Desolation Point (11 page)

“Nice,” she muttered, not needing to be an expert to recognize it as an expensive piece of gear. It turned on with a welcoming beep but then stubbornly requested a passcode. Her optimistic guess of a factory-set 1, 2, 3, 4 was quickly rejected, leaving her with only three opportunities prior to being locked out of the system. She slid the GPS back into its pouch and picked up the oilskin instead. Flakes of dried mud fell off as she untied the leather straps that had been bound tightly around it. The outermost layer of the skin showed some sign of degradation, but when she spread the cloth out, its inner layer was dry and completely intact. The skin had been used to protect a small plastic box, the lid of which had been sealed with duct tape. Slightly wary now, she shook the box. A quiet metallic rattle sounded from within. She peeled the tape off and flicked open the lid before she could second-guess herself.

“What the hell?”

She tipped three small keys into the palm of her hand and then held them up one by one to study them in the firelight. They appeared to be intricately designed security keys, all similar but not quite identical in cut and thickness. Despite her mounting suspicion that Merrick had only recently unearthed them, their condition was pristine. She dropped them back into the bag as if they had burned her, possibilities and theories racing through her mind until only the most obvious one remained. “Shit.” She glanced over at Sarah, startled to find not only that she was awake but that she had been watching Alex empty the bag of its contents.

“It’s not really me they’re after, is it?” Sarah said.

It suddenly all made sense to Alex; that Merrick would be so persistent in hunting Sarah down, when in all likelihood she would have died from exposure or her injuries long before she could tell anyone where he was or what he had done.

“No, I don’t think it is.” Alex looked uneasily at the keys. “Before I found you, Walt—the guy I work with—spoke to me on the radio. He told me Merrick was pretty heavily involved with white supremacist organizations. They were probably the ones who busted him out of jail.” Even this little information seemed too much for Sarah to take in, so Alex simplified things for her sake. “I think he’s out here looking for something,” she said, as Sarah nodded reluctantly in agreement. “And I think you might have stolen his map.”

*

The rope had been long enough to stretch from one side of the hut to the other, and Alex had hung their coats to dry. Their boots and socks sat steaming in front of the stove, and a pot of water was heating slowly but surely. Curled up on the floor beside the boots, Sarah was fast asleep. Although Alex had tried her hardest to delay what needed to be done next, she had just about run out of ways to procrastinate, and she was concerned enough about Sarah’s condition to put a hand on her shoulder and gently wake her.

“No. Don’t.” Sarah lashed her hand out to slap Alex’s away.

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean…It’s just me.”

“Alex.” Sarah pushed herself up to sit with her back against the wall. “Shit, was I sleeping? I don’t remember falling asleep. I was going to help you.” She looked around and nodded with admiration. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am, but I’m not sure you’re going to love me for this.” Alex held out a first aid kit. “You’re still bleeding, Sarah.”

There was a small, fresh pool of blood where Sarah had been lying. She hurt too; that much was obvious in the tight lines drawn across her face and the stiffness that pervaded her movements. She didn’t say a word as Alex helped her to take her sweater and her tank top off, but just shivered once as goose bumps rose to cover her torso, and then she dropped her arms to her sides to allow Alex to untie the sweater around her midriff. Her hands curled into fists as the material came loose.

Murmuring a stream of apologies, Alex cast the sweater aside and brought the flashlight closer. “It’s a through-and-through,” she said, mostly to herself. “God, what a mess.” She leaned back slightly and studied Sarah’s face. “You managed to run down half a mountain with this?”

“Yeah.” Pulling the sweater away had caused the wound to open up, and Sarah was absently watching blood streaming freely again from the ragged hole the bullet had torn in her right side. “I’ve had worse.”

There was no appeal for pity in her tone; it was just a matter-of-fact comment she had made without really seeming to think about it. The piece of gauze Alex was using to clean the streaks of blood from her abdomen gradually revealed a raised spider’s web of silvery scar tissue, but Sarah didn’t offer any explanation, and, conscious of how exposed she already was, Alex didn’t ask the obvious question. She of all people understood Sarah’s desire for privacy.

“Oh hell.” Now that she had a clearer view of what she was dealing with, Alex realized it wasn’t just the bleeding that was going to be a problem. “Sarah, there’s a piece of your sweater in here.” She could see the small piece of navy blue fabric folded deep within the injury. The cavity originally caused by the bullet’s track had collapsed around the cloth, wedging it firmly in place. Alex felt her palms begin to sweat as she considered it. She wasn’t a medic, and she didn’t really have a clue what to do. Applying pressure to the bleed wasn’t stopping it, but for the moment at least, it was giving her time to think. She was still watching stark crimson leak into the white of the gauze when a quiet metallic clink made her look up.

“Wash your hands as best you can and sterilize these.” Sarah was holding out a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit. “The cloth has to come out or it’ll cause an infection, and then I think I’ll need a few stitches.” She kept her voice light, but her hand trembled almost imperceptibly as Alex took hold of the tweezers.

“Are you a doctor or something?”

Sarah shook her head with a desperate gasp of laughter. “No, I saw it in a movie once.”

Alex stared at her dumbfounded for a moment before she too began to laugh. “You saw it in a
movie
?”

“Yeah.” Sarah shrugged. “Hey, it worked. The guy lived. I think he went on to save the world.”

*

“You comfortable?”

“Mmhm, I’m fine.” Lying on her left side with her head pillowed on a blanket, Sarah nodded at Alex. “Ready when you are.”

“Okay.” Alex tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “Let me know if you want me to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” Sarah said immediately. “Please, whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“Right. I won’t stop. Ready?”

“Yep.”

For what seemed like the longest time, there was nothing but the sound of Sarah’s teeth grinding together and Alex cursing as she worked to get a firm grip on the tiny circle of cloth. The tweezers were awkward things to maneuver, sliding and jarring when she tried to open them in the right place, while rivulets of fresh blood worked to conceal the old scar tissue as quickly as she wiped it clean. Eventually, with a sharp tug that owed more to luck and frustration than judgment, the cloth came free, and she clamped a thick wad of gauze in place to stanch the bleeding. She looked down to see Sarah’s face pressed into the blanket, her upper arm hiding what little of her face would have been visible, her body shaking as she tried not to cry.

“I got it, Sarah. We’re halfway there.”

Back when her hands were steadier, Alex had threaded the needle she always kept in her kit for emergency repairs, although she had never envisioned using it for this sort of emergency.

Sarah lifted her head and, seeing what Alex was about to do, hurriedly wiped her face dry. “Are you okay?”

With the needle poised, Alex hesitated. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

When Sarah nodded, Alex selected her starting point, pushed the needle through, and made her first stitch before she could lose her nerve completely. It became no easier after that, and although she tried to tell herself that it was just like mending a hole torn into a tent canvas, the analogy was less than convincing. Canvas was never warm and slippery with blood beneath her fingers, nor did it tense or flinch when she pulled a stitch taut. When at last the wound had stopped seeping blood around the bright green cotton, she felt sicker than Sarah looked. She cast the needle and thread aside and wiped her face dry with the bottom of her sweater.

“Sarah, it’s done.”

“Thank you.” The softest of whispers.

Alex pressed two Advil to Sarah’s lips to go with the Tylenol she had taken earlier, and held a bottle of water for her to sip from. By the time Alex was smoothing clean dressings over the seven neat stitches, Sarah was barely conscious. Alex covered her up with both of the remaining blankets, tucking them in closely, before adding more wood to the stove. The supplies in the duffel bag had included coffee, dried milk, and sugar, and after she had cleaned the blood from her hands, she made herself a strong, sweet drink. With the mug wrapped in both of her hands, she huddled close to the fire. A small leak marked time by dripping persistently in one corner of the hut. She sipped her coffee and listened instead to the deep, regular breaths Sarah was taking as she slept.

Gray, washed-out light was seeping through gaps in the ramshackle walls when Alex jerked awake. At some point in the night, she had moved to sit beside Sarah, and Sarah’s arm was flung casually across her lap, its hand twitching intermittently as she dreamed. Curling her fingers around Sarah’s for a second, Alex was relieved to find that dry warmth had replaced the cool clamminess of the previous day. Unconsciously, Sarah returned the slight pressure, and then her eyes opened blearily.

“Shh, go back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”

Sarah nodded sagely in agreement and settled without ever having woken properly.

Alex disentangled herself from the blankets, collected the pot from the stove, and tiptoed over to the door. When she stepped outside, she was greeted by a wall of fog that reduced visibility to a matter of yards, but she could see that the hut sat in the smallest of clearings. Huge fir trees crowded in on it, effectively sheltering it from sight, while a lively stream provided a useful water source. Walking around its perimeter, she saw no trails through the trees, nothing to make it easy for anyone to find. Any traces of whoever had once lived or worked here had long since been reclaimed by the forest. Feeling confident that they could safely spend at least one more night, she used a rock to dig herself a small toilet, and washed in the stream’s frigid water. She was refilling the pot when she heard a thud, and she tensed, turning immediately toward the hut. Sarah was leaning against the doorjamb, wrapped in a blanket. She smiled woozily as Alex dropped the pot and jogged over to her.

“What are you doing up?”

“I, um.” She waved a vague hand toward the trees. “I really need the loo.”

The phrase was temporarily lost in translation before Alex nodded in sudden understanding. “Right. You, uh, you need me to…?”

“No. I’ll manage.”

“Right.” She took hold of the blanket Sarah held out to her. “Give me a shout if…”

“If I split my stitches pulling my trousers up?” Sarah offered with a grin.

“Exactly.”

“I’ll shout. I promise.”

“Great.”

They both laughed, the absurdity of the exchange briefly alleviating the dire nature of their predicament. Alex waited until she was sure that Sarah was safe to walk unaided, and then stepped inside and began to look in Merrick’s bag for something suitable for breakfast.

*

“I can offer you mac ’n’ cheese or oatmeal.” Alex held the packets up as Sarah came back into the hut.

“I’m not really hungry.”

Sarah gripped the water pot tightly. Hoping to save Alex a job, she had managed to fill the pot and carry it back, but she could feel cold sweat dampening the hair at the nape of her neck, and her fingers began to slip from the metal. There was a scramble of movement and a hissed curse, and then she felt Alex grab her arm. Without ceremony, she was half-dragged, half-carried toward her improvised bed of blankets.

“Put your head between your knees.”

The last thing she wanted to do was move any part of herself, but instead of thinking up a suitably pithy response, she sagged onto the floor. “I’m going to be sick.”

She made no effort to resist when Alex guided her to lie down on her uninjured side, and she closed her eyes as the room swam in front of her. She opened her eyes again at the touch of a warm cloth on her forehead, to find Alex carefully wiping her face.

“Still feel sick?” Alex placed an old bucket within easy reach and waited as Sarah took a tentative breath.

“No, I think it’s passed, thanks.” She wanted to tell Alex to stop, that Alex had already done so much more than she could ever hope to repay, but the touch felt so reassuring that she kept her counsel and lay still beneath it.

“Let me take a look here.” With one hand resting on Sarah’s hip, Alex used her other to lift Sarah’s sweater and check the dressings she had applied the previous night. Both were speckled with only the slightest amount of fresh blood, and the fear eased from her expression. “Those look good. I think it’s shock that’s making you feel so bad.” She sounded as if she was trying to work it out for herself as she went along. “You lost a lot of blood, and you probably dropped your blood pressure by standing up for so long. I think that’s how it works.” Her hand and the cloth resumed their soothing motion across Sarah’s face, her fingers easing the tangles from soaked strands of hair. “I had a friend who was an EMT, used to get real pissed at people telling her someone was in shock when all they’d had was a fright. ‘There are five types of clinical shock,’ she would say, ‘and that’s not one of them.’”

“Are you a police officer?” Sarah asked softly.

The question seemed to catch Alex off guard. She dropped her hand away, her eyes not quite able to meet Sarah’s.

“I was,” she said at length. “What made you think that?”

“Last night, when you said ‘misdemeanor,’ it seemed like a police-type thing to say, but I don’t know.” Sarah hesitated, struggling to follow her logic through. “You also seem pretty good at all this,” she gestured around herself, “which confuses the issue slightly.”