“Ralphie?” Layna said.
“That’s right,” he replied. “Ralphie the Lizard.”
My mind hadn’t caught up to the true danger we were in—I was still panicking that Baylee wasn’t here. Which meant her smashed phone with its SIM card full of evidence wasn’t here either.
But shock slowed down time enough for some part of my brain to take in the cabin. It was more rustic than I remembered, probably because these guys didn’t have my mom’s penchant for battery-operated fairy lights and cozy blankets. A sleeping bag lay on top of each twin bed, and tins of sardines, a loaf of white bread, and a canister of instant coffee perched on a little ledge along the back wall. A pan of water onthe stove struggled to reach a boil. My internal alarm bells clanged even louder at the sight of a rifle leaning in a far corner.
“Where’s Connor?” Ralphie demanded.
“He sent us. I’m Nikita,” I said, before I could think.
“Fucking chickenshit Connor,” Ralphie said.
“Where’s Baylee?” I said.
The stocky man spoke in a girlish falsetto. “‘This is Baylee from a burner. Errol smashed my phone.’” He snapped back into his normal voice. “Tell dipshit Connor it wasn’t Baylee. It was me. Errol. Making sure she deserved what she had coming.”
Something inside me collapsed in on itself like a building imploding, because Errol clearly thought Connor was still alive. Which meant he hadn’t killed Connor. Which meant Layna and I had made this dangerous trip for nothing.
Ralphie looked me and Layna up and down in a way that was clearly not avuncular. “At least Connor sent us a tip,” he said.
“I’m gonna stick in more than the tip,” Errol said. “That piece of shit banged my girl. Was planning to do it again. Right here.”
“And I was looking forward to giving that rat what he deserved,” Ralphie said. “But these girls’ll have to do. For now.”
Layna looked at me, eyes wild. I jerked my head toward the door. I spotted a large backpack slumped against the wall nearest me. The top wasn’t cinched. I could see a large ammo tin inside. If it held grenades, we might have a fighting chance.
“Yeah,” Errol said. “We’re gonna have fun with these two.”
Layna fumbled for the bear spray tucked into her bikini top, but before she could aim it, Ralphie grabbed her wrist, twisting it until the spray clattered to the sloped pine floor and rolled away. Layna let out a pitiful yelp.
“We’ve got a present for you to send Connor,” Ralphie was saying. “For trying to rat us out to the feds.” He dragged Layna toward a smallred cooler, popped the lid, reached inside, and pressed whatever he’d extracted into Layna’s hand.
“Connor fucked my girl,” Errol said. “So we took her finger.” As the scream ripped out of Layna, something dropped to the floor. A fingernail with flaking orange polish. Waxy skin. A bloody stumped end. It took me a shocked instant to understand it was a severed pinkie. Ralphie clamped a hand over Layna’s mouth and growled into her ear.
My own ears rang as shockwaves of terror rippled through me. I dove for the cabin’s lone door, but Errol had blocked my escape. He grabbed my arm, yanking it behind my back. A sharp pain ripped through my shoulder socket.
“Let go of me!” I yelled, but he slapped a hand over my mouth, yanking me against him so I could feel the redneck boner swelling in his pants. My mind fragmented, pieces flying in shards to every corner of the room. The only intelligible thought was:This is going to be very, very bad.
Ralphie grunted with pain and Layna wrenched herself from his grasp. As he shook out his bitten hand, he backed her toward the cabin’s far corner. She lunged to grab the pot off the wood-burning stove. Boiling water arched, splashing onto Ralphie, who let out a bloodcurdling yowl. The sickening thud of the scalding pan hitting him upside the head was followed instantly by the wafting smell of burning skin and hair.
As Ralphie slumped to the ground, I reached back like I was doing a reverse pole grab, but instead of grasping chrome, I jammed my thumb into Errol’s eye, then brought my elbow down, ramming it into his solar plexus.
“Aarggh! You fucking bitch!” Errol yelped. He released me to leap for Layna, who’d hauled her pot-wielding arm back for another swing. I did a one-legged fan kick and caught him in the side. He held up an arm to block the searing metal, the pan branding his fingers and palm like an iron. He let out a shriek. On Layna’s next swing, hot metal connected with his head. He hit the floor with a thud.
Layna was already headed for the door. But even if we made it to our snowmobile, we probably couldn’t outrun Errol or Ralphie if they gave chase on their own sleds. We needed a deterrent. So I grabbed the backpack and swung it onto my back. The ammo tins inside bit into my spine.
Layna and I burst out into the cold, slamming the door behind us.
After the dim cabin, the sun shining off the pristine snow blinded me. I stumbled down the stairs behind Layna, my center of gravity thrown off by the heavy backpack. We hurried barefoot down the icy paving stones. But before we could veer toward the dressing rooms for our snowmobile suits, helmets, and boots, the door of the cabin clicked open. I looked over my shoulder to see Errol lurching out, clutching the rifle, one eye squeezed shut. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder but yelped in pain and abandoned it on the porch—clearly between his burned right hand and gouged eye, he wasn’t up for trigger duty.
“Somebody stop those skanks!” he shouted, staggering down the stairs.
Barefoot and weighed down by the backpack, it’d be easy for me to lose my head start. “Get the snowmobile turned on,” I shouted to Layna.
“But—” Layna said.
“Just do it!” I yelled.
