Page 137 of Dating Goals
“Wilde and the cavalry should be here any minute. When we get outside, we need to move fast.”
The moment we push through the exit door, more alarms blare behind us. Cold air slaps my face as we sprint across the snow to a ridge overlooking the steep descent.
Griffin pulls me toward a snowbank, where two pairs of skis wait, partially buried. “I stashed these earlier, just in case.”
“You brought me skis?”
“And a matching jacket.” He tosses me a hooded parka identical to his, with a red maple leaf emblazoned on the back.
I slip it on as Griffin helps me into the ski bindings. “Why the matching outfits? Starting a Canadian cult?”
“We’re going to have company coming down that mountain. They’ll all be wearing these.”
No sooner do we click into our skis than an alarm blares from inside the fortress. Guards pour out onto the snow, pointing and shouting.
“Go!” Griffin shouts.
We launch over the platform edge, plummeting several feet before our skis hit powder. My knees absorb the impact as we carve down the mountain face, zigzagging between rock outcroppings. The mountain drops away beneath our skis, snow spraying in our wake as we navigate sharp turns down the near-vertical slope.
Behind us, engines roar. I glance back to see men on snowmobiles in pursuit, because of course evil henchmen have motorized ski bikes. Others strap on skis, sliding down after us.
“Don’t look back!” Griffin shouts. “Just follow me!”
We slalom between jagged rocks and towering pines, the distance between us and our pursuers shrinking with each turn.
“Stay close!” Griffin shouts over the wind.
I follow his lead, weaving between trees as armed men on skis pursue us. Thewhump-whump-whumpof helicopter blades grows louder overhead.
“We’re surrounded!” I yell.
Griffin points ahead. “Not for long!”
The helicopter appears over a ridge, and for a terrifying moment, I think it’s OMBRA, until figures in matching maple leaf jackets leap from the open door, landing on skis. They immediately spread out in formation.
“Friends of yours?”
“Our decoys,” Griffin says, pulling me sharply right as our pursuers hesitate, confused by the sudden multiplication of targets.
The decoys converge with us, creating a diversion. We split, merge, cross paths. The guards falter, unable to track which maple leaf jacket contains their targets.
An explosion rocks the mountain behind us. I glance back to see smoke billowing from the OMBRA fortress. MI6 making their move on Nero.
The slope steepens. We pick up speed, crisscrossing with the skiers in maple leaf jackets, who mirror our movements. Behind us, the OMBRA skiers split up, trying to track each jacket.
A man on a ski bike roars toward us. One of our allies pulls something from his pocket—a small metal ball—and tosses it under the approaching vehicle. It sparks, and the bike veers wildly before crashing into a snowbank.
“Where do they get these toys?” I shout.
“Spies-R-Us!”
The pursuit grows. More OMBRA guards join the chase on skis, getting close.
“We’ve got company!” I shout.
“Split up at the next ridge!” Griffin calls over the wind rushing past our ears. “Crisscross patterns!”
A man skis alongside us. It’s Wilde.
