The bandits could tell I was trying to distract them, and they weren’t buying it. Only one of the men rode down the edge of the orchard to deal with me.
He stopped twenty feet from me and lazily sized me up as I stepped out from the trees. I loaded a half-rotted, frozen apple into the sling. The bandit smiled like he knew the apple wouldn’t hurt him.
But it wasn’t meant to hurt. And it wasn’t for him—it was for the horse he rode, Chance.
I pulled the apple back in the sling. The handle didn’t feel right, and the band didn’t stretch the same as mine at home, but at least I had a big target. I let go, and the apple sailed across the space between us. It wasn’t a shot to win contests, but it hit Chance on his left shoulder. He reared, bucking the bandit right off his back before galloping away.
Normally, I hated that Chance would run off and leave his rider in a heap on the ground, and I refused to ride him if any other horse was available. Today, though, I wanted to kiss him.
The bandit stumbled to his feet, saying a bunch of words that would have made my mom cover my ears. By his limping steps in Chance’s direction, I could tell that something hurt. Probably his tailbone. The man pulled out his gun, aimed at Chance, fired a shot, and missed. Chance ran without breaking stride, and the bandit yelled, “Miserable horse! You aren’t worth the bullet I spent on you!”
I didn’t hang around to see if he had another bullet to spend on me. I kept as close to the trees as I could, so he’d believe he had no chance of hitting me. As I ran along the edge of the trees toward the other bandits, I picked up five more apples. The others saw what had happened to their friend, so they held their reins tight and braced themselves. The one farthest from me was in charge, and gave the closer man orders to keep me in sight while he maneuvered nearer to Aaren, Brock, and Brenna. The three of them had stopped three rows in, unsure of what to do.
The closer man rode my favorite horse, Arabelle. I knew my apple wouldn’t hurt, but I still felt bad. I took aim and hit her flank. She sidestepped. When I hit her with a second apple, though, she reared. The bandit slid off, landed on his feet, and grabbed Arabelle’s reins to calm her. I hit her two more times quickly, and she ran. Her rider chose not to run after her.
Instead, he ran after me.
I cut back into the orchard. When I neared Aaren, Brock, and Brenna, I yelled, “Get to the Bomb’s Breath!” I was so glad they had put their snowshoes on. At least they’d be able to escape quicker. As Brock and Aaren ran toward the fences, with Brenna on Brock’s back, I ran alongside the edge of the orchard, slowing enough to take aim and shoot at the third rider’s horse, even though it wouldn’t make a difference. He rode Jack, the most even-tempered horse in White Rock, the one little kids learned to ride on.
When the apple hit, Jack flicked his tail but stayed calm. The second apple hit him in the leg, and he snorted but his rider soothed him by patting his neck and speaking softly. I figured Jack wouldn’t run off, but at least I’d distracted his rider long enough for Aaren, Brenna and Brock to get to the fence. The man looked back to them just as they climbed over the warning fences, then he looked at me. By the expression on his face, he knew he couldn’t go after all of us, but if he caught me, the others would come back for me.
He was probably right, which meant I couldn’t get caught.
I slowed long enough to aim my next apple at the rider himself. He didn’t stay as calm or as quiet as Jack did, but he didn’t leave his horse to come into the orchard, either. The footfalls of the bandit chasing me sounded too close, so I didn’t shoot my last apple. His legs were longer than mine. I needed an advantage over him and the guy on the horse.
The shed.
I ran like my life depended on it, which didn’t take a lot of imagination. When I reached the edge of the orchard, the running bandit was so close I could hear his breathing, and the man on the horse closed in on me. The fifteen feet of open space between the orchard and the shed felt like a hundred as I ran. I flung the shed door open and made it inside moments before the rider and the running man caught up.
Apple boxes and baskets lay stacked and randomly strewn next to ladders, tree trimmers, and shovels. I knocked the stacks over as I ran to the opposite end of the shed, where shelves completely covered the wall except for the shuttered window you could prop open for sunlight.
The bandit behind me swore as he flung baskets and boxes against the wall, while the bandit on the horse yelled from the doorway, “Get her!”
The shed was dark enough that I doubted they knew the window was there until I climbed the shelves and threw open the shutters. I had planned to gracefully jump out of it, but when the bandit grabbed at my leg, I tumbled out and landed facedown in the snow.
I struggled to my feet and ran toward the warning fences. As I climbed the horizontal logs, I glanced over my shoulder. Both bandits chased me—one on foot and the other on horseback, and it was obvious he intended to jump the fence. I almost felt bad for the guy. Sure, his horse was the one most immune to slingshot apples, but Jack was meek in every way, including doing anything daring. Like jumping fences.
I had just made it past the bush we normally hid our schoolbags under when I heard one bandit curse Jack’s incompetence. Then fence boards creaked under the men’s weight. Twice.
My lungs ached from breathing in the cold air while running. The snow was deep, and every step took so much energy, I wished I’d had time to untie my snowshoes from my back and put them on. Aaren, Brock, and Brenna plodded through the snow a hundred yards ahead of me, almost to the Bomb’s Breath. I scrambled up the steep part and managed to yell between panting breaths, “They’re coming!” I risked one look back at the men, even though I could hear their heavy breathing. The closer one wasn’t more than a dozen feet behind me, and the two who had ridden Jack and Chance were not much farther behind.
When Aaren, Brenna, and Brock neared the Bomb’s Breath, they sucked in a huge breath; then Aaren and Brock picked up Brenna and tromped up the mountain.
The Bomb’s Breath was fifteen feet thick if you measured it straight up—like against the wall of the cliff we jump off. But when you climb a mountain, you don’t go straight up, you go on an angle. So it was more like twenty-five or thirty feet. That isn’t too far normally, but when you’re trudging through a couple of feet of snow and can’t take a breath, it sure is. When Aaren, Brenna, and Brock reached the boulder that meant they were beyond the Bomb’s Breath, they fell to the ground.
I didn’t think the bandits would have any trouble believing they were dead. They even looked dead to me. I let myself believe it long enough to yell a pained “No!” Then I filled my lungs with air and trudged through the Bomb’s Breath. I’d never had such a hard time not breathing. With each clomping step in the deep snow, through pressurized air that took more energy to walk in than normal air, after running so long to get away from the bandits, I needed to breathe even more than usual.
When I finally reached the boulder above the Bomb’s Breath, I felt like I was going to die.
I thought our plan to fake our deaths was brilliant, until I realized how difficult it would be after escaping. It was almost impossible to breathe shallowly when all I wanted to do was take great big heaving breaths.
I lay on my stomach in the snow and tried to pull enough air into my lungs without making my back rise, and without my breath showing up in the cold morning air. And without feeling like I was going to pass out.
The three men discussed whether we were actually dead, and if they should try to somehow drag us to their side of the Bomb’s Breath to see. None of them were willing to get anywhere near it, though.
About the time my cheek, my arms, and the fronts of my legs became numb from the cold, the men decided that we must be dead, and that they should go back to the community center and tell Mickelson what happened. I heard the hooves of the horse and the crunching of at least one pair of boots in the snow, but I wasn’t sure if I heard the second.
“Wake
up, wake up,” Brenna said in a singsong voice. “The bad guys are gone.”
I opened my eyes and said a quick “Shh!” before I dared move.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We did it! We did it! We escaped!”
The bandits weren’t in sight, though the cliff we normally jumped off blocked my view of everything downhill. I let out a huge breath of relief. They were gone!
“Come here, Brenna,” Brock said. Brenna clambered onto his back, and he took a few steps. I couldn’t believe how well the snowshoes worked.
I strapped on my snowshoes as quickly as possible. We walked up the mountain to where we usually sky jumped off the higher cliff, then we kept walking to the part of the mountain no one had stepped foot on before. It felt strange. It could have been the adrenaline from escaping the bandits, but it felt kind of exciting, too. We were doing something no one else had done.
I’d never used snowshoes before. They were wider and much longer than my shoes, but they actually kept me up on top of the snow. I had to walk like I’d spent too much time riding Arabelle, though, to keep each snowshoe from hitting my leg when I took a step.
We walked half a mile until we reached an area where lots of trees grew close together. The firs were much taller than they looked from the valley—the lowest branches were high enough that we could walk under most of them, and they kept almost all the snow off the ground.
“Do you wanna get down?” Brock asked Brenna.
“Yep,” she said as she slipped to the ground. “I’ll keep up. Because I’m really fast.”
“You’re probably faster than me,” Brock said as we tied our snowshoes to our backs and walked under the tree canopy. Brenna ran ahead of us to prove him right.
“You’re really good with her,” Aaren said. “Thanks.”
Brock just looked ahead. “She reminds me of my sister. They’re the same age.”
I was shocked to hear that he had a sister. The only other person I knew with the last name of Sances was Brock’s grandpa. “Does she go to school?” I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway, hoping Brock would tell us more.
He looked sad and shook his head no.
Brock didn’t start school until he was twelve, so maybe his sister didn’t go to school for the same reasons. Carina was probably right about his dad. “Brock,” I said, hoping my question wouldn’t make him mad, “why don’t you ever talk about your family? If your dad is a little crazy, that’s okay.”
Brock just looked at me for a few moments, like he was trying to decide whether to tell me. Then he shook his head and looked forward. “He’s not. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about him.” He pushed his hands into his coat pockets, his shoulders sagging again, and walked faster to catch up with Brenna. It made me wish I hadn’t asked.
After a mile, the trees thinned and became shorter. Instead of almost all the ground being free of snow like it was through the trees, it was three feet deep everywhere. Because Brenna didn’t have her own snowshoes, she’d no longer be able to walk. We figured it was a good place to stop for breakfast.
I opened the bag my mom had given me and laughed—she’d packed three of everything. I wondered if she had guessed the third person would be Brenna or Brock. The bag was filled with rolls, biscuits, dried meat, carrots, apples, raisins, and, wrapped in a dishcloth, three of my favorites—cherry pastries. We started with the pastries. That way they wouldn’t get too squished on our journey. Each of us broke off a part of ours for Brenna. We all had our water skins, but since we still had so far to walk, we ate snow instead of drinking the water. Once our stomachs were full and our snowshoes were on our feet, we stared at the mountain in front of us.
“How far do you think it is to the Shovel?” Brock asked.
From where we stood, we had a clear view, and it looked a lot bigger than our usual view of it from the valley.
Aaren shrugged. “Four hours? Five, maybe?”
I scoffed. “I bet we make it in two. Look how close it is! It won’t take us that long.”
“It’s not as close as you’d think,” Aaren said. “Brenna, come hop on my back.”
“We can carry her,” I said.
“I can do it.” He winced as she climbed up, but he tried to hide the pain. After adjusting Brenna on his back, he started walking. Every step looked painful.
“I’ll take her,” I said, but he held on to her just a little tighter. “Aaren—your stomach hasn’t healed enough. I can take her.”
“We all have the same goal here, right?” Brock said. “It doesn’t matter who carries her, as long as we get there safely.”
Aaren heaved a defeated sigh, then let her slide off his back. “Thanks.”
We almost never stopped to rest as we headed toward the top of the mountain. All it took for any of us to get over feeling tired was a thought of my dad, or Mr. Hudson, or all the people who could get Shadel’s soon.
I made sure to keep the Shovel in sight whenever trees or cliffs didn’t block my way, but as we walked, the day grew darker instead of lighter. Dense storm clouds crowded the sky and blocked out the sun, making it even colder. The mountain rose steeper and steeper, with boulders or cliffs filling almost every space. Most were so big, we had to go around them. I wondered how crazy our footprints in the snow would look from above.
I didn’t want Aaren to think it was hard to carry Brenna, so I kept her on my back for far too long. After an hour, every step was difficult, and my arm muscles were numb from holding her legs. I stopped to catch my breath, and Brock said, “Let me take her.”
Brenna scooted around to my side, and I grabbed under her arms to pass her to Brock. I misjudged how exhausted my muscles were, and as Brenna’s legs let go of my waist, I dropped her. We all screamed as she fell into the snow up to her ears; then she beat the snow away from her face.
“Are you hurt?” Aaren asked. “Can you stand up?”
“I am standing up!” Brenna jumped a little to show us.
I had never seen snow so deep before. We couldn’t kneel to pull Brenna out or we’d sink, too. It took all three of us to pull her up. Once we finally got her onto Brock’s back, I followed behind, brushing snow off Brenna and apologizing a million times.
It took forever to reach the Shovel—probably the four or five hours that Aaren had guessed it would take. Once we neared it, we discovered that the Shovel wasn’t all the way at the top—it only looked that way from the valley. As snowflakes began to fall, Aaren pointed. “We should stop there for lunch before the weather gets worse.”
Brock nearly collapsed as he set Brenna down. I’d been so exhausted when I handed her over to him, I had left him carrying her much longer than I should have. As soon as I opened the food bag, I handed Brock his portion first. He probably needed it the most after that. We ate biscuits, dried meat, and apples, while keeping an eye on the thick clouds overhead. They made me nervous. At least the cliff face of the Shovel kept most of the wind and snow off us.
Aaren looked around the edge of the Shovel toward the top of the mountain, then at the sky. “We need to go. Now.”
We packed what was left of our lunch and slung our bags over our shoulders. We’d all been caught in enough snowstorms to know we needed to move. I adjusted Brenna’s hood to make sure it covered her ears and pulled her coat sleeves over her gloves, then did the same for mine. Our coats were warm—hopefully warm enough. I just wished they covered our legs, too.
I crouched down so Brenna could climb on my back.
“Ready?” Aaren asked.
I hiked Brenna a little higher and got a good hold of her legs. “Yep.” We all took a deep breath and stepped into the wind as it blew the snow toward us in sheets. The snow felt like hundreds of needles stabbing my skin. Brenna nuzzled her face into the back of my neck. The wind blew against me so hard, making each step seem like I was staying in the same place. I leaned into the snow and pushed myself even more.
It took less than thirty minutes after we left the Shovel to
reach the top of the mountain, even though it felt farther than the entire distance we’d come. I was frozen and everything hurt, but a flutter of excitement still ran through me as I thought about looking over the crest and seeing Browning, especially from so high up. To see what was outside the valley I’d spent almost my entire life in.
The wind drowned out all sounds except the beating of my heart in my ears. I stepped onto the crest to look past the miles of mountain below me, to where I knew the plains must begin. To where I knew Browning’s houses were close together, inside tall dirt walls in the shape of a square. As I looked out, I saw no color, no forms, and certainly not distance. The only thing in sight was the obscuring white of the worst blizzard I had ever seen.
The landscape was much rougher than on our side of the mountain, which made the blinding blizzard a huge problem. There were so many times we almost walked into the sheer face of a cliff, a section of forest that was impassable, or a drop-off too steep to climb down, then had to backtrack to find a different path. I felt guilty every time I led us in a direction that made us turn around. We had far enough to go without zigzagging our way down the mountain.
And then there was the issue of the Bomb’s Breath. I had made a mental note of how long it had taken us to travel from the Bomb’s Breath on White Rock’s side of the mountain to the top. I had planned to go that same distance down the outside of the mountain before starting to feel around for the Bomb’s Breath. With all our backtracking, though, I had no idea how far we were from it. I kept trying to look behind us toward the top of the mountain, to figure out how far we’d come, but I couldn’t see more than a yard’s distance through the blizzard. And my feet felt so heavy, especially in the snowshoes, that I wasn’t sure I’d even notice if I stepped right into the Bomb’s Breath. And if we couldn’t tell when we walked into it, we could die.
I’d never been so cold in all my life. It had been forever since I last had feeling in my fingers or toes, or even my arms and legs. I constantly worried I’d drop Brenna.
Sky Jumpers Series, Book 1 Page 11
