"Pull yourself together," Mason instructed me. "You've been tested physically--now you have to be mentally tough. We're going back to the outpost. We're going to pretend like nothing happened. We won't tell Shaun. In the morning, you're going to get us off the mountain, and then we'll let you go."
I shook my head no.
"I'll carry you if I have to, but I'm not letting you die out here," Mason said.
"Don't touch me."
He flipped his palms up. "Then start walking."
"You're really not going to let me go, are you?"
"Go where? Into the forest, during a blizzard, where you'll freeze to death? No."
"I hate you," I said miserably.
"Yeah, you said that. Let's go."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The walk downhill to the ranger patrol cabin should have been far easier than the climb I'd just made, but each step felt heavier than the last. I had failed. Mason promised to keep my secret, but what assurance did I have that Shaun wouldn't be pacing the floor with his gun when we made it back? I could be marching to my own slaughter.
I'd witnessed Mason trying to stop Shaun from shooting the game warden--I was sure that was his intent when he lunged for the gun--and maybe he was a better person than I was giving him credit for. But it didn't matter where Mason drew the line between right and wrong. Shaun had the gun.
And there was the girl's body back at the first cabin. I didn't know who had killed her, but the way Mason had reacted when I'd told him about it didn't sit well with me. He was keeping something from me, and from Shaun too, it seemed.
At last the patrol cabin appeared out of the darkness. I was almost to the front porch, when I found myself flying backward as Mason yanked me toward him. His gloved hand clamped over my mouth, and for one wild moment, I thought he was trying to suffocate me. His breath panted in my ear, his body a stiff wall at my back.
The patrol cabin's front door was open, Calvin's voice drifting through it.
My heart accelerated. Calvin. Here. He'd found me!
"Where are they?" Calvin demanded from out of sight.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Shaun answered sulkily.
Mason scooped me up, immune to my kicking and thrashing, and hauled me silently to the top of the porch steps. We could view both men through the kitchen window. Calvin must have surprised Shaun in his sleep, because he held him at gunpoint. I didn't recognize the gun. Calvin must have brought it with him from Idlewilde; I knew the Versteegs kept guns at the cabin. Shaun's gun was nowhere in sight. To my dismay, a lamp had been turned on in the living room, making it impossible for Calvin to see me on the other side of the kitchen window--it was far too dark outside by comparison. If he glanced this way, he'd only see the cabin's interior reflected in the windowpane.
I tried to scream his name, but Mason's glove crushed my mouth ruthlessly. I kicked at his shins, my heel colliding with bone before he shoved me against the outer wall with shocking force. I'd sorely underestimated his strength, and found myself outmatched; his free hand captured both my wrists, and he dug his knee into the flesh at the back of my leg, until I couldn't stand the pain any longer and went limp. He took advantage of this unguarded moment to grind his body viciously against mine, trapping me between him and the cabin. My cheek was shoved up against the icy shutter, and I strained to see Calvin through the window.
"There are three bowls in the sink, three glasses on the counter!" Calvin growled. "I know Korbie and Britt were here with you." He strode to the sink, hastily inspecting the bowls with a swipe of his finger. "The food's moist. They were here recently. Where are they now?"
"Maybe I used all three bowls," came Shaun's surly reply.
Calvin hurled a glass at Shaun's head. He ducked, and the glass shattered against the wall behind him. When he faced Calvin again, he'd blanched slightly.
"Did you kill them?" Calvin's stride didn't break as he marched up to Shaun, aiming the gun at point-blank range. His voice shook with rage, but his gun hand remained steady. "Did you?"
Shaun fidgeted with his hands uneasily. "I'm not a killer," he answered, in a tone far too guileless to be believable.
"No?" Calvin said in a soft, deadly voice. "I know you. I've seen you around. At Silver Dollar Cowboy Bar. You like to get girls really drunk and take their picture like some pervert."
I watched the play of emotion on Shaun's face. His artless act drained from it, replaced with fear. "I don't know what you saw, it wasn't me, I don't take pictures of girls, I don't even own a camera, I'm never up here in the mountains. . . ."
"What kind of perverted things do you do with the pictures?" Calvin demanded. "I saw you with that girl, the socialite who went missing. Maybe I should tell the cops."
"You've--got the wrong guy," Shaun stammered.
"Where's my sister? Where's Britt? Start talking or I will tell the cops!" Calvin was yelling now. "Did you take pictures of them? Did you think you could blackmail my family? Or post the pictures online to harass my sister? Or sell them?"
Shaun visibly swallowed. "No."
"I'm not going to ask again--where are the girls?"
"You have to believe me, we never meant no harm. We took them in 'cause they were stranded and we couldn't let them freeze with the storm blowing in--"
"We?"
"Me and my buddy, Ace. He was here when I went to sleep; he must have run off with her. It's him you want--"
"'Her'? Who's 'her'?"
"Britt. He took Britt. She was here with us. I think he had a thing for her, but I never touched her, I can swear on my mother's grave to that. Check the woods. Maybe he dragged her out, wanted some privacy. Go take a look."
"What about Korbie? Where's she?"
"Ace made me leave her at the cabin, before we hiked here. He said we didn't have enough supplies for both girls. I left her food and water, even though Ace told me not to. I made sure she'd be safe."
"You left my sister alone in a cabin?" Calvin demanded. "Which cabin?"
"A few miles from here. Sits far back from the road. Blue curtains in the windows. Lawn has turned to weeds. Nobody's been up for years."
"I know the one. The snowmobile out front--where's the key?"
Shaun didn't answer right away, clearly reluctant to give up his recent windfall. "Don't know. It was parked out front when we arrived. It's not ours," he said. "Looks like its rider ran out of gas and left it here. Doubt it's worth the trouble of trying to hot-wire."
Calvin leveled the gun at him. "Don't lie to me. Give me the key. Now."
"You wouldn't shoot me. They'd figure out it was you. Nobody's up in the mountains, not with this storm. Only you, me, Ace, and the girls."
"Don't worry, I won't leave anything for them to find."
Calvin fired.
The staccato bursts pierced my ears, startling me. Behind me, Mason's body jerked forcefully--he was just as shocked. I had watched Shaun kill the game warden, I had watched pieces of human tissue spray the walls, but that had not prepared me for watching Calvin kill in cold blood.
It couldn't be happening. My mind groped through the madness, trying to find some way to justify Calvin's violence. Why hadn't he tied Shaun up and turned him over to the authorities? That he'd kill Shaun without any real evidence of Shaun's having hurt Korbie and me was unthinkable. Was he so worried about us that he wasn't thinking clearly?
I had to get to Calvin. I had to reassure him I was alive, and calm him down. Together we could leave this horrible place.
More determinedly, I thrashed against Mason's hold. His fingers dug into my skin, but any pain floated just outside my awareness. The only thought pounding clearly in my mind was of reaching Calvin. I'm here! I screamed wildly at him in my mind. I'm right outside!
Inside, Calvin kicked Shaun's lifeless form, making sure he was dead. He searched his pockets. Calmly, he took the cash from Shaun's wallet, and the snowmobile key. He strode into the bedroom where Shaun had slept, reappearing a moment later with
Shaun's gun, which he tucked into his belt. In a hurried exploration of the kitchen drawers, he found a Zippo lighter.
At first I didn't understand why he lit the living room curtains on fire. And then it came to me. Shaun had been right. The police would suspect Calvin of killing him. They might even suspect Calvin of the game warden's murder. He had to destroy the evidence.
Thick black smoke poured off the sofa, which Calvin lit on fire next, and bright flames surged up the walls. I could not believe how quickly the fire caught. It rushed from one piece of furniture to the next, heavier smoke billowing to fill the room.
As Calvin strode toward the front door, Mason wrestled me into a dark corner of the porch. From our hiding spot, I heard Calvin's boots clap against the porch steps as he trotted down them.
He was leaving. Without me.
I wrenched from side to side, desperately trying to fight my way free, but Mason was too strong; his grip was steel. I couldn't run. I couldn't yell. My muffled screams were too low to be heard over the wind and crackle of the fire. Calvin was leaving. I had to stop him. I couldn't bear to stay with Mason another minute.
The snowmobile started with a rumble. In a matter of seconds, the drone of the engine faded into the distance.
Mason let go. I collapsed against the porch railing. I could feel my heart breaking, splintering into irreparable fragments. Pressing my face into my folded arms, I made a deep sound of agony. Tears streamed down my face. The nightmare was dragging me back, to a depth I had not known existed.
"Stay here," Mason said urgently. "I'm going in for our gear."
Pulling his coat up to protect his head, he darted through the open door. I could have run. At that moment, I could have raced for the trees. But I knew he would track me. And he had the gear. He was right: I wouldn't last long on my own.
Slowly, I backed my way down the porch steps, too much in shock that Calvin had left without me to be fully aware of the fire. In a haze, I watched the bright flames lick across the floor and sparks rain from the ceiling. The crackle and hiss of the fire had grown to a roar. Through the smoke, I caught fleeting glimpses of Mason thrusting whatever he could into our packs. Even from this distance, heat blasted through the doorway, drenching my face in sweat. Mason had to be sweltering.
At last he staggered through the door, coughing violently, two packs slung over his shoulders. His face was coated in black soot, and when he blinked, it made the whites of his eyes stand out. My expression must have hinted at this monstrous sight; he wiped his coat sleeve across his face, smearing most of the soot away.
Heavy snow swirled down between us, freckling the grime clinging to his cheeks.
"The storm is hitting full force," he told me. "We need to find shelter before it's too late."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mason was right. Wet, heavy snow was driving down the face of the mountain. Since the ground was already covered from the earlier storms, the snow accumulated quickly. I watched it creep up the tree trunks and sag their branches. No one was getting up the mountain now. Not the police, not my dad. We were on our own. And I could think of nothing more terrifying.
We had to get out of the weather. I knew of no nearby cabins, which left finding a fallen tree or a cave for shelter. As we slogged on, Mason took off his fleece cap and handed it to me. I'd grown suspicious and resentful of his small gestures of kindness over the past day and a half, but this time I took the hat gratefully. My socks were damp from earlier, and my teeth were beginning to clatter. I was willing to risk my pride for whatever warmth I could salvage.
"Thank you," I told him.
He nodded, his lips a bloodless blue. His cropped hair glistened with snow. I knew I should give him the hat back, but I was freezing too. So I looked away and pretended not to see.
The smart thing would have been to consult Calvin's map. It would show the closest shelter. But I didn't know how to look at the map without letting Mason see it too. If he knew about the map, he wouldn't need me. He could take the map and then it would be every man for himself. Plus, if the map got wet, the ink would probably bleed. Worse, the paper might tear or disintegrate.
We hiked for a long time, each step slow and cautious, making sure there wasn't any debris hiding beneath the snow before we put our full weight down. The storm clouds blotted out the moon, making it darker than ever, even with flashlights. My toes became numb with cold. Even when I clamped my jaw shut, I could not stop my teeth from chattering. I squinted against the arctic blasts of wind, focusing on Mason's boots ahead. Every time he took a step, I forced myself to do likewise. His height and broad shoulders blocked the worst of the wind, but it found me, penetrating my coat and licking ice over my skin. Soon, my brain shut down and I put my energy into simply moving forward.
And then my thoughts went where they always did. To Calvin.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"I'm coming out," Korbie announced from behind the dressing room door at JCPenney. I heard the swish of silky fabric as she shuffled over to slide the bolt free. "Don't lie, because I'll know right away if you are."
I sat on the bench in the dressing room directly across the hallway, my door wide open. Hurrying to finish my text, I hit send and dropped my phone sneakily into my purse. As I did, I felt a squeeze of guilt. I didn't like hiding things from Korbie. "I'm offended you think I'd lie," I said--but not without a pang of conscience.
Korbie stepped out in a violet corseted gown that fluttered around her ankles as she completed a Disney-princess twirl. "Well? What do you think?"
"It's purple."
"So?"
"You told me Bear hates purple."
She made an exasperated gesture. "That's why I'm wearing it. To help him change his mind. If he sees how great I look in purple, he'll realize he loves it."
"Are you going to make him wear a matching purple bow tie?"
"Um, yes," Korbie said, rolling her eyes at the stupidity of the question. "It's prom. We have to coordinate. Our picture might end up in the yearbook."
"Yearbook photos are black and white."
"You're not making this very fun. At least try one dress on," Korbie begged, pulling on my hands in an effort to get me off my butt. "Last year we went prom dress shopping together and both of us participated. I want this year to be like last year. What is wrong with the boys at our school? I can't believe one of them hasn't asked you yet."
I didn't tell Korbie that Brett Fischer had asked me to prom and I'd turned him down. I was off the market, un officially dating someone. I didn't know how much longer I could keep the secret, because that's what it was, a secret that I'd sworn to keep before I realized this particular secret would burn a hole in my chest.
My cell phone chimed in my purse.
"Who's texting you?" Korbie wanted to know.
"Probably my dad," I said, feigning boredom with a flick of my ponytail.
A scandalized smile spread across Korbie's face. "Do you have a secret lover, Britt, darling?" she teased.
"Yes," I deadpanned, but I ducked my head so she wouldn't see me blush.
"Well, I hope you find a date soon," she said seriously, "because I won't have any fun at prom if I know you're at home watching a movie, eating ice cream and getting fat. Oh, I know! What about that guy who always talks to you on the way out of math class?"
"Um, Mr. Bagshawe?"
Korbie snapped her fingers, whipping her arm from hip to hip like a backup dancer in a music video. "That's the one. An older, illicit lover. That's how my girl Britt rolls."
"Next dress, please," I said.
When she disappeared behind her dressing room door, I grabbed my cell phone. Calvin's text was waiting.
Can I see you tonight?
Whaddya have in mind? I texted back.
Sneak out around eleven. Bring your swimsuit. I'll be the guy in the hot tub with drinks.
The Versteegs had a backyard pool and hot tub, and as much as I wanted to be with Calvin tonight, I was tired of the extra work
that went into these secretive, late-night meet-ups.
Calvin had told me that Korbie couldn't find out about us yet--no one could. He'd convinced me that keeping our relationship secret made it exciting. I wanted to tell him I was seventeen now, above secrets and games. But I worried he'd take it the wrong way. He was almost nineteen, after all. Who was I to give him relationship advice?
"I can hear you texting," Korbie singsonged through the dressing room door. I heard a zipper snag as she tried on another dress. "You're supposed to be giving me your undivided attention. Ugh! Why don't we have a real department store? I love how we have a ten-to-one McDonald's-to-people ratio but no Macy's. I'm going to have to order a dress online."
It was hard to think about prom when I knew I wasn't going. I wanted to go, but Calvin wasn't ready to take our romance public.
Instead of focusing on the depressing realization that I wasn't going to prom, and wouldn't be doing any of the fun, girly things that went along with it, I forced myself to think positively. I was dating Calvin Versteeg. The love of my life. In the big scheme of things, what was one silly school dance?
It had been hours since Calvin kissed me good-bye after school, when we'd slipped into an empty classroom and made out until we heard the janitor pushing his cart down the hall. I bit my lip to suppress a smile. Calvin and I had known each other our whole lives. Hardly a day had passed that I hadn't seen him. He used to yank my ponytail and call me Britt the Brat. Now he ran his finger affectionately down my cheek when we talked, and he kissed me in stolen moments and forbidden encounters.
I had to admit, it was kind of exciting.
Sometimes.
And then there were the other times.
Like last week when Calvin's best friend, Dex Vega, caught us making out behind the baseball diamonds, long after the team had finished practice. I'd had my back pressed to the driver's-side door of Calvin's truck, and he was leaning into me, leaving zero space between our bodies.
Dex gave us the standard "Get a room," because he wasn't very creative. He ran track with Calvin and was great at hurdles. Not so great with everything else.
"Been there, done that," Calvin told him, winking at me conspiratorially. I knew Cal wouldn't like it if I disputed this in front of his best friend, but we had not slept together.
Black Ice Page 13
