Daunting Days of Winter (28 page)

“If you’re going to kill me, I should at least hold onto it. It gives me a fighting chance to get out of here.”

“I didn’t say I was going to kill you.”

“You didn’t say you weren’t.”

Kyle swallowed. “Fine. I won’t kill you.”

“How do I know?”

“You don’t know, alright?” Kyle was getting angry. He didn’t want to debate this woman. “All you know is that I have the upper hand, and if you don’t come out, you’re likely going to die. Understand?”

Kyle walked closer to the woman, keeping the tree between them as he waited for a response. “What are you going to do?”

“Alright, just a minute.” He could see her lifting the strap of the gun over her head. “Where do you want me to put it?”

“Toss it over on your partner.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am. Sorry I don’t seem too sentimental, but he tried to kill me.”

The weapon was tossed from behind the tree and landed on the lifeless body.

“Now what?”

“Throw your coat over there as well.”

After a few seconds, the woman had removed her coat and tossed it from behind the tree.

“Raise your hands, and come out where I can see you.”

“Don’t shoot,” the woman pleaded as she emerged cautiously from behind the tree. Without her coat, she was left wearing brown canvas pants, hiking boots, and a green, long-sleeved, waffle-knit shirt. A brown wool cap covered her head. Her hands and legs were shaking visibly, and she held the tree for stability. “Now what?” she asked.

“You have any more weapons?”

She shook her head.

“Lift your shirt, and your pant legs, so I can be sure.”

She gave him an odd look, and Kyle noticed her striking features – dark, almond-shaped eyes, full lips that turned down at the corners, a long, thin nose, and rose-colored cheeks on alabaster skin. “I don’t trust you,” he explained. “Nothing personal, but I have to be careful. You should understand.”

She smiled at him, though she looked terrified. “I’m Stacy,” she said. “What’s your name?” She reached down, grabbed the hem of her shirt, and pulled it up, lifting it over her head.”

“Whoa, hey, that’s plenty,” Kyle protested. “I just want to make sure that you don’t have anything tucked in your waistband.”

One hand held her shirt, and she rested the other on her hip, which was shifted seductively to the side. “Now my pants, right?”

Kyle stared at the woman standing in front of him shirtless, wearing just a plain black bra that was pushing her large breasts together. Her cap had fallen off, and long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting vividly with her soft, pale skin. “Like what you see?” She forced a crooked, seductive smile, and leaned her head forward. “I used to dance. Made good money, too. The guys really liked me.”

“Put your shirt back on, then lift your pant legs,” Kyle said, trying to look her in the eyes. “I’m not looking for a performance. Just want to make sure you’re not going to shoot me in the back.

Stacy dropped her shirt to the ground and began undoing her belt. She bit her lower lip, closed her eyes, and flipped her head, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “You have any money?”

Kyle was unnerved by the situation in front of him – one of the most beautiful women he’d seen, undressing in the woods while her boyfriend lay dead on the ground just a few feet away.

She pulled the belt from her pants with a snapping sound, winked at Kyle, then started unbuttoning her pants.

“I said to just lift your pant legs, not undress.”

“You like it better this way though, don’t you?” With her fly undone, she worked her pants lower, shifting her hips from side to side and revealing powder blue underwear. “If I’d known I was going to be performing, I would have worn something that matched.”

“Stop!” Kyle yelled, firing a shot and bringing the performance to a halt.

Stacy stood still with her pants around her knees, her bare skin glowing in a shaft of sunlight that filtered through the trees. “What?” she asked, her voice shaking but with an innocent, schoolgirl look on her face. “Does this bother you?” She turned to the side. “There might be something in my bra, you know.”

“I’m sure there is,” Kyle replied, “but likely no room for any weapons. Put your clothes back on. Now!” He looked down at Stacy’s gun lying across the man’s body and climbed over the tree towards it.

“You coming to check if they’re real?” She attempted to sound seductive, but there was too much fear in her voice.

An uneasy feeling swept over Kyle. He stopped and looked at her closely.

Stacy grabbed the bottom of her bra cups. “I’ll give you a peek, so you know I’m not packing.”

Kyle looked closer, noticing her shaking hands and fear-filled eye that flicked beyond him up the hill. He spun quickly, seeing movement two hundred feet away, then a flash. The bullet struck him in the chest almost in the same place he’d been hit earlier, knocking him backwards. The impact was less severe, but his wounded ribs screamed in agony, and he cried out as he fell down.

“He’s wearing a vest!” Stacy shrieked. “Shoot him in the head!”

She lunged for her rifle, but with her pants around her knees, she tripped and fell to the ground before reaching it.

Kyle, still holding his pistol, took aim at Stacy, not twenty feet away, and pulled the trigger. She screamed as a bloody wound opened up on her white ribs, but continued struggling forward on her knees, trying to reach the rifle just a few feet away. He shot her once more, hitting her again in the side, spinning her around onto the ground.

“Stacy!” a man shouted from the hill above them.

Kyle rolled over and saw the man running towards him. He fired a shot in the man’s direction and heard the bullet strike wood. The man kept running. Kyle continued pulling the trigger and chunks of wood splintered off trees between him and his target, then he heard the click of an empty chamber.

Kyle glanced over his shoulder at Stacy’s rifle, just a few feet away. He scrambled to his feet and dashed for it. A gunshot sounded, and a bullet whistled by. Kyle dove towards the dead man and used his good arm to grab the rifle, a .223 that was an updated version of the first gun he’d owned and matched the one that lay partially under the dead man, and which was blessed with a large magazine that Kyle prayed was more than just decoration. As Kyle scrambled for cover he noticed that Stacy’s eyes were still open, but dim, and she was watching him with desperation.

The man drew closer, darting between the trees for cover and bringing the gap between them to an uncomfortably close distance. Unsure how many bullets he had, Kyle waited for the right moment to take his shot, hoping he had a least one bullet to work with.

“Stacy!” the man yelled again, a heart-wrenching plea.

Kyle heard the despair in the man’s voice, recognizing that he was emotionally frantic. As the man bounded closer, Kyle slid across the ground towards Stacy, drawing up behind her. Blood continued draining from the large open wound in her back, a sight that would have sickened him in times past.

He rested the barrel of the rifle across his left forearm and just above Stacy’s underwear-clad hip, and waited, his finger poised on the trigger, ready to shoot when the opportunity arose. He saw movement and fired, missing, but not by much. The man dropped to the ground and rolled, then bounced back up and kept coming. Kyle fired again and missed again. Stacy tried to shift beneath him but was too weak to move much. The man was getting closer, making Kyle more anxious, knowing he didn’t have unlimited ammunition.

Kyle kept the sight of the rifle on the man as he rushed forward through the trees. The man fired wildly towards Kyle, and the shot flew far overhead.

Stacy mumbled something, but Kyle, focused on the onrushing man, failed to understand her. He flattened himself to the ground, getting as low as he could behind the woman this man was rushing madly towards, watching the man approach through the sights of the gun. The man didn’t slow at the fallen tree, instead leaping onto it with one foot and launching himself through the air, landing thirty feet away.

As his feet hit the ground, the man paused for a brief second with his gun extended, unwilling to take a shot towards Stacy. That was all Kyle needed. He pulled the trigger several times in rapid succession, the bullets punching a tight cluster of holes in the middle of the man’s chest, dropping him in a heap on the ground.

Kyle waited, breathing heavily, unsure whether it was all over or if someone else would come charging down the hill in a suicide rush like this one. He raised himself up on his knees, ears ringing from the gunfire, eyes scanning the area for anyone else intent on his destruction. He got to his feet and went to the second man, now lying motionless in the dirt. Kyle pressed his fingertips to the man’s neck, then pulled him over onto his back.

He was young, somewhere in his mid-twenties Kyle guessed. A thin, blonde beard and a crooked nose were his only distinguishing features. His eyes were open, and Kyle, never comfortable looking at the dead, released his grip on the man, then quickly patted him down, finding nothing of value besides a magazine for the handgun.

Kyle crawled back to Stacy, who was half-conscious and watching him. “Is there anyone else?”

Stacy bobbed her head up and down. Kyle, unsure, knelt down beside her. “Who?!” he demanded, placing his ear near her mouth.

She struggled to speak. “My…brother…log cabin…up the…dirt road.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Kyle said, not sure if he believed her. He leaned back to look around, searching for this brother who might be coming his direction. He felt something on his wrist and looked down to see Stacy’s hand. Fresh tears filled her eyes as she tried to explain.

“No…young…please help,” she pleaded, barely getting her words out.

Kyle knelt closer, sensing she was finally sincere. “Say again?” he asked.

“Little brother…cabin…please. Help.” She coughed, spraying blood on his face.

“Is there anyone else there?” he asked, wiping away the blood.

A barely perceptible shake of her head indicated no. She swallowed, obviously in pain, and closed her eyes for a second.

Kyle reached out and touched her shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm, and she opened her eyes at his touch. “What’s his name?”

She grimaced. “Collin,” she said. “Collin Lee.”

“Is the cabin close?”

She closed her eyes and nodded slightly. Kyle could see her struggle for breath. He rose to his feet and walked over to the first man, grabbed his gun then searched the man, again finding nothing but additional ammunition. He went to the second man, grabbed him by an ankle, and dragged him next to the other two, then took Stacy’s hand and placed it in the palm of the man who’d been so desperate to save her and whose devotion to her was obvious, even under threat of death.

Kyle was surprised to see Stacy open her eyes, still clinging to life. When she saw what he’d done, she smiled and mouthed the words “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, then took her jacket and lay it across her shoulders. He knew it was pointless, that she’d be gone in a few minutes. In fact, he was surprised she was still alive, but that didn’t matter. Regardless of what had occurred, a life was still a life and deserved to be treated with dignity.

“Good bye,” he said as he stood, trying to sound sympathetic. “I will check on Collin, and I’m sorry.” He noticed that she flinched slightly at the mention of her brother, then he turned and walked cautiously towards the highway.

CHAPTER 35

Saturday, February 11
^th

Deer Creek, MT

Jennifer kept an eye on the Dutch oven in the fireplace, lifting the lid occasionally to stir the wheat. Grace’s store of grains was a life-saving resource for both her family and the community, and Jennifer knew she should be grateful to have access to it, but it was hard to get too excited about another meal of whole grains, flavored with a pinch of salt and a dash of sugar.

At least Spencer had finally stopped crying each time wheat was served, having come to the realization that something, no matter how plain and repetitive, was better than the hunger pains he felt when he had nothing to eat. David and Emma had long ago accepted their plight, and while they didn’t talk about it much anymore, Jennifer knew they both wanted, more than anything, the foods they loved – a bowl of Fruit Loops, a hot dog or hamburger, some chocolate ice cream – not the constant repetition of a subsistence diet.

Jennifer had never been a connoisseur in the kitchen. While she considered herself to be a better than average cook, she was not one to labor over meals or obsess about flavors and techniques. Now when she had extra time in her days, flavor and variety was something she thought about and longed for, and the lack of it was driving her crazy, like a powerful itch in the middle of her back that was just out of reach.

Jennifer’s knowledge of wheat, prior to her introduction to Grace’s food storage, had been limited to whole wheat bread and the white flour she baked with. A wheat berry sounded like a healthy fruit you might find growing in the wild next to a patch of raspberries, not a dried, hard grain that farmers harvested from their fields. When Grace and her seemingly never-ending stream of cans filled with stored wheat had moved into Carol’s house, Jennifer had expected to find flour in them.

Grace, seeing Jennifer’s confusion when she first opened a can, explained that they were looking at an actual kernel of wheat, the thing that flour was derived from when it was processed at a mill. Jennifer had asked why she hadn’t just bought flour instead, saving the trouble of grinding it down. “Flour only has a storage life of about a year, but wheat will last decades, even centuries if it’s stored well,” Grace had said without any sense of ridicule, going on to explain that if temperature and oxygen levels were controlled, the wheat would still provide nutritional benefit even when it was decades old.

Nutritional value aside, Jennifer longed for the day she could stop by Costco and pick up a fifty-pound bag of flour or, better yet, stop by a bakery and pick up loaves of fresh-baked, white bread, or a chocolate sheet cake, iced with thick buttercream frosting, and a gallon of ice-cold milk to wash it all down.