Uncharted by Adriana Anders

Chapter 5

Behind them, the helicopter went low for a few minutes and then took off again in the direction of Schink’s Station.

Elias pictured reinforcements swooping in, armies descending.

And here he was leading a stranger straight to his place. She’s coming to get you, Daisy had said. He still didn’t know if that was a good thing.

He knew absolutely zilch about this woman, aside from what he’d gleaned from a few quick glances. She was a good deal shorter than him—maybe five six—with dark brown skin and closely-shorn hair. Even bleary-eyed and injured, there was an efficiency to her movements, a calculation in the way she took everything in, that made him think she was not to be underestimated, whoever the hell she was.

And then there was the question of what she was doing crash-landing Old Amka’s plane less than a mile from his cabin.

He looked over to see her stumble again. When would she give in and let him carry her? The blood from her lacerated scalp had left a glaring trail of breadcrumbs behind them.

Whoever’d just rappelled from that helicopter would be able to catch up with them in no time at this rate. The dying light didn’t bother him so much, but she didn’t know the area the way he did. If only the ice had already broken up, he could have used the water to hide signs of their passage.

Yeah, and frozen to death in the process.

He stopped and listened.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Not yet.

If they were being followed, at least he had the home advantage. My woods, assholes. If they chased them, they’d do it in unknown territory, whereas he’d spent the last decade right here.

Night fell faster than usual, the clouds skittering in to block out the stars and moon, making the darkness dense as a lead-lined blanket. Good. His neck prickling at the woman’s presence behind him, he humped his way up the steep slope toward the cabin, content to let Bo’s quiet, sure-footed silhouette lead the way. Home-turf advantage.

The temperature plummeted, which was fine for his warm, steadily moving limbs, but when the woman’s chattering teeth reached him, he knew he had to hurry. Between the shock and the blood loss, she’d be close to hypothermic by the time the sun fully disappeared.

Less than a quarter mile from his cabin, Bo went stock-still, one foot lifted, nose in the air. Without missing a beat, he froze, shut his eyes, and listened. The woman surprised him by following suit.

One…two…three…He counted out the seconds, scanning the forest’s usual sounds for something off. A scuffling in the underbrush, leaves scraping above. Below, the river cracked and shifted. The woman’s breathing evened out and went quiet. He’d bet anything she was straining her ears, too. Whoever she was, she’d had training. Not many people could leave a crash like the one she’d just survived and hike straight into a frozen wilderness. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a horror movie, as constant as the Terminator, staggering up the mountain behind him. Grim, determined, driven by something he didn’t yet understand.

Time ticked away while they listened. They’d been waiting for close to thirty seconds when he heard it: a scraping that ended abruptly. It wasn’t close. If he weren’t so attuned to everything right now, so on edge with expectation, he’d think it was a normal noise—ice shifting and falling, maybe a waterlogged branch hitting the ground. Could be. Could be something else, too. Like the downed plane seesawing under the weight of a person straining to look inside.

He torqued his head back and squinted at the woman. It almost felt like they exchanged a look, though he couldn’t be sure in this light.

After a few more seconds, Bo let out a hushed woof, dropped her paw, and dipped her head to sniff the mud at her feet before moving on. Cautiously, he followed, turning his head from one side to the other as he went.

A few hundred yards from the cabin, he armed the first perimeter trap and half buried it under the snow, pointing it out to the woman before leading her west, arming more, leaving only subtle tracks as he went. She was doing better with that, he noted—no more blood drops in the snow, and her prints mostly stuck to his. Good. They’d left just enough to ensure they were followed, without making it so obvious the others would feel they were being led.

He made the final approach with his usual caution, leaving as little trace as possible. He’d never figured out how to make sure Bo didn’t leave footprints on the ground, but he’d taught her to cut away in order to enter the protective rock circle from above, through a hole that most people couldn’t see, much less access.

Once within the sheltered area, he eyed the unlit structure warily, sniffed the air, and listened. No unusual scents. No sound but the wind singing through the black spruces’ top branches. Storm moving in. He caught its high, electric smell, the underlying sweetness that could only mean snow. As if that weren’t enough proof, he could feel its approach thrumming deep in his bones, lighting him up with expectation.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, he made his way to his cabin, assessing the situation as he went.

Weather was on its way, which would limit movement. While he knew the lay of the land, knew how to escape and where to hunker down safely for tonight at least, the others did not. And there were others around. That scrape had just confirmed what his instincts told him.

So, right now, he’d just assume there was an army after him and take things from there. Assuming the worst was how he’d survived this long after all.

Which meant he had to assume that this woman was the enemy.

***

Leo plodded up the slope, her feet slipping on ice and sinking into snow. She reached out a hand and wiggled her fingers, surprised at how hard they were to see in the eerie, bluish light.

A few feet ahead, the steady crunch of the man’s footsteps came to a stop. She did the same, waiting for him to move again, to lead the way or take off running or, with the way things were going, just turn around and shoot her point-blank.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to pick out a strange irregularity in the scenery up ahead. Trees, boulders, a rock face, natural shapes formed by wind and water and then—there: a dark rectangle. Another. She tried to focus, but her vision felt wrong.

Swiping a hand over her eyes to clear them, she stared until the shapes became a structure, built up against the stones or, actually, into them.

She cast the man a quick a look and blinked, her lashes sticking together. “What is that?”

“Cabin.”

“I’m not going in there.”

“It’s the only way.”

She scanned the area. From what she could tell it was a dead end. “We’ll be trapped.”

He shook his head. “Got a way out.”

A way out of a cabin built into a mountain? What earthly reason could he have for leading her here, with people after them? Understanding dawned. “Is he in there?”

She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she pictured those big brows lowering. “Who?”

“The man I came to find.”

“Nobody in there.” With an annoyed noise, he took off for the cabin, leaving her standing in the middle of the clearing. “Your choice,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m going in.”

She looked around. There was nothing but woods in every direction, with a dip that appeared to be a creek to one side. The cabin was built into what looked like solid rock. No way out.

Something snapped in the woods behind them and Leo jumped.

Decision made, she followed him up and into the dark cabin. As soon as the door closed behind her, the man lit an oil lamp, then opened cupboards, emptying things into a pack. “Take off your wet clothes,” he said without even glancing her way.

“No.”

“Here.” He threw a cloth. A towel? She caught it, blinking in the near dark. “It’s clean. Put pressure on your head.”

She shut her eyes, pressed the towel to her injury, and bit back a groan. A fresh bout of pain sent the room spinning. Slowly, carefully, she shuffled to the bed and sat.

“Let me see that.” The man’s voice was deep and rough, the words slow and strangely precise, as if he had only just recently learned English, though his accent was perfect. She scooted away when he sat beside her and let out a frustrated puh sound, pulling the towel away to get a look. “Need to clean this up.” He cast a look at the door. “No time right now. Got to move.”

Move? Grimacing, she took in the small, smoke-scented space. “Move where?” She coughed, which made her head pound so hard, everything but the pain receded for a few seconds. When she came out of it, all she could hear was her own raspy breathing.

He got up and came back. When he pressed something cold and wet to the side of her face, she couldn’t drum up the energy to push him away.

“Your eye’s stuck.” He bent close. “Lashes glued. Wipe the blood away.”

He shoved the washrag into her hand and went back to packing. Slowly at first, she scrubbed at her eye, then worked harder to remove the last bit of blood. Finally, she got her eye all the way open, relieved that she could see. “What’s the plan?”

“How about first you tell me how you got that plane?”

“What?”

“Where’d you get the Cub?”

Who was this guy to be questioning her about this? She didn’t trust him, his questions, or his dead-end cabin. “Someone loaned it to me.”

Grunting, he returned to the front door and rammed a board into brackets on both sides, effectively barring it. And locking them inside.

Was this some suicide thing? Had he brought her here to die? Or to wait for the others and hand her over? No, that made no sense. If he was with them, he wouldn’t have drawn her away first. Unless he planned to barter his life for hers.

And where the hell was Campbell Turner?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to figure it out. “Freaking Amka,” she muttered.

“I’d be scared.”

“What?”

Even through his dark beard, she could see how tightly the guy pressed his lips together. “You crashed Amka’s plane. She’s gonna kill you.”

“If you don’t kill me first.”

“If I was gonna kill you, I’d have done it on the river.” That was probably true. But who the hell was he?

“How do you know Amka?” she asked.

“Everybody knows Amka. You say she loaned you the plane?” He scoffed. “Nobody flies that plane.”

The old woman’s anxious, crinkled face flashed in her mind. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Trying for some kind of rapport, she forced a half-assed smirk to her face. If she could just get him talking, maybe she could figure this situation out. “Amka’s scary.”

He watched her closely. His eyes narrowed into dark, suspicious slits. “Who the hell are you?”

“Didn’t we already have this talk? How about you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” Or some of it. No way was she divulging anything important until she knew who the hell he was.

Ignoring her, he moved to the front wall, swung a big, roughly made shutter over one window, and locked it into place, then did the other. Leo looked around. The cabin was rustic but clean, made of rough-hewn logs and furnished mostly with what appeared to be homemade pieces. The quintessential woodsman’s retreat. Automatically, her eyes scanned for weapons. A rifle hung above the door. An axe leaned against the wall by a fireplace. And while someone more relaxed might have taken it off upon entering, the yeti still wore his rifle strapped across his body. Which again begged the question—was this guy a random mountain man or was he somehow linked to Campbell Turner?

As she watched, he dropped his pack and grabbed another bag.

She blinked. “That’s my flight bag!”

He opened the pockets, upended it on a thick wooden table, and pawed through the contents—Mylar blanket, matches, first aid kit, personal locator beacon. He picked that up and removed the batteries, which ratcheted her fear up a few notches.

“I need that. My team can’t find me without—”

He stopped, slowly turned just his head toward her, and stared. “Your team?”

Every hair on her body stood up. “I’m not alone.”

Another movement from him, just as slow but more theatrical, as he took in the room, then faced her again with the grim, flat expression that appeared to be his baseline. “Look pretty alone to me.”

“I need that gear.” And what about her sat phone? Had he found that? She tried to remember. Did she have it with her when she crashed? No. She’d tucked it into the plane’s storage pocket. Gone. She could kick herself right now. Food poisoning or not, she’d gotten herself into quite the bind here.

“Making sure we don’t double up.” He was all business now, returning items to her pack and discarding others—like her bright orange vest, which would be useful if her guys, indeed, came looking for her.

Had he taken her weapons? There was no sign of her Glock 20. She’d had it in the Cub. She knew that. She shut her eyes and tried to remember. Nothing. No idea what had happened to her firearm. This was bad. Slowly, she rubbed one leg against the other, knocking her shin bone into the knife strapped to her ankle. Good. She wasn’t entirely unarmed.

Her eyes followed his movements as he repacked her bag along with his and set them both against the back wall beside the wood stove.

“They coming?” He turned.

The dog woofed from its place by the front door, dragging Leo’s gaze back in that direction. It was one of those fuzzy white-and-gray animals that looked like it was made for Alaska. Made by Alaska. Right now, it stared at the door, its big, pointy ears standing at attention.

“Time to get up.”

That wasn’t happening. If she sat here unmoving, the pain in her head was bearable. Almost.

The man—whose bulk took up most of the space—grabbed a pile of clothing and set it on the bed beside her. “Clothes are a mess. Put these on.”

“I’m not getting undressed.”

“Bad idea to be—”

A sound echoed, outside the house. It sounded like a scream. Leo pictured the scene—cabin, woods, harsh screams in the night. What Alaska Chainsaw Massacre nightmare have I fallen into?

“Forget it. Time to go. Got two choices right now, lady.” He glanced at the dog, who’d stood and started a low, ominous growling. “Now’s the time to tell me who you are and why you’re here, or I send you out there.” He pointed at the front door. “To the wolves.”

With effort, she pushed herself to standing, knowing as well as he did that the biggest threat in this wilderness—in any wilderness—wasn’t wolves or bears or even the goddamn cold.

It was humans.

***

A scream pierced the night’s subtle cacophony.

Lightly poised on the balls of his feet, Ashwin Benton went very still and listened. The agonized sound went on for a few seconds before cutting off abruptly.

Whoever had let out that godawful shriek was in terrible pain. A foothold trap, perhaps, with tightly sprung steel jaws. The kind that sliced through flesh and crushed bone. He’d seen two in the last few minutes. They had told him a few things. First: the traps had just been sprung. This was clear because very fresh tracks led to it and the greenery hiding it had been put there quite recently. Which confirmed that the traps weren’t meant to kill animals. They were meant to slow humans down. Second: the man expected pursuit. And he was well prepared. Interesting.

There would be no emergency medical evacuation tonight. The poor bastard who’d been caught in their quarry’s trap would never walk the same again. This job wasn’t starting well. At all. Already, the complex plan had been thwarted. By someone in an antique aeroplane, no less.

Oh, Deegan—the one in charge of this venture—hadn’t liked that at all. Ash, however, had found it rather charming. The irony of it was rather poetic.

He went on as before, slowly and carefully, studying the soggy, half-frozen ground. He took another silent step, paused, took another. Another. He wouldn’t be stepping in any traps tonight. But then he didn’t rush into things the way other operatives did—impatient Americans with their high-tech gadgets and thirst for violence.

He thought back to the crash site—a treasure trove of information that the others had glanced at before taking off in hot pursuit. Ash knew, for example, that the pilot was injured—likely a head wound, given the splash patterns in the cockpit, and the volume of blood. He also knew that the pilot was a woman and that the person she’d met with was a large male who left very little sign of his passage, accompanied by a canine. Neither was Campbell Turner.

Patting the handgun he’d slid into his pocket, Ash pulled in a satisfied breath.

Movement up ahead made him freeze again, this time watching as the people he was purportedly working with forged on, utterly insensitive to the destruction they wrought. Thankfully, their heavy, steel-toed footprints were easily identifiable. They were also at least an inch shorter than the ones belonging to the man he was stalking, whose feet were a size sixteen American, he’d venture to guess. There had been no mention of either a woman or a bigfoot in their briefing. Their target—Campbell Turner—was a midsized fifty-three-year-old man.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Eyes hitching on an irregular shape, he paused. There, hidden alongside a fallen branch, was another trap. He squatted to get a closer look. It was clean, not marred by a single speck of blood, as if it had never been used before. This little monster would do significant damage.

Up ahead, the injured operative groaned deeply. Someone else spoke—a woman. So much for stealth.

Ash watched as the woman helped the man up. Once Ash was close, he cleared his throat. They both jumped and reached for weapons, searching the dark in vain.

“All right, mate?” Ash asked, letting them know where he stood.

It took them a few seconds to spot him. “Uh, yeah,” whispered the injured American—a tall Black man whose name Ash hadn’t bothered getting. This wasn’t a team he’d get to know. Or trust. Or, hopefully, spend any significant time with.

Ash moved closer and nodded toward the bloke’s foot. “Looks fucked.” He didn’t keep his voice down. No point after all the yelling, was there?

“Be fine,” the man replied with admirable bravado, given the sad state of his appendage. He was breathing quickly, though. Close to hyperventilating.

“Shelter’s not far.” Ash sniffed the air.

The other two exchanged a look. “You smell something?” the woman asked, nose raised as if trying to locate the odor.

Silly question. There was always something to smell. Blood and sour sweat just now, from the injured man. On the frozen river, the air had been greasy with the stench of fuel and, again, blood. With a little distance from the wreckage came the soggy newspaper scent of a boreal forest rising from hibernation, a heady cocktail of sweet conifers, moist bark, iron-rich mud, and bear. Now above it all came a sharp high note that his animal mind had picked up before his conscious brain.

An extinguished wood fire.

They were close to the giant’s lair.

“Have you got what you need to care for that?” Ash asked the woman. At her nod, he set off without looking back. Something much more intriguing drew him forward. Something he’d always had a hard time resisting: a mystery.

Yes, the identity of the big man piqued his curiosity, of course, but that wasn’t what made him as eager. No, what he really wanted to know was why the giant had led this team of hunters straight to his home instead of away from it.

***

Elias grabbed a few plastic water bags and canteens, stuffed some more dried fish into the pack, and made sure he had a supply of watertight wet bags.

The woman swayed on her feet, doing her damnedest to stare him down, her eyes dark, shimmering daggers in her sculpted, brown face. If she weren’t in such bad shape, she’d attack, of that he had no doubt. He’d bet anything the bulge at her ankle was a blade. Bound to be more knives hidden on her.

Who the hell was this woman? She was stubborn and strong. Unwilling to back down against some pretty tough odds, and a pilot who’d handled her aircraft with precision, finesse, and great big fiery balls of steel.

Despite the head wound and the blood and everything else, he noticed, she was attractive. In a dangerous, bristling-with-weapons kind of way. Black, tightly shorn hair hugged her skull, as if to show off a fine, delicate bone structure that needed no added ornaments. Below it, her brown skin looked soft and warm.

Dammit, if he’d gone to town and gotten laid already, he wouldn’t be letting this distract him.

Liar. He’d like her looks and her prickly attitude no matter what. Everything about her was tightly wound, as if she weren’t made of flesh and bones but of pure energy, barely contained in what looked like a muscular body, although that was hard to tell with all those layers on. Her expression was in no way inviting. More like calculating the exact moment she’d put her knife through his jugular.

Whoever she was, her presence here didn’t make any sense.

She wasn’t with the helicopter people. But what was to stop more than one group from coming after him? Though the world thought he was dead, he’d always suspected the authorities had doubts. For all he knew, the entire National Guard could be hot on his trail, along with an army of mercenaries and bounty hunters from the lower forty-eight.

What was it Daisy had said on the phone? On her way to get you. Right. Well, get you could mean any number of things. No way could he trust this woman. But no way could he leave her to die, either.

Bo growled again. Time to go. His cabin would come under fire any minute now and in here, they had a stalemate. He needed to make a move.

“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine. Talk to them.” He stalked to the door, reached for the bar he’d installed as a barricade, and started to slide it up in what he hoped wasn’t an obvious bluff.

“Wait!”

He let out a long, silent exhale. When he turned back, he caught her eyes racing around the room. Looking for something to say? Trying to buy time until that team of hers showed up? Searching the corners for a weapon or a way out?

“Listen, lady. I don’t know who you are and I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I’m not it. I don’t have time for this bullsh—”

“Leo.”

“What?”

Something thumped outside and Elias dropped the barricade back in its slots.

“My name. It’s Leo.”

“That’s a start. What’re you doing here?”

“Look.” Her attention shifted from him to the door and back. “Maybe we want the same thing, you and I.”

A cold beer? A warm bath?His eyes flicked over her body before returning to meet hers. “Doubt that.” Bo stood, the hair on the ridge of her spine tufted straight up. Elias swallowed back a curse. He couldn’t leave the woman behind to die, but he couldn’t take her with him until he knew more—namely whether she’d been sent by Amka to help him, or whether she’d stolen the plane after all and was here to stab him in the back the minute he turned around. There were too many people who wanted him dead to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. “Who sent you?” Elias demanded. Bo growled in warning. This was cutting it close. Too damned close. “What do you want with me?”

“With you? Nothing.”

“Lady, you don’t give me something worthwhile, I’ll throw you out there.”

She looked at him for five seconds—which was four seconds too long—and appeared to come to some sort of decision. “Will you? Then open the door.” She folded her arms over her chest, her expression clearly saying I dare you.

If he opened that door, all three of them were dead, with at least one of them being tortured first. Bo’s growl turned urgent. She backed away from the door, hackles raised higher than he’d ever seen them. “Dammit.”

The woman half smiled.

In that moment, three things happened: a foot landed carefully on his booby-trapped porch step, setting off literal alarm bells; someone yelled; and Bo started barking, out of control.

There wasn’t time for more questions. He’d have to take her or leave her here. To die.

Elias grabbed a gas can and uncapped it. Bo went wild. Heavy footsteps shook the floor beneath their feet. The people out there weren’t even trying to be stealthy. Bad news. Very bad news.

He slung his pack on his shoulder and soaked everything with gas. “Let’s go!”

As if she’d done her own quick math and decided she liked her odds better with him than with the operatives who’d shot down her plane, Leo grabbed her bag and followed him to the back of the cabin.

“Campbell Turner!” a voice yelled from out front. The name barely threw a hitch in Elias’s stride, though something broke inside him every time he heard it. His gaze connected with the woman’s, whose eyes narrowed on him. Whatever her role here today, this woman was well aware that Elias was not Campbell Turner. “We’re here to discuss a peaceful surrender. We know you’re in there.”

Yeah?he thought, though he kept his mouth firmly shut. You don’t know the first damn thing.

With that, he squatted, pulled the rug back, and pried out the panel he’d created for just such an occasion.

“Hop in, Leo.” Whoever the hell you are. When she appeared to balk, he bared his teeth—half snarl, half smile. “Sorry, lady. But this is it. Do or die.”