Snowbound

SIXTY-SEVEN

Kalyn followed the south-end stairwell up past the second and third floors. She held the shotgun, her finger in the trigger guard. As she neared the fourth-floor alcove, she heard something—slurping, snarling, ripping.

She stepped into the alcove. It was pitch-black. She held the shotgun in one hand, a flashlight in the other. Its beam shot through the dark and illuminated a shotgun, shells all over the floor, two dead wolves, and three feasting wolves. They looked up, their mouths slicked with blood, their teeth bared, protecting their kill.

Kalyn’s right arm ached with the weight of the shotgun. The wolves glanced at one another, as if consulting; then the big white one started toward her. Gonna have to fire it with one arm.

She kept the light beam on the white wolf, leveled the shotgun, fired, the twelve-gauge recoiling, whipping back, the scalding barrel popping her in the face.

She fell. The flashlight rolled across the floor. Just darkness in the corridor and the patter of the wolves coming. She got to her feet, pumped the shotgun, pulled the trigger. Pumped again, fired. Pumped, fired. Something whimpering. Pumped, fired. Pumped.

The corridor reeked of gun smoke, and it was silent now. She walked to the flashlight, picked it up, blood trailing down her face from where the shotgun had struck her forehead.

The beam of light passed through the smoke. Now there were three dead wolves less than ten feet away, but the white wolf and the gray one weren’t among them.

She moved carefully toward the body in the corridor—a large man slumped over on the floor, faceless and eviscerated. Two down. Thank God. Wolves did my work for me.

She continued on toward the stairwell that would take her back down into the lobby.

Will and Rachael crept through the candlelit passage. Where it began to curve toward the veranda exit, Will stopped, whispered, “Wait here. If they’re dead, I don’t want you to see it. You’ve seen enough already.”

Will pushed on.

To his surprise, there was only one body—Sean’s—encompassed by more blood than it seemed possible for a human body to hold. Snow pants, a mask, and a white parka had been discarded by the door.

Four shotgun blasts thundered out from one of the upper floors.

Will ran back to Rachael.

“What the hell was that?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Are they dead?”

“Sean is. Ken’s gone.”

Will’s radio squeaked.

Kalyn’s voice: “Bad guy number two is dead.”

“How?”

“Wolves. They got into the lodge through a broken window in the south-wing alcove. I killed one of them and two were already dead, so that leaves a pair running around here somewhere. Watch yourself. They’re mean as hell.”

Will pressed TALK: “Sean’s gone. Don’t know where his dad is, so another one of them got in.”

“Just get back to your post in the north corridor.”

Devlin’s voice: “Guys?”

“What, baby girl?”

“Are any of you up here? I hear footsteps outside the door.”

“Get the shotgun ready,” Will said. “That isn’t us, but we’re on our way.”