Chapter 7

The gravel pit was a bowl of frozen ground and old equipment. I stumbled down the access ramp. The plow couldn't follow me there-not easily. The ramp was too narrow, the turns too tight. But Boone knew that. He stopped at the top. The engine idled. The headlights poured down into the pit.

"You think that helps?" he shouted. "You're trapped."

I crouched behind a pile of crushed stone. My contractions were coming hard now, five minutes apart, then four. I pressed the handheld to my mouth.

"Marnie, I'm at the pit. Do it now."

"I need a clear signal."

"I'm here. Do it."

"I'm trying. The repeater's frozen. I can't get the barracks."

"Try harder."

The plow engine revved. Boone was backing up. He was going to take the long way around, through the logging cut. He'd be here in ten minutes.

"Marnie, he's coming."

"I know."

"Play the recording. Play it on the open channel. People will hear. Someone will call."

"If I play it, I lose everything."

"You already lost everything. You just haven't admitted it."

Silence. Then a click. A hum. The handheld squealed with feedback.

"Tessa," Marnie said, "I'm patching the logger into the camp repeater. It won't reach Derby, but it'll reach every radio in the county. You understand what that means?"

"Means everyone hears."

"Means I go to prison."

"Then go."

Another pause. "I'm sorry."

The channel opened. I heard Boone's voice, recorded, laughing. Then Marnie's voice, younger, tired: "Take Notch. Weigh station's open. Don't stop."

Then Boone: "I cut the line. Brake line was cleaner than a gutted deer."

Then Marnie again: "Company will handle it. Just keep your mouth shut."

The recording played out over the open channel. I heard it echo off the gravel walls. I heard it in my handheld. I heard it in the plow's cab, because Boone had left his radio on.

The plow stopped.

For a long moment, there was nothing but static and wind. Then Boone's voice, live, raw: "Marnie, you bitch."

The plow engine screamed. He was coming through the cut. I ran for the old bulldozer parked at the edge of the pit. The key was in it. I had seen it in the shed, but this was a different dozer-older, rusted, but the key was there, too, hanging from a wire.

I climbed up. My belly scraped the metal. I turned the key. The engine coughed. Nothing. I tried again. The battery was weak.

The plow's headlights swept the pit. Boone was at the top of the ramp. He was going to come down.

"Come on," I whispered. "Come on."

The dozer engine caught. It roared. Black smoke poured into the cold air. I shoved the throttle forward. The dozer lurched.

Boone's plow started down the ramp. I turned the dozer toward the access road. The blade scraped the frozen ground. I pushed a pile of crushed stone into the ramp. The plow hit it and slid sideways.

I kept going. I drove the dozer up the ramp, blocking the road. The plow couldn't get around me. Boone leaned out the window, face purple.

"You're dead!" he shouted.

I killed the dozer engine. I climbed down. My legs gave out. I landed in the snow. The handheld was still in my hand. The channel was still open. Marnie was still broadcasting.

And in the distance, I heard sirens.