A Solitude of Wolverines

by ALICE HENDERSON

  Coming around for another strike, she swung the pole hard, hitting him in the head, then used it as a javelin and rammed it into his chest. He grunted, flying backward into the snow.

  “Cliff!” Gary shouted in the distance. “You find her?”

  Alex gripped the J-bar and thrust it forward, aiming for Cliff’s throat. But he grabbed the pole at the last minute, averting the blow and throwing her off balance. She stumbled forward as he got to his feet. He wheeled on her, punching her so hard in the ear that her teeth clacked together and she went down hard in the snow.

  “You’re dead!” he shouted. He bent to grab her by the hair and she kicked out with her right foot, connecting with his knee. He swore in pain and buckled, going off center. Turning, she swept out her leg again, knocking him off his feet. Still gripping the J-bar, she got back to her feet and swung it at his head. He managed to duck, grabbing the bar again. This time he pushed forward on it, causing it to slip from her gloved hands. He swung it hard, catching her in the pit of her stomach.

  Grunting as the air left her body, she staggered backward, but managed to stay standing. He turned in a full arc, gaining momentum, bringing the rusty pole with him. She ducked, moving quickly to the left and coming up beside him as he followed through with the swing. After the bar passed clear of her, she stepped into his space. Bringing an elbow to his face, she struck him in the nose, then grabbed his arm as he stumbled to the side, twisting it painfully backward and throwing him off balance. Not letting go of his arm, she drove a hand into his back, taking him to the ground. She stomped down on his back, and with a violent twist of her hands, she dislocated his shoulder, then drove her palm into his elbow, breaking his arm.

  He screamed in pain. She stood up, picked up the J-bar, and brought it down on the back of his head as hard as she could.

  He went limp, blood trickling out of his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.

  “Cliff!” she heard Gary call again. He was much closer now.

  She rushed to where the rifle had disappeared in the snow, but already fresh snowfall had covered it. Feeling around on the ground, she tried to find it, but her hands were so cold, she could barely feel anything. She could hear Gary so close now that she knew she didn’t have enough time to dig for the gun. If he saw her now, he’d kill her instantly.

  Racing back to the rope, she grabbed the end and pulled as hard as she could, running backward. The metal bar raised up to the tower, clanking as it met the cable. Choking up on the slack, she hurried to the tower and tied the rope off on one of the foot pegs, using a highwayman’s hitch knot that she could undo from the top.

  She grabbed the satchel of explosives. If she needed to, she could use them, but it wouldn’t be an exact science, and she wasn’t even sure they would still work.

  “Hey, man, where are you?” Gary shouted.

  Leaping up to the first foot peg, Alex climbed, her heart thudding in her chest. Her mouth had gone completely dry and she ached for a drink of water.

  She reached the top of the tower. Now she just had to lift the metal hook over the cable, so it would hang from its U-shaped end. It was too heavy to lift with one hand, so she had to hug the freezing tower and reach around with both hands to grip the metal. She hefted it, straining against the awkward position, her face pressed against the biting metal. Finally she had to stand on one foot and use her other leg to boost the bar the last few inches.

  It went up and over the cable, hooking securely. The hook was long enough that she didn’t have to worry too much about swaying from side to side and having it come off the cable.

  A wave of triumph washed over her.

  Below, the mists parted and Gary appeared, his rifle gripped tightly in his hands. He saw Cliff and ran to him, kneeling down. “Cliff? You okay?”

  When he didn’t get an answer, Gary stood up, shining a flashlight around. The beam fell on the tower and traveled upward, spotlighting Alex just as she readied to step onto the flat part of the bar.

  With a flick of her wrist, she untied the rope from the foot peg below.

  “Dr. Carter!” Gary shouted. Bracing herself to feel a bullet, she jumped onto the flat part of the bar. It rocked crazily and she almost lost her balance. A cold sweat broke out along her back and she gripped the pole, hugging her body to it. Smelling the friction of burning metal, she careened downward, wind screaming through her hair and stinging her eyes. She looked back, watching Gary grow smaller and smaller.

  Twenty-Eight

  Alex slid down so fast that she worried she would slam into the next tower hard enough to fly off. But the cable sagged in the middle between the two towers, slowing her descent. She slid into the next tower at a manageable clip, able to keep her grip on the pole.

  Keeping hold of the rope, she stepped onto the foot pegs of the second tower. Windblown snow had collected there, making it slippery. She gripped the tower with one arm and got ready to lift the metal hook off the cable, moving it in front of the tower. The wind howled around her, stinging her ears, snowflakes catching on her eyelashes and turning to ice.

  The sound of a distant motor cut through the wind. Flickering lights drew her eyes down the mountain, toward the end of the ski lift line.

  A bright light emerged from the trees on the right side of the lift path. A snowmobile swung onto the track and raced up the mountain, covering the distance at an alarming rate. If he caught her up here, hung up on the tower, she was dead.

  Tugging on the rope, she managed to unclip the pole from the braided cable. Now came the tricky part. Hugging the tower, she lifted the bar with both arms, the process slow and difficult. Once again, she used her right leg to get the hook up over those final inches.

  The snowmobile roared up the mountain, heading straight for her location. She stepped gingerly around on the foot pegs and placed one foot on the metal bar. A blinding spotlight blinked on, pinpointing her location on the tower. The rider brought the snowmobile to a stop just below her. He had a rifle strapped to his back, and he swung it around, aiming for her. Exposed and vulnerable, she pushed off from the tower, gripping the freezing metal pole.

  The crack of a shot rent the air as she careened downward. She squeezed her eyes shut against the searing cold as a second shot rang out. Gripping the pole, she braced herself for the impact of a bullet, but none came. She was moving too fast, too hard a target to hit.

  Her pace slowed as she reached the middle of the cable and its center dip. She didn’t feel like she was going nearly as fast as before, and as the next tower approached, she worried she wouldn’t make it at all.

  The snowmobile swung around, engine gunning as the rider headed back down, following her. She slid slowly into the next tower, immediately placing a foot down onto the tower pegs. The snowmobile was almost under her.

  She gripped the tower and the metal bar, bracing herself to lift up the hook. The dazzling light hit her again, spotlighting her. She struggled to lift up the pole, her heart hammering. Her arms trembled with muscle exhaustion.

  And suddenly she knew there was no way she’d be able to lift it up before the guy fired off another shot. This method of going down the mountain would have been a good idea if Gary hadn’t seen her doing it. He’d probably reported her location. Now she’d be an easy target all the way down, held up at each tower.

  She could jump, but it was twenty-five feet down to the ground, and with the shooter right under her, even if she managed not to break any bones, she’d fare no better there than up here. Maybe worse.

  As he slowed his snowmobile to a stop to get his rifle, she knew she had only a second before he fired again, killing her this time. Digging into the satchel with the explosives, she pulled out a charge, hoping it would still be good. The spotlight made it easy to see the man’s location. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the igniter and threw the TNT stick in an arc. Then she turned away and clung to the tower.

  A deafening boom split the night. The spotlight flew into the air, painting haphazard ang
les of light through the trees, then came back down. Her ears rang, and she looked back.

  A plume of powdery snow fell back down over the scene. The snowmobile lay on its side, its engine sputtering out. The spotlight had landed a few feet away, sinking into the snow. Its partially covered beam filtered an eerie light over the scene. The snowmobile was a twisted, smoking wreck. The rider lay sprawled a few feet away, crimson blood soaking into the snow. Another shape lay next to him, and for a second she thought it was a long, bundled-up piece of equipment he’d been carrying. As red seeped from it, she grimaced and realized it was his leg, blown clean off. Half of his face was a twisted mess of exposed bone and glistening muscle. She watched the air by his mouth, looking for his breath frosting in the cold. No plumes of mist rose from his lips, nor did he move.

  Alex stood there for a few minutes longer, waiting for any sign of life.

  His rifle was still strapped to his chest. When she felt sure he was dead, she secured the rope around the tower and climbed down. Her feet sank into the snow and she started trembling uncontrollably. She wasn’t that cold and couldn’t figure out why her teeth chattered so violently. Picking her way over to the man, she stared down at him. He definitely wasn’t breathing. She stared at the untouched half of his face. He was the man with the radio whom she’d seen after encountering the gorilla. She recognized his bushy red beard and the burst-blood-vessel nose of an alcoholic. It staggered her that a complete stranger had wanted her dead. It all felt so senseless and alien.

  She pulled the rifle off him. Then she rooted through his jacket pockets, finding a box of ammunition. She moved to the snowmobile next. It was a complete loss, a smoldering wreckage. Hot engine parts, torn loose, hissed in the snow.

  She stepped through the deep snow to the spotlight. It was a handheld kind with a pistol grip. She switched it off, then stood in the cold and wind, listening. She didn’t hear any other motors, only the wind and the slightly musical tinkle of falling snow.

  Her shaking grew more violent as she stared down at the twisted remains of the man. She’d killed him. She knew she didn’t have a choice, but she’d killed a man. She trembled in the darkness, shaking uncontrollably.

  One thing was for certain. The plan to reach the radio tower road was out. Joe had betrayed her. They’d be waiting for her there, maybe planted along the way, too. In the distance, she could now hear the thrum of snowmobiles, working in different directions. The roar of their engines echoed off the surrounding hills, obscuring their location. If only the snowmobile hadn’t been damaged when she dropped the charge. She could have ridden it straight for the main highway, found a telephone to call the federal marshals herself. But the resort’s only vehicle was the Willys Wagon, and unless she happened upon another killer with a snowmobile, she didn’t see how she could find another one.

  Then it hit her. The wagon wasn’t the resort’s only vehicle. There was the strange snowplane by the stables. She wondered how long it had been since it had run. It hadn’t looked in too bad a shape. No rust. If they’d winterized it before storing it, removed all the gas, she might be able to get it working again.

  The biologist had left cans of gas beside his generator in the bunkhouse. Squinting into the wind, she gazed down the ski lift track as it swirled in and out of the mist. If she rode this all the way down to the bottom terminal, that put her within a mile of the bunkhouse. It was doable.

  Looking down the ski lift path, she saw that she had two more towers to go before she’d be at the end. It was still the fastest way to get down the mountain.

  Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she climbed the tower again. At the top, she untied the rope, her hands shaking so much she could barely force her fingers to work. She took a few deep breaths of the cold mountain air, hoping to still her nerves. Then she lifted the hook up and managed to get it clipped on the other side.

  With a final glance back at the man she’d killed, she pushed off.

  Twenty-Nine

  Alex reached the next tower quickly and changed the hook to the far side of it. This was her last stint on the cable. She slid down quickly, afraid of what she might find at the bottom terminal. She couldn’t even see it. The winds had picked up, creating moments of whiteout conditions. Her body trembled, and she struggled to maintain a grip.

  She hadn’t seen or heard any more snowmobiles nearby. As she neared the terminal, she broke through the bottom of the cloud layer, and suddenly she could see the scene below. Though still obscured, the full moon illuminated the clouds from above, casting a silvery glow over the landscape.

  Only snow and trees met her eyes. She slid to a stop at the terminal, the cable angling lower and lower until she was able to simply jump off. She fell a few feet into the fresh snow, her legs almost buckling under her. For a moment she thought she was okay, then images of the man’s half-destroyed face flooded over her and she pitched to her knees, vomiting into a drift. Repeatedly she retched. Then she stuffed fresh snow into her mouth in an effort to rinse it out. She forced her body to swallow the snow, soothing the burning in her throat.

  She struggled up on her shaking legs, trying to hear above the buffeting winds. She listened for any hint of the men. It was very possible they’d figured out where she was heading. Even now they could be waiting there or have positioned a sniper on the roof of the bunkhouse.

  Bringing the rifle forward from her back, she gripped the cold metal, trying to think back to everything her mother had taught her. Her mom had insisted Alex know how to handle a variety of guns, from rifles to shotguns to handguns—how to check if they were loaded, how to practice gun safety. They’d gone to shooting ranges more times than Alex could count. Her muscle memory took over as she checked the chamber and found it was loaded. Her feet sank into the snow, and she headed for the bunkhouse and stables.

  Even though she’d hiked around in this area during the day, at night, covered in snow, it all looked different. She’d love to have her compass and map right now, her GPS unit. She imagined the resort’s map, where the ski lift lay in relation to the bunkhouse, and hoped she was headed in the right direction.

  The wind buffeting her parka hood suddenly died down, and now she could hear the humming of snowmobiles in the forest, but still couldn’t quite place them.

  At last the collection of buildings came into view: the bunkhouse, stable, and shed where the snowplane was kept. She stayed in the trees, gazing out, listening. The snow lay pristine on the ground, no sign of vehicles or footprints. She sniffed the air and skirted slowly around the buildings, keeping to the protection of the forest. At last, seeing no disturbed snow in the area, she decided she was the first to reach this place.

  Carefully she left the trees, gripping the rifle, ready to shoot. She approached the bunkhouse from the rear, pausing to listen at the windows. She heard only the wind, the silent hush of a snow forest.

  Fishing the keys out of her pocket, she unlocked the bunkhouse. Everything was just as she remembered, the small generator, the cans of gas, the bunk beds. But now it held a dark feeling for her. Before, she’d imagined Dalton here happily studying mountain goats. Now she knew he’d been murdered, hung up in a freezer and fed to caged, starving animals. Her shoulders involuntarily shuddered and she fought off images of how scared Dalton must have been when they shot him. He hadn’t made it. Alex had to.

  She grabbed a can of gas and a few quarts of oil and hefted them outside to the snowplane shed. Fiddling again with the keys, she found the right one and removed the padlock.

  Inside, the snowplane waited under its tarp. She threw off the cover, the machine’s red nose cone reflecting the beam from her flashlight. She closed the doors behind her. For a moment she leaned against the solid wood, images of the man’s severed leg flashing back to her. Then she took a deep breath.

  Skirting the machine, she found the small fuel door and prayed that the thing took regular gasoline. She poured in the fuel, then hunted around for the oil dipstick. It registered empty, so
she added oil, a few drops falling onto the floor. Then she returned to the open cockpit. Leaning inside, she found an ignition button and pushed it. Nothing. She saw the switch for headlights and flipped that, too, with no result.

  She slumped in disappointment over the driver door. What was she expecting? That the battery would be fine after all these years? It might not even have one installed. Opening compartments and poking around, she searched for the battery or at least a place where one went. Flipping open a small hatch near the propeller, she found the space for the battery. It was empty.

  Searching the shed, she explored all the shelves. On a bottom one, she found two old batteries. She picked one up, surprised at how light it was. Prying off the battery cover, she discovered its water had long since evaporated. But otherwise the battery looked okay. The terminals were clean with no corrosion. She carried it over to the snowplane and set it down on the ground.

  She hadn’t noticed a sink or spigot or any sign of the buildings being on a well system. They probably were—had to be if caretakers had watered horses back in the day. But she didn’t have time to hunt around for it.

  Hurrying back to the bunkhouse, she found a pot and a small one-burner propane stove. Outside, she filled the pot with snow and lit up the stove. It didn’t take long to melt. Shuttling the water back to the shed, she poured it into the battery. It didn’t fill it all the way up. She’d have to do it again. She could hear the snowmobiles in the distance and wondered if they were getting closer.

  Returning outside, she filled up the pot again, starting to feel nervous for how long this was taking. She warmed up the snow and then rushed back to the shed, filling the battery completely. Now she lifted it and placed it inside the snowplane, attaching the positive and negative battery cables.