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My whole body throbs with pain, and I know it’ll get worse as soon as I open my eyes.
The first thing I smell is wood smoke. My left side is warm, my right side a block of cold, and my ribs ache in time with the throbbing of my jaw.
I picked a fight and lost, and now I’m probably going to die. It’s a good thing I’m used to that by now, or I might just lie on the ground and give up. It still takes me a long moment to get up the courage to open my eyes and look around.
We’re near the burnt remains of the cabin. A small fire crackles to my left. Judging by the state of the branches, it’s been burning for quite a while. I don’t think I lost consciousness completely for long, but unconscious even for a few seconds means a concussion. Not good.
My hands are tied in front of me. It’s not like I feel like running anyway, but if I try it, I won’t get far without my hands for balance.
Where are Raph and Daniel and the pilot? I look to my right slowly, because if I do it any faster, my head swims and I feel like puking. Definitely a concussion. It’s getting better second by second, though, so I hope it’s a mild one.
Raph and Daniel are together some ways away, and the pilot sits near them, his back against a rock. His coat is off, his midsection bandaged. He looks pasty and sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead. When he shifts, he winces. My bag lies a few feet away from him. My hunting knife is on the ground next to it. I flex my foot, trying to feel if the smaller blade is still there, but then I see it. Raph’s holding it. Flipping it idly around his thumb.
He has something yellow in his other hand, held up to the side of his face. It takes a moment of squinting to recognize it. A satellite phone. He mutters something into it, then scowls and listens. He doesn’t seem happy. Reporting progress, I guess. Or lack of it.
I look toward the lake. No sign of Bo, but the ice is red near the plane. The streaks move toward the woods. I can’t see if they reach the trees.
I tell myself he got away. He has to have gotten away. Run, I think. Run, survive, forget about me. And then I hope for him to come back. To somehow rescue me.
But I know he’s probably dead.
Raph approaches me. He crouches and looks down at me. I don’t have a good way to push myself up with my hands tied, so I’m forced to stare up at him.
“You’re awake,” he says, and smiles. It’s not like the pilot’s smile, fake and falsely reassuring. This smile is not pretending to be friendly; it’s all sharp edges like an arrowhead. It punches right through you. “I take it you’re the enterprising individual who took our crate. Pretty rude of you. Especially since Daniel and me had to spend all that time digging up an empty hole while you napped, just to be sure.”
I just stare back at him. No point in answering. He already knows.
“What are you doing out here? Last I checked, Carl lived alone. You his little piece of jailbait, then?”
My face twists in disgust. “I’m his daughter,” I say.
“He never mentioned you,” he says with vague disinterest. “So, let me guess. You were going to use the radio to call for help.”
“I was going to steal your plane,” I say. I don’t know why I’m telling him the truth about anything, except his smug expression made me want to scratch his face off and I don’t want him thinking he’s right about anything.
“A little wild girl flying a plane? How entertaining,” he says. “Tell you what. You take me to my crate, and I’ll let you hitch a ride.”
“Like you’d let me go.”
He shrugs. “I don’t kill little girls. The way I see it, there’s nothing you can do to us. So we’ll drop you someplace out of the way with fifty cents in your pocket, and by the time you find a pay phone we’ll be long gone. Everybody parts as friends, right?”
Every word coming out of his mouth sounds completely reasonable, but he’s lying.
I haven’t seen a human being in weeks—months—but I’ve gotten good at watching. At knowing when an animal sees you or when it’s ready to run, based on the tiny tremors of its muscles. And the way he’s talking, he’s suddenly gotten a little more tense, the tendons of his neck shifting minutely, the corner of his eye twitching once.
He doesn’t care if I can do anything to him. I’ve already done it, by moving the crate. By shooting the pilot. He’s got plenty of reason to kill me.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll take you to it.”
“Good,” he says. “Very good.” That smile again, with bare, blunt teeth that scare me more than the wolf-dog’s fangs. But I don’t know what else to do. If I refuse, he’ll hurt me. If I agree, I’ll survive a little while longer.
I shiver. I should have let them come and go. I’d take the winter over this.
But I haven’t ever given up yet, and it isn’t time to start now. A plan is the first thing you need. I don’t have one, but it starts to form like a frost bloom.
“I’ll take you to it,” I say again, and try to think.
•••
