“So we…do it in the bucket and then dump it in the bag.”
“Correct. Here.” He handed her a wide-mouthed water bottle. “This is for nighttime disposal. And there is the additional, uh, issue of…”
Her brows were almost up to her hairline now as she watched him, like a rubbernecker at an accident, waiting to see how bad it would get.
“Of your…menstruation.”
“Holy crap, this is painful.” She hid her smile behind her hand.
“You would have to—”
“Not that this is any of your business, but…” She raised a hand and closed her eyes for three long seconds. “Between my IUD and the cold, I haven’t menstruated in months.”
“Good.” He nodded once. “Then that’s done.”
After that, they ate in silence, eyes on their bowls. Focused on nothing but filling their bellies.
Except it wasn’t just that and he knew it. The food was good in a way that fed his starved soul, too. Which was possibly the crux of his whole issue with this woman. Coop, who’d never had a mom and never been too sad about it, wasn’t a man to wish for anything. Ever. He had what he had and worked hard to get what he wanted. Which was mostly peace and quiet.
But here, across from a woman who was the antithesis of everything he’d ever known, who’d fed him food that burst with flavor and worked as hard as any soldier he’d ever fought beside, he let himself wish—for just a second or two—that he could be the man who made her laugh.
Chapter 15
Day 1—302 Miles to Volkov Station—21 Days of Food Remaining
The door flew open and Ford stomped inside. “Time to go.”
“Yes. Right. Okay.” Groggy from lack of sleep, Angel pulled on another pair of socks, planted her feet on the floor, and tested them. Would she even be able to ski with her crap knee?
Yeah. If there was one thing being in that ice tunnel had shown her, it was that she’d walk, ski, crawl, or whatever the hell else she needed to do in order to get through this.
Ford was different somehow. She couldn’t say exactly what it was, but there was something younger-looking about him. Even tense as he was, he seemed more approachable. Had exhaustion rounded off his edges? Or maybe the five o’clock shadow on his perpetually clean-shaven face made him look more human. The dark blond hairs glinted along his square-cut jaw, looking rough as sandpaper.
Drowsy from exhaustion, she stood and hobbled a few steps closer to him before she realized that she couldn’t just stroke his face out of the blue, despite their physical closeness earlier.
Jesus, woman. Snap out of it. And whatever you do, don’t touch the wildlife.
Except he wasn’t an animal, was he? He was a bit of a weirdo, for sure, but weren’t they all, in their own individual ways? Especially at Pole. The place attracted some pretty odd characters.
As she’d finished getting their food together, she’d spent way too much time thinking of the way this man had looked when she’d asked about his mama teaching him manners.
No, he’d said. Which meant what? Had his mother not been there for him? Had she not taught him to say please and thank you? Or the possibility she kept coming back to—had there been no mother at all in Dr. Ford Cooper’s life?
And why, oh why, did that make her want to hug him when nothing the man did said take me in your arms. He was pretty much the definition of standoffish. And yet…
“Here.” He held out a couple protein bars and her face heated when their gazes met, as if he could read her thoughts. “Eat.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she’d just eaten and she wasn’t hungry and maybe he could cool the bossy thing. Thinking better of it, she grabbed them and put them in her pocket. No point protesting when he was right.
He was the boss now after all.
“You okay?”
Surprised that he’d ask this—or even wonder it—she thought about her reply. “Scared, I guess.”
He nodded. “Your nose better?”
She touched it lightly. Not broken, she didn’t think, though it was still a little sore. With her coat on, she slipped mittens over her inner gloves, stepped into her pants, and drew a ski mask over her head. “Are you? Scared, I mean.”
He stopped chewing his protein bar, looked to the side for a second, as expressionless as a robot searching its motherboard for some elusive data, then shocked the hell out of her by saying, “Yes.” It came out in a voice she’d never heard him use before. It was a toss-up as to whether the admission sent more fear running through her or relief that she wasn’t the only one. “But we’ll be fine,” he added, back to himself again.
She sucked in a deep breath, comforted. If he said they’d be fine, then they would be—
And then he ruined it. “I mean, there’s a chance we’ll make it.”
“A chance.” She glared at him, then compressed her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Great. Good. That’s… Thanks.” She pulled her ski mask over her face to keep from adding something snarky. He was just being honest.
With a breath in, she followed him outside and looked up at the massive, bright-red snow plow, waiting for them on the ice. “So this is our ride, huh?”
“Till the fuel runs out. First fifty miles or so.”
“Then we’ll only have two hundred fifty miles to ski.” She glanced at him, blank behind all his outdoor gear, and forced a laugh. “Piece of cake.” Her eyes landed on the sleds. “Where are the tubes?”
“Tubes?”
“Your ice thingies. Why aren’t they on the sleds?”
“We’re leaving them.”
“What do you mean we’re leaving them?”
“Too heavy.”
“Then take them out of the casings.”
He shook his head. “Can’t risk contamination.”
His nonchalant act was good. Really good, since it was pretty much his schtick to begin with, but something about it was off. The careful way he watched her, maybe? The slight tick in his jaw? Whatever it was, she didn’t believe it for a second.
“You’re suggesting we just hand them over? After everything those evil jerks did?” She yanked the ski mask back up and pulled her neck gaiter down. “Look, Mr. Ice Man, I didn’t go through hell to give the bad guys their damned payload back, okay?” When he didn’t respond, she went on. “I’ll dump the damned butter if I have to.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then narrowed his eyes and kept quiet.
Good response.
Without a word, he set to work rearranging the sled contents to make way for the tubes.
With everything once again packed up and secure, she took one last look at the station, her throat working convulsively. This had been home for the past few months. The only safe place for miles around.
But then it wasn’t all that safe in the end, was it?
Tears blurred her vision. Which they pretty much always did out on the ice. The only difference was that these tears hurt from the inside out, not the other way around.
“I’ll miss it.”
“Hm?”
She shook her head and accepted his hand up onto the massive hunk of machinery. “Nothing.” She had to yell to be heard above the engine until the door slammed.
“Heat’ll kick in soon,” he said as he pointed the plow away from the base, shifted into gear, and rolled forward, into white so big, so powerful and pure in its nothingness that it felt almost like…God.
She cleared her throat, a little embarrassed at the crap her mind was feeding her. “How do you know where we’re headed?”
“GPS.”
“It works?” She brightened.
“For now. Gotta keep it warm so the batteries don’t die.” He patted a pocket. “Brought extras.”
“Could someone track us on that? The GPS?”
“No
.” He glanced at her, unreadable behind his goggles, though the grim set of his mouth was visible since he’d pushed his neck gaiter down.
“Okay.” She closed her eyes, halfway relieved that she’d wound up with a guy who knew apparently everything there was to know about this place. Her other half was stuck in a spiral of hopelessness, spurred on by the enormity of what they were doing. “What if it breaks?”
“Got a backup,” he said as if it was only natural. As if you’d be crazy not to have a backup.
“Of course you do.”
“And a backup for the backup.”
Her eyes cut over to him again. Was this an actual Ice Man joke? Nope. Same stern Batman mouth, hard and somehow kissable all at once.
What the hell? Not kissable. She craned her neck to look behind them as they pulled away.
What is wrong with me? His mouth was about the most rigid thing she’d ever seen. Kissing it would be like putting your lips to a Greek statue.
Except she didn’t actually believe that anymore. And suddenly, the hot-blooded, reckless part of her that had tried to get him to dance demanded that she find out.
“No.” The whispered word popped out hard, low, and guttural.
“What?”
“Nothing.” The station was invisible now, behind a hazy screen of wind-blown snow.
When she finally turned back toward the front, she caught him eyeing her for a few long beats.
“Also brought a compass,” he offered.
“I thought those didn’t work at the poles.”
“We’re far enough from the magnetic pole for it to work. Besides, the farther we get from ninety south, the better off we’ll be.”
“Good. Good.” She nodded and let the passing landscape blur into one big white nightmare, feeling…alive?
How was that even possible?
Well, I’m not dead.
She turned to take in the man beside her. And because this man had saved her life, because he was the only hope she had, because her world right now wasn’t this landscape they chugged slowly across, but him, she leaned forward to place her gloved hand over his, and spoke. “Thank you, Ford.”
“Don’t thank me, Angel.” His voice was uglier than its usual croak, as if thank yous rubbed him the wrong way. “’Cause things are gonna get a lot worse before they get better.”
Chapter 16
Day 1—254 Miles to Volkov Station—21 Days of Food Remaining
The PistenBully cut off suddenly, its silence filling Coop’s head as fully as the engine noise had. They came to a slow, eerily quiet stop.
Above them, the sky was a perfect blue, the sun’s focused rays heating the vehicle’s interior so that they’d needed only a couple layers for the ride. Aside from minor variations in the surface of the ice, there was nothing outside to break up the view.
Coop knew exactly how much this vast place contained: limitless untold secrets inside each layer of ice, each molecule. It was beautiful, this pure, endlessly repetitive landscape.
But then he looked at the woman passed out in the seat beside him and the ice had never looked so unpredictable.
He forced his eyes away from her. “Angel.”
She stirred with a sleepy sound that went straight to his groin.
“We’re, uh…” He cleared his throat and stared outside rather than watching her slow, sleepy awakening. “We’re out of fuel. Time to start skiing.”
“Oh.” She sat up, appearing alert and ready. “Right. Right. I’m awake.”
“Let’s have a snack in here and get going.”
Without a word, she dug into the pack at her feet, handed him a bar, and opened up one of her own. No argument, no questions, no delays. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but it hadn’t been this.
After polishing off his protein bar, he put his hand on the door, caught sight of her, and paused. Instead of eating, she sat rigid, staring out the windshield.
He opened his mouth to tell her they didn’t have time to waste and immediately closed it again. The woman had gone through a hell of a lot in the past—what? Fourteen, fifteen hours? She’d witnessed a murder, fought off the killer with a hatchet, and then prepared for an unexpected expedition that most people wouldn’t survive.
Even Coop—the man who’d never met a conversation he couldn’t turn awkward—could tell that he needed to tread lightly right now.
“You okay?”
She sent him a startled look, with a high, humorless half laugh, and bit off a piece of protein bar. After a few slow chews, she nodded. “Yeah.”
A glance at the GPS unit told him that it was about 4:30 a.m. Over twelve hours since he’d returned to find Burke-Ruhe deserted. A lot had changed since then.
As soon as Angel finished, he put out a hand, palm up. The move must’ve shocked her because she stared at it for a few seconds before putting hers on top.
“You’ve got this, okay?” he whispered, surprised by the emotion he couldn’t seem to swallow down.
“Thank you. For everything.” She put her fingers through his and squeezed, her hold surprisingly strong, even through the multiple layers of gloves. “And we’ve got this.”
Right. They were a team now.
After a final squeeze, he opened the door and dropped to the ground, straight into a cutting, ferocious wind. By the time he’d fought his way to the other door, it was too late to give her a hand down.
He hesitated, taking in her unrecognizable form. Between her coat and neck gaiter, ski mask, goggles, hat, and gloves, with her fur-lined hood covering her head, she could be anyone. It made it easier, thinking of her as an anonymous trekking partner.
“Stay behind me!” he yelled to be heard through the low howl. “Follow my tracks.” Even standing still like this, the wind snatched his voice and blew it away. He leaned closer, spoke louder, straight into her ear. “If I go too fast, let me know. You need a break for water or…” He cleared his throat. “Yell.”
At her nod, they quickly harnessed up, stepped into their skis, grabbed their poles, and took off, lugging probably three hundred pounds between them.
It was slow going, towing this much weight against the wind. But he’d humped enough gear to know his body could handle it. He glanced behind at regular intervals to see that Angel was struggling. He slowed, she caught up, then lagged again. He slowed more. At some point, the sky cleared, but the wind picked up, its assault a barrage of sharp, cold little splinters.
After a couple hours on the ice, it was obvious that they’d have to cover more ground than this. By his estimation, they had enough food for three weeks. At their current rate, the trip would take a month, barring unforeseen meteorological events. Of course, consuming food would lighten the load, but their bodies would weaken as they went. There’d be blisters and frostbite and other issues, not to mention the real possibility of injury.
“Ford… Ford… Coop!” Angel’s voice barely carried through the screaming gale. He stopped and turned to see her bent over a pole, body heaving with every breath. “Need a break.”
He took off his skis and tromped over to help her do the same. They’d been at it for two hours and gone less than a mile. Not even a dent in the two hundred fifty or so miles left between them and the Russian station.
He kept an eye on the sky while they shared a silent snack. Well, they were silent. The wind howled as if protesting their alien presence. As if even their ski tracks sullied its pristine domain.
“The wind’s so…” Angel didn’t finish. Possibly because just being heard out here was a chore. Or maybe she didn’t have the words to describe how hard it was blowing.
“Need a rest?” They had to put more miles between them and Burke-Ruhe. Just in case. But an injury this early in the game would mean failure.
“No. Thank you.” She stood up from where she’d been sitt
ing on the sled, grabbed the lead, and hooked it to her harness, then snapped herself into her skis. “Let’s go!”
He blinked, stunned again by her strength—of body or will or both, he wasn’t sure. And then, because he didn’t have time to sit around thinking about how wrong he’d been all this time, he got into his own skis and set off.
At some point, the wind calmed, leaving almost total silence, aside from the slip-slide of skis and the closed-in waft of breath through fleece.
He quickly settled back into the zone, glancing at the sky and then over his shoulder every hundred paces or so. Angel forged on, as stoically stubborn as anyone he’d ever met. For three more hours they continued, their painfully slow pace only picking up slightly.
Breakfast was a snack, lunch a quick pit stop. Food, hydration, a few minutes’ rest. They barely exchanged five words.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
After a couple more hours, he slowed, turned to see her leaning heavily on her poles, and came to a complete stop.
When he handed her the ice axe and cookpot with a curt, “Fill this,” he expected ribbing or a complaint at his lack of nicety. He got nothing. Not a look, a significant pause, or an annoyed huff. She just nodded and tromped over to a brittle-looking section of ice, where she went to work.
As fast as he could make his heavy muscles go, he pitched the tent and put up the snowfly—the tarp-like outer layer that would provide them with extra protection against wind and ice.
After setting up their pads and sleeping bags, Coop sat back on his haunches, eyeing the space they’d be sharing. It was tight in here, as he’d known it would be.
Which was fine. They’d sleep like the dead tonight.
While she unpacked the cooking supplies, he went out to pile snow up along the base of the tent, for added protection against the elements, then dug a latrine area, which would afford at least a bit of privacy.
After that last flurry of activity, they wound up inside together, brushing off the layers of frost coating their outerwear. He pulled his boots off with a sigh.
When Angel did the same, she let out a long, low groan that shouldn’t have turned him on. Not even a little, considering how beyond tired he was.
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