Page 96 of Death Valley

The confession hangs in the air between us, more intimate somehow than our physical nakedness. I’ve never said thesethings aloud before, never acknowledged the fear that’s driven so many of my choices.

“When this is over,” I continue, surprised by my own words, “if we make it out…I want to be different. Better. Be the man my father raised me to be, not the one I’ve let myself become. Cut ties with Marcus, run the ranch clean even if it means losing it. Find a way to take care of my mother that doesn’t cost my soul.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” she says softly, gravity in her voice that tells me she’s not just agreeing with me, but that she believes in me. Believes I can do it.

“What about you?” I ask. “When this is over, you go back to the FBI? Back to chasing criminals? Criminals like me?”

She sighs, her breath warm against my chest. “I don’t know. Before all this, I was on a path. Had my whole career mapped out, knew exactly where I was going. Now…” She trails off, her eyes distant. “Now I’m not sure of anything, except that I need to find out what happened to Lainey. Need to have that closure, no matter how much it hurts me, no matter how much it might kill me.”

“And after?” I press, not sure why her answer matters so much to me.

“After,” she repeats, as if the concept is foreign. “I haven’t let myself think about after. Maybe that’s been the problem all along. I’ve been stuck in the moment Lainey disappeared, unable to move forward. Hell, I might have been stuck since my mother died. I heard once that whenever you experienced your most traumatic event, that’s the age you are forever. Obviously that’s bullshit, but I think there’s a line of truth to it. I think maybe we get hung up at a certain spot in our lives, never able to move past it unless we face it head on.”

The understanding passes between us, unspoken but clear. We’re both trapped by our pasts, both struggling to find a wayforward. Both might die on this mountain before we get the chance to try.

“We should check on Eli,” she says after a moment, breaking the spell of intimacy that had wrapped around us. “And figure out our next move.”

She’s right, of course. However tempting it might be to remain in this bubble of warmth and unexpected connection, the world outside the sleeping bag hasn’t changed. The feral people are still out there. Eli is still injured. We’re still in grave danger with no real way out.

Untangling ourselves from the sleeping bag proves an awkward dance of limbs and averted eyes, the vulnerability of our earlier conversation making the physical exposure somehow more significant. We dress quickly in the cabin’s chill, our clothes stiff from where they’ve dried out overnight by the hearth.

I check on Eli while Aubrey rebuilds the fire. His condition remains precarious—fever still high, the wound on his shoulder an angry red around the edges, though the black discoloration hasn’t spread further. The tears themselves are ragged so it’s hard to know if it really was done by Hank’s claw-like fingernails or his teeth sharp teeth. Either way, Eli’s breathing is shallow but regular. He’s hanging on, for now.

With the immediate necessity of tending to Eli addressed, I move to the window, scraping away a patch of frost to peer outside. The storm has passed, leaving behind a world transformed by white, sparkling snow under a blue sky.

“Storm’s passed,” I report, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement, any watching eyes. “Snow’s deep, though. Four feet at least in the drifts.”

“That’s going to make travel difficult,” Aubrey says, feeding the last of our firewood into the rejuvenated flames. “Especially without the horses.”

The reminder of our lost mounts sends a pang through my chest. I hope Jeopardy made it to safety, to open ground where he could outrun any pursuit. He’s a smart horse, knows these mountains almost as well as I do. If any horse could make it back to the ranch, it’s him.

“We need more wood,” I say, eyeing the dwindling supply. “Fire won’t last much longer on what we have.”

I survey the cabin’s sparse furnishings—a rickety table, three chairs, a few shelves bolted to the walls, perhaps a bed in the loft. All potential fuel, if it comes to that. And it will, if we stay another night.

“How’s our food situation?” Aubrey asks, already digging through our packs.

“Not great,” I admit. “Some jerky, a few energy bars, a bag of trail mix. Maybe enough for a day, two max.”

She nods, cataloging our meager supplies with the same methodical efficiency she’s shown throughout this ordeal. “And our options? What do we do?”

I consider the question carefully, weighing the dangers against our dwindling resources. “We have three choices, as I see it. We can stay here, hope the hungry ones have lost interest…”

“Or maybe someone comes looking for us.”

I give her a sharp look. “You said the FBI didn’t know where you were.”

“They don’t. But you had to have told someone we were here.”

I shake my head, wishing I had at least told Margaret, wishing I had stopped by to see my mother before we left, like she asked me to. “Didn’t tell a soul. You understand now why. Anyway, no one is coming to save us. We can try to make it to Sugar Bowl, which is the nearest outpost, though that’s a hard trek in this snow without horses. Or…”

“Or we can go where they were herding us,” she finishes for me. “To the caves.”

“That’s suicide,” I say flatly. “Those caves are their territory.”

“Yes. Maybe. But it’s also where Lainey disappeared,” she points out. “Where we might find answers about what happened to her. About what’s happening to Eli. About all of it.”

The caves might hold answers, but they also hold death. I know she thinks she’ll find Lainey there, or answers to what happened to her, but I know she’s not going to like what she finds, and I know neither of us will be walking away.

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