T
he woman named Hannah
had saved him, at least temporarily, and that was great, but it didn’t mean he could let her rush him. And she was rushing him now. Telling Jace to get up and get moving, telling him to leave the pack behind because they’d move faster without the extra weight, telling him that if they went fast enough, they’d both be riding out of the mountains on a helicopter by the end of the night.
“Slow down,” he said. “We need to slow down.”
“Hon, that is exactly what we cannot do. It is time to hurry. I know you’re tired, but—”
“We have a goal,” Jace said, “but we do not have a plan.”
It was funny; if an adult had said this to Hannah, it would have made perfect sense to her, but those same words coming from a kid apparently meant there was something wrong with the kid. Hannah stared at him as if he’d just told her that he wanted to ride out of the mountains on a unicorn.
“It’s what Ethan says.”
“Ethan, your survival instructor?”
“Yes. The one I was with until last night.”
“That’s terrific, Connor. That’s great. But I’m pretty sure if Ethan were here right now, he’d tell you that we need to hurry.”
“That’s the exact opposite of what he would say. Panic kills. You rush and you make mistakes. You’re trying to rush me.”
She laughed. The exasperated, I-am-done-listening-to-you sound his mother made during arguments. “I’m trying to rush you, yes. You arrived at my door with a
killer
behind you, and now I would like to hurry the hell out of here.”
“Two killers,” Jace said. “We haven’t seen the other one.”
That had been bothering him for some time. He knew very little of these men, but somehow he was surprised to discover that they were willing to separate. It had felt to him as if they came together, a matched set.
“Connor,” Hannah said, “we can talk and walk. Please. The only mistake right now would be staying here any longer.”
“Ask my dad—he takes pain pills every day because of somebody who rushed. You’re already making one mistake.” He tapped on the glass of the Osborne and said, “Aren’t we going to want a map?”
This time, the look she gave him was more considered. She even made an odd little smile, as if someone had told a joke, and she stopped arguing with him.
“All right,” she said. “We’ll take a map. That’s a pretty good idea. I will admit not thinking about that was a mistake. Do you see any others?”
She seemed to be asking him seriously, and that gave him a sense of strength he hadn’t felt in a while. Not quite the same as when he’d built the fire, but close. A reminder that he was capable of more than he imagined.
He looked around the tower and tried to see it the way Ethan Serbin would. It was hard; he was sure he was missing things. The map had been obvious, but although he wanted to bring his entire pack, he had to admit she had a point about the walking speed.
“Map, water, some protein bars,” he said, speaking slowly, thinking of what they must have and what they could leave behind. “I’ll bring the plastic and the parachute cord for shelters. And the fire steel.”
“We’re going to need to be on the move, not building shelters.”
“That’s what everyone says a few hours before they realize they need a shelter.”
She gave the little smile again, nodded, and said, “All right. I’ve got water, and some lightweight food. I’ve got a knife and a multi-tool. You’ve got the map, the compass, and the rest of what you want?”
He nodded.
“Then are you ready? Or is there something else?” Her eyes were drifting to the windows that faced east, the direction she’d sent them. She was worried that they would return soon, and he wondered how convincing she had been in the conversation.
“Just let me think a minute.”
“That’s your favorite approach, isn’t it, Connor? You are one patient guy. A thinking man, and a patient one.” The frustration was clear in her voice, but he ignored it. She had helped him and now he had to help her. Think like Ethan. Think like a survivor. Just
think.
“Okay,” Hannah said after he’d been silent for maybe thirty seconds. “Looks like you’re all thought out. Let’s move.”
“Leave the light on.”
“What?” She turned back to him with a confused look because it was a brilliantly bright afternoon, and you wanted, if anything, more shade in the glass-walled room right now. Unless you were thinking like a survivor.
“The light’s very bright at night,” Jace said. “Trust me, you can see it from a long way off.”
“We’re going to be very far away by the time it—”
“They may not be,” he interrupted, and she fell silent. “If anyone thinks you lied, they’ll be even more sure of it if the tower goes dark, right? You’re already off the radio, but at least people believe you’re still here. If it’s dark tonight, they might wonder.”
She nodded slowly and said, “Okay, kid. Keep going. You’re earning it.”
He knelt beside his pack and unzipped it, removed the map, the compass, and the parachute cord, and then stopped and said, “Shit.”
“What?”
“I don’t have the plastic. We walked away with the shelters still up.” He looked at her and said, “Do you have anything that would work? Some ponchos, maybe? Something that could be used as an emergency shelter?”
Her expression changed then for reasons he didn’t understand. Her eyes went sad.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. And, yes, I’ve got a shelter. That’s exactly what it is. An emergency fire shelter. It would probably be a good idea to bring it along, I suppose. But I want you to promise me something. You need to listen and not argue, all right?”
Jace nodded.
“I will not get in that thing,” Hannah said. “I will let you get in it if you need to, but I will not, and you had better not try to make me. You promise?”
“Okay.”
She rubbed a hand over her face and said, “What else?”
He thought they had it all. He emptied his pack of the nonessentials and put them under the cot and then added the fire shelter. It didn’t weigh much. Looked like tinfoil.
“This is supposed to keep you from
burning?
”
“Yes, it is,” she said, and then added, “and yes, it does.”
He looked up at her and she turned away immediately.
“Were you ever in one?”
“Connor—just pack the damn thing.”
He did as instructed, then stood and put the pack on. It was much lighter than it had been since it held a lot less stuff, but he was still glad to have it. He felt better, more prepared, and how someone felt had a direct impact on what he did. His survivor mentality was coming back. It would be good to be moving again and even better to know that the man who had come to kill him was moving in the opposite direction.
“I think I’m ready,” he said.
“Good. Let’s get to it, then.”
He stepped out and hesitated—the height of the thing surprised him even though he’d been looking out the windows a lot of the time. Then he got moving, one foot in front of the other, keeping his eyes on his boots.
When he stopped short, Hannah Faber almost ran into him.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“What’s your shoe size?”
“Pardon?”
“What is it?”
“A ten, Connor. Yes, I have big feet. And I’d like to get them moving.”
“Do you have any other shoes?”
“Connor, that’s useless weight. We are not going to need two pairs of shoes.”
He turned around, holding the rail with one hand, and looked at her feet. They were big for a woman. He put his own foot beside it. Almost the same.
“Do you have any other shoes?” he repeated.
“Connor! We’re not going to—”
“The search party tracked me here fast,” he said. “I’m pretty sure they know my boot prints by now. It would be nice if they didn’t see them leading away from your tower.”
She was giving him the stare that he was beginning to regard as normal. Then she turned around and walked back up the steps and into the cabin without a word. He followed her in. She went to the foot of the cot and came back with a pair of boots.
“Perfect,” he said. “Let me see if they fit.”
She was looking at them funny, as if she didn’t want them to be used. When she spoke again, she was still staring at the boots and not him.
“I’ll wear these,” she said, setting them down by the bed. “You try the ones I have on.”
“Why?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She began to unlace her boots. They were more like hiking shoes, really. The boots by the bed, though, were serious work boots. He ran his index finger over the glossy black leather. Sturdy stuff. The laces went all the way from the tongue of the boot to the toe.
“What are those laces made of?”
“Kevlar.”
“You’re serious? Like, the bulletproof stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Those look pretty tough,” he said.
“They sure as hell are, kid. Now, try these on.”
He got his own boots off and slipped his feet into hers. A little snug, but not bad at all.
“They work. You really do have big feet.”
“It gives me certain advantages, Connor. I won’t blow over even in a strong wind.” She put on the new boots slowly, as if there were something wrong with them. By the time she had the laces tied, her eyes were closed.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just haven’t laced up in a while.” She opened her eyes and said, “Now that we’ve gone to this extreme, make sure to hide your old boots. None of this will be much help if they walk in and find your boots right there on the floor.”
Good point. He was disappointed in himself; that was an obvious problem, and he had missed it. He picked up the boots and looked around the room and saw no great option. Looked again, taking slower inventory, and then crossed to the woodstove and opened the door. Cold ashes inside. He put the boots down in them and closed the door.
“Very good,” Hannah said. “Very smart.”
They left the tower for real then, making sure the light was still on to greet the darkness when it came, and at the bottom of the tower, they turned west and crossed the plateau, and Jace’s feet left no trace of the boy who had come this way in the morning.
A
llison woke in the afternoon
to a sea of muddled regrets. Should have brought the shotgun onto the porch, should have been firmer with her concerns over Jamie Bennett, should have allowed Ethan to go after the boy, should have gone with him into the mountains, should have…
And then awake, fully awake.
And alone.
The hospital room was dim but not dark. Ethan’s chair empty. That was fine. He’d left for some reason, and he would return. She had been asleep for a long time.
The minutes passed and he did not return and at length she grew uneasy alone there in the room and pressed the call button above the bed. A nurse arrived within seconds, asking if she was in pain.
“A little, sure, but I’m…I’m fine. I was wondering where my husband is?”
“No idea, Mrs. Serbin. He left some time ago.”
“What do you mean, left?”
“I’m not sure. How’s the pain? On a one-to-ten scale, if you could estimate what the—”
“He’s not been here?”
The nurse gave her an uncomfortable look. “I really couldn’t say. He didn’t consult with me when he left. But I haven’t seen him. Would you like to call him?”
“Yes. But I won’t get him. Could you get me the phone? I want to call the police.”
Allison looked at Ethan’s chair.
You promised. You held my hand and looked me in the eye and you
promised. Then the nurse was back, a phone in hand. She dialed for Allison, then handed the phone over and left the room. Very polite lady, this nurse.
Allison asked for Roy Futvoye. The person who answered the phone was disinclined to connect her, so she said, “You tell him this is Allison Serbin calling from the hospital and that I’d like to talk to him about the fire and the men who attacked me.”
Funny how effective a few buzzwords could be. It didn’t take them long to patch her through to Futvoye after that.
“Allison, how are you?”
“Been better.” Wrong thing to say—the
b’
s pulled at her wounded lips in a painful way. She hated the sound of her voice. So damaged.
“I know. Listen, we’ll get them. I promise you we will.”
If she heard the word
promise
again, she was going to scream. She said, “Roy, where is my husband?”
Pause. “He didn’t tell you?”
“What didn’t he tell me?”
“Um…well, I’m not sure what all has been going on with him, you know, but my last understanding—”
“Where is he?” These words came firmer, crisper.
“In the mountains. I just spoke with him. He’s gone to find the boy who ran away.”
“You
just
spoke with him?”
“Within the past hour. Is there a message you want me to get to him?”
“No,” she said. “No, that’s fine.”
“Are you feeling up to a little more talk, Allison? I’d sure love to ask a few questions about what happened last night. About those two. You know that your memory is going to be a big help to us. Really critical.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m a little off right now. Let me think about that.”
She hung up without giving him time to respond. Sat and looked at Ethan’s chair.
You gave your word, Ethan. Why did you pick the boy again?
She closed her eyes and breathed and after a few minutes she realized she’d begun to cry. She opened her eyes and wiped at them with her good hand and when they were dry and she was steady, she pressed the call button again. Same nurse, same swift appearance.
“Yes? Everything all right?”
“I’d like to see a mirror.”
The hesitation on the nurse’s face told her as much as the mirror would, but Allison held her eyes and eventually the woman nodded and left and came back with a round makeup mirror.
“They’ll get it fixed so well, so fast,” she said. “You have no idea what they can do these days with burns.”
Allison took the mirror and looked into it and closed her eyes almost immediately. After a few seconds she looked again and this time she didn’t look away.
Most of the worst was hidden, anyhow. Bandages covered that. Her hair was the real shock—not much left of it, and what was there had been hacked away, probably by the paramedics. Her lips were lined with stitches and there was some sort of film over a split in her chin, like dried superglue. Her eyebrows were gone but a line of blisters showed where each one had been. She studied herself for a long time, and then she said, “You know I was almost Miss Montana?”
“You’ll look better than that when they’re done,” the nurse said.
Allison nodded. “Sure. My husband used to joke about that, though. Call me that, sometimes.” She tilted the mirror, saw the nearly bald area on the left side of her head. “He probably won’t make that joke again. And now I’ll miss him saying it, isn’t that funny?”
The nurse looked at her and said, “Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Serbin? Maybe less painkiller? Or maybe more? On a scale of one to ten, could you tell me—”
“Nine,” she said. “I was a nine.”
The nurse nodded, pleased to be back on track. “You were. And now?”
“Well, there are steps,” Allison said. “At twenty, I was a nine. And then at thirty, probably still an eight. I mean, time ain’t your friend. Then I hit forty, and then I hit last night, or rather last night hit me, and now…well, we are going to have to wait for those bandages to come off. But for the moment, let’s call it a two.”
The nurse said, “Mrs. Serbin, you need to stop worrying about this. Surgeons you haven’t even met yet are going to do amazing things.”
She looked in the mirror and smiled and watched the glue tighten and the stitches tug. The bandages that hid the rest of her were white as glaciers under a winter sun. She thought they could be called beautiful; at least, they could if you’d ever appreciated a glacier under a winter sun.
“You pretend it’s not there when you’ve got it,” she said, “but I wonder if you’re allowed to miss it when it’s gone.
I was beautiful once.
”
The nurse was silent. Just looked at Allison and waited. Allison handed over the mirror and the nurse took it and left, but the images it had offered remained. Allison tried to push them away and then she looked at Ethan’s empty chair and she knew why Ethan had gone. Maybe it wasn’t about the boy at all. Maybe it was about her.
He thought he could get them.
He didn’t understand who they were, though. What they were. She could see them again and, worse, hear them, those calm voices in a beautiful, still night. Could smell the old smoke and the old blood. Then the fresh versions that had followed.
She prayed for her husband then, prayed that he would not meet them, would not hear them, would not smell them. It felt too late, though. She’d slept too long, and he’d made his choice too early.