Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
When they come back, Knox’s hand lands on Liam’s shoulder for a moment before dropping away.
“Both operational?” I ask.
“Both operational. Fuel’s lower than I’d like, but we should make it.”
We strip the cabin of anything useful, which amounts to almost nothing. Liam pockets his compass and maps, and we mount up—me behind Knox, Liam on the second machine.
The terrain has transformed overnight. What was rough before is now smoothed over, dangerous edges hidden under white. We move carefully, Liam in the lead, neither of us willing to rush when one wrong move could send us into something we can’t see.
About an hour in, Liam signals and pulls over.
“What?” Knox cuts his engine.
Liam unfolds the map. “Lake ahead. Massive. We can go around—adds four hours we don’t have with these fuel levels.” He looks up. “Or we cross and cut our time in half. I’m pretty sure the ice is solid, but it is a large body of water so . . .”
Knox looks at me. “Your call.”
“Why is it my call?”
“Because you’re the one sitting on the back if we fall through.”
Fair point. Four extra hours means running out of fuel in the middle of nowhere. Crossing means gambling on ice that might crack. Both options end in potential death.
“Cross,” I say. “Fast.”
The lake appears twenty minutes later—a frozen plain stretching to the horizon. Liam tests the edge first, walking out ten feet, stomping hard, listening. The ice groans but holds.
“Stay spread out,” he says. “If one of us goes through, the other needs to be far enough away not to follow.”
“Cheerful.”
“I try.”
We start across. The engines seem too loud against all that emptiness. I hold my breath without meaning to, ears straining for any sound of cracking. The ice pops and settles beneath us—natural, but every noise makes my stomach drop.
Halfway. Three-quarters.
I let myself start to believe we’re going to make it.
That’s when I look back.
Shapes in the distance. A lot of them. Following the tracks we left in the fresh powder.
“Company,” I say, tapping Knox’s shoulder.
He looks. Goes rigid.
Liam’s already noticed. I count the snowmobiles as they emerge from the tree line. Five. Six. Seven. All of them moving fast, fanning out in pursuit formation.
She brought everyone. Whatever forces she had left after the avalanche, she pulled them all together for this.
“How the hell did she find us?” Knox asks.
Liam doesn’t answer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the emergency beacon he grabbed yesterday. A small red light blinks on it. Steady. Persistent.
His face goes white. “It’s been transmitting. The whole time. I didn’t check if it was already activated.”
“You’ve been leading them right to us?”
“I didn’t know.”
No time to fight about it. Seven snowmobiles are closing the gap, and Marlena’s people have fresh machines with full fuel tanks.
“Move.” Knox guns the engine.
We race across the ice. The machines scream beneath us. Wind tears at my face. The pursuit is closing—I can hear their engines now, a swarm of angry hornets getting louder.
Three hundred yards from shore. Two hundred.
The ice cracks.
The sound is massive, a splintering that comes from everywhere at once. I feel the snowmobile drop, the surface sagging, and Knox swerves hard.
We hit solid ground as a section behind us collapses into dark water. Two of the pursuing snowmobiles veer wildly, one of them skidding sideways before the rider regains control. We don’t stop to watch—we plunge into the forest, branches whipping past.
We slow down once I can’t hear them anymore. Liam pulls up beside us, face ashen.
“How far?” Knox asks.
“Two miles. Maybe three.” Liam looks back. “The ice bought us time, but not much. They’ll find a way around.”
“How many did we lose?”
“Maybe one went in. The rest will make it.”
Six against three. And that’s assuming Marlena doesn’t have more people waiting somewhere.
“We need to be ready,” Knox says.
The ranger station appears through the trees. Small building, Canadian flag, smoke from the chimney.
We skid to a stop and stumble off the machines.
The woman who opens the door stops me mid-panic.
She’s not what I expected. Brown hair spills out from under a wool beanie in wild curls, framing a sun-freckled face with deep brown eyes. Late twenties, maybe, with the lean build of someone who spends her life outdoors. No makeup, no pretense—just clean skin and an easy confidence that makes me trust her immediately. The rifle in her hands looks as natural as an extension of her arm.
“Who the hell are you people?” Her voice is calm, curious even, like we’re an interesting problem that wandered onto her doorstep.
We explain in fragments—kidnapped, hunted, armed people coming. She listens without interrupting, her head tilted slightly, those dark eyes moving between the three of us like she’s cataloging everything we’re not saying along with everything we are.
Halfway through, she holds up a hand. “Wait. Three people, held in a cabin, armed guards.” She looks at Knox. “Did you rig something to send a signal? Some kind of W-Fi broadcast, maybe a week ago?”