T Connor - Bitter Cold Apocalypse

He started running forward without saying anything else, leaving me to bring up the rear and keep my eyes and ears out for anyone following us.

Within an hour, we were getting close to the river, according to Marlon, and I could hear the relief in his voice.

“I’d hoped we’d make it here by this time, but I honestly hadn’t been counting on it,” he huffed. “If we assume that Randall and his men had to stop and find shelter last night, like we did, and we further assume that they’re at least half a day behind us, and we further assume that they’re lazier than we are and didn’t get such an early start…”

“Then we get to hope that we’ve got at least some breathing space,” I finished. The relief I felt at that—even when the statement was full of assumptions—was akin to warm water suddenly washing over me, and I breathed out fully for the first time in who knew how long. I’d been chased before, yes. And chased by people a whole lot more dangerous than Randall and his men.

But I hadn’t had Angie to worry about in Afghanistan. I hadn’t been protecting the love of my life. That made it feel a whole lot more important out here. And a whole lot more frightening.

At that moment, we broke through an opening in the trees and found ourselves quite suddenly on the banks of the river, the land dropping steeply down toward the water itself. Marlon and I came to a quick halt, and Angie slid to a halt behind us a moment later.

I almost jumped for joy when I saw the river.

“It’s iced up,” I breathed out, nearly afraid to say it too loudly in case something suddenly changed. Ice was what we’d been hoping for. It was what we’d needed. Because it would make our escape so much easier.

Yes, we would be leaving footprints. But thanks to the lack of snow last night, Marlon was right: There was no snow on the ice of the river. Or very little, at least. Not enough to show footprints.

Not enough to mark the path we took.

If we did things right—if that ice was thick enough—our footprints would lead right to the river… and then disappear. And Randall and his cousins would have absolutely no way to know whether we’d just gone straight across it or gone down—or up—for a ways before getting off the ice. Sure, they’d be able to go across to the other side and check for our footprints over there, but it would take a lot of time, increasing our head start.

And even if they didn’t find footprints over there, they wouldn’t be able to know for sure that we hadn’t gone that way and found a way to disguise our prints after we went through there.

Even better, we’d be able to make quicker time on the ice of the river. We’d be able to get to Ellis Woods faster this way.

“This river leads right toward Ellis Woods,” Marlon said, already unstrapping himself from the ropes of Angie’s sled. “It makes a hard turn here and flows almost into town.”

“This must be the river that flows right past our backyard,” Angie said, excitement coloring her voice. She turned to me, her eyes shining. “John, we might be able to take this river right to our home !”

I laughed at the thought, which was both ridiculous and at the same time, warm and fuzzy in a way that made me feel almost giddy. I’d been cold, scared, and worried for days now. My wife had been attacked by a bear, my own life had been threatened, and we’d almost died of hypothermia. We also had a bear-man chasing us, intent on kidnapping Angie and using her as some sort of trade with her uncle.

But suddenly, and unexpectedly, there seemed to be a clear, straight shot from here to our house. Something that was actually doable. For the first time in days, we had an actual answer to everything. And hope that we might get home, even with everything that had gone wrong.

“As long as the ice is thick enough,” Marlon said, quickly dousing my rose-colored dreams. “If the ice isn’t thick enough to support us, we’re going to have the same problems we had yesterday. Without the hope of the river ahead of us.”

“What do you mean?” Angie asked immediately.

Marlon started down the slope toward the river, leaving Angie and me behind, and I took the ropes and started after him, working to keep the sled from moving too quickly. There was a large, flat beach up against the river right here, and I left Angie sitting on it while I followed Marlon out to the ice.

“He means that if the ice is too thin, we can’t afford to go out on it at all,” I said. “And if it’s thin enough that we can’t use it, then the river loses its value to us. We can’t take the chance of falling through the ice. Even if we didn’t drown or get stuck, we’d be soaking wet in sub-zero temperatures. If the river was running, we’d be able to use it, regardless, as long as the sled proved to be watertight. But as it stands…” I shrugged, allowing that shrug to communicate everything for me.

The silence behind me told me that Angie knew exactly what I was saying. The ice made it easier for us to travel down the river. It also restricted us, though—and if it wasn’t thick enough to hold us, then we were going to have to find another way to get home.

Five minutes earlier I’d been absolutely elated. Now, I was terrified that the plan we’d been working on since yesterday was going to need a drastic, immediate revision.

Marlon and I stood beside the river, staring at it for several minutes before I spoke—and when I did, it was because I had become keenly aware of the fact that we were standing there staring at a river when the bad guys were actively searching for us.

“So, how do we figure out how deep the ice is? And whether it’s deep enough to be safe for our little field trip?” I asked.

I wasn’t shocked at all when he pulled a long, thin saw from the side of his pack. At this point, I was pretty sure that pack had doubled for Mary Poppins’ carpetbag.

Marlon held the saw up and gave me a look that was part humor and part concern.

“We cut down into it and see how far it goes,” he said simply. “And then we determine whether we’re going to take the gamble or not.”

“Riiiight,” I said unsure of whether he was being serious or not.

Then we heard a gunshot in the distance. We both dropped to the soil, our eyes on the horizon as we waited tensely for another shot.

A few seconds later, another shot sounded out. Farther away, if my senses were telling me the truth.

“Five miles or so,” he whispered. “The second shot was further away.”

“Think it’s Randall and his men?” I whispered back.

“I don’t see how or why it would be anyone else. I’ve never seen anyone else in this area of the woods. It’s not a good hunting area, and even if it was, this weather hasn’t exactly been inviting. Not to mention that EMP attack. I doubt anyone else but them would be out here.”

“So the explosion didn’t kill them. And they’re definitely coming after us,” I finally concluded.

It wasn’t like we didn’t already suspect that. But there was something distinctly unsettling about knowing it for sure. Maybe I should have felt that it was a comfort to have a solid answer. I didn’t.

“The explosion didn’t kill them,” he agreed. “And they’re definitely coming after us. Which means our time is short.” He turned back to the river, his eyes on the ice in front of us. “The ice will be thickest at the shore. We’ll go in three feet, max, so that we make sure to stay out of the snow and dirt on the shore. That’s where we’ll break through.”

I was already on my feet again. “Let’s get it done.”

We walked several feet out, then dropped to our knees, and I watched as Marlon did something to what I had thought was a saw. Suddenly, the thing started rotating, and I realized that it was in fact a drill—which made more sense, honestly. It had to be battery powered, though, if it was working after the EMP, and I wondered again at the number of toys this man had managed to bring along with him.