Chapter 6

I ran through the trees. My feet were numb. The snow was crusted, sharp as broken glass. Behind me, the plow's engine growled. Boone couldn't follow me into the trees, but he could cut me off at the road. The only way to the gravel pit was across the open switchback.

"Marnie," I said. "He's going to kill me."

"He won't. He needs you to take the blame."

"He doesn't need me alive for that."

She was quiet. Then: "You're right."

"Then call state police."

"I can't. He'll hear it on the scanner. He'll know it was me."

"He already knows it was you."

"Not for sure."

"Marnie, I have the invoice. I have the mirror. I can walk to Route 114. It'll take me all night, but I'll do it. I'll take it to the state police myself."

"You won't make it. You're nine months pregnant. You're barefoot."

"Then give me another choice."

She took a long breath. I heard her antacid bottle rattle. "There's a gravel pit on the ridge. High ground. If you get there, I can patch the logger through the repeater. I can transfer the recording to the state police barracks in Derby. But I have to do it live. I can't just send a file. The system doesn't work that way."

"So I have to stand in the open and wait."

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Five minutes. Maybe ten."

The plow's headlights swept the road below. Boone was turning around. He knew where I was going. He knew the camp better than I did.

"If you're lying," I said, "I'm dead."

"I'm not lying."

"You're a coward."

"Yes."

"Then be a coward for me. Be too scared of prison to let him win."

Another pause. "Get to the high ground."

I hung the invoice inside my coat. I started toward the road. The wind hit me like a wall. Ice pellets stung my face. The plow roared. I could see the amber beacon through the trees, spinning, coming fast.

I had five minutes. Maybe ten. I had one live channel and a baby who had stopped kicking. I had to make it to the gravel pit.

The switchback opened in front of me. Black ice glittered under the plow's headlights. Boone was two hundred yards down the road, coming up fast. He saw me. The plow surged.

I ran across the open stretch. My socks were gone. My feet were white and bloodless. The cold climbed my legs. I could feel the baby low, heavy, wrong.

Halfway across, my knee buckled. I went down hard. The invoice bit into my ribs. The handheld slipped from my fingers and skidded across the ice.

"Marnie!" I screamed.

Static. Then her voice, tinny and small from the little speaker. "I'm here. Get up."

The plow was fifty yards away. Boone laid on the horn. The sound tore through the storm. I crawled to the handheld. My hand closed around it just as the plow's blade threw a wave of snow over me.

I got up. I ran. The gravel pit was ahead, a dark cut in the tree line. I didn't look back. I couldn't.