Page 109 of One Last Stand

She collapsed in the snow. He hadn’t crushed her, but the snow had found her face, her ears, throttled its way into her jacket. She’d lost a sock, and her legs were icicles.

But they hadn’t died.

“You okay?” His voice, soft in her ear. And even in her frozen state, it had the power to light a fire through her.

But she’d need more than that. “I think so.”

He caught her again around her waist and rolled over, him now in the snow, her on top. Snow cluttered his headlamp, but he cleaned it and then shone it around.

They’d traveled nearly all the way into the tree line.

“That was . . .”

“Terrifying.” He pushed up. “I think the A-frame is that way. I was reviewing the map in my head and . . . yeah, see it? Through that stand of hemlock?”

She could barely make it out in the darkness, but it did seem like a structure.

“Back on my back, let’s go.”

“I can walk?—”

“Please. For the sake of your feet, get on my back.”

She climbed on, her legs through the harness again, and grimaced when he grunted.

But he handed her the poker, wrapped his arms around her knees, and started tromping through the knee-high snow. No wonder he had wanted to slide instead of walk.

They came to the trees, and he waited a moment, turning off his light.

No movement in the small cabin, sitting alone under the stars, surrounded by untouched snow.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He trudged out across the open space and up to the small cabin.

The roofline protected the wooden porch. He backed up to it and offloaded her, then climbed the stairs and went to the door.

It opened without struggle. He looked at her.

She shrugged and then, still holding the poker, followed him inside.

Darkness, but a stove with logs stacked nearby sat in the small room, a pipe directed outside. And on the other side of the room, a double bed. A small kitchen against the back wall held a vertical water tank, probably for fresh water from a nearby river, a bowl for a sink, and a small table.

Maybe a skier’s cabin.

“I’ll make a fire,” she said.

“No, you sit. I’ll make a fire.”

She sat on the bed. It came without blankets, but after a moment, she looked under the bed. And there, in a plastic tub—a comforter and sheets. “This might even be one of those glamping B&Bs.” She pulled out the comforter and wrapped it around herself.

Shep the Boy Scout had the fire glowing in a blink.

He stood up then and pulled off his harness, dropping it on the floor, and then he rubbed his shoulders.

“Sorry I’m so heavy.”

He looked at her. “You’re not heavy. But I am wondering if I need to put a tracker on you.”

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