***
He listened to the far-off thump of metal to wood, satisfied that they’d finally breached the cabin. They’d be fighting the flames right about now. Good. He crossed the cave, focused on the headlamp’s glow, and climbed. If they made it down here, then he didn’t deserve to survive their attack anyway.
As if merit had anything to do with life or death. He knew for a fact that it didn’t.
No more death, he’d promised himself. Of course, that was a lot easier to uphold when you didn’t have a team hunting you down. He didn’t want them to die, dammit, even if they’d picked the wrong side. Most of them were probably contractors, here doing a job. Just like he’d been when this whole thing started.
And what about the woman, Leo? Just another contractor, doing her job? Something inside him panged at the idea of her dying, even though he truly didn’t know her at all. He wanted her to be on the right side. On his side.
At the top, he peered through the hole to see her at the end of the low passage with one hand gripping the flashlight, the other sunk into the fur on Bo’s back.
“Good girl,” he whispered, and Bo’s tail thumped once in response.
After crawling through, he turned and worked to roll a few large stones across the opening. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but if those assholes somehow managed to survive and then find their way through his first couple of blockades, this would hide their tracks for a while at least. “Gonna be harder from here on out,” he said. “Single file for now.” He emerged, pointing at the next section they’d have to maneuver.
Muttering something under her breath, she turned and followed Bo over more massive stones.
The woman had grit. Which was fortunate, because at some point, things were sure to go from dangerous to worse.
If only he knew who the hell she was.
***
The explosion made Leo drop the flashlight, hunker hard into the rock she was perched on, and cover her head.
For a few eternal heartbeats, she stayed suspended, every nerve in her body expectantly awaiting the searing burn of carbonization or the bone-breaking collapse of stone.
It didn’t come.
Aside from the dull blast and the brief shuddering of the boulder beneath her, a sprinkling of dust was the only indication that the ceiling could possibly collapse. After a few more seconds, she caught her breath, pushed herself to sitting, and turned to catch a grimace on the man’s shadowed face.
“You actually blew the place up.”
“I did.”
“That’s…” She snapped her mouth shut.
“Cold?” His dismissive huff expressed more than words. It told her exactly what he thought of the people chasing them. And wasn’t he right after all? If this group was anything like the others she’d encountered, they’d stop at nothing to get what they wanted.
“Well executed.”
“You think?” He sucked in a deep, audible breath. “Well, we’re not out yet.”
She peered around, blind until the dog shot ahead, blazing a pale trail through the murkiness. With her first step, she banged her shin into a rock and swore.
“Here.” The man put his gloved hand out, palm up. “Take it.”
She paused, staring for a few seconds before letting her eyes rise to meet his in the dark. “Okay,” she said, surprised at how certain her own voice sounded. Then again, she had no other choice.
***
Ash watched from the shadows as what had once been a homey, rustic wooden cabin lit up the night like a torch. Mystery solved.
Well, part of it. He knew now why the giant had led them to his home.
To blow us all straight to hell.
An excellent play. Ash had caught the scent of an accelerant the moment the cabin’s front door had swung open. Most of the others hadn’t been so lucky.
Guilt scratched at him. His warning shout had come too late.
Then again, these operatives should have known better. A man like their team leader, Deegan, who according to Ash’s intel had led missions in hot spots around the world, should have known better. He should have protected his people, taken the time to scout out the situation rather than blundering in like that and risking lives.
Ash looked around, glad that he didn’t have to answer to that man.
In the meantime, their quarry had just grown more interesting.
The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of an approaching storm.
Not a good start to the mission. They’d just arrived and most of the Titan Security team were either injured, dead, or dying. The real bugger was that as of this moment, rescue was impossible. Too dark and, with the imminent weather change, too dangerous.
Ash made his slow, careful way around the perimeter, following the paw prints he’d first spotted near to the crash site. The canine, he reckoned, would be what gave his quarry away. Eventually.
He sighed, regretting the devastation, not just to human lives and nature, but to what had been a lovely little home in the wild. This place—the cabin, the scenery, the absolute isolation—spoke to him. He felt something like kinship for the man. And respect.
But he had a job to do.
He catalogued each and every paw and boot print as he returned to the front and approached the team leader. “Deegan,” he said, with a hint of petty satisfaction at the big, square-jawed American’s startled response.
“Shit, man. How’d you get there?”
“Walked,” Ash replied, not showing a hint of humor.
A snowflake curled to the ground between them.
“Lost four good people tonight.” Deegan couldn’t, for the life of him, speak quietly. Even his whisper boomed. “Now you’re a fuckin’ comedi—”
“Target’s gone.”
“Yeah, I know they’re—” Deegan’s hand dropped from where he worked a gloved palm over his shaven skull. “You saying they survived this?”
“You won’t find their remains in there.” Ash put out a hand, watching as a few more flakes settled on the worn leather of his glove only to disappear, as fleeting as life itself. “It was a trap.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Ash blew the remaining tiny, playful crystals from his hand, then focused back on the flames. A spot of cheer in this colorless setting. “They’re in the mountain.”
Deegan blinked and slowly turned to take in the ridge rising behind them. “How the hell’d they get in there?” he asked, doubt lacing every word.
“You ever hear of the troglodytes?”
The narrow-eyed look Deegan threw Ash’s way told him he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of an onsite history lesson.
“Cave dwellers, Deegan. In parts of France, even today, you’ll find homes carved from—” He broke into a smirk, leaned forward and gave the man a light smack to the shoulder, like a cat taunting a big, angry dog. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to actually give you a history lesson. Taking the piss, mate. No time to chat.” With a wink, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “While you care for your wounded, I shall find an alternate way in.” He considered the numerous ins and outs of the rock face, every one of which could be an entrance—or merely an indentation. “If I play my cards right, I’ll trap them inside and let you lot get home to your families.”
Chapter 7
It took two and a half hours to get to his hideout—twice as long as it normally did. By the time they arrived, it was close to midnight and the woman—Leo—was having trouble. As far as he could tell, only the walls kept her standing.
“What’s this?” she mumbled, squinting at the tight, low space he’d prepared for just this type of event.
“My getaway cache.”
“Cash?” She collapsed onto a stone ledge and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. “Oh. Oh, supplies. Right.”
He went to a natura
l shelf in the corner and pulled things out—first, the oil lamp, which he lit, then first aid supplies, rations, water.
“Sh…sh…” The woman’s eyes slowly opened, no doubt in response to the unexpected glow.
“What?”
“Shouldn’t…stop. Keep…going.”
“Not sure you’re in any shape to go on.”
“I’m fine.” Clearly a lie.
“Lemme check your head.”
“Mmm.”
She watched, eyes dull, as he set his supplies on the ledge beside her.
“Prepper,” she said, blinking slowly.
He huffed out a humorless sound. “Comes with the territory.”
Her brows rose, though even that effort looked extreme. “Territory’s that?”
The question wasn’t worth answering. Instead, he dragged out the bedroll he kept here and set it up in a corner of the cave. “Lie down.” Cozy it wasn’t, but they were a long way from comfort at this point.
From this point on, really.
She opened her mouth as if to refuse, apparently recognized how desperate her situation was, and shut it again. Slowly, as if her bones hurt, she pushed off the wall.
In two steps, he was at her side. She sagged against him, dropped her head to his chest, and moaned, long and low. Not a pleasant sound. Bo whined, clearly in agreement.
He put a hand to her back, hesitated, and when she didn’t react, wrapped his other arm around her. Just supporting her. “Here. Lie down.” Gently, he helped her onto the pallet. “Drink.” He held out a water bottle.
She accepted, managing a sip or two before she dropped her head in her arms.
“Let me see your eyes.”
“What?”
“Your pupils. Got to check ’em.”
“Oh, right. Right. Sure.”
A look with the light of his headlamp showed two quickly contracting pinpoints. He let out a relieved sigh. “Okay. Your eyes look okay. Rest for a bit while I…” He stopped short.
“While you what?”
“Nothing.” He looked at the narrow gap that would take them to the outside world and all the problems it could possibly throw their way.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Campbell Turner. They called you—” She blinked, a frustrated breath puffing from her mouth. “If my head didn’t hurt so much, I could figure this out.” She shut her eyes tight, looking for all the world like her brain hurt. Which it probably did. Her unfocused gaze landed on him. “Wanna tell me who you are?”
“No,” he said, pausing in the nearly invisible crack in the wall. “Wouldn’t do too much wandering, if I were you, Leo. Place is dangerous.” He took off.
“You coming back, whatever your name is?” A pause. “Hey, yeti! You coming back?”
“Wait and see!” he responded, calling Bo to join him outside.
***
The moment the tiny plane disappeared on the horizon, Amka had shuffled back to her home for some painkillers and a nip of moonshine. She’d watched the helicopter take off, a good hour later, pleased, until she’d understood the reason for the delay.
While she’d been sending Leo off on her rescue mission, the guys from the helicopter had taken over her town. Every man, woman, and child had been rounded up at gunpoint. As far as Amka could tell, she was the only straggler.
Daisy—her partner and the love of her life—was being held at the lodge, with the other adults. The kids had all been rounded up at Marion’s house. The bastards had taken every last person Amka cared about prisoner, aside from Elias. She hoped.
It was up to her to remedy the situation.
Now she eyed her ATV mournfully before heading up the hill to the overlook. Like the Piper Cub, she’d been eighty-sixed from driving land vehicles. As if she couldn’t navigate this place blindfolded.
Too old to drive. Too old to fly. Too old to shoot. But she could tell you when a storm was headed this way.
And she knew some wild shit was going down right here, in her little corner of Alaska.
The place was eerily dark. Only a couple of lights shone. Hadn’t seen it this dark since…maybe twenty years ago now. Or was it thirty? Before the lodge was built and equipped with panels and backup generators.
Somewhere not too far off, a dog howled, the call as mournful as a wolf’s. More joined in from kennels and houses all around town until the whole damn thing was like a chorus. Somebody’d have to feed them or they’d get riled up.
Maybe riled up was good. She’d have to think on how she could use that to her advantage.
She shifted her scope to the right. Two people guarded the exterior of the lodge. Couldn’t get a clear view of the airfield from here, but since the helicopter had returned for the night, she assumed there’d be at least one watching over it. She’d counted another at Marion’s house, though there might be more inside. She doubted it. People underestimated kids the way they did old people.
Good thing they’d forgotten all about her—or had no idea she existed—cause she planned to haunt Schink’s Station like the ghost of caribou past. Like every tourist trophy kill she’d ever seen. She pictured their heads waking up on walls all over the lower forty-eight and attacking the hunters who’d killed them. These people thought they could waltz into her town and terrorize its residents without consequence? Nope. Every person she loved was here—all but one, and she’d done what she could for Elias. The boy was strong and smart. With the help of that Leo woman, he’d be just fine.
Speaking of which. She pulled out the sat phone. Still jammed. Son of a bitch. How far out of town would she have to go to be able to call Leo’s team again? Not that it would make a lick of difference tonight, with the storm coming in.
With a grunt of discomfort, she stood, hefted her rifle, and patted the holster at her belt to make sure her skinning knife was still there. She squinted into the darkness, wishing she knew what those shots had been. They’d come from the lodge. Please don’t be Daisy, she prayed for the first time in years. If they’d done something to Daisy, she wasn’t sure she’d survive this.
Jaw hard, she set off shuffling down the back path to Marion’s, humming “These Boots Are Made for Walking” under her breath.
Time to wreak some old-lady havoc on these motherfuckers.
Chapter 8
Leo planted a hand on the rock wall and shifted, then slowly made her way to standing. Whoa. Okay. Okay, she had this. It just might take a little longer than she was used to. Between the stomach bug last night, the lack of sleep, and the crash, she was running on fumes.
She looked at the two exits, each only a few feet from where she stood. Although stood was a kind word for the way her body depended on the rocks. Drunk leaned was more like it.
So far, the man seemed like an ally, but Leo hadn’t survived this far by counting on the kindness of strangers.
Go! her inner voice screamed. Grab whatever supplies you can and get out of here. It was the voice that had saved her time and again on deployment. The voice that told her when to head in for her guys and when it was too hot to try. She listened.
Not trusting herself to walk, she sank back to the ground and crawled to his pack, tore at the zipper, and dug inside. Military-grade rations, energy bars, a plastic bag of stuff that looked like worn orange leather. She opened it, sniffed, and came close to barfing at the fish stink.
I’ll go with the rations.
And that was saying something.
As fast as she could, she rifled through the contents. Clothes, batteries, flashlights, tools, water. Socks. Everything—literally every item—double wrapped in airtight bags. A tarp—or maybe a poncho?—and a couple Mylar blankets. There. A metal box, also bagged. With hands so weak they shook, she opened it, only to have her hopes dashed. A fire-starting kit. She shut it, slipped it into her coat
pocket, and continued looking. A bag contained first aid supplies. She kept ahold of that, too. Socks, socks, socks. Farther down, a sleeping bag and more damned socks. Wet wipes, hand sanitizer, biodegradable soap. The man was clean, she’d give him that. Another sleeping bag, more socks. The outer pockets and straps weren’t any better. Camp stove, sleeping pad. Snowshoes. Ski poles. More wipes. More socks.
“Okay, Sock Man,” she muttered, shoving it all back in. “What else we got?”
Her own pack contained even less. Water, a couple of blankets, her extra set of clothes. One measly pair of socks. Her own wipes. She clearly hadn’t packed for the occasion.
Her attempt to heft his pack was futile. The thing probably weighed a hundred pounds, and she was currently weak as a kitten.
What about her Glock? Had he taken it or left it behind? Had she dropped it in the plane? She turned. Whoa. Shutting her eyes hard on the spinning room, she waited out the dizzy spell.
Okay. He had to have a phone, right? Something to communicate with the outside world.
Must have taken it with him. His rifle too. He’d brought that, right? How had she not noted that kind of detail?
And who on earth was he?
Nothing made sense. She’d come here in search of Campbell Turner, a five-foot-eleven man in his fifties. This giant was maybe thirty, maybe forty. Hell, who could tell with the beard and hair and coat? The deep voice and long silences. Could he truly be just a wilderness freak in the wrong place at the wrong time?
That sure seemed fishy. She’d buy the random-hermit thing, but here? Right here, where Amka had sent her? No way. Besides, what Arctic wilderness guy had an emergency exit like his? None was the answer. He’d set fire to his own cabin, for God’s sake. Blasted the thing to kingdom come and then dragged her through miles and miles of tunnels. No, the guy was definitely part of this whole mess somehow, but she didn’t have time to play his games.
Uncharted Page 6
