“Nick!” she shouted.
Unexpectedly, one of his hands reached through the white mass.
“Oh, thank God.”
She dropped the stick and dug out the snow around his hand. A few moments later, his other hand broke through. She continued to dig until reaching the top of his head, which was covered by his coat. He must’ve pulled it above his head at the last minute to create a makeshift hood with its own pocket of air. Otherwise, he would’ve suffocated. She worked until he was able to use his own arms and hands to unearth himself.
When he broke free, he rolled onto the snow. He collapsed down to his back and closed his eyes, presumably taking a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Then he reached inside his coat and with some difficulty pulled out the plastic bag, the contents of which were still a mystery. Hell, the contents of Nick’s entire psyche were a mystery.
CHAPTER 13
By age thirteen Nick had achieved the independence his father had demanded of him at the start of first grade. It had been four years since he’d relied upon his parents to prepare his lunches or send him to bed or to do much of anything for him. He rode his bike to school and ran around the neighborhood as if it were an adventure board game and he was the ace player. Even at this young age, he distrusted others, especially his own parents—which explained why he had no friends. Oh, kids wanted Nick to be their friend. He was a good athlete, smart, and a leader. But he chose not to let anyone get close. Friends made life too complicated. Still, he knew where every kid lived and what all the families were like—who went to the Catholic church, who went to the Baptist church, who went to the town’s one synagogue, who believed in God, and who didn’t believe in anything but a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He knew which parents coddled their kids, which beat their kids like his did, and which did worse. He knew which kids were liars, which were naïve, which were brave, and which were wimps. Knowing about people’s secrets was more than just power; it was like touring the proverbial sausage factory.
Nobody knew Nick’s secrets. He made sure of that.
Nick did keep that first kid he met, Donnie Hollis, around though. But Donnie was a friend in the way a dog was a friend—you kept them around for companionship and sometimes protection. The kid could be unintentionally amusing; he was, in a canine way, blindly loyal to Nick, and in a pinch, loyalty was something Nick could use to his benefit. Nick also kept Donnie around for another reason: Nick’s father hated Donnie and his family, and Nick liked nothing more than to defy his father.
“The Hollis family is bad news,” Nick’s father had told him at the start of first grade. “The father is a criminal. Served five years in the state penitentiary for armed robbery. The son is only seven and is already following in his father’s footsteps. Stay away from Donnie Hollis.”
When Nick’s father caught Nick talking to Donnie one day after school, the belt had come out, which only made Nick more determined to hang out with the kid. Now, in eighth grade, Donnie was at best a clown and at worst a pain in the butt. Last year, he’d been suspended from school for smoking cigarettes in the boys’ bathroom. By the start of the following year, the kid had graduated to weed. In short, Donnie was still a loser.
“Hey, Nick,” Donnie said. “I got a new video game. Come on over. We can hang out and play it.”
“I’ve got homework,” Nick said. “If I don’t get it done, my father will freak.” Never mind that Nick’s father hated the educational system. God forbid if Nick ever flunked a test and embarrassed his parents. Besides, knowing Donnie, that video game was stolen property.
“You’re such a dweeb, Nick.”
“You try living with my father.”
Donnie chortled. “At least yours isn’t in the pen.”
Nick thought, but didn’t say, that he wished his father were locked up in some prison. Instead, he asked, “Do you miss him?”
Donnie shrugged. “Nah.” But his face got all screwed up, as if he’d been struck with a bout of indigestion.
“Hey, if you got some Cokes at your house, I’ll come over,” Nick said. Nick not only wanted a Coca-Cola; he also wanted to check out Donnie’s mother, who was hot and often indifferent about modesty.
Donnie raised a single eyebrow. “We could sneak a few.” Then he laughed wickedly.
They went the seven blocks across the parkway to Donnie’s place, a run-down house in the bad part of town. Nick’s father passed by the place on his way home from work, so Nick hid his bike behind the bushes in case his father came home early, which wouldn’t be unusual. There would be a price to pay if his father caught him at the Hollis house.
The two boys walked into the kitchen through the back entrance, a screen door that hung precariously loose on its hinges and was patched in places with silver duct tape. Donnie’s mother was sitting at the kitchen table reading the National Enquirer. She had the television tuned to a gossipy talk show, with the volume turned up way too high.
When the screen door slammed shut, Mrs. Hollis lowered the paper and said, “Hey, honey darlin’. You have a good day at school, sweetheart?”
Donnie nodded.
Mrs. Hollis pointed to the television. “Turn that TV down, honey. I can’t stand those commercials.” Donnie lumbered over to the television and adjusted the volume.
Nick, who had been standing in the doorway, walked farther inside the room. Despite the time of day, Mrs. Hollis was dressed in a lime-green, gauzy nightgown and fuzzy slippers, as if she were a character in one of her soap operas. Nick’s own mother wore an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants to bed, but Mrs. Hollis’s nightgown was all lacey and short, exposing her legs up to her mid-thighs. Nick snuck more than a peek. If Mrs. Hollis noticed, she didn’t care.
“Come give Momma a hug and some sugar, son,” she said to Donnie, holding her arms out wide.
“Mom, I’ve got a friend here,” he replied, his pale cheeks turning red.
“Oh, you can always hug your momma,” she said. “How are you, Nick? My goodness, how you’ve grown. You’re such a handsome young man. I bet Nick wants a hug.” Without waiting for a response, she rose and wrapped her arms around Nick, who felt himself blush and tingle.
Mrs. Hollis laughed and took her seat. “I’ll start supper in a bit, Donnie. We’re having macaroni and cheese.”
“Cool,” Donnie said.
She looked at Nick. “You can stay for dinner if you like, sweetheart.”
“No thank you, ma’am,” Nick said. “My mother is expecting me home. And I have homework. I’ll just stay a little while.”
“Homework,” she said, glancing sidelong at Donnie. “You hear that, Don? Nick has always been such a smart boy. That’s because he works at it. You could be just as smart as him if you worked at it.”
Donnie frowned. Both boys realized that no matter how hard Donnie worked, he could never be as smart as Nick. Donnie led Nick away from his mother’s too-gooey spider’s web. Nick took another quick glance at Mrs. Hollis’s thighs, and the boys sprinted to Donnie’s room. A fluffy black cat was sitting in the middle of his bed.
“Get off!” Donnie shouted at the cat. “You’re getting fur everywhere, you dickwad.”
“I didn’t know you had a cat.” Nick reached a hand out to pet the cat. The cat shot a paw out and scratched Nick’s forearm, drawing blood.
Nick pulled his arm back. Though the scratch hurt, he forced himself not to show pain. He’d become good at hiding pain.
Donnie flung the cat from the bed. “You think that’s bad, the little fucker scratched me when I was sleeping two nights ago. Fuck, I hate him.”
“I see why, man.”
“No shit. Try living with all that hair and piss. And the litter box where he takes a dump, don’t even start on that. I’d like to skin the little shithead alive and feed him to the rats.”
Nick studied Donnie’s face for any sign of sarcasm or hyperbole. He found none. “Why don’t you do it, then?”
“I’m thinking about it, dude.”
&
nbsp; Just as Nick thought. Donnie didn’t have the guts.
“Hey, you watch wrestling?” Donnie asked.
Nick glanced around the room. “Nah. My dad’s got all these rules. He doesn’t like wrestling.”
“That sucks. Maybe you ought to skin him alive.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
Donnie flashed an awkward smile, but there was worry in his eyes.
“I was joking, man,” Nick said. Not that the idea didn’t appeal to him. Nick had more than once lost skin when his father hit him. “Hey, what about those drinks?”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Donnie left the room and returned with two cans of soda in his pants pockets. He handed one to Nick, who popped the tab and took a long drink, savoring all the sugary bubbles.
“You look like you’ve never tasted a soda.”
“Only a few times. My parents don’t approve. They think it’s poison. A corporate conspiracy to weaken the masses. A way to gouge the American working class.”
“Shit. Your parents are weird. And cheap.”
Nick agreed but resented Donnie for saying so. He took another swig of his drink as he thought about his father, not enjoying the soda quite as much. It was dangerous for Nick to step out of line, and he was tired of being his father’s punching bag. He couldn’t wait to finish school and leave his parents behind.
“What are you going to do when you grow up?” Nick asked. He’d never asked Donnie this before. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him until now that Donnie would even grow up.
“I want to be a wrestler. What about you, dickwad?”
Nick took a swallow of his drink instead of punching Donnie. He’d learned long ago that the best way to stay out of trouble, to get what you wanted, was to suppress the impulse to give in to anger right away. Retaliation could wait. Although, he’d fought Donnie once, but only after Donnie had attacked him. Donnie thought Nick and two other boys had been laughing at him, which was only in part true, because the other boys had been. After Nick bloodied Donnie’s nose and used his superior speed and reflexes to body-slam Donnie to the ground, the older boy tapped out. He didn’t challenge Nick after that; on the contrary, he tried harder to be Nick’s friend. But this confrontation resulted in a lesson most bullies had already learned—no one should cross Nick Eliot.
“So?” Donnie asked.
“I’m joining the army.”
“Why, man? You want to go around shooting and killing people?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Or get your ass shot off? My dad was in the army. Got kicked out. They got a lot of rules. You have to say, yes, sir, I’ll shine your boots, lick the floor, kiss your ass, whatever you say, sir.” Donnie laughed. “I’d rather be kicking someone’s butt in the ring.”
“All that’s fake, anyway.”
Donnie’s face turned red. “No, it isn’t.”
Nick shrugged.
Donnie’s mother knocked on the bedroom door.
“Donnie, it’s time for dinner, baby.” She pushed the door open. “Your friend can come back another day. I called his mother to see if he could stay, but she said to send him right on home.” She looked at Nick. “Maybe next time. I’m real sorry, honey.”
Nick’s anger rose. Mrs. Hollis wasn’t the only one who was sorry.
Later that week, Donnie told Nick that the Hollis’s black cat had disappeared. Nobody knew why.
“That’s terrible,” Nick said. “I didn’t think you had the guts.”
“Fuck you, Nick!” Donnie said and stormed away.
CHAPTER 14
Nick lay prone on the frigid ground, gazing up at Margo with empty eyes. His light hair and beard were white with snow, and for a moment she wondered if he’d actually died in the disaster.
Was she only imagining that he’d survived? That she’d survived?
He moved, took a few deep breaths, rolled onto his stomach, and struggled to get up on all fours. The wind had relented for now, as if it, too, had been swept away by the avalanche. The air was still filled with white particulates, and the snowfall persisted. Strangely enough, Margo felt warmer. The act of surviving had many unforeseen benefits, apparently.
How had they lived through this avalanche? She knew how. Nick had led them down the embankment and inside its protective pocket. Otherwise they would’ve been tossed over the cliffs when that raging wave of snow struck. He had also told her to swim against the snow, which somehow had kept her closer to the surface. The man was brilliant, or lucky, or a little bit of both. No, a lot of both.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You?”
She felt a thrill at the sound of another human voice. “I think I’m fine.”
He got to his feet and stood on wobbly legs. “We have to get off this fresh snow. It’s unstable.”
They walked east, away from the avalanche site. It was hard going whenever they hit a patch of soft, deep snow. At least they were no longer running for their lives. All the while, he carried his plastic bag.
“We should head toward the highway,” she said. “That’s where we’ll find civilization, maybe the rescue team.”
“Impossible in this weather. It’s miles away. We couldn’t make it even if we were both in top form. You’re not, and now I’m not.”
“Why not go as far as we can? If we follow the tracks, we’ll surely meet up with the rescue team. They have to know about the wreck by now.”
“No one is anywhere close to here, even if they’ve figured out what’s happened, which isn’t a given.”
“But a helicopter or a search plane.”
“We’re in a mountain forest. A major blizzard is obscuring visibility, the train wreckage is completely covered up. As for us, we’re like straight pins in a shag carpet. No one in the air would be able to see us unless they were directly overhead. But whether they can or can’t doesn’t matter at the moment. There’s more snow coming. Our only option is to wait out the storm in a safe place.”
She looked at the sky. The clouds no longer seemed so ominous, and there were actually large patches of blue beginning to appear. But the absolute certitude and command of Nick’s voice stopped her from questioning his judgment. He hadn’t been wrong yet.
“Where?” she asked. “That shed you were taking us to is buried under snow, if not totally crushed under the weight.”
“Somewhere safe. I’ll know it when I see it.”
At first blush, it seemed like an absurd comment. But she’d come to trust him.
He took the lead, helping her over the tougher obstacles and through heavy snowdrifts. They didn’t travel far before his limp returned.
“Nick, your leg. Let me take another look.”
“It’s nothing. Like I keep telling you. Don’t mention it again.”
She wanted to insist, but when he turned around and looked at her, she recoiled at his uncompromising glare. He took two steps toward her, scanned the area, and pointed.
“See it?” he asked.
She nodded. A steel roof protruded above the snow—the far end of the snowshed’s roof. Unbelievable—part of the structure had actually survived the avalanche. “I can’t believe it’s still standing. And above ground.”
“Salt-box design. The slanted roof directs rain and snow to slide over the metal surface and drop into the gulch below.”
They trudged to the entrance, which was almost completely blocked except for a small opening above the level of the snow. Nature had formed a ramp, which led up to the opening.
“Wait here,” he said. He climbed up the slope, lay down on the ground, and began kicking at the snow. Soon the opening was wide enough for them to get inside.
He returned to her and extended a hand. She placed hers in his, and he helped her up the snowy ramp.
At the opening, she asked, “Is it safe in there? You don’t think the roof will collapse, do you?”
“It’s built to withstand the weight of snow.”
“Th
is much?”
“That’s the idea.”
She peered inside the shed, able to see because of the light seeping in between the slats on the outer wall that faced the gulch. Thankfully, the integrity of the structure appeared intact and undamaged. Even better, the interior looked dry. Beds of rocks lined each side of the railway tracks. But the cliff side of the tracks was only two feet from the outer wall and not far from the mountain’s edge. She shuddered at how close to the drop-off the shed was located.
“We stay on the side closest to the mountain. It’ll be fine.”
She recalled a silly movie she’d seen years ago about an asteroid striking earth and wiping out all of humanity, leaving behind only nature. At the moment, it sure felt as if she and Nick and this tunnel were the only remaining artifacts of human civilization. A lot could be said about the shed and mankind’s ingenuity.
He helped her climb inside the shed and down to the ground. It was warmer in there. But the wind howling through the cracks was loud and haunting—louder than the sounds outside.
“Now what?” she asked.
“We need to build a fire before it gets dark. I’m going to gather wood and twigs.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“It’s too dangerous. You’ll only slow me down.”
“You have an injured leg. You need help, and besides it’s really my choice.”
He stared into her eyes and then looked down at her belly. “Is it your choice?”
She reflexively rubbed a hand over her abdomen.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, and without waiting for a response, walked away.
Now alone, she felt like a kind of prisoner—not because she lacked the freedom to go where she wanted but because she lacked the stamina. The light faded in and out. When it dimmed, she looked toward the entrance. The sky, once filled with splotches of blue, was now beginning to cloud over and had turned a darker shade of gray. The air was getting colder. She walked around to warm up, but it didn’t do much good.
“Where the hell is the rescue squad?” she cried. Her voice echoed against the metal walls. She hadn’t screamed with such force since she was sixteen years old and attending a picnic on the river hosted by her father’s university. An abandoned snowshed and her father’s faculty picnic—what an odd connection to make. Or maybe not so odd. Because on each occasion, she feared her life was over.
Cover Your Tracks Page 6
