Return to Dyatlov Pass

~ Chapter Twenty-two ~

Hours passed, but she never faltered.

Eyes narrowed, she stared at the slice of sky visible from the hole in the snow cave’s ceiling, waiting.

Steven was on one side of her, Igor on the other. Sometimes she forgot who was dead and who was alive, her only reminder the Russian’s ragged breathing.

It didn’t matter, in any case. Both were too far gone to help her, like Anubha and Andrew and all the others. She was the hunter now.

She was Death.

Clutching Joe’s blade in two hands, she pointed it at the opening and waited. She could be patient. She knew they would come, and when they did, they would die.

The moment before it happened, part of her—the part that was still sane—wondered how it had all gone so terribly wrong. She cuddled closer to Steven, though her friend’s body had long grown cold and stiff.

She tensed her muscles as she heard a crunching sound from above. At last, her waiting was over.

She was ready.

A shadow fell across the floor of the cave.

She burst through the roof, blinded by snow, thrusting the knife upward with all her strength.

Her target fell to the ground with a yelp of pain. An all-too-human sound.

“Nyet, nyet! STOP.”

A cacophony of shouting. Cruel men’s voices surrounded her, followed by an ominous click.

Nat blinked, feeling her fragile sanity return. She lay half in and half out of the ravine, her victim facedown in front of her. Crimson pooled around the wound in his throat where she’d buried Joe’s hunting knife. A cry of anguish erupted from her as she recognized the diminutive figure.

Vasily.

As she screamed her rage to the darkening sky, another threatening click came from the circle of men who pressed closer, rifles pointed at her head.

The Russian police.

They stared at her in horror.

What did they see when they looked at her, she wondered. A victim? A survivor? A monster?

Not daring to move, she waited for them to fire.