Chapter 17

Running full-bent through falling snow, Brook didn’t see the incline until she was on it. Unable to stop, she fell and rolled down the long brushy slope, tumbling to the bottom. She lay flat on her back, gasping, each breath causing a stab of pain in her chest. It took a moment for her to notice she was actually a bit warmer from the exertion, but her body stung with a hundred fresh scratches and scrapes.

“Oh lord! They killed her! They killed Gina. God help me!” Brook sobbed, staring heavenward through the denuded treetops, praying she wouldn’t be next. Flakes of snow drifted down onto her face as she waited for her heart to stop hammering. Gradually, her tears subsided and her pulse stabilized. It wasn't exactly grief she felt for Gina, more like pity. The girl was hateful, immature, and not very smart, but killing her seemed outrageous. She was one of them. How could they just kill one of their own? Brook closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds, but there was no time for rumination. I have to keep moving.

Sitting up, Brook released her grip on her purse and with difficulty undid the catch on one of the straps. She looped the bag around her neck, reattached the strap, and tucked it inside the shirt. Now her hands were free and she felt relieved. Keeping the bag safe had become a necessary burden; now it would be easier to manage.

She couldn't go back to the road, even if she could find her way. For all she knew, Jase might be patrolling the area, just waiting for her to be foolish enough to return to the wrecked car. How long would she have to be out here? How would she survive? Panic rose up and nearly choked her.

Taking slow, even breaths around the jagged pain in her side, she struggled to gain control over her emotions. Think for a minute! Just think! Her brain scrambled to collect everything she knew about survival in the wild, and it wasn't much. She had a niggling concern that eating snow was bad for a person, but becoming dehydrated would also be a problem; she would eat snow if she had to. Food was another matter. However, she reasoned, the worst part of her predicament was the cold. She had no idea how far she had traveled or how she could ever climb back up to where she was before she had fallen. The steep, brush-choked incline continued in both directions as far as she could see. Besides, it would be too risky to go back for her ‘shoes’. She would have to continue on bare feet.

 Tears ran down her cheeks at the thought of putting weight on her damaged feet, but she tried to stand anyway. Pain soared up her legs and she slumped back to the ground. A fresh, sharp sting issued from the back of one leg. She turned her leg and found a large gash emitting a steady flow of blood. She wiped her hand on her shirt and turned her eyes back to the slope. Unable to go up, unable to walk, she pulled herself along the ravine, tugging the shirt sleeves down over her hands to protect them.

She had lost the stream and was thirsty again, and the cold had reclaimed her. She took small mouthfuls of snow, but it did nothing to ease the parched feeling in her mouth and throat, and she had started to shiver again. It was another half-hour before she found a shallow rain puddle in the hollow of a large flat rock. She broke through the paper-thin crust of ice over the water, and drank deeply before moving on.

The woods grew denser, and the ground became riddled with knobby roots and half-buried stones. Her progress was slow and painful. After a while, she came to a game path, hard packed dirt with few rocks. Brook thanked God for giving her a way relatively clear of obstacles. She crawled onto the path, brushing stray branches and rocks from the ground as she went, making her way steadily onward, putting more and more distance between herself and the wrecked car. The shirt she wore was now wet and clung to her skin like a layer of frost.

Snow began to accumulate under the wide-spreading branches overhanging the trail. But, so far it was just a light covering, and for this she was grateful.

After a while, she tried to stand again, pulling herself upright with the help of a tree. Pain radiated up her legs, but her feet were numb from the cold and she found she could stumble along at a slow pace. It seemed she had been wandering for hours. Providing she hadn’t been going in circles, she calculated that she should be miles from the car by now. But she could see no help in sight and no foreseeable end to her misery. She had heard that freezing to death was a peaceful way to go. Brook couldn’t imagine how that could possibly be true as she stood quaking in the frigid air. She assumed she would eventually just lie down and close her eyes, and then it would all be over. She would just fall asleep and never wake up. Tears stung her eyes again. She didn’t want to die! Keep moving, said a small voice in her head. Keep moving.

Her feet grew heavy and her limbs ached with exhaustion. Brook realized she was probably traveling further away from any possibility of help, but she had no idea which way to turn. There was nothing but trees in all directions. Trees and more trees. And she was so tired. She focused on the mechanics of taking a step. First lift one foot. Then set it down. Then lift the other. Set it down. Moving very slowly now, she trudged on.

It began to feel as if she were sleepwalking. Shadows darted here and there in the trees at the periphery of her vision, but when she turned her head to look, she saw nothing. Faint music reached her ears, like a radio playing far off. A chorus sang in perfect harmony. Angels, Brook decided with a weary smile. She strained toward the sweet voices, but each time she concentrated on the sound, it faded. I'm dreaming, but I'm awake. With dull surprise, she became aware that she no longer felt the cold. Groggy as she was, she still knew it wasn't a good sign. I won't sleep. I won't sleep. Head hanging, Brook pushed herself forward, one difficult step after another.

She stumbled into a clearing at the same time she heard another nightmarish scream. Unlike the earlier screams, this one was deeper, sounding as if it were wrenched from the throat of a demented being. It jolted her from her daze. Jerking her head up and scanning the area ahead of her, Brook’s gaze fell upon a madman. He stood before her, holding the bloody remains of a body. Long straggly hair hung wild about a bearded face, and streaks of blood smeared his cheeks and clothes. He threw back his head and howled again, as if enraged or locked in the throes of some sick passion.

Shock slammed through Brook. Before she could stop herself, she cried out. The crazy man turned his head. Surprised eyes met hers, and she felt an icy fear slither down her spine. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then her survival instincts kicked in, flooded her system with a healthy dose of adrenaline, and she turned to flee from the killer. Slipping on the snow-slick humus, she scrambled for purchase, found her footing, and ran face first into a tree. There was a sharp thwack as her forehead made contact with the wood. She slumped gracelessly to the forest floor and was still.