Page 72 of Dark Sky

“Follow you where?”

“Out of here.”

“How?”

“Here,” Joe said, thrusting the .22 into Price’s hands. “Keep that aimed at the door and pull the trigger if anyone steps inside.”

—

Carrying the stump he’d used for a chair from where they’d huddled around the heating coil, Joe kicked the bed away from the wall and dropped it onto the floor in its place and mounted it. His back was to the open door and to Price, who asked him if the safety of the rifle was off.

“It’s off,” Joe said. “It’s cocked and ready to fire.”

Presuming the cartridge is good, Joe thought but didn’t say.

“I’ve never shot a gun before.”

“It’s a good time to learn.”

From outside, Joe heard Earl lament, “Goddamn it, Joe. You shot Brad in the jaw.”

“You ruined his beautiful smile,” Kirby chimed in with barely disguised glee. “The girls won’t have anything to do with him now.”

Kirby’s voice came from the left side of the cabin, not the front where Earl and Brad were. Good to know, Joe thought.

He braced himself on top of the stump and reached up and placed both palms against a sheet of plywood that rode down the ridge of the truss and appeared to be nailed directly to the top of the log wall. He grunted as he shoved and he felt it give. But it wasn’t yet enough to create an escape route.

“What are you doing?” Price asked.

“Aim toward the door,” Joe ordered.

He tried to calm himself. He took a deep breath and pushed up with all of his strength. As he did, he could feel a sharp pang in his thigh where the rifle bullet had damaged tissue and nerves the year before. The strain of the push made the stump rock beneath his feet and nearly topple over.

But the plywood sheet separated from the truss and the wall, leaving a two-foot gap. Joe felt icy cold on his face from the opening. He shoved up until his arms were stretched out and he opened the gap to three feet. The bottom edges of the plywood sheet bristled with exposed nail points.

Joe jumped down and pointed out the space to Price as he retrieved the rifle from him.

“Go,” Joe said.

“I don’t know if I can reach it.”

“I’ll help you,” Joe said. “Just be careful not to snag your clothes on those nails.”

Joe tossed the rifle aside on the bed frame and laced his fingers together and squatted. Price stepped into his cupped hands and Joe grunted again as he lifted the man up. Joe felt charged with unnatural strength, probably due to the adrenaline rushing through his body, he thought.

Price scrambled to get his head and shoulders out through the gap and he crawled through and dropped away. Joe heard him hit the ground hard on the other side of the wall.

He grabbed the rifle and tossed it through the space ahead of him so he wouldn’t have to try to climb with it. Then he jammed one of the chairs over the top of the stump to gain another eighteen inches and managed to step up to the seat of the chair. It was a rickety setup and he tried to maintain his cool as well as his balance.

While he struggled, he knew he had his back to the door and to anyone who might look inside. He had no defense. Joe anticipated the shock of being hit in the back at any moment.

He pulled himself up by grasping the top of the log wall and managed to find a foothold on the frame of a window. He was able to propel himself up and through the opening. He landed in a heap on his back in the snow with no more grace than Price had shown.

It took him a few seconds to get his wind back, and Joe sat up and grasped his bent knees with his arms.

“Are you okay?” Price asked. “Where do we go?”

“Don’t talk,” Joe said, aware that they could probably both be heard by the Thomases on the other side of the cabin.

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