Blake Crouch - Snowbound

Ethan said, “Tenacious little thing, isn’t she? Give me that.” He swiped the shotgun out of Donald’s hand. “Wanna watch her go airborne?” he asked.

The guard chuckled as Ethan slid back the three iron bolts and pulled open the doors.

From Don’s perspective, it appeared as if the back of Ethan’s head exploded, his knees buckling, his body dropping like an inanimate sack of bones to the stone, a razor shard of Ethan’s skull lodged in Don’s eye.

A figure stood in the threshold, shadowy and formless in the candlelight. Don was backpedaling, reaching for the Glock in his jacket as a second muzzle flash blinded him, followed by a fragment of white-hot pain that was the end.

FIFTY-THREE

Will Innis, frostbitten, mauled, half-delirious with cold and exhaustion, limped through the open doors into the lodge, glancing down at the two men he’d shot, both undoubtedly gone, great pools of blood like black lacquer in the light of a nearby lantern.

Footsteps resonated through a passage at the other end of the lobby, and uncomfortable with the .45, the way it had seemed to spring out of his hand when he’d pulled the trigger, he traded it for the shotgun of the first man he’d killed.

Pumping it, he aimed down the passage as three shadows emerged into the lobby, silhouetted by candlelight.

One of them shouted, “Ethan, you having a little target practice without us?”

The first blast filled the lobby.

Will pumped again, fired again, the men running now, chased by two more thunderous booms that put everything quiet.

Will hurried across the lobby into the dimly lighted passage, glimpsed three men in kimonos on the floor, one sprawled and unmoving, two whimpering like puppies as they dragged themselves across the stone, leaving dark, sluglike trails in their wake.

Devlin lay on the porch in several inches of snow, shaking violently, naked. Will’s eyes flooded at the sight of his daughter like this.

He lifted her out of the snow, carried her into the lodge, and as he pulled the doors closed and shot home the bolts, a wolf howled somewhere out in that snowy dark. He hadn’t managed to kill any of them.

On the other side of the lobby, through an open door, what appeared to be fire shadows moved along the walls. Will carried Devlin past the free-standing fireplace into the library, where a fire raged in the hearth.

He placed his daughter down in the chair, stretched her legs across the ottoman, and pushed her close to the flames. In light of her disease, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider what her time in the snow had exposed her body to. She’d be going straight to a hospital the moment they left this place.

Pulling a stack of blankets off a shelf above the hearth, he wrapped Devlin in them, her body still cold to the touch, shivering.

He knelt on the floor, ran his hand over her thawing hair.

“Dad’s here,” he said. “You’re safe, baby girl.”

Footsteps echoed in the lobby.

He turned, stood looking through the open door at darkness and candle flames. Unlacing his boots and slipping them off so they wouldn’t squeak, Will hustled out of the library, softly shutting the door behind him.

He didn’t hear the footsteps as he ran across the stone back toward the entrance, waited there, listening to the moan of wind pushing on the doors, his face burning with frostbite, his legs sore from yesterday’s wolf bites.

Someone appeared in the passage beside the library—from his vantage point, just a silhouette-shaped black hole in the darkness. Will, who wasn’t standing in the illumination of any lantern or candle, wondered if whoever it was could see him, then wondered if the person standing there had the same thought.

He pumped the shotgun, held at waist level, aimed at the opening of the passage. When he spoke, he tried to make his voice sound bigger, more unfazed than he felt.

“That lantern mounted to the staircase . . . walk into its light so I can see you. I’m holding a shotgun, I’ve just killed five men, and I won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”

The dark spot in the passage moved forward, entering the illumination of a lantern, firelight giving texture and depth to the troubled face of Kalyn Sharp.

She said, “Will?”

FIFTY-FOUR

Will lowered the shotgun and moved quickly across the lobby, feeling the cold of the stone through his socks. Drawing near, he let the shotgun drop to the floor.

They embraced, Will burying his face in the soft, warm side of her neck, just breathing her in. “You in one piece?” he whispered.

“Yeah. Where’s Devi?”

“In the library. They threw her out in the storm.”

“Oh God. Is she okay? She talking?”

“Not yet. She’s still unconscious.”

They came apart and Kalyn said, “What’s wrong with your face?”

Will touched the cut across his cheek, the blackened skin. “I had a run-in with some mean-ass wolves. Spent last night outside, all of today trying to find you and Devlin. Between the wolves and the cold, I’m in pretty rough shape.”

She glanced over her shoulder into the passage. “I see you took out a few of the guests.”

“Guests?”

“Don’t worry, they had it coming. But there’re three more of them, probably unarmed. They were playing cards in the dining room before you rolled in.”

“You okay? You seem—”

“No, I’m not okay. Look, Will, I have to—”

The library door opened. Devlin stood on the threshold, a blanket draped over her shoulders, hair hanging down in her face.

“Dad?”

Will smiled. “Hey, baby girl. How are—”

“Who’s that with you?”

“It’s all right. Just Kalyn.”

“No, it’s not all right.”

“Honey—”

“She was gonna leave us both here.”

Will looked at Kalyn, felt her beginning to pull away from him. He stared into her eyes, said, “What are you talking about, Devi?”

“Do you have a gun?”

“On the floor behind me.”

“Get it.”

“I think she’s confused from the cold,” Kalyn whispered. “Let’s go reassure her.” Kalyn started past him, moving toward the shotgun. Will grabbed her arm.

“Dad!”

“Where are you going?” Will asked. “Devlin’s over there.”

“You trust me or not, Will?”

He smiled weakly. “Of course. You take the gun. You’re better with it than I am.”

Kalyn smiled, said, “You gonna let go of my arm?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“No, Dad.” Devlin was crying now.

“It’s all right, honey. I think you’re just a little confused.”

“I am not confused!” Will started toward his daughter, Kalyn toward the shotgun.

He suddenly spun around, saw Kalyn bending down, then lunged and shoved her across the floor.

As she fell hard on the stone, he picked up the shotgun.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“If I’m wrong,” Will said, “I apologize. Get up slowly, hands where I can see them.”

“Will, I can explain—”

“Maybe so. Maybe we’ll all have a big laugh about this in a little while. Walk toward the library. Devlin, we’re heading your way.”

Devlin stepped back into the library.

“Why don’t you trust me?” Kalyn asked.

“I’m not saying I don’t. We’re just gonna sort this out.”

They entered the library and Will closed the door behind them.

“She might have a gun or something, Dad.”

“Kalyn, sit in that corner and keep your hands on top of your knees.”

Devlin sat bundled in covers by the fire, glaring at Kalyn as she took a seat against the base of the bookshelves.

Will stood several feet away, the shotgun trained on Kalyn’s chest.