Gray (Book 2)

by Cadle, Lou

  More than once, they slipped on the rocks and fell, but they picked themselves up without comment and kept going, as quickly as they could move. As many times as both sacks had been dropped on the rocks, she figured dynamite wasn’t all that unstable, or they’d have been blown to bits by now.

  After an hour of fast hiking, the rocks gave way to smooth snow. She stopped. “I’d like some water.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me get out the smaller bottles. We’ll pack ‘em with snow and let our body heat melt them.”

  “Won’t be much water.”

  “Better than nothing.” She was already opening her sack, which was indeed the right one—the non-dynamite one—and felt around for the bottles. As she packed hers with snow, she said, “Think they know we’re gone yet?”

  “If not now, very soon now. The men’s cabin had so many in it, at least a couple of them got up every night to go out. Only takes one to notice I’m not there.”

  “When it gets light, we can run.”

  “If we’re up for it. They didn’t hurt you, did they? When they did the hair thing?”

  “No. They took my clothes—most of them, I mean—and left me to freeze, but I didn’t. It was nothing.”

  “They wouldn’t let me come. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. You would have had to put on an act.”

  “Not sure I could have kept it up, either.”

  “God, Benjamin, for a minute there, I was worried they’d turned you.”

  “Turned—like converted me?” He barked a laugh, and then grew sober. “You’d think that of me?”

  “I’m sorry. But he told me so, and I started reinterpreting everything, putting the worst possible spin on it. I should have trusted you.”

  “No, I get it. You were under a lot more pressure than I was.”

  “I’ll never doubt you again.”

  He gave her one of his rare smiles. “Never say never.”

  “Never,” she said, adamant.

  “Let’s get going.”

  They lifted their bags again and hurried into the night.

  *

  A few hours later, they agreed to stop for a short rest. They drank the mouthful of water the snow had melted into, and refilled the bottles again. Coral could see him wince as he put the frigid bottle inside his jacket.

  “Is it almost dawn, you think?”

  “I’m not seeing any light, but it must be getting close,” he said.

  After catching their breath, they got to their feet again and hiked on. Soon, light did begin to fade into the gray sky. Another day was dawning. She turned off the flashlight, which was getting dim anyway, and tucked it away.

  “I can see a ridgeline, I think,” said Benjamin. “Head over to your right more.”

  “I think the snow has stopped.” That was bad news. It hadn’t snowed enough to fill in their tracks. That they had pursuers, both of them took for granted. “Think they’ll just shoot us from a distance, or take us back?”

  “I think they’ll shoot me,” he said, giving her a look.

  She understood. They’d want her alive. “Could you kill me with the hatchet, do you think, before they captured me?”

  “I’m damn sure I couldn’t.”

  “I wish we had a gun.”

  “So do I, but not for that reason.” He reached over and took her arm, making her stop. “Where there’s life, there’s still hope. If they do recapture you, stay alive. You’ll get another chance to escape.”

  “Maybe we should split up?” She didn’t want to, but it would be harder to chase two people than one. And she would bet that if they had to choose, they’d come after her.

  “No way. I have a plan. Sort of a half-assed plan, but I have one. We need to get over that ridgeline first.”

  “I’m up for jogging. How about you?”

  “The sacks aren’t going to make it any easier.”

  “I’ll try hugging mine to my chest.” And she did that, and while her running was an ungainly, barely-balanced thing, she was able to get more speed than the night’s trudging. Benjamin grunted but ran alongside her, cradling his own sack of supplies.

  When the land rose more sharply, they had to slow to a walk again. They climbed for long minutes before they reached the ridge. Standing there, she could see the sharp line of snow moving off ahead, following the ridge, until it faded into the gray haze of the ashy air.

  “Let’s go down a few feet, walk parallel to the ridge, okay?” Benjamin said.

  “Fine.” She wasn’t up for more running. It was hard enough to get sufficient oxygen through the mask, and she was growing weary. She’d keep walking all day, though. Anything to put more miles between her and the cult.

  It wasn’t fifteen minutes later that they heard a sharp report in the distance.

  “Rifle fire,” said Benjamin.

  “Was it a signal, do you think?”

  “Someone may have found our trail.”

  “How far away?”

  “A ways, at least a mile. Maybe more.” He looked around and shook his head. “Not here. Let’s keep going.” His voice was quiet, though surely no one could hear them from that distance. He took off in a rapid walk, and she struggled to keep up. Every few minutes, he motioned her to stop, and he climbed alone back up to the peak of the ridgeline. Four times, he trotted back down, shook his head, and moved off again.

  The fifth time, he stood at the crest, nodded, and said, “Here.”

  “Here what?”

  He loped back down the slope. “We make a stand here. If they did find our tracks, we can’t run forever. We’re loaded down, and I bet you they aren’t.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “Dynamite,” he said, and he put his sack on the ground and began removing items. When he had the dynamite unpacked, he repacked everything else. He picked up one of the six-packs of explosive, hefted it, and looked at her. “You should go on. I’ll wait for them.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Coral—”

  “Never again. I won’t be separated from you ever again. You’re my family, Benjamin. I’ll kill first. I’ll die first.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and then said, “Back at you, kiddo.” His voice was tight with emotion.

  “Then tell me what to do.”

  “Dig us a cave.”

  “Really?”

  “Not for sleeping, for protection from the blast. Look for a place protected by rocks, and dig down behind them. When this stuff goes off, it’s going to toss some rocks around. If it goes off.”

  “You don’t know that it’s any good?”

  “Nope. But surely some of it is. We’ll trust to luck this once.”

  “We’ve had a lot of luck, considering. Like the soup. That was lucky.”

  “It was. Speaking of which, let’s have breakfast. Can you chop some meat up while I get this set up?”

  “Sure.” She took the piece of meat from earlier, the fat end of the leg he’d hacked off, and set about making strips. Like jerky, but raw and frozen. While Benjamin disappeared over the ridge with the dynamite, she wrapped it all up in her bandana and shoved it under her sweater. Damn, it was cold. But at least they could eat defrosted meat for breakfast in a few minutes.

  When he returned, they ate together, and he said, “We shouldn’t talk from now on.”

  She said, “Can I see what you did, first?”

  “Let me make sure no one is coming.” When he clambered up to the peak of the ridge, he scanned around, and then waved her over. He pointed down the slope, speaking softly. “I’ve put dynamite every few feet, in among the rocks. You can see a bit of it there, by the double rock that looks like Coneheads?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “If I see them coming, I’m going to stand up and let them see me.”

  “What if they come from behind us? If they follow our tracks exactly, they’ll come up the ridge back there a bit.”

  “I’ll make
myself known before they do that. They’ll come right at me when they see me, I think.”

  “And then?”

  “And I wait until they’re part way up, and I light the dynamite.”

  “Benjamin, if they’re that close, they can shoot you!”

  “I’ll take that chance. Besides, I picked this place because the rocks provided some cover.”

  She pressed her palms to her temples. “This isn’t a great plan.”

  “No. But it’s the only one I could think of, using the tools I could get to. If I had a rifle, I could pick them off from here, one by one. But I don’t.”

  She groaned.

  “And I won’t let them get that close. I want to bring rocks down on them, not blow them up directly.”

  “How long do the fuses burn?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Maybe we should test one.”

  “The noise would bring them quicker.”

  “I mean, can we pull a fuse out, light it, and watch how fast it burns? Make sure it burns at all.”

  “I’d hate to pull the fuse out of the one stick that works.”

  “If only one stick works, that won’t do us much good. C’mon, humor me. Test a fuse, at least.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Loan me your pocket knife.”

  She handed it over and watched him climb down, cut a fuse, and bring it back to her.

  “Got those matches? I was afraid I’d have to try and light these with the fire-starter on your knife. Matches are better.”

  She opened the matches and checked—there were still more than a dozen—and gave him the pack.

  He lit a match, said “Ready?” and when she nodded, he lit the end of the fuse.

  It sputtered, and as it began to burn she counted aloud, “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three.” She could smell the burning fuse as the fire hissed along the length. She reached “one thousand twenty-six” when the fire reached the end and it sputtered out.

  “Call it thirty seconds.”

  “Can you light them all that quickly?”

  “They aren’t placed that far apart.”

  “I’m worried about this.”

  “I won’t blow myself up.”

  “I’m going to pound down a path from there to the ditch I dug. At least you won’t have to run through fresh snow.”

  “And you’ll promise to stay down there, protected?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t think the blast will come over the ridge anyway. As long as I get over that.”

  “I’m going to stomp you down a path anyway,” she said, and proceeded to do so.

  “Thanks.” He said, “I’m going to keep watch now. No more talking.”

  She tramped down snow. Her throat was dry and she was horribly worried. So much could go wrong. The dynamite could be damp or old. The fuses could go out. The cultists could shoot Benjamin. He could blow himself up. She had to figure out a way to help.

  What if the dynamite failed to get them? He had the hatchet, for all the good it would do. She wouldn’t be able to defend herself very well with her knife. She could throw rocks at attackers, and from a higher position, she might be able to hold them off for a moment. But the best thing for her to do would be to take the longest knife blade out and cut herself at the juncture of thigh and torso. If she could get her femoral artery, she’d bleed out, and at least she wouldn’t have to suffer the fate the cult had planned for her. If she knew beyond a doubt that Benjamin was dead, she’d do just that.

  She had the path ready, and the shelter dug, and a half-assed plan in mind. She had run down the path a half-dozen times and thought it was doable in ten or fifteen seconds. Maybe ten, if you knew dynamite was about to explode behind you. She glanced at Benjamin and he was motioning to her—stay down, stay down.

  They must be coming.

  Well, screw it. She wasn’t going to wait back here—it felt far too useless. She ran back up the path and threw herself down at his side.

  “Get back,” he hissed.

  “I will when you go to light the fuses,” she whispered. Inch by inch, she pushed her head up. She could see them, three men, in the distance, unidentifiable at this range.

  “I’m getting up in a second. You go back.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Coral.”

  “Benjamin,” she said in the same tone.

  He made an exasperated sound. Then, after a moment, he threw his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. The men were aiming off to the left, toward their tracks, starting up the hill. “Ready?” said Benjamin. “Set.” And he shot up and yelled.

  She watched as they saw him, and then she could hear one of them shout, too. They veered off and came straight for Benjamin. She thought it might be Pratt, and Calex, and maybe Lorne.

  “Go back,” Benjamin said, and she knew he meant her.

  She slid back, out of sight, and waited for a count of ten, then peered back over. Benjamin was climbing among the rocks, staying low. At least he was trying to protect himself. She didn’t want him to sacrifice himself for her. She might not survive alone, and she wouldn’t really want to try.

  The men marched forward, climbing, climbing. One of them shouted something. “Do you have the woman?” she thought it was. She pulled her pocket knife out and opened the blade, gripping it tightly, ready to kill herself before she let herself get caught.

  Benjamin was still hunkering down, no doubt at one of the packs of dynamite.

  The front man lifted a rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and fired. A split second later, the sound of a gunshot. She could hear the bullet ping off rock. Another man veered off a few feet to get a clear shot and fired his rifle. The third man was scanning all around as he trod up the hill. They came closer, and closer. The first man fired at Benjamin again.

  Now or never. She stood up, and waved her arms. “Hey, you assholes. Shoot at me, why don’t you?” She danced to the right, staying up on the ridge. She wanted them aiming their feet at the right direction, toward the hidden explosives. She would have spoken up to Benjamin, offered herself as a decoy while he waited, hidden, in the rocks, but she’d known he would never have accepted that deal. “Catch me if you can, you fuckin’ loons.”

  When she saw them hurrying faster up the hill, toward her, she shouted louder. With more and more foul language, insulting their brains and their masculinity and their idiotic religion, she tried to keep them focused on her and not on Benjamin.

  He burst out of his hiding place and came careening up the hill, not much more than a hundred feet ahead of the cultists. He wove and dodged and screamed, “Go, go, go!”

  She turned and ran back down the path, her boots pounding on the flattened snow, hearing another rifle shot as she ran, and she threw herself into the pit she’d constructed behind the rocks. Scrambling around, she raised her head, looked back and saw Benjamin pounding over the ridgeline, running hard. Another gunshot split the air.

  “Get down!” he yelled, and she watched him for another moment, looking beyond to the ridgeline as Benjamin ran toward her, but the men weren’t there yet. She crouched down, and he came flying over the lip of the rocks she was behind, just as the blast wave hit, the roar of the explosion right on its heels. He landed on her and they both grunted, and a second later, rocks began raining down on them. “Shit,” he said.

  Her ears rang with the noise of the blast. The thump of falling rocks hitting rock tapered off. If the cultists were still alive, and talking or yelling, her ears were ringing too hard to hear them. “Did you get them?”

  “You crazy woman,” he yelled, rolling off her. “What were you thinking?”

  “That I wanted them thinking about me, not about you.”

  “You did that, all right.”

  “Should we go look? See if you got them?”

  “Maybe you should. I seem to be a little bit….”

  “A little bit what?”

  “Well, you know. Shot.”

/>   “What? Where?” She scrambled up and began patting him all over. “Tell me. Oh my god! Where? Are you bleeding?”

  “Just my arm. But I am feeling weird.”

  “You’re sure they didn’t hit your head?”

  “No. Arm.”

  “It’s probably shock, then.”

  “Check the slope first. Are they still coming?”

  She was torn in two. She wanted to tend to him, but he was right. She had to see what had happened, and if they were going to have to fight or not.

  She ran back up the path, strewn now with rocks from the blast, and looked over the crest. One figure moved, a few hundred feet down, on hands and knees. As she watched, it collapsed and rolled down the hill another few feet, landing face down. There wasn’t even a sign of the two others. She looked at the debris on the ground. No body parts, no blood. Her debate with herself was brief. She scrambled down the slope, noticing the shocking sight of the new hole blasted in the mountain, and stopped at the now unmoving form. She grabbed a big rock and brought it down with both hands on the man’s skull. And then again. And again and again, smashing the head over and over.

  She was panting when she was done. She saw, a dozen feet upslope, his—or another one’s—rifle, and she grabbed it. Scanning the hillside, she saw no sign whatsoever of the other two men. In pieces, she hoped, or buried forever. She started to run back up the hill but then thought better of it, and turned back to the dead man. She unzipped his jacket, felt under his sweater, found a cotton shirt, and brought out her knife. Slicing away at the sides of the shirt, she yanked it hard, cutting when it resisted her, and in seconds she had a fistful of bandage material, not as clean as she’d like, but what other choice had she?

  She ran back up the hill, down the path, and made it back to Benjamin, laying down the rifle, within arm’s reach. “Take your jacket off.”

  When he was slow to respond, she began yanking at it. He said, “I can do it,” and slowly began peeling it off.

  She didn’t want him bare-chested for long in this cold, but she had to see the wound. “Take it all off, then drape the jacket back over your shoulders. Can you?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, peevishly.

  She could see the blood on his sweater, and her heart was pounding in fear at the sight of it. She willed him to hurry. She had to see the wound.