Sharon Dunn - Big Sky Showdown

Looking over to the side, he saw where the ATVs snaked down a distant hill. Far enough away for now—but closing in, faster than he and Heather could possibly move on foot.

“How are you going to get to the river? We can’t outrun them.” Her voice trembled with panic.

As if on cue, a braying noise alerted both of them as Clarence entered the flat area where they stood.

“Looks like our ride’s here.” Heather hurried over and patted Clarence’s neck. “I found him earlier. I’m starting to really like this old mule.”

“They always find their way back,” Zane said. “Let’s drop some of this weight.” He reached for the saddlebags.

He pulled a few essential items out and stuffed them into his pockets before yanking the bags off the mule and tossing them on the ground. “We’d better hurry.”

A moment later, the sound of the ATVs engines clanging filled the forest around them growing louder and closer. He mounted Clarence and reached out a hand for her to get on behind him. Zane spurred Clarence into a trot. The animal was surefooted enough on the rough terrain that he was able to keep a steady pace. But would be fast enough for them to get away?

* * *

Heather wrapped her arms around Zane’s waist and pressed close to him. She buried her face in his shoulder-length hair, melting into the warmth of his back. The solid shape of the box that held her father’s ashes pushed against her stomach. Until that moment, she’d almost forgotten it was there. Saying goodbye to the father she never knew and finding some closure seemed like the furthest thing from her mind.

They needed to get off this mountain alive. Judging from how ragged and dirty the men and boys all looked, they must live up in the mountains for extended periods. That meant they knew how to survive in the harshness of the high country.

The rushing roar of the river greeted her ears even before she saw the cold gray water and the bridge.

Zane turned his head slightly. “Dismount. We’ll lead Clarence across. You go in front of me.”

She slid off the mule. The bridge was primitive; the railings were made of narrow but strong cording. The bottom was fashioned from logs bound together with the same cording, stretching across the wide rushing water, connected at either end to sturdy trees. It swayed when she stepped on it. She steadied herself by grabbing the rope railing. Zane fell in behind her, leading Clarence, who hesitated only a moment before he stepped on the unsteady structure.

The ATV noises stopped nearby. The shouts and cries of men out for violence filled the forest. Before long, two of the men emerged through the trees. One of them drew a handgun and shot. The shot went wild. All the same, the gunfire made her stutter in her step.

“Keep going,” Zane urged, and he peered over his shoulder.

They were halfway across the bridge.

She couldn’t see around him or the mule on the narrow bridge but the look on his face when he turned back around indicated that something had alarmed him.

“What is it?”

“Hurry! The men started to cross and backed up.”

Then she heard it—an awful creaking. The bridge swayed. It was unstable and about to break.

They couldn’t go back.

She lost her balance and buckled to one knee. Heart racing, she pulled herself to her feet and stepped as fast as she dared across the uneven logs. The bridge swayed even more and creaked in a new way. She could see the other side of the river. Solid ground was only twenty feet away.

Trying to maintain her balance, she put one foot in front of the other and gripped the rope railing.

A louder creak filled the air. She caught a glimpse of the rushing water down below, dark and cold. The bridge went slack. And then she felt her body slipping backward and down. Her hand flailed, struggling to find something to hold on to.

She grasped only air as her body plunged into the depths of the freezing water.

FOUR

Zane grabbed hold of the rope remnants of the bridge as he drifted downstream. Clarence’s body rammed into his and then floated away as the animal struggled to keep its head above water. He saw a flash of Heather’s jacket, and then she disappeared beneath the freezing water. His heart squeezed tight, and he waited for her to resurface.

A bullet whizzed past his head. He switched focus to the men—boys, really, no more than teenagers—on the shoreline. The first boy grabbed the gun from the second one, probably not wanting to risk Zane being killed since the orders were for them to be taken in alive.

Zane let go of the piece of tattered bridge as the current pulled him along. There was no more sign of Heather.

Twice, the force of the water pushed him under.

The young men ran along the bank, keeping him in sight. Zane couldn’t see Clarence anywhere, but hoped that the mule had managed to reach land—something Zane now needed to do for himself. He swam hard to get to the far bank. That bridge had been the only way across the water for miles. The young men on the shore slowed down as the current carried him along even faster.

Though he couldn’t see her, he refused to believe Heather had drowned. She had proved she was a competent athlete.

He knew he had only minutes in the freezing water before hypothermia set in. The current pushed him back toward the closer shore where the pursuers were. He and Heather really needed to get across this river. He rounded a bend. The young men with guns grew smaller then disappeared from view. He felt a rush of relief when he saw Heather up ahead crawling up on a log that had fallen half way across the stream. She had almost reached land, but not on the far shore that would allow them to get back to town. If he followed her, they’d still be trapped on the wrong side of the river. All the same, he was elated to see she had made it out.

He swam through the water, trying to maneuver toward her. She noticed him and worked her way back to the end of the log and held out a hand. She grabbed him by the back of the collar as he drifted by. He angled his torso and braced himself with one of the heavier limbs on the fallen tree as water suctioned around him. She reached out an ice-cold hand and helped him up on the log.

Both of them were soaked and shivering, but at least they’d survived. She rose to her feet and edged her way across the slippery log to dry land. He was right behind her.

He glanced down the shoreline but saw no sign of their pursuers yet. Heather wrapped her arms around her body and waited for him. Water dripped from her long dark hair.

He surveyed the landscape. They’d drifted far enough that it would be a while before their pursuers caught up with them. He knew where he was and where they could go to get warm. “We need to build a fire, but not where we’ll be seen easily.”

“Where can we go?” Her eyes appeared glazed when she looked at him. Shock was setting in. Hypothermia couldn’t be far behind.

He placed his palms on her cheeks, forcing her to make eye contact. “Just stay with me. Do what I say. I got this, okay?”

She nodded.

He sprinted through the trees up toward a rock face until he found an outcropping of rock that would provide shelter on three sides.

“Gather any dry wood you can find,” he said.

One of the things he’d pulled off the saddlebags was a waterproof bag containing magnesium fire starter and dryer lint for kindling. As he drew the fire starter out of the plastic bag, he noticed that his whole body trembled.

Heather returned a few minutes later with a pile of sticks. “Everything is pretty wet.” Her voice was shaky from the cold and all the color had drained from her face.

They needed to hurry and get this fire built.

“Anything you can find will help.” He drew his knife off his belt. “I can split it. The wood on the inside is dry.”