Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Aubrey stands apart from the group, her expression closed and careful. When I approach with Duke, she takes the reins without meeting my eyes, mounting with practiced ease that belies her novice status. The events of the past few days have changed her, hardened something soft in her expression, not that she was ever that soft to begin with.
Unless she was gasping my name, eyes rolling back in her head.
Fucking her by the fire seems like eons ago, something I’m sure will never happen again. She despises me now.
“How are you holding up?” I ask quietly as she settles into the saddle.
“Fine,” she replies stiffly, adjusting her grip on the reins.
“Aubrey,” I begin, then stop, unsure how to bridge the chasm of hurt and betrayal between us, unsure how to get us back to the way we were. “About Hank—”
“Let’s just get to Benson Hut,” she cuts me off.
Her tone brooks no argument. I nod, accepting the dismissal, and move to mount Jeopardy. Whatever happened to Hank, whatever explains the blood trail we found, we’ll have to deal with it later. Right now, our priority is reaching Benson Hut before dark.
We set out under a sky so blue it makes me wish I had sunglasses, the snow-covered landscape stretching toward the horizon like a blank page. The horses move carefully through the fresh powder, steam rising from their nostrils in the crisp air.
I take point, with Eli behind me, then Aubrey, Cole, Hank, and Red bringing up the rear with the pack mule. Behind me, I hear snippets of conversation—Cole asking Hank about his night in the outhouse, Red complaining about the change of plans, Eli occasionally offering a comment about the terrain ahead or some soundbite about history that makes Red scoff.
Aubrey remains silent, and when I glance back she’s focused on the trail. The weight of last night’s revelations hangs between us, unspoken but heavy as the snow on the pine branches overhead.
The trail to Benson Hut follows a natural valley that cuts between peaks, rising gradually toward a saddle that marks the entrance to the next watershed. Under normal circumstances, it would be an easy day’s ride. But nothing about these circumstances is normal, the snowpack higher than it should be this time of year.
As we climb, the sun beating down on the snow creates a diamond-bright glare that necessitates squinting. I find myself constantly checking our surroundings. Every shadow between trees, every rocky outcrop—potential hiding places for things that might be watching us.
Following us.
Behind me, Hank laughs at something Cole says, the sound carrying clearly in the crisp mountain air. It’s the same laugh he’s always had, the same voice, the same mannerisms. And yet I can’t shake the feeling that something happened last night. Something that left a trail of blood in the snow, something that explains why we couldn’t find him despite searching everywhere.
I hope to god I’m wrong.
20
AUBREY
The sky is the kind of endless cerulean you only find at high elevations where the air is too thin to trap pollution or moisture. It stretches above us like a vast inverted bowl, unmarred by clouds, the midday sun reflecting off the snow with blinding intensity. I’ve had to pull my sunglasses from my bag, the glare giving me a headache, though my head hasn’t felt right since Jensen’s revelation about Lainey last night.
We ride in relative silence, the small talk that peppered the crew earlier given way to a few awkward comments and grunts. Duke moves steadily beneath me, following the dapple-gray Jeopardy with the practiced ease of a trail-ride horse. I’m getting used to the rhythm of horseback riding, my muscles moving with each movement, though I’m sure I’ll be sore again tomorrow. Who knew it was such a workout?
Every now and then Jensen turns to take stock of us, his gaze always lingering on me, concern evident in the set of his shoulders, the way he occasionally slows to make sure I’m still keeping pace. I ignore him, focusing instead on the trail ahead. Let him worry. Let him feel the weight of his deception, of what he kept from me. He deserves so much worse than that.
My mind keeps circling back to last night, to everything Jensen revealed about Lainey, about Adam, about the McAlisters and Josephine. That my family is connected by blood to the Donner Party tragedy. That my sister came here deliberately, seeking answers about our family history, about the apparent hunger she’d felt her whole life, hunger I had no idea about.
About the dreams we both had—blood and snow—though I’d never admitted mine to her.
All this time, I knew Lainey was doing what she could to cope with the loss of our parents. I thought my mother’s death pushed her into her strange obsession, I thought my father’s death pushed her into drugs. I never thought that it was something more than that. Never thought she was trying to cope with a fucking generational curse.