As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (9 page)

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” Clay said.

The female moose was massive, her head shaped almost like a horse’s, her coat thick and dark. I knew moose could weigh over seven hundred pounds and be aggressive, especially when protecting their young. She stared at the three of us, her ears flicking back and forth. The calves weren’t newborn, but their coats were still reddish-brown, and their long-legged movements were gangly. They grazed on an uncovered patch of brush behind their mother, who pawed at the ground with a sharp hoof.

“What do I do?” I whispered.

“Stay calm. No noises. Timothy, she probably hasn’t seen you. Get back into the trees.”

I wanted to turn and bolt, but my feet were rooted to the ground.
 

There was a rustle of movement behind me, and then silence.
 

I wanted to glance over my shoulder, but my gaze was locked on the giant beast that eyed me back. “Clay?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“I’m right here,” he said, his voice quiet and even. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. Back up, slowly.”
 

I tried to obey, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate, and I stood frozen.
 

“Come on, Finch. Back away. I’m right behind you.”

I took a deep breath and forced my trembling limbs to move. The moose stared at me as I crept backward, but when I tripped over the uneven ground and stumbled, her ears flattened against her head and she took a threatening step toward me.

Clay caught me, his hands folding around my shoulders, steadying me and keeping me upright. “Don’t move,” he said.
 

I was still carrying the backpack, and I felt a slight jostling as he rooted around in it.
 

The moose hadn’t advanced any closer, but she held her head high, her ears erect as she watched us.

“Okay, slow and easy. Get behind me,” he whispered.

I pressed my back against him and clutched his forearm as I slipped around until I stood behind him.
 

He held the small axe from the pack in a loose grip at his side and reached behind him with his other hand to press against my hip, nudging me backward.

We managed to retreat a few more steps before the moose snorted and pawed the ground. It seemed to go on that way for hours. We’d fall back several feet, she’d advance, and we’d freeze, waiting for her to decide whether or not we were a threat.

By the time we’d made it into the cover of the trees, I was shaking, the sweat clammy under my arms and down my spine. The moose eyed us for a long moment and then turned away, nudging her calves before returning to grazing.
 

I sagged with relief, and Clay let out a ragged breath.

“Timothy?” he called, his voice hushed.

The boy stepped out from behind a tree, his face pale. “That was scary. I was sure she was going to charge.”

Clay took the backpack from me and slipped it onto his shoulders. He kept the axe in his hand and his gaze on the three animals in the meadow.
 

“Let’s go. Timothy, you lead the way.”

We moved quickly, skirting the meadow. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half expecting to see the moose following us.
 

Clay was right behind me, and after I’d glanced back multiple times, he said, “Just keep moving. I’m keeping an eye out.”

When we finally stopped to rest, I found only three packs of pretzels left. Both Clay and Timothy were wan, a hollowness in their cheeks. My own hands trembled as I handed them out. The foam I’d placed over the gash across Clay’s eyebrow was fully saturated and brown with blood. Timothy favored his knee, and I could see the swelling even through his pants leg.
 

“There’s only one pack left for each of us,” I whispered.

We looked at one another. We were struggling as it was.

“We’ve made good progress,” Clay said. “If we’ve come as far as I think we have, we’ll make it to the reservoir tomorrow.”
 

We rested for several more minutes, and then we started out again.
 

Aspens and birch began to intermingle with the spruce and pines as our descent became steeper and rockier. I slipped and fell several times as stones rolled underfoot. By my third fall, my palms were torn, and Clay and Timothy had to grasp me under the arms and lift me to my feet.

“We’ll find a place here to spend the night.”

“I can keep going, Clay. I—”

“It’ll be dark soon,” Timothy said. “And my knee could use a break.”

They were making excuses for me, but I was too worn and defeated to protest.
 

None of us slept under the shelter of the rocky overhang.
 

I drifted off several times and started to dream in a half-wakeful state that I was back in my apartment and trying to get warm in my bed. I reached toward my feet where I thought I’d kicked the blankets and was startled back to consciousness. Realizing where I was only served to pronounce the misery.
 

Our movements were slow and sluggish the next morning as we ate the last of the pretzels. I tried to savor them, but my stomach cramped so painfully I couldn’t.

I wasn’t sure how much further we could go. More snow had fallen overnight. Between the cold, hunger, and sheer exhaustion, if we didn’t find help today, I feared it would be too late. Both for us, and for those we’d left behind.

The hopelessness was a weight that threatened to crush me. All I could think of was my parents’ and brother’s faces, of Sydney and Julia. I hoped they would know how hard I had tried to make it back to them. I thought of Tula’s granddaughter, Lyla, waiting to introduce her baby to her great grandmother. Of Timothy’s friends at school wondering why he didn’t show up when classes started again. I couldn’t even cry. My eyes burned, but they remained dry.
 

“I’m really thirsty, but I don’t want to drink the rest of my water yet,” Timothy said.

Clay glanced around then stooped and collected a handful of snow. “It’d be better if we could at least heat it, but that’s not an option right now.”
 

Timothy and I followed suit. I held the snow in my mouth until it melted. The taste was strange, like tree sap and dank earth, but it eased the uncomfortable dryness in my throat and mouth.

“Let’s go.” Clay’s voice was gentle, and his hand appeared in front of my face.

I blinked at it, and the effort it took to lift my own hand and clasp his was painful. Pulling me upright made him weave on his feet. It was almost too much to bear, witnessing the growing weakness of such a strong, confident man.
 

His tone was firm and unwavering, though. “Just a little further.”

I glanced at Timothy to find him watching us with wide, frightened eyes. “It can’t be too far now. It’s close. I know it.”

His forced bravery gave me the strength I needed to move.

I was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other for the next few miles that Timothy’s shout didn’t register until it came again.

“Clay! Finch! Come look!”

He had led the way this morning. Clay had taken the rear, and I was certain it was to make sure I didn’t fall behind. When we caught up with Timothy, we found him on an outcrop.
 

We’d reached the edge of a bluff, and Timothy pointed, excitement wreathing his pale face. “There!”

I followed the direction of his finger and sat down on a rock as my legs gave out. There were curling wafts of smoke over the forest, rooftops, and beyond, the dark stretch of the reservoir.

“I know the way. It’s just a few more miles. Dad and I have hiked to this point, and there’s a trail.”

My chin began to quiver. “I thought . . .” My voice broke, and I couldn’t continue.

Clay clasped the back of my neck, and Timothy threw his arms around me. There was a tremor in his limbs, and his cheek was damp against mine.
 

“We did it,” Timothy whispered. “We really did it.”

The faint trail curved in switchbacks down the bluff. Even so, some parts were so steep I had to sit and slide down them. The path leveled off in a dense stand of bare aspens. Without the cover of the spruces and pines, however, the snow was deeper. From the knees down, my jeans were crusted with ice and my feet were numb.
 

I didn’t recognize the rushing sound until we came out of the trees.
 

Timothy’s hand found mine and grasped it tightly. “I didn’t remember the river. Dad and I hiked here in the summer, and it was shallow and slow enough we could wade across.”

The snow had swollen the river until it washed white and rough, sweeping at its banks.

“When you waded across it in the summer, how deep was it in the middle?” Clay asked.

Timothy swallowed. “Waist deep.”

That meant it would be over my head, possibly over even Timothy’s. Attempting to swim across would be suicide with the rough current and freezing temperatures.

So close. So unbearably close.

“Let’s try to find a spot downstream where it’s narrower,” Clay said.

Timothy and I followed him.
 

The opposite bank mocked me, and I felt a wild urge to hurl rocks at the river and scream curses at it.
So, so close.

It was almost an hour before we found a fallen tree stretched across the ten-foot gap between the banks. Even that small distance seemed like a yawning chasm. The roots of the tree were on the opposite bank, reaching up from the mud like a gnarled hand toward the sky. The trunk was halfway submerged in the water, making it slick and unstable, but it was the only way across.

“I’ll go first,” Timothy said.

I wanted to object, but I bit my tongue and held my breath as he stepped from the bank onto the trunk. He moved slowly, and my heart lurched every time he wavered, but eventually, he scrambled over the roots and stood on dry ground, and I was able to breathe again.

“You next,” Clay said.

I couldn’t quell my shaking as I stepped from the safety of the bank. “Just a few feet. Mere steps,” I whispered over and over as I struggled to find purchase with the smooth soles of my boots on the slick, wet trunk. I slipped halfway across, my arms windmilling as I tried to catch my balance. I managed to right myself, breathing hard.
 

“That’s it, Finch! You can do it!” Timothy called.
 

Once I was steady, I took another cautious step. The trunk creaked, shifted, and then I was falling.

I landed straddling the trunk, water streaming around my thighs.
 

Both Timothy and Clay were shouting.
 

Grappling with the slick wood, I shimmied toward the bank until Timothy grabbed me and pulled me over the roots. A rough branch caught my sweater and tore it, scraping my stomach. Timothy and I fell in a heap in the mud, and I took a sobbing breath.
 

I was soaked from the hips down, but I’d made it.

Timothy and I staggered to our feet, holding on to one another for support. Clay stood on the opposite bank, but he was wet from the knees down as if he’d started into the water. His face was white.

The tree had held, and I bit my lip as Clay started across. “Be careful. Please hold. Please,” I whispered.
 

Timothy clung to me.

The backpack had him off-balance, but Clay steadily inched across.
 

He was almost halfway when a movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye. I sucked in a breath. “Clay!”

His head snapped up at the urgency in my voice, and he looked upstream. A thick limb caught in the current was careening toward our fragile bridge. There was no time, and Clay’s gaze connected with mine just as the branch slammed into the trunk with enough force to make it shudder. It severed the roots’ tenuous hold in the mud and jerked it away from the bank.

“
No!
” My throat felt ripped by the scream as Clay went down and was swept into the river between the two logs.