Page 9 of Crucible
And then I’m falling again.
I hit another branch on my way down, but my shoulder takes the brunt of it this time as I continue to fall. When I finally hit the ground, I immediately sink into the freshly fallen snow. More flakes and some hail pelt me from the sky I can’t see above. The blizzard threatens to bury me in a heartbeat if I don’t move.
I almost consider it—being buried alive. It’s better than suffering for days. My chances of being rescued in this storm—of surviving it—are too slim for hope. But then I hear it.
A howl.
It’s the wind.
It’s the wind. It’s the wind. It’s the wind.
A terrified squeal escapes me when I hear it again. Another answers the call, and then another. I lose count of the howls after seven.
Wolves.
I try to gulp, but my throat hurts too much from screaming, so I settle for hyperventilating.
I should have stayed in the tree.
A laugh bordering hysteria escapes me, and then I rise with a groan. The wolves sound far away but still too damn close.
Shelter.
Need to find shelter.
At this temperature and in this stupid costume, I’ll be dead before the wolves can say “lunch.”
Hope they like cold cut.
I force myself to focus on the immediate threat and search the debris. When I don’t find anything useful, I debate my next move for far too long. I waste precious minutes silently losing my shit until I hear more howls.
They’re closer now.
My feet start moving in the opposite direction—running, fleeing, carrying me from the tree that saved my life.
Each step through the thick blanket of snow is laborious. I stumble to my knees every other step while my skin stings from the hail.
I feel a stabbing in my ears and fingers that I don’t want to think about.
I’m not wearing a coat, so I have no choice but to keep moving. I have no idea how high up the mountain I am or how close I am to stepping off a cliff.
All I can do is follow the trees.
The destroyed canopy and fallen young Aspens guide me down the steep hill like a blazing arrow. My heart and lungs burn from the exertion, but it also warms my blood and keeps me going until I reach the bottom of the hill where the forest ends.
At first, I think it’s the storm wreaking havoc on my mind when I see it, but no.
It’s really here.
On the edge of the cliff lies the rest of the plane.
Without the engines, it hadn’t made it far.
I call out for Tyler and Cassie, but heart-wrenching silence answers back. I don’t know any of my bodyguards’ names. It never occurred to me to ask, and now they’re probably dead because of me.
My next breath shudders out of me, and I notice it’s shallower than before. I’m too afraid to think about what it means, so I stumble over to the crumpled fuselage. Thick, black, and suffocating smoke billows in the frigid air.
The front of the fuselage, where the cockpit should be, skirts the edge of the cliff, and I know what I’ll find at the bottom.
