Chapter Forty-One Delaney

Chapter Forty-One

Delaney

Now: Sunday, 1:00 p.m.

"HELP!"

The sound cracks against the trees, ricochets off ice, and spreads through snow.

"Did you hear that?" Liam turns his head to the noise. But it's like it came from all over, swallowed by the gray, stale air. The storm's passed, leaving the mountain deadly still.

"It has to be from the house," I reason. Then the fear creeps in. "Wait." I grasp Liam's hand tight, tug him back. "We're safe here, right? Maybe we shouldn't…"

"No, we have to go and help if we can. It's the right thing to do." Liam practically wrenches my shoulder, sprinting in the direction of the house.

Volcanic anger rises up my sternum. "Liam, could you just not for once?" I yank my hand from his. "Screw your hero complex—you need to prioritize me, us, for once. We're in danger. "

Liam squares off against me. His eyes narrow in assessment. "Del, come on. You don't mean that. I know you're scared. But we have to."

"It's you and me, Liam," I plead. I won't be placated so easily. "We're a team, remember? We're all that matters." I hold his gaze a beat. "Don't go after her," I practically whisper.

We both know who I'm referring to.

"I have to be able to live with myself" is all he can say, and I know I've lost.

He shuffles back to the house in the snowshoes we procured from the shed, with me close behind. As we round the bend to the front of the house, the cry rises once more.

"LIAM! DELANEY!"

It's Piper; I recognize the voice now. We find her on the front porch, alternating between hacking coughs, clutching at her injured arm, spitting curses, and crying for help. My brain doesn't fully process the scene until Liam leaps into action.

Piper's collapsed next to Willa, who's splayed unconscious on the snow-covered patio. Liam rips off his snowshoes and launches into CPR without hesitation. It's like Wyatt all over again.

"Oh my god, is she dead ?" My voice is thick with horror, and I creep closer to take in the scene. Willa is pale, nearly blue.

Liam pushes down hard on her chest, so hard I expect to hear a rib crack.

But Willa shows no movement. She's—

My train of thought is broken by Willa's gasping breaths. She's alive ?

"Willa! Thank god." Liam takes her up in his arms, clasps her so tight that she squirms to be free. Once he releases her, things become clearer. Willa's and Piper's bloodshot eyes, the chalet door flung wide open.

"Something's wrong with the air," Piper chokes out. "I was so dizzy, I couldn't concentrate, and then Willa fell down the stairs. I managed to drag her out. I think I dislocated my shoulder…."

She trails off, staring back into the house. At the empty foyer and the living space beyond.

Collectively we all realize who isn't with us.

Camille.

The house is full of some kind of poison, and my friend is still inside.

I act without thinking, running into the house.

"Delaney!" Liam hollers after me, but I don't stop. I spring up the stairs, feeling the constriction in my lungs.

I falter onto my knees on the second-floor landing. Then, thinking quickly, I open all the doors, then the windows on this floor. It'll bleed the house of every last bit of warmth we've achieved with strategically lit fireplaces and closed doors, but right now I don't care. The air is frigid but fresh. I suck it down greedily.

Then I run up to the third floor. A bad feeling starts in the pit of my stomach and rises like sick up my throat. There's a small propane heater on the landing, equidistant between Camille's and Willa's rooms. It's like the kind you see at restaurants to keep patrons warm on a freezing patio. I fight against the dizziness overwhelming me, close my eyes, and concentrate hard as I can. My fingers find a knob on the heater's side, which I jerk to the off position.

Then I'm on the floor, crawling to Camille's room. I wrench the door open and make my way to the nearest window. Pry it open and gulp the air. Everything is still a fun-house mirror, hazy around the edges, but I gather my wits enough to open the other window as well. It's difficult to think. But after a few seconds it's like the faucet's been turned off. I'm clearer.

I turn to the bed, and there she is.

My brain can't quite connect. This isn't like the others. It's Camille. We've known each other since we were six. She's a firecracker. Constantly in motion. I've never seen her so still, so lifeless.

"Delaney?" Liam appears in the doorway. "Is she—? Oh."

As with Wyatt, we don't carry the body downstairs. An unspoken agreement passes between Liam and me. I close the door with a soft click. He inspects the heater.

"What is this doing up here? You can't light these inside. They're deadly."

I nod. "Carbon monoxide. I think that was the point."

There's a piece of paper shoved beneath the wide, circular base of the heater. Liam lifts and I pull. The words on the page swim into focus. There are only two, penned in what looks like Camille's tidy scrawl.

I'm sorry.