Page 111 of One Last Stand

Shep spotted her somewhere down the mountainside, a tiny orange speck between the trees, showering up powder as she turned, a flash of color, then gone again. Even in the dream, his heart pounded. Her name caught in his throat, although he tried to shout—“Jacey!”

But she wouldn’t stop.

The allure of the out-of-boundary path kept her from looking back.

His bones still hurt from the fall, snow in his jacket, his skis buried. But he’d dug himself out, now stepped back into his skis.

His stupid sister should learn to wait. He could keep up—he’d just caught his edge in the deep powder. “Jacey! Wait!”

The wind rushed through his helmet, burning his ears, chapping his face, his feet frozen in his boots, his fingertips numb. Clouds had moved in, whisked up a fierce wind that sprinkled snow across his goggles and into his jacket. He shivered, then tucked and pointed his skis downhill, straight on, to bomb it, at least until he could catch up.

She was too far ahead—he couldn’t see her anymore. And as he picked up speed, the wind whistled. Too fast. Too dangerous.

Out of control.

He tried to stand up straight, to ease back on the speed, but the powder trapped him. And the trees created an obstacle course ahead.

Go through, or turn and launch over the cliffside, off the trail—into the dark, bruised sky.

The trees would kill him. Below, he’d land in more soft, perfect powder. He pushed hard on his downhill leg, managed a turn, and cut sideways, still moving so fast he nearly sat back on his skis.

He heard his father’s voice somewhere behind him, uphill, panicked.“Slow down!”

His heart thundered, the edge rising toward him?—

Fall and break his speed, maybe catapult over anyway, or give it his all and fly?—

Courage failed him. He wobbled, then sat down on his skis, throwing out his poles, dragging through the snow. Powder blinded him, the snow caught him, and he turned, circled, rolled. His skis snapped off and he heard a crack and?—

He rolled to a stop in the snow.

For a second, everything stilled.

Then the pain in his leg shook through him and?—

Screaming.

He sat up, just like that, in the bed.

Looked around, blinking, breathing hard.

“You screamed, not me.”

The voice came from next to him, and he looked over to see London sitting on the bed, her knees pulled up to herself, wrapped in the comforter, her face illuminated by the flames of the still-flickering stove.

“I didn’t know if I should wake you, but I was just about to. Nightmare? Because you were breathing funny, and then you screamed and sat up.”

“That was me?”

“Sounded terrible.”

He scrubbed his hands down his face. “Yeah. A memory. I was thirteen and was following my sister down a back bowl. Snowbird, Utah, has some of the best skiing and heli-skiing, but my parents couldn’t afford it. Jacey thirsted for some deep powder, so she decided to go off-boundary. Alta ski resort is right next door, and a high peak splits them—she took off onto the Alta side. It’s steep and has a few trees, and cliffs, and she was a better skier than me. But I saw her leaving me . . . Anyway, I got in way over my head, fell, then got up and did something stupid and fell again—lost all my gear, broke my leg. They had to airlift me out. She made it all the way down without even realizing I was hurt.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. But really, I knew better. My dad was on patrol that day at Snowbird, and he saw me—came after me. I could have died on that hill.”

He got up, opened the stove. The A-frame had warmed, cozy inside. He’d radioed in to Moose with their location, and Moose had told him to sit tight until morning.

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