TOMáS WAS THE first to greet us as we hobbled our way into the Preacher’s campsite. With the last of Maggie’s tartan blankets slung over his shoulders, he rose from his seat by the fire and hurried in our direction. Spotting his gaunt cheeks and dark owl eyes—Rose’s eyes—pricked with me a rush of despair.
Avery, Clay, and I had untethered ourselves prior to crossing the China Spring to avoid all three of us falling into the icy water. Veering from the others, I went to stand by the fire ring and its smoking ashes, where I dropped the sleeping bag and backpack I’d been carrying. Then I took in everything around me.
Familiarity came on fast: There was the tattered tent, windblown but still standing, the rickety card table, pulled beneath a tree and piled high with wood, and the row of canvas chairs, all damp with snow. I recognized everything and still my mouth soured at the sight.
“How’s Rose?” I asked Tomás, when I’d caught my breath.
He had eyes only for Clay. “She’s resting. Shel’s with her now.”
“But she’s okay?”
“No, she’s not okay.”
“But . . .”
Tomás scowled but seemed to understand that the urgency in my voice meant I needed affirmation that Rose was still alive. “She’s in pain,” he added. “A lot of pain. The pills are helping, but they’re not enough.”
“What can we do?”
“Get her the hell out of here.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Clay sighed. “Ben says search and rescue won’t look for us here.”
“Why’s that?”
“They think we’re up by the meadow.”
“Then we’ll find a way out on our own,” Avery said, and there was strength in her voice I’d never heard before. True authority. Decisiveness.
“Where’s Archie?” Tomás asked. “Isn’t he with you?”
No one answered.
“Come on,” he pressed. “What is it? Did he do something stupid?”
I swallowed before answering. “He’s still out there.”
“Out where?”
“On the mountain. Up near the peak. Last I saw him, we were past Grizzly Lake, over the waterfall. That was yesterday. The snow started while we were up there. We could barely move in that wind, but he wouldn’t come back with me. I guess . . . I guess he really wanted that money. Or something.”
Tomás blanched at this news. “You’re saying he’s lost? In the snow?”
“Yes.”
“By himself?”
I nodded.
“Is he alive?”
As always, I went for hope, not truth. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You mean he could be—”
“Yes.”
“Oh, shit. Shit.”
Things got weird at this point. Tomás, who had reason to hate Archie more than any of us, seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating or passing out. He moaned and staggered back, grabbing for his chest like he was having a coronary. Clay, who gave me a dirty look like I had something to do with it, ended up taking Tomás by the arm and dragging him into the woods, beneath the tree cover.
“What was that about?” Avery asked when they were gone. She was crouched on the ground, starting to organize the items we’d brought back, laying them out in the snow. Her dark hair was pulled back, up off her neck, and the gold chain of her fox necklace glinted in the light, an alluring sight against her warm brown skin. A part of me longed to touch her, to run my fingers along the nape of her neck. But I didn’t.
“I don’t know,” I said softly.
“And you?” She twisted her head to look up at me. “You’re doing okay? You scared us, you know.”
My cheeks burned. “I’m okay. But I don’t know what would’ve happened if you guys hadn’t shown up, Ave. Grateful doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“You would’ve been fine.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She held up her camera. “Thanks for finding this, by the way.”
“No problem,” I said. Then: “Hey, did the Preacher really sit for you by the river?”
She nodded. “He knew a lot about photography.”
“Don’t you think that’s strange, though? That he’d let you do that? I mean, he’s a fugitive.”
Avery shrugged. “I don’t think it’s strange. It’s not like I would’ve taken the photos to the cops or anything—I didn’t know who he was then. And unlike you, he liked having his picture taken.”
I snorted. “The narcissistic bank robber.”
She reached for my hand, a point of connection. “Most people want to be remembered, Ben.”
“Hey, where’s Abel?” I pulled my hand back and turned away from her. It dawned on me that he was no longer tied to the tree by the card table. Considering the extent of his injuries, I assumed he hadn’t walked off under his own power to race Archie up the mountain or to try to slip out of the country unnoticed. It was possible he’d been sandbagging so that he could make a run for it, but the sound I’d heard when Archie struck him with the gun wasn’t anything that could be faked. But maybe he’d been moved somewhere due to his injuries. That was a thought that turned my insides weak. The idea he might be in the tent with Rose set off all sorts of alarm bells.
“He’s dead,” Avery said, effectively ending that line of thought. “He died during the night. He froze.”
“Oh,” I said.
And that was that.
—
Entering the tent, I found Shelby holding Rose in her arms. A gamey reek hung in the frigid air and every surface I touched felt grimy, filthy even, as I crawled toward where they lay huddled beneath a pile of blankets, Shelby’s chin rested on Rose’s head, her chest against her back. She also had the small Bible gripped in one hand, as she read by lantern light, whispering the words aloud.
“Hey,” I said.
“Ben.” Shelby pushed up on her elbow, matted hair falling past her shoulders. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re stuck, you know. We can’t get out.”
“I know. You should get some food, though. We brought some back.”
She nodded, setting the Bible down before zipping her hoodie, and grabbing for her shoes. When she’d left, I took her place to lay beside Rose. Even with the lantern, it was hard to see much beyond shadows, and I put my ear to her heart to be lulled by its tender throb. I inhaled her scent, mostly sweat and pain, then kissed her cheek.
“Ben,” she whispered, her lips sticky and pale. “I was worried about you. I didn’t know if you were coming back. I didn’t know if you’d be okay in the storm.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
“I told you to go.”
“How’s your side? How’re you feeling?”
“Not good,” she said.
“It hurts?”
“Everything hurts.”
“Can I see?”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I brought the lantern closer and lifted the blankets. Everything about her was small, knotted tight. Rose had one hip twisted over the other, and she winced as I pushed her shirt up.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
I ran the light across her skin. Lines of scabbed welts dotted her torso, covered the soft folds of her belly. I reached to touch one. “What are these?”
“Bug bites. Shel thinks there’re bedbugs in here. They itch like crazy.”