Hudson dropped into the nearest chair.
He was so fucked.
CHAPTER NINE
HUDSON
The truck smelledlike diesel and someone's terrible choice in deodorant. Hudson wedged himself into a spot across from Shaw, who immediately closed his eyes like he was meditating or some shit. Probably conserving energy. Being efficient with his consciousness. Very on-brand.
Today’s briefing had been short and simple: two days, minimal supplies, and three checkpoints. Complete the objectives or do it again with everyone knowing you’d fucked up.
Pairs were announced. Hudson had already known the result before Kowalski opened his mouth.
Hudson eyed Shaw. “Excited?”
“Thrilled,” he said, keeping his eyes closed.
“Yeah, me too. Love hypothermia. Really brings people together.”
Shaw’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t respond. Hudson was used to that by now.
Twenty minutes later, the truck stopped and dumped them in ankle-deep snow with nothing but white in every direction. The truck pulled away before Hudson couldeven get his bearings, leaving them alone in the middle of nowhere.
Shaw pulled out the map, spreading it against his thigh to study the terrain. “First checkpoint is northeast. About twelve klicks.”
“You sure?”
Shaw shot him a silent look.
“Right. Yeah. You’re sure.”
They started walking, and Hudson took point. The snow was deeper than at first glance. His boots sank past his ankles with each step, sometimes mid-calf when they hit drifts. Breaking trail burned through his thighs, each step a battle—lift, push forward, sink, repeat.
"Switch," Hudson said after maybe twenty minutes.
Shaw moved past him and Hudson fell in behind, stepping into the path Shaw had broken. After another twenty minutes, they switched again. Then again.
Shaw moved like he'd been doing this his entire life. Economical. Never rushing, never slowing. Just constant forward progress.
It was annoying how good he was at everything.
By the time they reached the first checkpoint, Hudson's lungs burned from breathing cold air and his toes were numb. A small cache marked the supplies and instructions for the next leg.
Shaw read the card while Hudson caught his breath.
"Southwest." He pointed. "Fifteen klicks."
"Fantastic," Hudson deadpanned.
"We need to cover at least half before dark. Set up camp, finish tomorrow morning."
Hudson nodded, already dreading it.
By late afternoon, the light faded fast and the temperature dropped even faster. Shaw called it when they found a decent spot sheltered by trees dense enough that the winddropped. The flat ground beneath the pines was dry, carpeted with old needles despite the snow.
Hudson dropped his pack with a groan, stretching his lumbar. "Jesus. Is your back killing you too?”
Shaw shrugged. “No. I’m good.”
