by Tarah Benner
She smiled as he tugged off her T-shirt and then rolled on top of him so he could fully appreciate the view. Her breath caught in her throat as he drank in the sight of her half-naked body, and she ran her hands nervously up his hard muscular chest.
They hadn’t had a moment to themselves in more than a week, and Lark was dying to be touched. She swallowed as Soren slowly caressed her body, but their moment of bliss was shattered by a loud knock at the door.
Lark yelped in surprise, and Soren let out a groan.
“Go away!” he called, working his fingers into the waistband of Lark’s underwear and giving them a playful tug.
The knock became louder and more insistent.
“We’re not —”
But before Soren could finish his thought, the bedroom door burst open. Lark shrieked and tumbled off of him not half a second before Axel strode into the room. Bernie and Simjay pushed in behind him, and Lark yanked the covers up to her chest.
“Hey!” Soren yelled, sitting up and grabbing a pillow for his lap to conceal what they had just been up to.
“Whoa!” Axel thundered, holding up a hand to block Soren from view.
“What the hell?” Soren yelled.
“Get up!” Axel yelled, grabbing Soren’s pants off the floor and tossing them onto the mattress. “Get dressed! We gotta go.”
“What are you —”
“Those fuckin’ assholes called the cops on us, genius,” Axel growled. “James is downstairs. We gotta move.”
“What?” spluttered Lark, still holding the covers over her chest and looking around for her clothes. Soren had tossed her shirt about a foot out of reach, and she had no idea what she’d done with her bra.
Seeing what Lark was up to, Bernie grabbed her jeans and shirt off the floor and discreetly brought them over to her. Lark shot her a grateful smile but didn’t release her grip on the covers.
“What do you mean they called the cops?” Soren asked, getting out of bed and nearly falling over as he attempted to pull on his pants.
“They had one of them police radios.”
Lark shook her head. She was still in shock from the group’s abrupt entrance, and she was having a hard time processing the fact that the Bakers had turned them in.
“James says the US Marshals are here,” said Axel. “They’re searchin’ the resort — for us.”
“Shit,” Soren breathed, locking eyes with Lark. She knew what he was thinking: This was the worst possible time to have law enforcement after them.
Axel stormed out of the room with Soren close behind, still bellowing insults about Big Red and Rachel. Bernie banished Simjay from the room with one stern look, and Lark had a chance to drop the covers and pull on her clothes.
“I can’t believe this,” she cried, cramming her sweatshirt over her head and casting around for her socks.
“I know,” said Bernie.
This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t — not when they were caught in a snowstorm and Portia was less than five weeks from her due date.
Downstairs, Lark could hear Soren yelling at James. She found her socks and thundered down the stairs to calm him down, but she could tell that Soren was past the point of no return.
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” he yelled.
He was standing across the living room from James, who looked as though he wanted to die.
“I had no idea they would do something like this,” said James. “Honestly. But you caught them off guard last night. Hell, you caught me off guard.”
Soren shot Axel a livid glare.
“I told the US Marshals Service that I said you could have any of the cabins in Aspen Grove. That should buy you some time to load up and get out of town.”
“And then what?” thundered Soren. “You said yourself that the roads are impassable in a storm! What are we supposed to do?”
“You can take my Jeep,” said James quickly. “Your truck is two-wheel drive. The Jeep will be better.”
“We have a friend in the next room who is eight — months — pregnant!” Soren bellowed. “Did your asshole friends consider that when they tattled to the goddamned police?”
“I know. I’m sorry,” said James. “Look. I’ll get some supplies together and an extra gas can for the back of the Jeep. If you go right now, you might be able to make it through the pass before the roads get too bad.”
“Go? Go where?”
“We could head back to the Baileys’,” said Bernie quietly.
“That’s like six hundred miles away!” Soren cried.
“It might be our only choice,” Lark murmured.
Soren didn’t respond to that. He was still seething, and Lark knew that he was imagining what would happen if they couldn’t make it. The roads were bad, but staying there was even more dangerous.
“Fuck,” Soren muttered. “Okay . . . Let’s do this.”
Lark didn’t like this plan — not one little bit. But she couldn’t see any alternative. The US Marshals were searching New Vail at that moment, and it was only a matter of time before they figured out that James had sent them on a wild-goose chase.
The next few minutes were a frantic blur. They dressed in all the clothes they had and layered up with the gear they’d taken from the ski shop. Lark and Bernie went with James to grab as many supplies as they could fit in the back of the vehicles while the boys unloaded the crates of seed.
While they were unpacking, Conrad blazed up on a snowmobile wearing a snowsuit and goggles that obscured most of his face. Lark guessed that he had heard the news.
“Conrad . . . What are you doing here?” asked Bernie as he dismounted. “Are you coming with us?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, peeling off his goggles. “I don’t think they’re looking for me yet, but I have a plan.”
Lark didn’t ask what Conrad’s plan entailed. She was more worried about getting the hell out of New Vail before they got snowed in.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” said Conrad, his voice strained with nerves. “And I wanted to give you this.” He handed Bernie the backpack he’d been wearing, which was nearly bursting at the seams. “There are some fire starters in there . . . emergency blankets, hand warmers, and a radio. It’s tuned to the same station as mine, so you can get in touch if you run into trouble.”
“Thanks,” said Bernie, moved that he had turned up in their hour of need. “Thanks for everything, Conrad.”
“Yes,” said Simjay, setting a crate of food in the back of the Subaru and walking toward Conrad with his arms outstretched. “Thank you, old friend.”
“Don’t mention it,” Conrad mumbled as Simjay wrapped him in a brotherly embrace.
“Thank you,” said Lark, giving Conrad a look that she hoped communicated just how grateful she felt.
“Don’t mention it,” said Conrad, flushing from all the praise. “If you’re ever in the area . . .”
“We’ll look you up,” said Bernie. And she meant it.
Conrad’s eyes bugged out as Bernie dived in for a hug, but he wrapped his arms around her anyway. “Cordelia, Ophelia, and Desdemona would welcome the company,” he mumbled.
Once the vehicles were loaded and they’d finished their goodbyes, James directed them toward a secret back exit. Lark hadn’t known there was another way out of New Vail, and apparently the US Marshals didn’t either.
Axel and Soren drove the Jeep, and the rest of them crammed into the Subaru. None of them wanted to spend the next several hours listening to Axel go on about how he’d been right about the Bakers.
The second they pulled onto the highway, Lark knew that they had not really understood James when he’d told them how a storm could render the roads unusable. The snow was heavy and perilously deep, and the gentle flakes Lark had watched from the bedroom window had morphed into a blizzard.
As she drove, the snow seemed to lull her into a trance. The flakes were flying at their car on the back of a ferocious wind, and that visual had a hypnotic effect. She
felt as though she were flying through deep space with stars whizzing past their ship, and despite the obvious danger of their situation, Lark began to feel sleepy.
“You want me to drive?” asked Simjay after an hour and a half of their horrendous push through the storm.
Lark blinked several times and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
But even as she said it, Lark knew she wasn’t fine. The Jeep was having a much easier time navigating the snow, and she could barely discern Soren and Axel’s taillights on the road ahead.
Lark could hear the crunch of snow under their tires as the vehicle churned through the mess. The temperature had risen several degrees, turning the light morning flakes into a wetter, heavier snow. It was slick and cumbersome under the tires, and the vehicle was struggling to churn through the muck.
She had no idea how they were going to make it all the way to Carlsbad. The farm was ten hours away in the best conditions, and they were making stunningly slow progress. They had to get more miles under their belt if they wanted to find a safe place to rest, but Lark was already pushing her limits.
A few minutes later, they hit a particularly deep patch of snow. She pressed the gas, but they didn’t move.
“Uh, Lark . . .” It was Simjay.
“We’re not stuck,” said Lark, more to herself than to anyone else. Bernie and Portia had drifted off in the backseat with Denali, who was wide awake. His ears were back, his eyes were alert, and his hackles were raised as if he sensed trouble.
“Lark . . .”
“I got this,” said Lark, giving the car a little more gas.
Nothing happened.
“Actually, I might need you to get out and push for a sec.”
“I can do that.”
Lark squinted up ahead through the relentless snow. The Jeep’s taillights had completely disappeared. The boys had left them behind, and Lark felt a sudden surge of rage.
This. Was all. Axel’s. Fault.
Lark cranked down hard on the gas pedal, and suddenly a spray of snow shot out from the tires. The car lurched forward, and she kept the pedal depressed.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered. Lark downshifted, and the car seemed to shudder as they pulled through the drift. She turned the wheel to steer them around the bend, and at the same moment, she felt the tires catch a patch of slick frozen snow. They fishtailed dangerously along the curve, Lark struggling to steer into the skid.
“Oh sh —”
But Lark didn’t even have a chance to finish her thought. The vehicle stuttered forward around the bend, sliding in slow motion toward the deep snow-packed ditch.
“No, no, no, no!” Lark yelled.
Bernie and Portia woke with a start, and Denali let out a panicked bark.
The vehicle swerved as they lurched off the pavement, and Lark felt her seatbelt cut into her neck. They plunged into the ditch with a horrible groan, and the Subaru came to a halt.
23
Lark
It was a surprisingly anticlimactic wreck. They all jerked forward in their seats as the nose of the Subaru dipped into the ditch, and the snow stopped the vehicle less than a foot from a tall pine. They were stuck in a gully of deep heavy snow, and their back tires were wedged uselessly against the embankment.
Lark banged her head against the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
“What the hell happened?” squawked Portia, opening her eyes with a slight grimace.
“What do you think happened?” Lark growled.
She was so not in the mood. She was worried and exhausted and frustrated beyond belief. She was also angry, but not with Axel. This was her fault, too. She’d told the Bakers they’d escaped from San Judas, which was the only reason they’d known whom to report to the US Marshals.
“It’s okay,” said Simjay. “Hey, it’s okay. Axel and Soren have got a wench on that Jeep. They can pull us out, and then we can —”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Lark weakly. “We aren’t going to make it — not in this thing.”
Lark glanced up at the rearview mirror, expecting to see Portia glaring back at her. But when she caught sight of Portia’s expression, Lark had to do a double take. Portia wasn’t glaring at her or gearing up for an insult. Her face was scrunched in pain and confusion, but she wasn’t even looking at Lark.
“Ahhhh!” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“What is it?” asked Bernie, touching Portia’s knee with a look of concern.
Portia didn’t answer. She just shook her head and doubled over as though she were fighting a particularly intense bout of cramps.
“Portia?” said Lark.
She didn’t like the way Portia was acting. It was making her nervous not to be yelled at.
Portia shook her head and moaned, slowly opening her eyes and gritting her teeth. “Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing,” said Simjay.
“I just . . . felt weird for a second,” said Portia, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you wrecked!”
“I didn’t mean to,” Lark snapped, searching the road for the Jeep.
She wasn’t looking forward to Axel’s snide comments about women and driving, but they definitely needed a tow.
“How long do you think it’ll take for them to realize?” Simjay asked.
“I don’t know.”
Just then, Portia let out a groan from the back seat, and everyone turned to look at her.
This time, it was clear that Portia’s discomfort wasn’t nothing. She was leaning back in the seat clutching her belly, eyes squeezed shut in pain.
“Fuuuuck,” she groaned as Denali stood up and wagged his tail in interest.
“Oh my god,” Bernie squeaked, gripping Portia’s shoulder with one hand and taking her clenched fist in the other. “Are you having a contraction?”
Her voice was nervous but also excited — maybe more excited than it should have been.
“Ahhhh!” Portia screamed, squeezing Bernie’s hand and nodding emphatically.
“But you’re only thirty-five weeks!” Bernie cried.
Portia continued to whimper in pain, her face reddening as she clamped down over Bernie’s hand. It looked as though she were trying to break all of Bernie’s fingers to communicate that the math didn’t matter — she was having a contraction.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Simjay in a shaky voice. “I’m sure it’s nothing. My mom told me that this happened when she was pregnant with me. It’s probably just gaaaaas!”
At that moment, Portia had reached up and grabbed a fistful of Simjay’s perfect hair. Simjay froze, his face contorted in pain.
“Okay, okay!” he croaked, his eyes watering as Portia tightened her grip. “You’re having a contraction!”
Portia released him but kept her eyes clamped shut.
“Okay, okay, okay,” cried Bernie. “Everybody just stay calm. Sim’s right. They could be Braxton Hicks contractions. Are you dehydrated?”
Portia shook her head.
“Do you have to pee?”
Again Portia shook her head.
“I think you should lie down. Sometimes with false labor, if you lie on your left side, the contractions will stop.”
Portia looked furious but tipped over onto her side. Denali scooted out of the way, his tail still wagging. Apparently, Bernie’s words carried a lot more authority than Simjay’s.
“If they start growing stronger and closer together, then we’ll know they’re real,” Bernie muttered.
Lark glanced over at Simjay, who was wearing an expression of abject horror that exactly mirrored her emotions. Braxton Hicks contractions aside, this was her worst nightmare come to life: Portia giving birth in a snowstorm in the back of the Subaru.
At that moment, Lark saw the Jeep’s headlights cutting through the gale. Soren and Axel had finally noticed that they weren’t behind them and had doubled back to pull them out of the ditch.
“Hang on,” said Lark, taking a deep breath and att
empting to push the door open.
“Where are you going?” asked Simjay, grabbing on to Lark’s arm.
“I need to go talk to them,” she said, yanking her arm back and giving the door a shove. It wouldn’t budge.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” asked Simjay. “Leaving me here alone with . . .” He glanced back at Portia, who was rocking in her seat.
“Yes!” Lark snapped, still struggling with the door. “You’ll be fine.”
But in truth, Lark couldn’t wait to get out of that car. She felt as though she were suffocating in a shallow grave, and she realized that she’d rather be anywhere else than stuck in a car with Portia during childbirth. At that moment, Bernie was gripping Portia’s hand, reminding her of the breathing techniques that she’d insisted they practice.
“Hey!” Simjay hissed as Lark rolled down the window and started to climb out of the car. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know!” Lark growled, summersaulting into the snow. “You think I’ve delivered a baby before?”
“No,” said Simjay. “Which is why we need a doctor.”
“Simjay!” Bernie snapped. “What we need is a positive birthing environment. Keep those baby-killing thoughts to yourself!”
Lark had to stifle a laugh. As enamored with Simjay as Bernie was, she cared about the baby more. And Lark could tell by Bernie’s deadly tone that she was not making a request.
“Birthing environment?” Simjay mouthed at Lark.
But Lark didn’t hear whatever midwife bullshit Bernie said next. She was up to her thighs in snow, wading toward the Jeep.
“What the hell did you do?” yelled Axel.
Lark ignored him. She was panicked and shaken at the thought of Portia going into actual labor. She wanted to claw her own eyes out and crawl out of her skin. She didn’t think she could handle it, but she didn’t have a choice.
“What’s going on?” asked Soren, correctly interpreting the distress in Lark’s eyes.
“Portia . . .” Lark swallowed to ward off the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm her. “Portia might be going into labor.”
