I put one foot in front of the other, eyes boring into the door handle, which seemed to slide out of reach with every step.
A heartbeat later, it was in my hand. My stomach somersaulted, part joy, part fear-there was no turning back now. I twisted the knob by the tiniest degrees. It reached the end of the rotation. All I had to do was pull. The pressure in the cabin would change slightly when I opened the door, but Mason wouldn't notice. He was deep in slumber. And the fire would chase away the cold draft I let in.
Suddenly I was on the porch, inching the door shut behind me. I half expected to hear Mason bolt to his feet and chase me, shouting for Shaun to wake up. But the only sound came from the bitterly cold wind striking snow, as fine as sand, at my face.
The woods were abysmally dark; I'd only made it one hundred paces from the patrol cabin when, in a single backward glance, I could no longer see it. The night enveloped it in velvety blackness.
The wind whipped through my clothes and lashed at any patches of skin I hadn't managed to cover, but I was almost grateful for it. I was wide awake from cold. And if Mason and Shaun came looking for me, it would be impossible for them to hear my movements above the fierce whistle hissing down the slopes. Bolstered by this line of thinking, I wrapped my coat more tightly around me, shielded my eyes from the blowing precipitation, and picked my way carefully up the steep slope riddled with rock fragments and tree stumps that hid beneath the snow. The rocks were jagged enough, and hard enough, that if I fell at the right angle, I could break a bone.
An owl hooted overhead. The sound carried into the midnight-black woods, mingling with the howl of wind tearing through the branches and clacking them together with haunting effect. I tried to quicken my pace, but the snow was too deep, and I continually sank forward on my knees, nearly dropping the canteen and headlamp in my arms. As tempted as I was to switch on the headlamp, I didn't dare yet. Until I was a safe distance from the patrol cabin, it would act like a beacon for Mason and Shaun to follow.
By the time I reached the summit, my climbing pace had lagged, and my breathing was labored. My legs trembled with exhaustion, and knots of stress seemed to ball like fists in my lower back. The anxiety of the past twenty-four hours had taken a toll-I'd never felt so sucked of energy, so small and powerless in the shadow of the treacherous mountains.
According to Calvin's map, I needed to get over this pass and down into the basin, which I could follow to the park ranger station. But there was no clear path, and as I waded through the snow, it crept higher up my boots, making each step increasingly heavy.
An itchy warmth prickled along the inseams of my clothes and under my arms. I'd broken a sweat, a mistake. Later, when I rested, the sweat would cool and freeze against my skin, rapidly lowering my body temperature. I'd have to worry about it when it happened. The park ranger station was miles away. I had to keep moving. But to be safe, I slowed my pace further.
Compacting snow between my gloves, I made a slushy ball, and pushed it into my mouth, letting the icy mixture melt down my throat. It was painfully cold, but invigorating. If I was sweating, I needed to drink. It seemed impossible that I could dehydrate in such cold weather, but I trusted the guidebooks and my training.
A hazy beam of light bobbed spottily in the woods ahead. Instinctively, I dropped behind a tree. I ground my back into it, forming a frantic, rapid conclusion. The light originated behind me, not very far away. I strained my ears, listening. A man's voice, shouting. The wind distorted his words, but he was hollering my name.
"Britt!"
I couldn't tell if it was Mason or Shaun, but I almost prayed it was Shaun. I stood a chance of escaping him. The forest was a vast maze; he'd never be able to track me.
"Britt! Not . . . hurt you. Stop . . . run!"
I wasn't above the tree line, but the dense woods sheltering the bottom of the mountain had thinned. I didn't have the cover I needed, and though indeed it was indescribably dark, he had a flashlight. The minute I stepped into the open, he'd see me. I was trapped.
The light swerved away. With a moment to think, I decided to make a run for it. Breaking into the open, I lunged toward the next cluster of trees, using my free arm to propel myself faster. Far short of my target, I tripped, hands shooting out as I sprawled on the snow a split moment before the flashlight glided back, illuminating the darkness above my head. I army-crawled several more feet, dragging my supplies behind me and taking cover behind an outcropping of rock that jutted like an iceberg above the sea of snow.
I watched the beam from his flashlight scatter intermittent light through the branches ahead.
He was closer, moving up the mountainside far faster than I had. Squeezing the canteen and headlamp to my chest, I pushed to my feet and ran to another patch of trees.
". . . help each other!"
Help each other? I had the sickening urge to laugh. He thought I'd fall for that? He wanted off the mountain; as soon as I helped him, he'd kill me. I stood a better chance at survival facing the forest alone.
I set my provisions in the snow beside me. planting my gloved hands on my thighs, I leaned forward, giving my upper body a moment's rest. I was breathing so loudly, I was sure he'd hear it. Each gulp of air scraped painfully down my throat. I was so lightheaded, I feared I might pass out.
"Britt? It's Mason."
Damn, damn, damn.
He called out to me in a reassuring voice, but I wasn't going to let it fool me. "I know you can hear me,” he continued. "You can't be far. There's another storm coming; that's why the wind has picked up. You can't stay out here. You'll freeze to death."
I squeezed my eyes shut against the gusting snow. He's lying, he's lying. I shouted the words at myself, because I felt my resolve weakening. I was frightened and desperate and cold, and to my amazement, I actually wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that he'd help me. That scared me most of all. Because deep down, I knew the minute I moved out from behind the tree, I was dead.
From my hideout, I watched him kneel a short distance away and observe how my tracks had disrupted the snow. Even if I tried to run, it was inevitable. He'd catch me now or in five minutes.
"Think about it, Britt,” Mason called. "You don't want to die out here. If you can hear me, call out my name."
Never, I thought at him.
I watched him pick up my trail and start jogging toward my hideout. I knew what was coming, but knowing my fate didn't dim the deeply embedded need to survive. I pushed to my feet and ran as hard as I could.
"Britt, stop!" he shouted.
"No!" I said, whirling around to face him. "Never." I bit off the word. I would not go back. I would fight. I would die fighting rather than I let him drag me back.