Page 43 of Cold as Hell

I lower myself to one knee beside Storm. She’s staring slightly to the right. Whatever is out there, it’s in that direction.

I wrap my hand in her high-visibility kerchief to lead her to the left. That’ll keep us roughly on track with where Dalton was leading us. I’d like to also stay downwind from whatever’s out there, but that’s impossible with how the wind is blowing, like a snake striking from every direction.

Dalton’s hand tightens on my arm as he rises. I tug Storm’s collar. She stands her ground. I frown down and give another tug.

Dalton peers the way we were going to head. Is there something in that direction, too?

A whine reaches my ears, and I squint down to see Storm looking at me. Her lips move as she whines again, my head close enough to hers for me to hear it.

She doesn’t like this.

She really doesn’t like it.

Neither do I, girl. But I don’t know what else to do.

When I glance over, I see Dalton’s free hand raised. He’s holding his gun, because of course he is. We’re always armed out here. I’ve just been too focused on the blizzard—a threat where weapons are useless.

I take out my gun.

Storm tugs to the left… where she’s been staring.

I look at Dalton. He reaches to grip her collar and then motions for me to stay behind the dog. I do, and they take a careful step forward.

I aim my gun, very aware that I’m pointing it into a wall of swirling white, and my brain screams that I can’t take this chance. As a police officer, I had trigger control drilled into my head, but all the teaching in the world doesn’t compare to the real-life experience of fucking up. I once killed someone because I took a gun to an argument. I do not even like todrawmy gun in these whiteout conditions. What if Lynn came staggering from the snowstorm and my brain screamed “Grizzly!”?

I tamp down the fear. I will never again fire blindly. I don’t know what’s out there, but I will be absolutely sure of what I see—and that we are in danger—before I pull the trigger.

Another step. Then another.

Dalton is letting Storm lead the way, one hand on her collar, the other on his raised gun.

I can’t see a damned thing. I know I keep saying that, but my mind won’t stop snarling that I need to do better. It’s not dark. It’s just snow.

Ican’tdo better, and I’ve endured enough storms to know what a whiteout is. I’m just frustrated because something is there, right there and—

The wind swerves and snow blasts my face. A scent smacks into me, that musky smell, clearer now.

That isn’t bear, it’s—

I lunge for Dalton just as a shape flies from the snow. It’s low to the ground, only coming as high as Storm’s chest, and that might seem safe. What creature that size could pose a serious threat to two people and a dog?

One creature.

“Wolverine!” I shout, even as the wind whips my words aside.

Dalton kicks. I catch a glimpse of a dark brown face with tiny eyes and teeth. Mostly what I see is the teeth.

Dalton’s blow catches the beast under the jaw and sends it flying backward. Only then do I see the true size of it. Wolverines are weasels, and I’ve learned just how misleading that is. The creature’s short legs keep it low to the ground, but this one has to be at least thirty pounds. Even that might seem small… if it weren’t a freaking wolverine.

The beast disappears into the snow, only to come charging out as if thrown back by some unseen hand. That’s when I see Storm hunkering down to lunge, and I let out a yelp as I launch myself at her.

Dalton fires. The bullet hits the wolverine in the shoulder, but it keeps coming at him. He steps back, and his foot must slide on the ice because his gun swings up. Storm wrenches against me, wanting to leap to his rescue, but I yank her with as much force as I can muster, startling her enough that she yelps. Then I fire.

My bullet hits the wolverine in the flank, knocking its rear quarters sideways, but it’s still charging at Dalton, even as its whole back end whiplashes.

I fire again, and so does he. His bullet hits the wolverine right in its open mouth, but he still jumps aside, as if that might not be enough.

It is enough. His shot penetrates the central nervous system, and the beast finally goes down. We both stay where we are, shuddering in relief.

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