The problem lay in reaching it. She wasn’t sure they were going to get that far. The pounding of the wind and snow was relentless. His steps were growing increasingly wobbly and his weight was wearing her down to the point where she thought her knees might give way. Her heart raced as if she were running a marathon. Her breathing was ragged. With every minute that passed, her fear of not being able to go any farther and getting caught out in the open by the full fury of the storm increased.
“We’re heading up there by those rocks.” She got the words out between pants for air, nodding toward the outcropping as they reached the snow-encrusted tundra that marked the edge of the beach. Despite the fact that she had to work to find sufficient breath to make herself heard, she shared their destination because she couldn’t just drag him where she wanted him to go: he was too big and the rise was too steep.
He lifted his head, looking in the direction she indicated, and made a sound that she thought signified agreement. Neither of them said anything more as they started to climb. For her part, just keeping him upright and moving required all her strength. The now-solid ground was slippery underfoot, he weighed a ton and was unsteady on his feet besides, and the screaming wind gusting around them was strong enough to make battling it a constant, energy-sapping ordeal. Her cheek intermittently brushed his hard-muscled arm where it wrapped around her shoulders, and she found herself unsettled by its latent strength.
“How much—farther?” The words—the first he’d said in a while—were barely audible over the shrieking wind. She glanced up at him. With him looming over her as he was, the bulk of his body provided her with some protection from the worst of the elements. His face was mere inches away. The glint of his eyes in the darkness, the harsh lines of his strong, chiseled features, all spoke of hell-bent determination. It was, she thought, all that was keeping him on his feet. She could smell the sea on him, feel the cold coming off his skin like breath from an open refrigerator.
“We’re almost there.”
“What’s—almost?”
“Right in front of you.” Her mouth was mere inches below his ear. She still had to shout to be heard. “Maybe thirty more steps.”
“Jesus,” he said, not in reply but in response to the storm, the full force of which overtook them at that moment with a violence that stunned her. It was like having a wind tunnel drop down on them. The only thing that kept her from being knocked over by the ferocity of the wind was, ironically, the anchoring effect of his big body draped on top of her. Their surroundings were instantly obliterated by the swirling, rushing fog of snow mixed with sleet blowing around them. Lightning struck nearby with a boom and a bright flash, making her squeak and cringe and wringing a curse out of him. The wind turned absolutely arctic between one breath and the next and shrieked so loudly that it hurt her eardrums. She could no longer see the outcropping, or anything that was more than a foot in front of her poor freezing nose.
“Walk,” Gina ordered. Keeping her face down to try to protect it from the wind, she managed to keep the pair of them lurching forward. Every step was a battle against being blown off their feet.
He managed to stay upright, but only barely, and only because she refused to let him go down. Moving forward, his feet dragged like they’d turned to lead. She somehow got him behind the solid, snowcapped mass of the nearest of the school bus–size rocks that jutted out in an overlapping progression from the ridge. Just like that, the wind no longer pounded them: the outcropping blocked it, blocked the worst of the storm, even better than she’d hoped. Glancing up, she saw that there was an overhang protecting them from above, too. Gina felt the sudden cessation of the wind and lashing snow with a bone-deep thankfulness. Pausing in the thick shadows at the base of the rocks to get her bearings, she felt him sway and automatically tightened her hold on him.
“I need to take a break.” His voice was thick. She could sense the sheer force of will that it was taking for him to stay on his feet.
“It’s all right,” she told him. “We’re here.”
The abrupt slackening she felt in the muscles of his back and arm confirmed everything she’d suspected about how nearly impossible he was finding it to remain upright. His knees didn’t quite buckle, but it was close. She let it happen, doing her best to support him as he collapsed so that he didn’t completely crash to the ground. He ended up sitting with his long legs sprawled in front of him and his back resting against the uneven black surface of the first of the giant rocks.
Crouching beside him, she looked at him with concern. His eyes were closed. She thought he was conscious still, but barely. He looked totally spent.
Thankfully, the outcropping provided a small sanctuary where the blasting wind couldn’t reach them and only small amounts of snow and sleet sifted in from the tempest howling all around. The air was freezing, though, and the lichen-covered ground beneath them was equally cold. She was shivering to the point where she had to periodically clench her teeth to keep them from chattering, and she was dressed for the weather. She couldn’t even allow herself to think about how cold he had to be. The only positive element to the situation was that the now very obvious bloodstain on his shirt no longer seemed to be growing. She put that down to the cold, too, because it restricted blood flow.
“What—now?” His words emerged between uneven breaths as she shrugged out of her backpack and went down on her knees beside him to open it up. His head rested back against the rock as if his neck no longer had the strength to support it. He was looking at her through dark glinting eyes that were barely open. The grim set of his jaw and mouth left her in no doubt that he knew the score: without shelter, and warmth, he would shortly be beyond help.
“Here.” Pulling out a white cotton turtleneck, part of a set of spare clothes that included sweatpants, underwear, and socks, she bundled it into a makeshift pad and passed it to him. “Press that against the injury on your side.”
His hand was unsteady as he took the shirt from her. Moving like it required tremendous effort, he lifted his shirt to press the pad gingerly to his side.
He said, “We can’t stay—in the open.”
“I have a tent.” She extracted the bag containing it from the backpack. The night before she’d slept in that same tent and the sleeping bag that was also rolled into its carrying case in her backpack, just as Arvid had slept in his, while caring for the oil-soaked eagle. She was profoundly grateful for the practical experience that had given her in setting this particular kit up. Under the circumstances, with him in the state he was in and the storm worsening by the second, there was no time to waste. “We’ll have shelter in a few minutes.”
He was breathing heavily and exhaling frosty clouds with each breath. His free hand was tucked beneath his armpit in an effort, she thought, to find some warmth for his frozen fingers. As she reached for her backpack again his head lifted and he seemed to do a slow visual sweep of the snowy maelstrom beyond their small oasis. Then his eyes closed. His head once again rested back against the rock. She could sense how weak he was growing. She was light-headed and wobbly with exhaustion herself, but her own survival as well as his depended on her taking care of their essential needs before she allowed herself to even begin to crash.
What she needed was stashed in one of the backpack’s side pockets: two packets of chemical hand warmers. Crushing the packages to start the heat, she said, “This should help a little,” and placed them on top of his chest, over his shirt—badly chilled skin burned easily, and so the insulation provided by his shirt was vital—and, roughly, over his heart.
Returning to that same pocket, she next grabbed the Mylar blanket that had been packed with the hand warmers. Ripping open the tiny package, she shook the aluminized sheet out with an explosion of metallic crackling that had him opening his eyes to check it out.
“Space blanket,” she explained, tucking it in behind his shoulders. His hand had already moved from his armpit to rest atop the hand warmers. He badly needed to lose the we
t clothes, but that could come later. For now, this would have to do. Inches away, dark and penetrating, his eyes fastened on her face.
“You came back.” His voice was gravelly and harsh. “Why?”
It took her a second, but then she understood him to be asking why, having run away from him when they’d reached land, she’d gone back for him when he’d collapsed getting out of the boat.
“Because you’re a human being,” she answered shortly. The shrieking, writhing snow beast that was the storm had enveloped the world around them completely now, and their shadowy hollow had turned as dark as night. Grabbing her backpack, she groped around through the various items in the main compartment for the flashlight she knew was in there.
He said, “You’re out here watching birds—in November?”
She flicked a look at him. Silhouetted against the silvery curtain of the storm, his features were intensely masculine. There was something in his voice—mistrust? suspicion?—that gave her a prickle of unease. As though he thought there might be another reason why she was on Attu besides the one she’d given him. Once again she was reminded that she was saving the life of a man she knew nothing about, and her heart beat a little faster even as her eyes narrowed at him.
“Yes.”
As answers went, it was terse, but at the moment she wasn’t really feeling like having a lengthy conversation. The situation was too dire, and she was too tired and cold and otherwise miserable. However, given the fact that she had saddled herself with the man, and he might very well be dangerous, and he definitely seemed to be up to no good and mixed up in something she absolutely did not want to know anything about, letting him know that she was exactly who and what she said she was and not any kind of a threat to him probably would be wise.
She continued, “Look, as I told you, I’m an assistant professor at Stanford, I’m here on Attu with a group of scientists to study the effect of pollution on birds, and I happened to see your plane crash. And I fished you out of the sea and saved your life and here we are. That’s it. The whole story.”
Switching on her flashlight without waiting for a reply, she shone it inside the backpack, instantly spotting the water bottle that was her target.
His head came up off the rock with more speed than she would have thought him capable of. His hand shot out of the Mylar and grabbed the wrist of her hand that held the flashlight. She looked at him in surprise. His grip was far stronger than she would have expected for a man who seemed to be teetering on the brink of passing out.
“No light,” he growled.
Chapter Nine
No radio. No light.
Gina’s insides twisted with alarm as she suddenly understood: he thought someone was out there hunting him. On Attu, in the teeth of the storm. Goose bumps prickled across the back of her neck as their eyes met. His were no more than glinting slits. His hold on her wrist felt unbreakable.
Once again, the questions burned in her mind: Who is this guy, and what on earth have I gotten myself into?
The deadly gleam in his dark eyes immobilized Gina for a moment. She once again became aware of the unexpected strength in the hand gripping her wrist.
A cautious voice inside her head warned that assuming he was too weak to harm her might be the last wrong assumption she ever made.
Finally she remembered where they were, and that he needed her if he was going to survive. Which meant that she should be safe enough for now—from him. The storm was another matter. So was whoever he thought was chasing him, apparently.
What felt like a cold finger that had nothing to do with the weather ran down her spine.
Keep it together.
She inhaled, a deep, steadying breath.
First things first: for any of the rest to be a problem, she had to stay alive.
Which among other things meant making preparations to get through the storm. Which meant she needed to be able to see what she was doing, which meant she needed the damned light.
Her eyes narrowed and her chin came up.
“Do you really think anybody’s going to be out in this?” Her voice was tart as she cast a comprehensive glance at the driving sheets of snow mixed with sleet that pelted down around them, hemming them into a space the size of a subway car. The wind howled like a wolf pack on the prowl. Where they were, sheltered at the base of the rocks, it was so dark she could only really see him when a spear of forked lightning split the black clouds tumbling overhead. “Anyway, the only people on this island besides you and me are my colleagues, my friends. You should be wishing they’d find us. But they won’t, not for the next few hours, at least. They’re hunkered down, riding out the storm.”
He slowly released her wrist, which she took as tacit permission to continue with what she’d been doing. Which she did, grabbing the water bottle and twisting off the lid.
“Scientists. Looking at birds.” There was no missing the skepticism in his voice as he watched her.
“That’s right.” Taking a long drink herself, she handed him the bottle. “Here. It’s water.”
“Water.” He said it almost reverently as he put the bottle to his lips. She could hear him guzzling it as she dug into the backpack again for her fire-starting kit, which was nothing more than a collection of items useful for that purpose rolled together in a ziplock bag.
Propping the flashlight up on a rock so that she could see what she was doing, she quickly made a pile of the cotton balls and small dry sticks that came in the kit. Ignoring the dread that snaked through her veins, she flicked the Bic lighter to set it alight. The small flame blazed brightly in the darkness.
He lowered the water and his head shot up off the rock in the same swift movement. The forceful but inarticulate sound of protest he made caused her to jump. The lighter went out.
“Yes, I know. No fire,” she snapped, glaring at him. She was shivering and exhausted and scared and her patience was fraying. Normally the temperature on Attu in November never sank below thirty-two degrees, but they were well under that already, while the thermometer continued to drop. “Only, without a fire we’re probably going to freeze to death. So whatever you’re worried about is going to have to take a backseat to living through the night.”
The look he gave her was hard with suspicion. She returned it with interest. His left leg moved restlessly, sliding up and bending at the knee as though he sought to make himself more comfortable. She wondered whether he’d hurt himself with his sudden movement. He grimaced, and his head sank back against the rock, as if holding it up any longer required too much effort. He lifted the water bottle again and drank. His eyes continued to gleam at her over it, but she took his lack of verbal response as tacit acceptance that she would build her fire, so she began constructing the relevant pieces.
“The people you’re with—you know them?”
There was no mistaking the mistrust in his voice.
“They’re college professors. Academics,” she replied with a noticeable lack of patience. In a way, though, she was almost glad of the distraction he presented. The knot in her stomach as she flicked the Bic on again, then touched the lighter to the cotton and watched tiny fingers of orange flame spring to life and begin to grow, was exactly what she’d expected, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. Instead of getting caught up in horrific memories, it was far better that she concentrate on dealing with him.
“You know them?” he persisted.
Actually, she knew Arvid and Ray and Mary Dunleavy from UCLA and Jorge Tomasini from Princeton and Andrew Clark from Wash U. They’d attended several conferences together, and she and Arvid and Ray had collaborated on a grant proposal to fund a study of oil-eating microbes that was still pending. The others she’d met when they had arrived on Attu.
“Not all of them.” Tearing handfuls of dry tundra from a patch near her knees, she quickly added that to the growing fire. “But the ones I don’t know, I know of. I know who they are, their résumés.”
“Résumés.”
>
The skepticism in that made her frown.
He said it as if he thought the résumés might be bogus. As if he thought she and her fellow scientists might be bogus.
As if he suspected them of something.
“Who are you?” she demanded testily. “And who on earth do you think we are?”
He didn’t answer, and as they exchanged measuring looks, dozens of horrifying possibilities for who he was chased one another through her mind. Could he be a drug smuggler? A spy? A terrorist? A fugitive? A—
Stop it, she ordered herself, and shot him a killing look. “Just so we’re clear, whatever it is that’s going on here, whatever’s up with you, I don’t care. It’s nothing to do with me, and it’s nothing to do with my colleagues or what we’re doing here. And for the record, I’m damned tired of being menaced by a man whose life I’m doing my best to save.”
“Menaced?” The rasp in his voice made her think of a rusty file scraping across metal. He’d finished with the water. The empty bottle was on the ground beside him, and his hand had disappeared back beneath the Mylar. His eyes narrowed at her. “I haven’t menaced you.”
“Whatever you want to call it. The point is, I want it to stop. Right now. Or you can start saving your own ass.” She gave him a level look and, when he didn’t reply, got on with what needed to be done. Without any more fuel than was available within the small protected area, the fire wouldn’t last long, but she hoped that it would last long enough to at least heat the rocks that she’d been scooping up as they were speaking and that were now piled around the edges of the flames. She followed that by also positioning the collapsible metal pan, in which she eventually meant to place the rocks, near the blaze. A fire in a tent was an invitation to disaster, and she personally, along with an equally abiding fear of flying, had an abiding fear of being trapped in a fire. But heated rocks were a different thing. Used properly, in an enclosed space such as a tent, they equaled a primitive furnace. And while the fire was burning, its heat could do some additional good: it made the bitter cold in its general vicinity a few degrees less bitter.
Darkness Page 7
