Page 14 of Lost in You

We could stop at the next densely forested area we find, but I don’t think we should. With wet feet, we’re on borrowed time. I stop my train of thought as soon as it goes there.

In hockey, if you think you could lose, you’re far more likely to. You have to go into a game with a laser focus on doing whatever it takes to win. That’s how I’m approaching this situation. It’s not about the number of miles or the temperature. It’s about my personal drive. No quitting.

I didn’t tell Trinity I was hoping rescuers could track us through my phone because I didn’t want to get her hopes up. I’ve got a friend who’s an FBI agent and I know they can do some sophisticated shit with phones these days.

I turned the phone off to preserve the battery. Maybe that was the wrong move. Maybe it’s already dead anyway.

This can’t be the way I go out. There are so many things I never got to do. The pro hockey record that seemed so important a couple of days ago feels completely meaningless now.

Living. That’s what matters. Making it through this without either of us losing body parts to frostbite.

I’m worried about Trinity. Pain and exhaustion are taking a toll on her. And while I’ll carry her until my legs won’t walk another step if I have to, I can’t walk a hundred-plus miles in these conditions.

Part of me wants to get out my phone and record a message for my dad if my phone has any life left. There’s a chance rescuers will find it and share it with him. But Trinity will know how dire I think things are if I do, and I don’t want that.

“Lincoln.” Trinity’s voice is hoarse, barely audible over the wind. I turn and see her pointing. “Light.”

I squint at the faint glow in the distance. How could there be a light out here? Blinking, I try to get a better look at it, but there’s snow blowing everywhere.

“I don’t know,” I say. “You think so?”

“It’s a light.” Her voice is stronger now. “We have to walk that way.”

I guess if there’s even a chance, we should do it. I turn to the right, leading her in the direction she was pointing.

This place is darker and quieter than anywhere I’ve ever been. There are no city lights. Just the stars. Our heavy breaths are the only sounds until the howl of a distant wolf breaks the near silence.

As we draw closer, my pulse kicks up as I realize Trinity is right. We’re walking toward a light. I break into a run, which is really just a faster walk in all the snow. After another quarter of a mile or so, I see that the bright outdoor light is mounted on a pole that’s around twenty feet tall. In its glow, I make out the shape of a roofline.

“A building!” I call over my shoulder to Trinity. “There’s a building!”

She cries out and starts to hobble-run. Tears burn my eyes as I race the rest of the way to what turns out to be a small cabin. I’m breathless by the time I step onto the front porch, which spans the entire length of the front of the cabin.

I take a few seconds to catch my breath as Trinity makes it to the porch.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says through tears. “Should we knock?”

“Yeah. I didn’t see any vehicles, but there might be someone in there.”

I approach the front door, lowering my brows when I see that it’s locked from the outside by a bar of metal. It looks like if I just lift the bar, I’ll be able to open the door.

I pound on the door for a full fifteen seconds, then wait. Nothing. I pound again, this time yelling.

“Hello? Hey, we need some help! Anyone in there?”

When we don’t hear a sound in response, Trinity and I exchange a quick glance. I raise the black metal bar and turn the doorknob to open the door.

The sweet scent of cedar greets me as I step inside, a wood floorboard creaking beneath my foot.

“Hello?” I call out. “I’m not an intruder; I just need some help.”

The outside light isn’t helping in here. I get my phone from my pocket, my hands too cold to push the buttons I need at first.

When I finally get it powered up and turn on the flashlight, I shine it around the room. The cabin is all open, with a bed against one wall, a fireplace, a kitchen area and a bathtub.

There’s also a neat little wood rolltop desk with a lamp on top. I walk over and use my phone flashlight to find the little knob on the lamp, turning it.

We’re alone here.

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