RUNAWAY TWINS (Runaway Twins series #1) (9 page)

It had snowed without stopping
throughout the day. Large billowy flakes stuck to the ground and accumulated in piles and drifts that made hiking without snowshoes extremely difficult. Each step the runaways took was a challenge—knee deep in slush, strain to extract the leg, and repeat the process over and over again.

“I’m tired and I’m hungry,” said Janie. “Let’s stop for a rest and some more rabbit. We’ve put a lot of miles between us and the search party by now.”

Justin pulled his leg from the deep snow. “There’s a cedar grove up ahead. We can rest there, but we’d better save the second rabbit for later. We don’t know when we’ll find something else to eat.”

Rachel said, “Rest then. Janie and I are dead on our feet.”

At the cedar grove they found a spot where the falling snow was partially blocked by the trees, and they spread out their silver tarp as if they were preparing for a picnic. Janie and Rachel collapsed in exhaustion, and Justin stood looking at the dark sky.

“Boy, would that second rabbit taste good right now,” said Rachel. But she laughed to make it clear she knew that Justin was right in saving their food until it might be needed desperately.

“They’ll never be able to track us in all this goop,” said Janie.

“No,” said Justin, “but I’ll bet they have snowshoes, and that means they can move a lot faster than we can.”

“If they’re moving at all,” said Janie. “When we saw the Prophet stumbling down the mountain, he looked like he might run all the way back to Sheba Hill.”

“Not likely,” said Justin. “He’ll chase you two till his last breath.”

The remaining eight members of
the search party had set up a base camp north of the valley the landslide had destroyed. The bruised and bandaged Prophet sat under a sloping awning that had been strung to protect him from the falling snow. One of the Sheba Hill guards approached him and began to speak; but the Prophet raised his hand to indicate the guard should wait. “Weather report,” said the Prophet, pointing to the radio. “Let’s hear what they’ve got to say.”

…And the storms will produce blizzard conditions for much of western Montana and eastern Idaho. If you don’t have to go out, remain in your homes for the next day and a half, beginning at ten or eleven p.m….

“Maybe we’d better head back to the lodge,” said the guard.

The Prophet shot him an icy stare, “We’re not going anywhere. We’ve got everything we need right here. We’ll wait it out and then be ready to move out when it blows over.”

“Sometimes these blizzards are—”

“That’s final, no more talk. Tell the others to tie everything down.”

“The Missoula men are drunk.”

“Let them stay that way. Just so they’re sober when the storm passes.”

The guard hesitated, looked at the ground and then at the awning. It was obvious he had something on his mind. “Sir, I—”

“Yes, what is it, man? Get on with it.”

“Well, some of us were wondering about the bodies out there—Chuky and the others. Shouldn’t we try to recover them…maybe before the storm hits full force?”

Flack rose to his feet impatiently, stepping close to the guard until their faces were only inches apart. It was a tactic he used frequently, one he’d learned from his father and grandfather: intimidate your subordinates by smothering them with your physical presence. Don’t give them any room to maneuver, and they’ll stand like statues until you’ve had your say!

The Sheba Hill guard blinked and opened his eyes wide, waiting for a decision, but he did manage to insert a short comment. “Sir, the bodies…”

“Will stay right where they are until we’re ready to go back for them. Right now they’re buried so deep we’d need mining equipment to dig them out. And it’s possible we won’t get to them until the spring thaw. They’re dead, you know. There’s no question of rescue.”

The guard was trembling under the pressure of the confrontation with his spiritual master. The Prophet had not withdrawn his long, bandaged face; and the guard didn’t feel it was advisable to be the first one to back off. Finally, Flack moved away and resumed his seat. “That’s all. Tell the others.”

“We’ll get ready for the storm.”

“See that you do.”

As the guard was leaving the protection of the awning, he said, “Won’t those kids die in a blizzard?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. We’ll have to wait and see. I know one thing—that’s no ordinary little boy out there.”

Justin continued to watch the
western sky. “This fluffy snowfall is going to seem like cotton candy when the real stuff hits. Look at those black clouds building up over the mountains. We’re going to get hit, and we’d better do something fast.”

“A blizzard?” asked Rachel.

“Probably,” said Justin. “I’ve seen winter clouds like that a hundred times.”

“When will it come?” asked Janie.

“Tonight, I think. We’ve got to get out of the storm’s path.”

“How? Where can we go? Will there be wind—strong wind? Another lean-to would blow down like the little pig’s stick house.”

Justin smiled. “You’re right, Janie, no lean-to tonight. I’ve got something much more stable in mind, an old Eskimo trick.” He looked around, examining the cedar trees. He eventually found one with a massive pile of snow surrounding the trunk. “This one will do nicely,” he said.

“Nicely for what?” asked Rachel.

“For a tree-pit snow shelter. The snowpack around this cedar is fine, maybe five-feet deep. We dig a big round hole, all the way to the ground—even below ground if we can. We use the trunk of the tree for our center pole. We put boughs on the sides and on the floor. The tree above will act as a kind of roof, but we use more boughs and the tarp to cover the hole. We’ll be making a type of igloo.”

“We can spread pine needles on the floor, too,” said Janie. “That’ll make it warmer and softer.”

“Right.”

“How do we dig?” asked Rachel.

“With our hands and with flat rocks and flat sticks. Start looking.”

They hollowed a large space around the trunk of the cedar tree. They dug five feet down to ground level, and then Justin insisted they go down an additional foot, scooping out the dirt with a firm strip of birch bark. Then they packed the snow on the sides and lined the entire space with evergreen boughs of various sizes. The girls then dumped armfuls of pine needles into the hole and Rachel said, “Like a soft mattress.” Finally, they anchored the boughs and the tarp on the roof with ten large stones. “Overkill, maybe,” said Justin, “but we want our roof to stay put.”

“Two roofs,” said Janie. “The tree is our roof, too.”

“That’s the plan.”

The snowfall had now diminished, and darkness had not yet fallen; so Justin took the opportunity to build a fire close to the cedar tree shelter. “It’ll keep us warm until we have to get down inside, and then we can take some heated rocks with us. You’ll be surprised how much they’ll help down there. But now we’ll make some pine-needle tea.”

“No rabbit though?” asked Janie.

Justin reached into his coat to retrieve the second of the two rabbits they’d roasted that morning. “Well, maybe a bite or two each. But we save the rest for the blizzard. We’ll be getting awfully hungry down in that hole.”

At the base camp the
searchers were also preparing for the storm, but with considerably more equipment and supplies. With air mattresses, arctic sleeping bags, and insulated tents, none of the eight men was overly concerned about the danger involved; but nevertheless, the Sheba Hill guards went about securing their provisions to make certain nothing blew away or was dislodged by powerful winds. The Missoula men were still half drunk, but the Prophet insisted they peg their tents securely and make certain their supplies were stowed correctly.

The radio weatherman was now predicting the storm would arrive earlier than expected and the advance elements would reach the Bitterroots between eight and nine p.m.

The three twelve year olds
had retreated to their tree-pit snow shelter. They’d nibbled on their remaining rabbit, sipped hot pine-needle tea, and stayed by their blazing fire as long as possible; but now the wind and the driving sleet and snow had forced them to collect their heated rocks and escape to the protection of their vertical cave. The rocks were effective, and at first the tight little shelter was quite warm; but within an hour the warmth began to dissipate, and the trio began to shiver and huddle together to share body heat. Outside they could hear as the storm screamed through the cedar grove, uprooting any tree that didn’t have an extensive root system and then shredding the tree with loud pops and cracks that sounded as if a hunter were firing a high-powered rifle. Justin looked at the thick trunk in the center of their refuge. “I’m glad we chose this one. It’ll be here a hundred years from now.”

“I’m glad we’re in here and not out there,” said Janie.

“We’d be dead in an hour,” said Justin.

Rachel listened to the whistling wind and moved even closer to her two companions. “If we’d been good little girls,” she said, “we’d be in Sheba Hill right now, warm and safe with full bellies.”

“About to marry the demon who murdered our sister,” said Janie.

At the mention of Mary, their older sister, both girls were silent for a long period; and then Rachel said, “Well, not exactly. If we’d been good little girls we wouldn’t have set fire to Hank Biggars’ place, and we’d be about to marry a lesser demon.”

“Some choice,” said Janie.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Rachel, “because I think by now we’ve proven we’re not good little girls.”

The storm howled throughout the
night and continued through mid morning; but by noon it had departed and was well on its way, in a weakened condition, to the Great Plains.

Justin left the tree-pit shelter first to start the fire; and by the time he called the girls, he had produced a hot blaze that would warm his two cold, damp friends. After the twins had come out and had spent some time by the fire, he told them he was going out to reconnoiter—to see what damage the storm had done and also to see what he could find in the way of food. He assured them he wouldn’t be gone long. He then showed them that while they were still inside the shelter, he’d fashioned snowshoes from evergreen boughs. He tied the boughs around his boots with his laces, and he explained that while the snowshoes looked pretty dumb, he was fairly certain they would do the job. He pointed to two more sets of shaped boughs and explained that he had made snowshoes for the girls as well. He tramped about thirty feet from the fire, turned and called out, “They work! A little awkward but I think they’re going to be okay. I’m not sinking in.”

The cedar grove looked as if a timber crew had come through with chain saws. Fallen trees lay everywhere. Justin was now more thankful than ever that the cedar he had chosen for their shelter was fat and sturdy, because if it had collapsed during the night, he and the twins would have been ripped out of their sanctuary.

He found a stand of pine trees and managed to knock down some cones with a long stick he found not far away. He knew the tiny pine nuts inside the cones would provide some nourishment, but only from the cones still on the trees. The nuts in pine cones on the ground would be dry and inedible.

He came within thirty feet of two confused mule deer that appeared to be on the same mission he was—to locate food of any kind as soon as possible. He knew he had no chance of bringing down one of the deer, for even if he managed to hit one with his throwing stick, the deer would merely shrug and trot away. But the thought of freshly roasted venison was almost too much for him to tolerate.

About ten minutes later he crossed what he thought might be the tracks of a black bear. He assumed that the blizzard had roused the bear and had sent him out to see what had disturbed his sleep. Justin made it a point to veer off from the tracks. A grumpy black bear was precisely what he didn’t need. He also came upon the tracks of a particularly large moose, and he took the same tack that he had with the bear. An angry moose might be even more dangerous than a bear.

No rabbits, no squirrels, no field mice or rats. All the small creatures had enough sense to stay in their burrows until they were sure the blizzard could no longer harm them. He looked for termites and grubs and insects of all kinds, but found none; so he headed back to the shelter with only the pine cones he had stuffed in his pockets.

Back at the tree pit he showed the girls the pine cones he had knocked out of the trees, and showed them how to peel away the outer layers to get at the nuts.

“Not much to chew on,” said Janie when she found a nut.

“No, but eat all you can,” said Justin, “and now’s the time for the rest of our rabbit. We’ll need strength for our trek up the mountain.”

In the searchers’ base camp
the four Missoula men were finishing a heavy meal of meat, powdered eggs, fried potatoes, and energy drinks. The three Sheba Hill guards and J.J. Flack had eaten a half hour earlier and were now in the process of putting on their snowshoes.

The tallest of the Missoula men said irritably, “This is useless. Those brats are dead—no way they lasted through that blizzard. They’re splashed all over the bottom of some canyon, waiting for a mountain lion to drag their bodies off.”

“Finish your food and get ready,” the Prophet said. “We’re going after them, and we won’t have an argument about it. I’ve wasted enough time with you men already.”

The tall Missoula man, who seemed to be speaking for the others said, “Listen, Flack, we don’t see any sense in going up those mountains looking for dead kids. Give us our money and we’ll head on back.”

The Prophet, snowshoes and all, planted himself squarely in front of the bigger, taller man. “Your money!” he said. “Do you really think I’d pay you for walking out on me?”

The fat Missoula man, with the swastika tattooed on his neck, said, “We won’t walk out on you, but we think those kids are buzzard’s bait.”

Hiking in improvised evergreen snowshoes
proved to be more complicated than the three young adventurers had anticipated. The fronts of the boughs tended to curl under, and the backs tended to jerk upward, causing a rocking motion that led to tripping and stumbling. Justin tried to solve the problem by trimming the snowshoes, but it didn’t help and the instability continued. Still, it was better than sinking deep into the slush with each step.

The sky was a brighter blue than any sky the young people had ever seen, and the snow a whiter white—too white, for they found themselves squinting constantly to prevent snow blindness. But the squinting wasn’t working, and Rachel especially was finding it difficult to continue moving forward. “All I can see is white,” she said, “even when I close my eyes.”

“How about you, Janie?” Justin asked.

“Maybe not as bad as Rachel, but I sure am seeing a lot of white, and I’m starting to get a headache.”

“Me, too,” Justin said, “but I’ve got an idea.” He led them to a nearby birch tree and peeled off a section of bark that was already sticking out and looked as if it would soon fall to the ground. “Dry, but not too dry,” he said. Next, he carved the bark into three masked-sized pieces and poked two holes in the sides of each piece.

The twins watched in fascination. “If those are supposed to cover our faces, our eyes aren’t that far apart,” said Janie. “We’re not hens.”

Justin laughed. “You’re right—they’re masks to cover our faces, but the holes aren’t for your eyes. I’m making the eye slits now.” And with the point of the hunting knife, he sliced two thin slits into each mask, just wide enough to allow a miniscule amount of light to reach the wearer. Then he went around to the opposite side of the birch tree and peeled off three long strips of green bark, each about a quarter of an inch wide. These he pushed through the holes he’d drilled in the sides of the masks, running the green strips across the fronts.

“I get it!” exclaimed Janie. “Here, Rachel, I’ll tie yours around your head.”

When all three had secured their masks, Rachel stumbled around on her snowshoes, looking at the sky, the birch tree, her hand, her friends, and everything else around her. “Amazing,” she said, “I can see through these little slits, and most of the whiteness is blocked out.”

“Snow masks,” said Justin triumphantly. “We might look like aliens, but at least we can see.”

Janie said, “You don’t look like an alien, Justin, you look like the Lone Ranger.”

At the Prophet’s direction, the
ex-convicts had separated from the other four men and were headed due west in pursuit of the runaways. They were marching in a column, and they were making good time because of the efficiency of their metal-rimmed snowshoes.

“A fool’s errand,” said the fat man, who was gasping for air with each step. No way they lived through that storm.”

“Fool’s errand or not,” said the tall man, “we’ve got to go through the motions.”

The man at the rear of the column, who seldom contributed to discussions or decisions, said, “Why do we have to go through the motions?” He asked the question without insistence, as if he were merely curious and knew his input would not be considered. He was a wiry man in his late thirties, who had spent half his life in the Montana State Prison system. He had no conscience, no scruples, and very little personality.

The tall man halted the column and said, “Because Flack is a powerful man. We don’t want to make him an enemy. He knows the brotherhood. He pays them, sends them money in max custody. Remember, that’s how he reached us when we first started doing jobs for him—through the brotherhood. The last thing we need is them on our backs.”

The fourth member of the group was a stolid, blonde boy from Alabama, who did most of the heavy lifting, and whose primary preoccupation in life was women. All of his lengthy prison time had been as a result of offences against women and young girls; and he had agreed to come along on the trek because he liked the idea of chasing twelve-year-old female twins through the mountains. “Maybe they’re still alive,” he said. “Maybe we’ll find them.”

“Not likely,” said the tall leader.

Janie sat crying, her back
propped up against a large rock. She was holding her ankle and lamenting her clumsiness in stepping into a hole and making it impossible for the trio to continue. Justin slipped the silver tarp underneath her to help keep her dry, and then felt her ankle to see if he could determine whether or not it was broken. “It feels more like a sprain,” he said. “Of course, there’s no way we can tell for sure. Can you walk at all?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll try. It’s really sore.”

Rachel knelt beside her sister and said, “It wasn’t your fault. With our snow masks and snowshoes, it’s a wonder we all didn’t step in holes.”

“I’m the one who did,” said Janie, in a fury of self-condemnation. “I hope I haven’t ruined everything.”

Justin held up his hand toward the sun, which was declining in the western sky. “Each palm width between the sun and the horizon means about an hour of daylight left, and there’s about three and a half palm widths now. It’s not too early to start planning for tonight. I don’t think we’re under any pressure—at least for today. There’s plenty of wood around here and filler of all kinds. I’m sure we can make a wigwam if we put our minds to it.”

Janie tried to get to her feet to test her ankle, but the stabbing pain was too great and she fell back on the tarp. “I can’t do it,” she said. “It hurts when I put any weight on it.”

“Just stay where you are then,” said Justin. “I’ll build us a fire right here close to the rock, and Rachel and I can build a wigwam next to the fire. And tomorrow, if you still can’t walk, I’ll build a sled and we’ll take turns pulling you. We’ll be okay.”

When the fire was blazing and the wigwam complete, Janie once again tested her ankle. This time she was able to stand, though not to walk, and she called out, “Hey, look at me, I’m getting better! It must be a sprain. Maybe by tomorrow, with a little help, I can hike out of here….But I admit I was looking forward to you guys pulling me on a sled.”

Rachel and Justin rushed to Janie’s side to express their delight in her improvement. The three pre-teens then threw their arms around each other in a group hug, grinning with the optimism of youth.

No one mentioned the absence of food. To do so would be an unnecessary negative, and they all seemed to sense that what was needed now was positive energy. Rachel took the lead. “How about some pine-needle tea? I’m actually getting to like the stuff.”

“Good idea,” said Justin, “and pine needles have some nourishment, too—not much, but a little.”

When they were sitting by the fire, passing around the turtle shell filled with pine-needle tea, Justin again positioned his hand between the sun and the horizon. “Still a lot of daylight left,” he said. “I think I’ll go out and set some traps, see if I can catch some breakfast.”

“Traps?” said Janie.

“Snares, flat-rock traps—for rabbits, squirrels, rats. I’ve seen tracks.”

At the mention of rats, both girls made faces, but neither spoke; it was no time for niceties.

Rachel jumped to her feet. “I’ll go with you. You can show me how to set traps. We can set twice as many with me along….You’ll be okay, won’t you, Janie?”

“Sure, no problem. The fire’s warm, plenty of wood. I can take care of myself for a while. If my ankle’s better tomorrow, I’ll help check the traps.”

Rachel and Justin assured Janie they wouldn’t be long and she could indeed help them in the morning if her ankle improved. They then tramped off on their evergreen snowshoes to find a promising area to trap rabbits and other small creatures.

The blonde Alabama boy was
the first to smell the smoke. At first he didn’t say anything to the other Missoula men because he wasn’t certain. It might not be smoke at all, just the natural smells of the forest. He didn’t want to look foolish by making a comment that would reveal he didn’t know a thing about the wilderness; so he held his peace and savored the thought of two cute young girls sitting by the fire, waiting for him to come to their rescue. After about ten minutes he noticed that the other men were raising their heads and sniffing the air, and he realized that they, too, had picked up the smell. “Smoke,” he said tentatively.

“Without a doubt,” said the tall man.

Rachel was a quick study,
and in less than an hour Justin was able to teach her how to set several types of traps and to bait them with seeds he’d recovered from the intestines of the rabbits he’d gutted. Then he and Rachel separated for the next thirty minutes, and when they came back together, she said, “I did fine. I’ll bet my traps catch more than yours do.”

“That’s a bet I wouldn’t mind losing,” he said. “I just hope one of us catches something.”

Finally, the two trappers, satisfied with their late afternoon’s work, headed back to the campsite and to Janie. They hiked playfully, lightheartedly, kicking snow on each other with their awkward snowshoes. They teased and laughed as if they hadn’t a care in the world and as if they weren’t high in the Bitterroot Mountains with no food, no supplies, no equipment, and no real hope.

The first indication they had that something was awry was the sound of soft voices coming from behind the wigwam. Justin immediately halted and put his finger to his lips. “Be very quiet,” he whispered. “This isn’t right. Janie doesn’t have anyone to talk with, and I know she’s not talking to the animals.” They crept closer until the voices became distinct, and from the cover of the trees they could clearly make out what was going on. Two men were hiding behind the empty wigwam, obviously waiting for Rachel and Justin to return. “They’re laying for us,” Justin said. He spoke so softly she could scarcely hear him. “Back out. Don’t step on any branches.”

When they were safely out of earshot, Rachel’s bottle-green eyes filled with tears and in a voice quaking with fear and dismay, she asked, “Where’s Janie?”

“Gone,” said Justin.