low in his chest.
We stay like that for a long moment, neither of us willing to move, neither wanting to break the fragile safety we've found in each other’s arms. Despite the terror of the moment, I can feel every inch of Matt’s body pressed against mine, the brush of his breath on my skin.
Matt shifts, loosening his grip but not letting go. In the dim light, his face shows the same relief I’m sure is written on mine. “We should check the damage,” he says, his voice grim.
We cautiously make our way toward the bedroom, every step feeling like a risk. My heart pounds with each shift of the floorboards. The cold bites at my bare feet, making every step harder. I glance at Matt, his expression tense, and I instinctively reach for his hand. His fingers close around mine, offering comfort and reassurance.
The rest of the cabin seems untouched—furniture in place, no signs of the avalanche’s fury.
When we reach the bedroom, my heart skips a beat. The window on the far side is shattered, snow spilling in and covering half the room. The dresser on one side remains untouched, but a wave of cold dread washes over me as I stare at the snow-covered bed where I was sleeping moments ago.
I release a shaky breath as the reality sinks in. Matt stays close, his support, grounding me as I try to grasp how lucky I am.
“The lodge,” I whisper, fear gripping my heart. If the cabin took this kind of damage, what happened to the main building? I can't wait until morning—I need to know. The thought of not knowing, of what we might find when it's too late, gnaws at me. “We have to check it now.”
Matt meets my gaze, understanding in his eyes. “Let's get dressed first. We'll need to bundle up.”
We put on warm clothes from the untouched dresser, along with thick socks and our boots. Matt hands me my coat from the closet, and I zip it up with trembling fingers. The simple act of getting dressed feels surreal in the face of what's happened.
“Ready?” Matt asks, his hand on the door.
“Let's go,” I reply.
When we step outside, the moonlight reflecting off the fresh snow creates an eerie brightness. The landscape is transformed, a sea of white where well-known landmarks once stood. Panicrises as I scan for any sign of Finn's lodge. The land I've known my whole life is suddenly foreign.
“No,” I say. “We can't have lost it. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Let's not jump to conclusions,” he says. “Come on.”
We push through the snow, which reaches mid-thigh in places. Each step is a battle against the cold and fresh powder. My muscles ache from the effort, and my breath comes in sharp, visible pants in the frigid air.
As we trudge on, something catches my eye across the lot. “Matt, look,” I say, pointing. My stomach sinks as we approach the snowmobile he rode in on—now wrapped around a tree, its blades bent and the front crumpled. The force of the avalanche must have tossed it like a toy, leaving it useless.
Matt exhales, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Well, there goes our quickest way out of here.”
The sight of the mangled snowmobile is a harsh reminder of the danger we're still in, but it also strengthens my resolve. We've made it this far, and we're not giving up now. As we push through the snow, a bitter thought hits me. “All that shoveling we did the past two days ... it's all gone. We'll have to start over.”
