Snowbound (23 page)

Kalyn moved across the stone floor of the lobby and sat down on the hearth in front of the giant fireplace. She kept looking up and down the north- and south-wing corridors, watching the exposed stairwells that climbed fifty feet toward the rafters on each side of the lobby, the passage behind her, the adjacent library door, closed and locked. She set the shotgun on the stone, fished four shells of buckshot out of the pocket of her fleece jacket. As she reached for the Mossberg to load the shells, a pair of black boots emerged from the flue into the enormous hearth behind her and lowered silently toward the grate.

• • •

Devlin illuminated her face with the flashlight beam and held her finger to her lips so the women could see.

She mouthed, “Shhh. Someone’s out there.”

She traded the flashlight for the shotgun but couldn’t remember if she’d pumped it, opted to wait, as the slightest noise would give them away. She crept up to the door, strained to listen. Thought she heard something like a soft exhalation on the other side, perhaps the scrape of fabric against fabric.

She dropped quietly to her knees, lowered herself onto the floor, the right side of her face flush against the carpet. Their room was dark, but a lantern flickered outside in the hallway.

Through the crack under the door, the strand of lantern light was broken in two places. She saw the tips of a pair of boots, could have poked a finger under the door and touched them.

Ten feet away, invisible in the darkness, the infant began to cry.

Will and Rachael slipped out of the passage and into the stairwell. No lanterns or candles here, the darkness absolute.

Rachael whispered, “Should I turn on the flashlight?”

“No. Just go slow and keep one hand on the wall like we did before.”

Even as he said it, Will knew they might be walking blindly to their death, couldn’t stop himself from picturing a man crouched on the next flight of stairs, outfitted with night-vision goggles, just waiting for them to stumble past.

They proceeded carefully, one step at a time, Will’s heart knocking so hard he feared he’d faint. This was far worse than the wolves. At least you could see your attacker coming outside.

They reached the landing. Will traced his hand along the wall, letting it guide them to the next flight of stairs. Three steps up, he stopped.

“What is it?” Rachael asked.

“I see a light up ahead. Wait here.”

Will ascended the remaining nine steps. At the top, he reached an archway, and from there he could glimpse the corridor, where a lantern mounted to the wall threw shadows and light on a man dressed in black, standing at the door that opened into Devlin’s room.

Will glanced back down the steps, waved Rachael up. She came, stood beside him as the corridor filled with a baby’s wailing. They raised their shotguns.

The man leaned against Devlin’s door, his ear pressed to the wood. Will felt an eerie chill radiate down from the base of his neck into his spine.

Will and Rachael eyed each other, and she could barely see his lips moving in the low light.

Will mouthed, “That’s Javier.”

The man spun, bullets striking the walls of the stairwell, the iron railing sparking.

The Innises returned fire, then dived back into the archway, ears ringing. Will pressed Rachael up against the wall, whispered, “You hit?”

“No, you?”

“No. Don’t move.” Will peeked around the corner, gun smoke drifting through the corridor. The door was splintered with buckshot but still intact. No one there, just sprinkles of blood. Will motioned for Rachael to join him, and he spoke into her ear, “I think he’s pinned down at the end of the corridor, maybe fifteen feet away. All the doors are locked, so I don’t think there’s anyplace—”

Will heard a door squeak open.

Kalyn pushed the last shell of buckshot into the twelve-gauge and pumped it. She set it beside her, took out the Browning. The shotgun was good if you didn’t know how to shoot, but you could easily get yourself killed in the time it took to absorb the shoulder-bruising recoil, pump it, and take aim. Her head was bleeding again, and she was dizzy from the blow.

As she wiped away the rivulet of blood trailing down her nose, the Browning flew out of her hand and slid across the stone, hitting the library door. She went for the shotgun, and as she realized it wasn’t there, she felt its barrel, still blazing hot, push into the back of her neck.

“You will tell me your name.”

She stared at the floor, said nothing.

“Are you the ex-FBI agent?”

“No, I’ve been imprisoned in this lodge for five years. But I can take you to her right now. She’s just through that passage over—”

“Stand up.” Kalyn stood. “Take three steps forward and slowly turn around, leaving your hands up, fingers open.” Kalyn moved toward the doors, her arms raised. She stopped and turned.

A man garbed all in black stood in the hearth, covering her with her shotgun. Where his face wasn’t streaked with soot, she saw that his skin was reddish brown, wondered if perhaps he was half Mayan.

He looked at Kalyn, said, “I’m afraid you resemble the photograph I have of Kalyn Sharp. Are there any other weapons on your person?” She shook her head. “Remove your jacket and your pants.” Kalyn didn’t move. “Take them off now, or what’s going to happen to you will only last longer and involve more pain.”

A pair of shotgun blasts tore out of the passage.

Will yelled into the corridor, “
You wanna walk out of here, Javier?
Two of your friends are already dead.”

A small explosion around the corner shook the floor beneath Will’s feet.

After a moment, another noise filled the passage—a zipper in motion, followed by the sound of something dragging across the floor. Will didn’t risk taking a peek.

“Hello, Will. Were you able to locate your wife?”

“Yes.”

“I hope the very short amount of time you’ve had together was worth the pain that is coming your way.”

“Look, you have nowhere to go, and there’re two of us here with shotguns.”

Something went
whisk
in the corridor.

“What was that?” Will asked. The sweeter smell of tobacco smoke mixed in with the cordite. Will was thinking,
Maybe I should just go for it, poke out mid-sentence, hope to catch him off guard.

“Do you remember, Will, the substance of our last conversation?”

“Yes, you—”

“I extended you and Kalyn the opportunity to improve the outcome of our inevitable future meeting.”

“Javier—”

“And you did not accept my offer.”

“Jav—”

“What?
What
, Will? What are you about to propose? That we call things a day? Do you believe I have traveled all these miles, at great expense, suffered cold and snow, the myriad wrongs to me and my family, only to turn right around and go home now that I have found you? Please answer me.”

“No.”

“Well said.”

Will looked at Rachael, whispered, “We’re gonna have to kill him.”

“Will, I know your daughter is behind that door. Would you care to know my plans involving her?”

Fidel finished patting down Kalyn. She was already sweating, her hands restless with nervous tremors.

The man began to shift back and forth on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter. He grinned. “We go a few rounds? Hand-to-hand combat?”

Kalyn backed slowly away. He pursued.

She asked, “Where’s Javier?”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be along.”

Fidel faked a lunge, drew back into a boxer’s stance, and jabbed, his reach longer than what seemed commensurate with his height.

She slipped the punch, thinking,
Next time you better fire back.

He smiled. “You’re quick. Still, I am going to knock all of your teeth out of your mouth and shatter the bones in your face. Do you know what’s going to happen after that?”

Fidel charged. Kalyn sidestepped, his elbow catching her above the left eye. She staggered back, blood sheeting down her face in a flood of warm pain, then turned, sprinting for the Browning. She could see it against the library door, glinting in the firelight.

Fidel whistled. She froze. He came forward, holding the Mossberg at waist level.

“¡Vamos!”

She was twenty feet away, point-blank range for a shotgun, no way to miss unless you set your mind to it.

“¡Vamos!”

Kalyn walked back toward the hearth.

He said, “Get down on the floor.”

She complied, watched him jog over to the library door and pick up the Browning. Fidel pocketed the clip, ejected the live round, then dropped the empty pistol on the floor. He returned and stood over Kalyn, pumping the shotgun again and again. For a moment, she thought he was fucking with her, then wondered if he was confused, unsure of how to operate the weapon. When she saw the shells falling on the stone, she understood.

He slung the shotgun across the lobby, where it slammed into the wall.

“Get up.”

Kalyn struggled to her feet, her head in agony.

The blade caught a sliver of lantern light as the Alpha moved toward her.

• • •

Will inched the shotgun barrel toward the corner as Javier spoke.

“I will disarm you, your wife, and Kalyn, immobilize you, and let you watch me slowly and methodically take her apart.”

“What has my daughter done to you, Javier?”

“She is loved by you. That is plenty.”

• • •

Devlin gripped the shotgun. Nothing to do but trust she’d pumped it several hours ago. She stood at the door, found the lock in the darkness, slowly turned the dead bolt.

She grasped the doorknob, trying to remember if it had squeaked when she’d opened it before.
Turn it slowly. Slower than you’ve ever done anything in your entire life.

The knob turned. Painstakingly, she pulled the door open—just an inch so it could clear the frame. A ribbon of light stretched across the floor, and Devlin let the doorknob ease back into place.

The man’s voice sounded close, a few feet up the corridor.

She pulled the knob again, opening the door another inch, light texturing the exterior. It was chewed up by buckshot—a swath of damage near the floor, another at the top of the door frame. She peeked around the corner, glanced up the corridor. Javier was squatting down along the wall beside a black duffel bag, his back to her, a cigarette dangling from his lips. In one hand, he held a pistol fitted with a silencer and a long magazine. In his other hand was a small device that reminded her of an oversize PEZ dispenser. Javier crouched ten feet from the stairwell, where, under the archway, Devlin’s father was hunched down with a shotgun.

When he saw her, his eyes went wide and he shook his head and mouthed, “Get back inside that room.”

Kalyn held out her hands as she backed away from Fidel, realized she hadn’t heard anything from the Innises since the shotgun blasts a few minutes ago, wondered if they’d managed to get themselves killed.

Fidel’s knife didn’t look particularly menacing—a black plastic handle with finger grips supporting a four-inch blade, each side slightly serrated, the end curving to a nasty point. He held it in his right hand, moving nimbly on his feet, a hard, focused determination pulsing in his black eyes.

“This makes you proud? To fight a woman this way? You know I’m outmatched.” She was backpedaling toward the opening of the south-wing corridor, Fidel’s face becoming less distinct, more shadowy than firelit.

“This has not a thing to do with my pride,” he said. “This is only about causing you pain.” He lunged, swiped—a fluid, lightning motion, and before she could react, Kalyn’s right arm felt suddenly cold, blood running under the sleeve of her fleece jacket, dripping off the ends of her fingers, but no pain yet, only that awful metallic cold. Next came a ripping sound: fleece splitting. Another flash of ice, this time spreading down through her abdomen.

“Javier warned me not to touch you, but I don’t think he’ll mind a little innocent necking.”

She felt light-headed. The instructor in a grappling seminar at the Academy had said something that now banged around inside her head like a prophecy fulfilled.
The most dangerous adversary you’ll ever face is an opponent who’s skilled with a knife. Avoid these confrontations at all costs.

She backed into the corridor, her legs weakening, blood streaming down her thighs, her shinbones, into her socks. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

They will take you slowly apart if you don’t know what you’re doing.

She could barely see Fidel now—just a silhouette against the low light of the lobby.

He advanced on her again and she felt the draft from knife wipes passing within inches of her face.

He sliced her right hand. Carved a two-inch line across her cheek, just missing her nose.

They were midway down the corridor now, and every passing second, it hurt more to breathe, the cold transforming into a glow in her chest.

She tripped over Suzanne’s body, fell, scrambled back onto her feet. Fidel slipped on the blood but caught himself. He was close again, within three feet, and cornering her into the alcove. In the bright moonlight that came through the broken window, she saw her fleece pants slicked with blood.

Fidel said, “You are not bleeding too much I hope. This is foreplay. Don’t come yet. Javier would never forgive me.”

He opened the top of her left leg, but she didn’t respond to the pain, turning instead, as if to break for the stairwell, heard the floor creak as he lunged after her, Kalyn spinning to face him, catching Fidel in the exact mistake she’d prayed for—a wide, careless knife swipe—which she parried, now palming his elbow, her other hand grasping his wrist. A quick jerk broke the man’s forearm, just a soft snap followed by a howl of pain that was squelched when she punched him in the throat, a solid, direct hit, the hardest blow she’d ever landed, powered by hips and fear and rage.

With all her strength, she grabbed Fidel’s arm and shoulder and hurled him toward the east-facing window.

The springs squeaked.

Fidel screamed.

In the moonlight, she saw him pinned between the rusty jaws of the grizzly trap, his wrists caught, the teeth burrowed into his stomach, his back, and still struggling to close, the hinges creaking.

Through clenched teeth, he screamed Javier’s name.

Kalyn moved toward him, saw the pool of blood expanding within the circular boundary of the snare.

She reached down for his knife.

“
Por favor
,” he begged. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Kalyn smiled through her own pain. He spit at her.

“I want you to make this easy on me,” she said. “And on you. Tilt your head back. Show me your throat.”

He said something in Spanish that she didn’t understand.

“Look, I’ve got things to do. Wanna sit here? Bleed out slowly while the trap finishes its supper?”

“
Dios
,” he whispered. “
Dios
.” He couldn’t even cross himself.

Fidel stared at the ceiling and thought of a woman named Maria.

• • •

Devlin shouldered the shotgun, trying to remember what Kalyn had told her several hours ago.
Kicks like hell, so lean into it. Aim at the head or below the waist
. She was standing in the threshold, one foot in the room, one foot in the corridor.

Devlin aimed at the man’s head, slipped her finger into the curve of the trigger.

She squeezed.

Nothing happened.

Oh God, I didn’t pump it.

The baby screamed.

Javier glanced over his shoulder, spotted Devlin standing in the doorway.

• • •

As Will stepped out into the corridor and leveled his twelve-gauge shotgun on Javier, something rolled across the floor, between his legs.

Will was absorbing a slide show of images: Devlin struggling to pump her shotgun; Javier diving away, shielding his head; Rachael’s quizzical face as she stared at the black device that had come to rest against the toe of her left boot.

Then Will’s world exploded in a flash of brilliant, deafening light.