Page 71 of Conrad

She took his hand, squeezed.

“Okay, let’s go.” They’d rolled maybe thirty feet into the forest, enough to be hidden, so maybe this was the right move. He scrabbled up, gripping broken tree branches and fighting his pulsing hip, and helped pull her up the hill until they hit the pavement.

The road sprawled out in both directions, darkness in the darkness.

“Now what?”

“I think we passed a mailbox about the time the car came up on us. I remember his lights shining on it.” He glanced either way—as if a car might be coming?For Pete’s sake. Then again, if it were, he might stand out in the middle of the road.

Okay, maybe not, given the slickness as they crossed to the other side and headed back toward where they’d come from. On this side, any car coming would see them.

And with luck, they’d run right into the mailbox.

“You think the car was really trying to take us out?”

“I don’t know, Pen.” He hunched his head down, the snow finding his cheeks, burning. She couldn’t be much warmer in those leggings, fancy boots, the jacket made for looks rather than warmth. But she kept moving beside him.

C’mon, God, send a car.

Hopefully the Almighty still heard the prayers of the desperate.

But the night seemed deserted, the wind picking up into a moan, the flakes now turning to ice, the edges biting.

Conrad nearly walked right by the mailbox. If it hadn’t been for it catching his jacket arm as he brushed by, he would have kept going into the yonder for who knew how long. Rounding, he stopped, and Penelope nearly banged into him.

He’d noticed she’d gone quiet, probably trying to endure the storm. “I think this is a driveway.” The snow seemed to dip here, as if it might have been shoveled, perhaps earlier in the season.

“To what—a lake home?”

“There are plenty of closed-up cabins in this area. Let’s see if we can find it.” As he started down the path, the snow up past his ankles, he thought he spotted a clearing in the darkness ahead, maybe the lake reflecting the snow.

They trudged down the trail, his hand tight on hers. She tripped once, and he caught her. “Hang in there.”

Please let this not be a mistake. There it was, another prayer. He didn’tnotbelieve in God. On the contrary.

He just feared that God didn’t believe in him.

Thankfully, the path didn’t turn, just a straight shot, and yes, he’d guessed right. The drive opened to an expansive view of some tucked-away lake, the surface glistening with white even in the storm.

And situated beside the lake, a cabin. It looked like it might be two stories, with a porch and gabled windows.

“How are we going to get in?” Penelope’s voice trembled.

“Good question. I don’t want to break a window?—”

“Maybe you should try them. Sometimes people forget to lock them.” She wrapped her arms around herself, openly shivering. “You’d be shocked how many houses are broken into that way.”

Apparently he was going to add breaking and entering to his record. But rather that than perish. He climbed up the porch steps, less snow here, and tried the door. Locked. He went to the main windows beside the door—also locked. A massive window overlooked the lake—no opening there, but in the back side, near the propane tank and a boathouse, he found a small double-hung utility window.

It slid open. Except, no way could he fit into the small twenty-four-by-eighteen-inch opening.

Penelope had walked around behind him. “Boost me up.”

He wove his fingers together, and she stepped into his hands. He lifted her and she wedged the window open the whole way, then worked her way in, headfirst. He helped her navigate into it, and she disappeared.

Grunting.

Then the side door unlocked and opened. “And Bob’s your uncle!”

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