“Down!”
Molly and Sitka dived behind the other side of the concrete pier. A furious barrage of bullets chipped away at the sideways foundation. Molly heard the snowmachine roaring toward them. She remembered what had happened to Tom Jensen. The crumbling concrete block wasn’t going to shield them for long.
She looked around frantically, trying to find some way out. The spray from the rushing river sprinkled her face again. Molly’s gaze seized on the frothing white water and rapids.
It’s our only chance.
Thrusting her pistol into her belt, she yanked the heavy pack off Sitka’s shoulders. It was only going to weigh her down.
“Hey!” the girl protested. “What’s that for?”
There was no time to explain. The Snowminators would be on them in a second.
“Shut up and follow me!”
Keeping low, she dived into the freezing river. Bullets whizzed over her head, but she could barely hear them over the crash of the rapids. The current gripped her and sent her hurtling downstream at a breakneck pace, far from the deadly machines. Tossed about like flotsam and jetsam, she fought to keep her head above the water. Churning white froth invaded her mouth and nostrils. She kicked and sputtered, swallowing a mouthful of ice water, then spitting it out again. The sudden, frigid immersion shocked her to her marrow. Her heart skipped a beat.
She tumbled over the deep rapids.
There was another loud splash behind her.
“Molly!”
Twisting her head, she caught a glimpse of Sitka bobbing in the water not far away.
“Where are you?”
Molly reached out for the teen, but the relentless current tore them apart. The river carried them away.
Molly tried to remember if Sitka knew how to swim.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Gasping for breath, they dragged themselves to shore, many miles downstream from the battle at the bridge. Molly guessed that they’d been in the water for maybe ten minutes, tops, but it felt like hours had passed since they’d thrown themselves into the freezing current. Her entire body felt black and blue from bouncing over the rapids. She shivered from head to foot. Her legs were wobbly.
She leaned against Sitka, the two women clinging to each other for support as they staggered away from the water, splashing through the thin ice and slush at the edge of the riverbank. Slowing as it rounded a rocky shoal, the river had slackened just enough to give them a chance to break free from the current. It was shallower and narrower here, too.
Another lucky break.
Thank God they hadn’t gone over any waterfalls!
Exhausted, they collapsed onto the snow. Molly coughed up a gallon of water. She listened intently for the roar of the snowmachines, but heard only the river continuing on its way. If nothing else, they had escaped the vicious killers, who were presumably far behind them now, and in no position to follow them down the river. Sure, they can ski, she gloated, reveling for the moment in their unlikely escape. But they damn well can’t swim!
Icy water dripped from her hair and clothes. Tremors shook her body. Forget the machines, she thought. Hypothermia was their enemy now. If anything, it felt colder on the shore than it had been in the water. The bitter wind chill could kill them just as surely as a Terminator’s bullets. At best, they had maybe a couple of hours before they froze to death. Probably less, given how drenched they were. She could feel her sodden clothing freezing already.
Fuck, it was cold!
“Up!” she ordered Sitka, resisting the temptation to sink forever into the soft white drifts. She hauled herself to her feet and turned her thoughts to survival. Years of wilderness training came to her rescue. Shelter, she realized. That was their top priority. She nudged Sitka with her toe. Water slushed inside the boot. “Up and at ‘em.” Her teeth chattered. “We’ve g-got work to do.”
It took a couple of prods, but the grumbling teen finally got up.
“Always so b-b-bossy.” Her soggy red mane was plastered to her head. Her lips were blue. She fumbled in her fanny pack for a cigarette lighter. Shaking fingers tried to get a spark going. “F-fire?”
Molly shook her head. The snow and frost had left any available tinder too damp to kindle; by the time they got a fire going, it would be too late. Besides, they couldn’t risk the Terminators seeing the smoke or flames.
“Sh-shelter.” She hugged herself to keep warm. It didn’t work. “F-follow me.”
There was nothing to work with by the river’s edge, so they had to trek deeper into the woods before they found enough timber and debris to construct a crude shelter. While Sitka gathered as many fallen branches, leaves, ferns, and pine needles as she could rustle up, Molly got to work on the basic construction. First, she dug a shallow depression in the snow, barely big enough to hold both her and Sitka. She spread the branches and ground cover over the frozen earth like a carpet, then built a simple wooden framework over the ditch. Two crossed sticks, thrust upright into the dirt and snow supported a longer, diagonal ridgeline
Working together, they leaned the extra branches and debris against the central pole, forming a crude lean-to whose narrow opening rose less than a foot above the surface. The rest of the structure tapered to the ground behind the opening. Packed snow, heaped up against the angled sides of the shelter, provided an additional level of insulation. Given time, it would freeze solid, hopefully keeping the two women from doing the same.
Panting, Molly paused long enough to inspect their work. It wasn’t much to look at, but it might keep them alive until the sun came up. She shivered in the wind, taking shelter behind a nearby pine. The heavy exertion had warmed her up some, but had also left her dangerously soaked in sweat. Sitka looked just as cold. They had to get out of the wind before it was too late.
“Y-you first,” Molly said. “H-hurry.”
For once, the feral teen didn’t put up a fight. Getting down on the ground in front of the narrow opening, she wriggled feet-first into the shelter. Molly gave her a five-second head start, then squeezed in after her. It was a tight fit, but there was just enough room for both of them. Their faces were only inches apart. Molly could practically hear the girl’s heartbeat.
“S-still cold,” Sitka complained. “Brrr.”
“It’ll warm up,” Molly promised. “Soon.”
They stripped off their wet clothes at last, then stuffed the wadded fabric in the mouth of the shelter to keep out the cold. They huddled together, sharing whatever body heat they could still muster. The packed branches and snow kept the warmth inside, just like it was supposed to. For the first time since she had dived into the river, Molly started to feel less like an icicle.
“Uh, Molly,” Sitka murmured. “Wrong time to mention that I think I might be gay?”
“Yeah,” Molly said firmly. “Wrong time.”
Later on in the night, she thought she heard the girl crying.
“I know,” Molly said. “I miss Doc, too.”
She wondered what had become of Geir and the others.
The next morning, they crouched around a modest campfire. They’d had to strip the damp bark from the kindling to get to its dry, flammable core, but it had been worth the effort. Their frozen parkas and boots were finally starting to dry out. They shared some scraps of smoked meat that had somehow survived their trip down the river. Molly decided she’d never again tease Sitka about being a packrat.