A Girl Called Fearless (41 page)

“What happened?”

“You hit a tree.”

“You okay?”

I reached out and squeezed his hand.
You're asking if I'm okay?
“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm getting you out of there.”

Yates tried to bend forward. “Shit. My ribs. Feels like somebody beat the crap out of me.”

“You hit the tree pretty hard. What else hurts?”

“My leg's okay, a little beat-up, but I think my ankle's wrecked. Ow, crap, my hand.”

Broken nose, ankle, ribs, smashed-up hand. Yates was alive, but he wasn't in great shape. “Give me a minute. I need to figure out how to get you out of here.”

I studied him and the pack like I was making a last move in Jenga. A branch was wedged between his back and the pack. The pack had to come off. I couldn't pull that much dead weight. But if I unhooked the straps across his chest and hips while the others were on his shoulders, the pack could drag him down. With his feet tangled up like that, it could snap his leg.

“I'm taking off your snowshoes,” I told him.

Twigs caught my headlamp and icy needles slapped my face as I crawled into the branches. I tore at the straps around Yates' boots, but my hands were useless, fat claws. Yates jerked his leg, cracking his snowshoe into my face. I yelped, momentarily blinded by the pain.

“I'm sorry!” He said it like he was ashamed.

“I'll be okay. It stings, that's all.”

One snowshoe, then the other clattered through the branches. Now the hard part.

I slid close to him. “We have to get you out of this pack. Can you turn toward me at all?”

Yates tried to move his hips. “Can't. I'm caught on something.”

Screw it. There's no other way.

“I'm going to unhook your chest strap and slide the shoulder strap over your injured hand, but you have to try and hold on to the pack with your other hand so it doesn't fall.”

We both held our breath. I unlatched the strap and Yates moaned as we got his arms free. “Now the waist strap. Ready?”

The pack tore away, wrenching his shoulder back. Yates let go of the pack and we clung to the branch as it bucked under us. The darkness below crashed and splintered.

Then, very gradually, inch by inch, I got Yates out of there.

93

Yates crawled and slid and collapsed onto the ledge I built, but I couldn't rest. I was a plane-crash victim crawling through wreckage, trying to survive.

Somehow I dragged Yates' pack out of the hollow. Set up the kettle, wrapped a sleeping bag around him.

Rest Ice Compression Elevation. My hands moved on their own, packing a snow pillow under his ankle, dabbing blood off his face, and closing the cut above his eye with duct tape. His nose was bent and his eye had swelled into a gashed nectarine. Yates winced and sucked in his pain as I worked.

He was hurt in ways I didn't know how to fix, but I had to shut that out and focus on what I did know. Ice his eye. Splint his ankle. Immobilize his hand. And keep up his body heat, because if Yates didn't stay warm, I'd lose him. I slogged back up the hill to get his hat.

You're not going to make it. He's too hurt to walk, and when the sun comes up, the feds will find your trail.

I snatched his hat off the snow.
Shut up. I don't want to hear it.
His headlamp was right above me, and when I had it, I turned and saw Yates wrestling one-handed with his pack.

If the feds find us, they'll execute us. They'll kill us, and then they'll destroy the hanging and erase all the files on the drive.

Face it. This could be the end.

Yates waited for me. He'd found two cups and filled them with cocoa. “You need to drink, Fearless.”

I sat down and took the cup from him. I sipped the thick, sweet chocolate and stared at the star-dusted sky while gunshots burst like faraway fireworks. “This would be romantic if it weren't so horrible,” I said.

Yates winced and wiped cocoa off his front with his sleeve. “Yeah, not really my idea of a great date. Next time, let's rent a movie and get take-out.”

I smiled at him trying to make me laugh. “What kind? Chinese? Thai?”

He wiggled the fingers on his good hand. “I was going to say pizza, but yeah, I can still do chopsticks.”

I held my cup in front of my mouth. I couldn't keep up the banter.

This can't be the end. I can't believe we're supposed to die out here, not after everything we've been through.

I looked over at Yates' crumpled body. His crushed hand. The splint we'd sawed from a branch and duct-taped to his ankle.

Maybe I'm the only one who's supposed to survive. The one who finishes the mission.
I jerked to my feet.
No. No. That can't be the plan.

“Time to build a snow shelter,” I said.

Yates grabbed my hand. “You know you have to leave me.”

I tore mine away.
He can't possibly know what I'm thinking
. “I won't abandon you.”

“I can't walk. I can't even crawl. You can't drag me for ten miles.”

“But the feds could show up here in a few hours.”
Think about it. They'll kill you.

Yates stared at me with his one good eye. “It's all right. I
know
you love me. But if you stay, it's double suicide.”

I pushed down on the hanging that was tourniquet tight around my chest. Go and I might save lives. Go and I could pass on the hanging and Maggie's death wouldn't be a waste. Go and I sacrifice Yates.

“I hate this,” I said.

“I do, too.”

Me staying was pointless. Romantic and loyal and totally pointless when I'd only end up dead or in prison. “I'm not going for me—”

“You don't have to say it. I know.”

I leaned over and brushed the hair away from his forehead, and gently kissed it. There weren't words inside me to say what I felt.

“The moon'll be up in another hour or two,” Yates said. “You could rest. Wait until then.”

“Yeah, but now,” I said, dragging myself to my feet, “I've got to build that snow shelter.”

It was harder than I thought, digging a trench big enough for Yates to move around in. And sawing through pine branches and weaving them into a roof over his head sucked away most of my strength. By the time I'd packed snow over the top and wedged a flour sack filled with snow into the opening to make a door, I wondered how I could make it all the way to the highway.

I lit an eight-hour candle and set it on a tiny shelf. One candle could keep you from freezing or at least that was what Luke had promised us.

The shelter walls glowed pale gold in the candlelight. Inside this cocoon, we couldn't hear gunshots.

“I'm really tired,” I told Yates.

“Then lie down,” he said. “I'll wake you in an hour.”

Before I went to sleep I put Maggie's gun where I could reach it, and placed the clip next to it. I curled into Yates, careful not to touch his injured side. He wrapped his good arm over me.

I won't let you die alone. I'll bring back help
.

94

Someone's out there.
My eyes flashed open, but my brain was a couple steps behind. Yates lay beside me.

The eight-hour candle had burned to a stub.
What time is it?

“Hey, you in there. You okay?”

The man's voice chilled me right through. I felt for Maggie's gun and, fumbling, shoved the clip in place.

The agents found our trail. They followed us.
“Yates. Yates, wake up,” I whispered, but he barely stirred.

We're trapped.
I put on a headlamp and blew out the candle. Aimed the gun at the sounds outside.
I'm not going down without a fight.
My hands shook, and I couldn't breathe, the gun was so heavy.

A shovel broke through the snow. My heart jumped into my throat.

“Hey, anybody home?”

The snow door pulled away, and a guy's face filled the opening. I cocked the trigger, and he spun away from the door. It was still night out.

“Whoa! I'm going. Don't mind me. I was just checking to see if you're hurt.”

I trapped him in my headlamp. “Put your gun down!”

“Gun's on the sled.” He was backing away with his hands up. He had on a beat-up parka made out of animal skins and a sled team waited below.

“Don't move.”

“Listen, I'm going,” he said. “No need to point that at me.”

I crawled out of the shelter, my heart pounding. The guy towered over me. One kick to the head and I'd be dead.

I stood up and faced him, my hands shaking. This was a real live human being and either he'd been sent out to track us down and execute us, or he was a Good Samaritan who'd stumbled on us in the middle of the night.

Good Samaritan. What were the chances of that?

A dog started to whine and the man turned his head. “Quiet, Gracie.”

The headlamp beam lit his braided beard. A fed would never wear that parka or a beard like that—not unless he was undercover. This guy could be telling the truth. “Who are you?”

“My name's Spoke.”

“Are you a fed?”

“No, I promise. No government ties whatsoever.” The man inched toward his sled.

The sled looked familiar. “Are you from Salvation?

“Yeah, I'm headed back there.”

“Don't. It's under attack.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw it on the news.”

“The news?”

“Yeah, saw the footage in a bar of those bastards taking out Maggie and then the shoot-out at the church.”

“People saw?”

“Hell, yeah! Didn't you hear the news choppers?”

“No. Are they—is it over?”

“Shooting stopped once the local officials showed up.”

Oh, my God, we did it
. “Yates, we did it!”

“Hey, are you the girl who sent out the distress call?”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“Damn. You need anything?”

“Can you help us? My friend's hurt. I need to get him to a hospital.”

“Sure, I can do that. Closest one's probably Boise. But maybe you could put that gun down?”

Spoke picked up the shovel, and with short, brisk strokes, began to dig Yates out while I tore the snow away with my hands.

“You two are heroes,” Spoke said. “I'm telling you, the President's going to have to answer for this. I bet both him and Jouvert are gonna find themselves impeached. Gunning down innocent Americans like enemy combatants—”

My heart stopped.
Americans?
“No. Wait. How many died? Do you have any names?”

Spoke stopped digging. He leaned on the shovel and bowed his head. “There were two bodies outside the church,” he said quietly.

I saw the white surrender flag settle over Maggie's body. “One was Maggie and the other—” The last bars of a love song echoed in my head. “It was Barnabas, wasn't it?”

Spoke nodded. “Had his arms around her when he died. Twenty years, and he never got that woman out of his blood.”

I couldn't stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. “And what about inside the church?”

Spoke went back to digging. “Looks like the agents didn't get inside. You saved a lot of lives tonight. You should take comfort in that.”

Luke, Beattie, Keisha, and everyone else. They were alive.

The roof I'd woven of pine branches appeared from under the snow. Spoke tore them off, and together we lifted Yates onto the sled. He was half conscious and we tied him down, wrapped in the sleeping bags. I kissed the side of his face that wasn't bruised. “Spoke's going to take you to the hospital.”

Yates was struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting to talk through the pain. “If you want to try for the border, it's okay,” he said. “I can meet up with you in a few weeks.”

I felt the thumb drive dangling between my breasts. It was going to take longer than a few weeks to put Yates back together, and it seemed as if my plans had changed. “No, I think I'd better stick around for now.”

I kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Love you,” he said, his voice failing.

“Love you.” Always and forever.

“Sun'll be up in a couple hours,” Spoke said. “You can wait here, or you can follow the sled tracks. Either I'll come back or I'll send someone for you.”

Spoke gave the command and the dogs took off. I watched the sled sail over the snow, leaving me alone in the silent night. Slowly, I gathered the equipment together and drank tea and ate some bread before I pulled on my pack.

The moon was huge and the sled tracks were so clear I didn't need a headlamp.

I wasn't going to sit there and wait to be rescued.

I strapped on the snowshoes and walked, knowing exactly where I was going and, for the first time maybe in my life, knowing who I was. I was Fearless.

Discussion Questions

  1. At the beginning of the book, Avie thinks she is going to go to college and perhaps fall in love. How has falling in love been changed by the Scarpanol disaster?

  2. Avie's father surprises her by “Contracting” her into marriage. Why does he do it? Do you think he was right or wrong?

  3. Avie thinks she has no choice but to honor the “Contract” and marry Jessop Hawkins, but Ms. Alexandra tells her she has several options. What choices does Avie have and which would you choose?

  4. Avie's father keeps tabs on her in many ways. How does he monitor what she does? How would you feel about living like that?

  5. Why do you think the Paternalists came to power? They say they want to protect American women. Do you think that is true or is it a lie?

  6. How do you think American men have been affected by the loss of their wives, daughters, sisters, aunts or mothers?

  7. Yates, Father Gabriel, Sparrow and Maggie Stanton help the resistance in their own ways. Why did each join the movement and how do their reasons differ?