Snowbound

  Dusk had come when Devlin decided it was time to leave the lodge and head back to the tent.

  She got up and walked to the window, saw it was still snowing, the landscape gray and bleak. The long inner lake was wind-stirred, small waves lapping at the snowy shore, and the snow-bowed spruce trees stood completely white as she looked down on them from four floors above.

  Devlin went to the door, glanced out the peephole, the corridor empty from her vantage. She slipped outside and ran down to 429, peeked through the peephole, saw her mother asleep in bed.

  Devlin moved quietly toward the stairwell, descended to the first floor, and crept down the corridor, stopping along the way in 119 to retrieve her parka and snow pants.

  She finally emerged into the lobby. It smelled of wood smoke, a fire burning in the freestanding hearth, and someone had placed candles on the newels of the staircase. Lanterns, mounted to the walls, glowed with firelight, casting strange shadows on the stone floor. Noise and more light emanated from the archway at the other end of the lobby, adjacent to the library.

  She stole up to it, light and sound filling the passage, wonderful smells wafting out from the dining hall, accompanied by the voices of fucked-out, happy Texans.

  Supper. Her stomach ached, but the thought of eating snow outside, that she might at least quench her thirst, spurred her on.

  Devlin glanced at the front entrance but decided it would be safer to depart the way she’d come, down through the cellar, out the door under the veranda.

  She walked into the library, which was empty and warm.

  As she reached to open the cellar door, someone raced in, and a hand covered her mouth before she even had a chance to turn around.

  “Don’t scream, baby. It’s just me.”

  Kalyn let her go, and the girl and the woman embraced, Devlin flushing with relief.

  Kalyn quietly closed the library door and knelt down with Devlin by the hearth, said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “I’ve been hiding. Have you seen my dad?”

  “No, honey.”

  Devlin tried to reassure herself. Doesn’t mean he’s dead, she thought. She said, “My mom’s here. She’s alive, so maybe your sister is—”

  “I know, I already found her.”

  “Where?”

  “She’s in a room on the second floor of the north wing, where they keep most of the pregnant women.”

  “What happened to you last night?”

  “The wolves came after me when I went outside to pee. I got myself treed. Stayed up there until first light, then finally found my way here a few hours ago.”

  “You know what this place is?”

  “I’d like to burn it to the fucking ground.”

  “I was heading back to the tent, Kalyn. I thought I’d spend the night there, hike down to the outer lake in the morning, wait for our pilot to come so I could get help.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably our best course of action.”

  Devlin got up, opened the cellar door. “I came in from here. I think it’s the safest—”

  Kalyn shook her head. “That’s where they keep the wolves. Come on. I know a better way.”

  Kalyn led her out of the library, into the adjacent passage, and up a stairwell that branched off to the right.

  Climbing, Devlin noticed blood spatters across the hem of Kalyn’s pink down jacket.

  After two flights of stairs, they emerged into a short corridor lined with several unmarked doors. Kalyn glanced back, put a finger to her lips. Devlin nodded.

  They proceeded to the last door on the corridor, stopping just shy of it.

  Kalyn turned and whispered, “Wait here for a minute.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Kalyn stepped forward, palmed the doorknob, turned it, and went inside, the door closing softly after her.

  Devlin waited, the ceiling lights humming above her. Then the building rumbled again and the overhead lights cut out, a vacuum of silence filled only by the hiss of the lanterns mounted to the corridor walls.

  The door opened and Kalyn poked her head out.

  “All right, come on,” she whispered.

  Kalyn took her by the hand, pulled her inside, and closed the door.

  Devlin found herself standing in an expansive bedroom suite with a low fire burning in the hearth.

  She didn’t notice the man until he spoke.

  “How old are you, Devlin?” His voice was soft, almost a falsetto, tinged with a slight accent that Devlin couldn’t place due to the confusion and the sudden banging racket of her heart.

  He set down a book and rose from the recliner beside the fireplace, removed his wire-rim glasses so he could look Devlin up and down.

  “Did you not hear my question?” he asked.

  Devlin looked at Kalyn, who just said, “Answer him.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Answer him.”

  “Sixteen.”

  The man nodded. “You favor your mother.”

  Kalyn said, “So, Paul? We good?”

  Devlin ripped her hand out of Kalyn’s grasp and backpedaled into the wall beside the door. She stared at Paul. His vest, wire-rim glasses, and banker’s haircut struck her as incongruous, given his apparent station in the lodge.

  “What are you doing, Kalyn?” she asked.

  “Are we all set, Paul?”

  “We still have the matter of Gerald. He was a good man. Had been with me for—”

  “You can’t hire another guard?”

  “What are you doing, Kalyn?” Devlin asked again.

  Kalyn looked at her, just shook her head. “I don’t have a choice here, okay?”

  “A choice? About what?”

  Paul said, “Okay, we’ll call it good as soon as you find Rachael’s husband and bring him to me.”

  “And then you’ll fly Lucy and me out of here first thing tomorrow?”

  “Weather permitting.”

  “How do I know?”

  “What?”

  “That you’ll keep your end.”

  Paul shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to earn your trust.”

  Devlin reached into the pocket of her parka, fingers grazing the .357, thinking, I should’ve taken it out, made sure it was loaded earlier today. I don’t even know how to use this thing.

  Devlin ran her thumb over the hammer. In the movies, she’d seen people pull on it. She tried, and the cylinder made a clicking sound, the hammer locked back.

  “You gonna kill him?” Kalyn asked.

  “You really wanna know?”

  Before anyone had noticed, she was bringing up the .357 and aiming it at the center of Paul’s chest. She could barely see the revolver, the metal dull in the low light. It felt so heavy, smelled of oil.

  Paul was the first to notice, and he said, “You stupid cunt, you didn’t frisk her.”

  Devlin said, “Go stand beside him, Kalyn.”

  “Devlin—”

  Devlin swung the gun toward Kalyn.

  “All right.”

  As Kalyn approached him, Paul said, “Your first time holding a gun, Ms. Innis?”

  “Why are you doing this to us, Kalyn?”

  “The way your hands are trembling, I would assume the answer is yes.”

  Devlin began to cry, glancing between Paul and Kalyn, a knot tightening in her stomach. “I don’t understand.” She barely got the words out.

  “Give him the gun, baby.” Kalyn seemed harder than she remembered, something different, changed about her. Devlin blinked through the sheet of tears.

  “Devlin.” Paul found Devlin’s eyes, locked her in with a gaze that seemed to hum. “You come here and lay that big gun down in my hand like Kalyn just told you. What? You think I’m going to hurt you?”

  “Stop moving.”

  “I’m not moving. I don’t know—”

  “You think I won’t pull the trigger, but I swear to God I will.” The initial shock
was waning, making room for the rage. “Why’d you do this, Kalyn?”

  Kalyn was crying now. “They caught me. Three hours ago, after I’d killed one of the guards. It wasn’t like I had planned all this. I told them about you, said I could find you. If I did, he was going to let my sister go. Fly me and Lucy out of here tomorrow. If I didn’t, he was gonna let one of the oilmen kill her tonight. You see? I didn’t have a—”

  “You were gonna trade me for your sister.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kalyn said. “Wouldn’t you trade me for your mother? To get her back?”

  “I wouldn’t sell anyone out.”

  “Well, congratulations on being a better person. Now come here and put the gun in my hand.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Devlin noticed Paul inching toward her, the subtlest of movements. He said, “You aren’t gonna hurt anybody. Fact, you’ve got the safety on right now.”

  Devlin knew if she averted her eyes even for a second, it would be over. “Guess we’ll find out,” she said.

  Kalyn said, “Dev, no—”

  Devlin winced as the recoil pushed her back against the wall, her ears ringing, temporarily blinded from the flash.

  Paul’s brow furrowed up and he looked down at the black hole in the upper left quadrant of his sweater vest, darkness blossoming below his heart.

  The room smelled sweetly bitter, the cordite burning in Devlin’s nose.

  Paul said, “You didn’t shoot me. You didn’t.” He sat back down in the chair, paling. Devlin could hear the fading suck of his punctured lung, the man emitting soft, drowning gurgles. She pulled the hammer back once more and aimed at Kalyn.

  “If you move,” Devlin said, “I’ll kill you, too.”

  FIFTY

  Devlin rushed back into the corridor, ran down the stairwell and into the passage. She heard voices in the dining hall, but she kept going, back into the lobby. It was much darker here, now illuminated only by candles and lanterns. As she entered the first-floor corridor, she heard it—rapid footfalls on stone, people running through the lobby, a man yelling. Devlin glanced back, saw a group of shadows appear at the far end. She rushed into the alcove, started up the stairwell, came out onto the second floor. The wolf loped down the corridor toward her, its head low, sniffing the hardwood floor. Devlin fired off three shots, then turned, ran back into the stairwell, sprinting up two more flights, emerging finally onto the last floor.

  There were footsteps below her now and more coming up the stairs from the lobby. You have to find a room and hide. She ran through the corridor, trying doorknobs on both sides of the hall—locked, locked. She could hear the wolf running up the stairwell, growling. Locked. Locked. Shouting resounded in the lobby. Locked. Room 403 opened.

  She stepped inside, shut the door, out of breath, on the verge of tears. It was completely dark in the room. She ran to the window, looked through it, light from the veranda glittering on the billions of snowflakes loading the fir trees with tons of powder, burying saplings, boulders, swirling madly as the wind blew drifts to the second floor.

  She heard doors opening, shutting out in the corridor, the slams getting closer. A wardrobe stood to the left of the door. She set the gun on the bed, got behind the wardrobe, put all her weight against it, straining to shove the enormous piece of furniture across the floor. It inched. They were coming, just a few doors down now.

  The wardrobe finally slid. She pushed it behind the door, then went to the desk, pulled it away from the window, braced it against the wardrobe.

  Outside, someone said, “I can’t see through this peephole.”

  “Unlock it.”

  “It is unlocked.”

  The door shook. “There’s something blocking it.”

  Another man’s voice came very quietly and very evenly through the barricade. “Can you hear me?” Devlin made no response. She picked up the gun. “Open the door right now.” She didn’t move. After a moment, the footsteps trailed away, and she stood trembling in the darkness of the bedroom, the only sound the whisper of snow striking the glass. Another minute passed. Could they have left? Oh, please God, please. She thought she heard the echo of footsteps, but the sound was soft and she couldn’t be sure.

  There was a knock, and his voice passed through the door.

  “Gonna let me in, do this easy?”

  Devlin looked at the wardrobe braced against the door, realized with a horrifying pressure between her eyes that this was it. End of the line.

  “I will break it fucking down.”

  The knock was explosive this time. She thought he’d destroyed his hand, until the second and third and fourth blows came and the door began to splinter. She squeezed back the hammer, pulled the trigger twice, shot a pair of holes through the wardrobe and the door, the gun nearly jumping out of her hands. After her ears quit ringing, it was quiet, and she thought for a moment she’d hit him.

  Soon he started up again. The wardrobe began to shudder, the ceiling rained plaster dust and paint chips, and the chandelier was tinkling. Her legs quaked so violently, they barely kept her upright. Tears streamed down her face.

  As he broke through the back of the wardrobe, she backpedaled toward the closet.

  Now she could hear him thrashing around inside. The wardrobe doors were flung open. He stood amid the old dresses, and she could see his face only by the faint illumination of the lantern that he held. The ax thudded blade-first onto the hardwood floor and he climbed out, set the lantern by the ax. He drove his shoulder into the side of the wardrobe and inched it back into the corner. The ravaged door stood exposed, wrenched from its hinges and leaning back against the door frame.

  He picked up the flashlight and the ax and came toward her, the dome of his bald head shining with sweat in the firelight. She recognized his blue jeans and boots—Ethan, from breakfast this morning.

  He stopped when he saw the revolver in her hand, the weapon twitching with each heartbeat. Devlin put both fingers on the hammer, pulled it back, squeezed the trigger. Click.

  He lunged forward, slapped the gun out of her hand. As it slid across the floor, he pressed her up against the window, their hearts heaving into each other. She could feel the cold of the storm through the glass, the cold of the ax blade against her leg. He gazed down at her, their breath pluming in the lantern light. His smelled of wine.

  Thunder resounded, porcelain figurines rattling on a nearby bureau.

  He ground his teeth together. “He was my brother, and now he’s dead.”

  “He was going to—”

  “He was my brother. Now he’s dead.”

  He let go of the ax and his fingers glided through her black curls, his fist closing on a handful of hair.

  “That hurts,” she cried.

  “You have no idea.” And he dragged her screaming toward the smashed door, which he kicked aside. She clung to his arm as he hauled her out into the corridor and past the rooms on the fourth floor, the wolf trotting alongside, snapping at her face. It was just the two of them now, the others gone, firelight glinting off the brass numbers.

  405.

  407.

  409.

  Devlin screamed, dug her fingernails into his arm. He shrieked and she tore herself away, ran back down the corridor. On the fifth stride, she tripped, fell, glanced back toward the lantern and the shape of Ethan and the wolf, fast approaching.

  The moment she regained her footing, he was upon her.

  FIFTY-ONE

  When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was the blurry image of her feet sliding across the stone floor of the lobby and past the hulking tower of the freestanding hearth, its blaze burned down to the embers, the only light coming from Ethan’s lantern.

  Devlin was being dragged by her hair. Her right eye throbbed and she could see only a slit of the world through it. The Texans who stood in their kimonos at the far end of the lobby resembled a collection of phantoms in the dark.

  One of them yelled, “What you got there, E
than?”

  “Not your fucking concern!”

  Ethan produced a knife from his pocket, grabbed her jacket, and sliced the blade through it, cleaving two layers of fabric—her fleece and the long underwear shirt. He ripped them off, then unbuttoned her jeans, slid them down her legs, and threw her to the floor. He tore off her pants, stripped away her long underwear bottoms, her panties, then set her back on her feet.

  She stood dazed, embarrassed, and numb with shock as he shoved open the heavy iron doors to the storm.

  “No, please, I’ll—”

  He pushed her outside, and she stumbled back into one of the pillars. Ethan lifted a long, thin whistle to his lips and blew, the frequency too high to register with her ears. Then the doors slammed shut, Ethan ramming home the three bolts on the other side.

  Her feet ached. She looked down at them, but they were submerged in the snow the wind had blown against the pillar. She ran at the door and beat her fists against it and screamed. On a summer evening, her voice would’ve carried across the lake and up the mountain slopes. This night, the blizzard destroyed the echo and her voice went wherever the wind took it. She turned away from the doors, looked down toward the lake. She stamped her feet, snow continuing to fall onto the porch.

  She turned back to the doors, put her lips to the snow-glazed iron: “It hurts. Please.” She registered the desperation in her voice. It scared her like nothing else had.

  Devlin shut her eyes. I’m going to die out here. She ran out naked into the snow. It was waist-deep, numbing. She collapsed, sank into a drift. Above the chattering of her teeth there was only the hush of the storm, until a howl erupted across the lake.

  She looked up, her head nodding with cold. The howl came again, closer this time. She struggled to her ice-burned feet. In the nearby woods, more howls answered. Not the wolves, please God, not the wolves.