Page 92 of Cold as Hell

I break into a waddling run, and I practically fall beside the cluster of bushes. I dive in, shoving aside barren branches, snow tumbling down onto…

Onto Yolanda. She’s barefooted, her jeans and parka gone, panties and button-down shirt still on. And she isn’t moving. She’s curled up fetal-position on her side, her arms wrapped around her bare legs, and she isn’t moving.

When I move around her, I can see cuts on her feet and smears of blood on the rocks. She’d been partially undressed when she escaped Jerome, and she ran here, out on the rocks where he couldn’t track her prints, and then she curled up under the biggest cluster of bushes she could find and…

I push the rest aside. I’m not just sitting there, crying over her still form. I’m checking for a pulse, for breathing, for anything, and I’m not finding it. She’s cold. She’s so cold, and there’s no pulse, no heartbeat, no sign of life.

There! Her throat fluttered. I put my face right up to hers and feel the faint stream of warm breath on my cold face. Tears prickle my eyes. She’s alive.

After Lynn died, I read April’s reference entries on hypothermia to refresh my memory. In stage one, the victim is conscious and shivering uncontrollably. Stage two, they stop shivering andbecome mentally impaired. Stage three? Loss of consciousness, during which it may be difficult to detect vital signs as their body slows down.

Warm her up. That’s the treatment for all of the early stages. Here, I remember reading something about cardiac danger, but I can’t recall exactly what the book said. Probably to warm her gently and not move her.

I’m stripping off my coat when I remember Anders is out there, along with Dalton and Jacob, all of whom will know how to handle hypothermia.

And all of whom need to know I found Yolanda.

I open my mouth to shout. Then I pause. What if Jerome is nearby, searching for Yolanda?

Too bad. I have my gun, and if he comes first, I’ll handle that. I’m not letting Yolanda die for fear I’ll accidentally summon her would-be killer.

“Eric!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “I have Yolanda!”

I stretch my coat over her legs. I need Storm to help warm her with body heat. The problem is the damn bush. We can’t get to Yolanda properly and I don’t dare pull her out.

I shout again as I rip at the bush, snapping branches so Storm can get in there and lie against her bare legs. Then I hear footfalls, and I swing my gun up to see Dalton running full out in my direction, Anders and Jacob behind him.

“She’s here!” I say. “She’s unconscious but alive.”

Dalton goes to lift her, but I quickly tell him my fear. By then, Anders has caught up, and he says it’s fine—warming her up is the main thing, and we need to gently get her away from the bush to do that.

All three men work to move her as carefully as they can. Then coats and scarves and sweaters come off, everything they can spare and more. I stay back. When Dalton tries to returnmy parka, I shake my head and try to hide my chattering teeth, but Anders says, “Take it. We have enough.”

I put on my coat and watch. Two more contractions hit in the time it takes Dalton and Jacob to grab armfuls of dried bush branches and set them ablaze while Anders tends to Yolanda. Not wanting to interfere, I refrain from asking for details, but he tells me she seems stable. She’s cold, but there are only two toes he’s worried are frostbitten.

“There was no sign of Jerome,” I say, when Dalton finally crouches beside me. “I think Yolanda got away and hid in the bushes.”

He nods.

“The smoke is probably going to tip him off,” I say. “Nothing we can do about that, except keep watch.”

He grunts. “He’s not taking on all of us. Not when we already have Yolanda. Yeah, we need to watch the tree line, but he’s still got both the other sat phones.”

“Meaning, if he’s smart, he’ll cut his losses and call for help.”

“Which he’s not getting,” Dalton says. “Émilie should have her pilot here soon. They’ll have a phone, and I already let Émilie know to monitor any emergency pickups.”

I nod. It’s an unsatisfying resolution, and I really don’t want to think of us spending the next few months worrying about a sadistic serial killer in the woods.

How many times has something happened in the forest here or in Rockton and someone—resident or staff—brings up the old stories of serial killers hiding in the wilderness? It does happen. There are cases of it in Alaska. But mostly, it’s an urban legend. Unless you’re running a hidden town in the forest and youimportthe serial killers, who then run off into the forest.

“Jacob and I should stay on his trail,” Dalton says. “We had it, up there. Only one set of tracks, which we were worried about,but now it makes sense. Jerome was searching for Yolanda. Looks like he headed farther inland.”

“As long as you have a trail, you should keep on it. Otherwise, once the snow flies again, it disappears.”

“And it will snow.” He squints at the sky. “Probably tomorrow.”

“You’d take Storm, right?” I say.

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