CHAPTER 78

THE DARK CLOUDS BEGAN to spit snow when we were less than a hundred yards from the old switchback mining road down the north side of the butte. Until that point, we’d been blessed to move quickly across the scoured plateau. We’d been checking our six constantly for pursuers but saw none.

The moment we started down the mining road, the snow deepened, blown in against the bank by the wind. Luckily, the temperatures must have been above freezing during much of the day, and some of the more recent snow must have been relatively wet because the drifted snow there was firm enough in places to hold Bree’s weight.

But Sampson and I were postholing in knee-deep and sometimes thigh-deep snow. Every step became a big effort. We were both sweating by the time we reached the first switchback turn.

“We have to strip down,” I said. “Carry our clothes until we need them.”

“It’s getting colder,” Sampson said doubtfully.

“Weren’t you the one who taught me the dangers of hypothermia?”

With a scowl, he took off his parka, bunched it, and put it under his arm like a football. Bree had her parka and hat off when we started again.

By the time we reached the second switchback, we’d lost almost an hour of daylight, and the snowfall had shifted from scattered and intermittent to steady, large, wet flakes.

“How far?” Bree asked.

“Two miles?” I said. “If we can reach the edge of this big meadow before dark, I should be able to spot the lone dead tree at the far north end. It towers above everything. The guns, the pack, and our ability to start a fire are at eleven o’clock from the base of that tree in a clearing beyond some Christmas trees.”

Sampson asked, “What else is in that pack of yours?”

“I don’t know exactly. It was Fagan’s. She said it had all the survival essentials.”

“Then let’s get there ASAP,” Bree said, starting to shiver.

John began to break trail to the bottom of the butte, where strangely the snow depth dropped again. It wasn’t until we’d reached the flat that we realized it was because the trail had been packed down by sleds before the latest snowfall.

“I followed Bean in here on another trail from the north,” I said. “It was packed down in a lot of places. If we can find it, we won’t be wading around in unsettled snow.”

“What about there?” Bree said, pointing across the small clearing to a definite break in the line of fir trees.

“We came in the dark, but that has to be it,” I said, and I was starting toward that trail when something changed in the sound of the place.

If we had not had our heavy wool hats off, we might never have heard it. But what had been muted and muffled by the falling snow now sounded like a low whining buzz.

Bree peered in the sky and said, “Drone.”

“Where?” Sampson asked.

“Up there somewhere,” she said, pointing through the falling snow back up the side of the butte.

“I hear it there,” I said, gesturing toward a gnarled tree near the first switchback.

We all saw it at the same time, appearing from behind that tree: a large black drone with wide stabilizing fins. It swept down the mining road toward the second switchback and the final drop to the clearing.

“He’s tracking us. Get in the trees!” Sampson said and sprinted across the clearing with Bree and me right behind him.

We got into the shadows on that trail through the woods before the drone came to within forty yards of the trees and hovered there, so close we could see the camera shifting, looking for us. But for some reason, it did not come nearer.

I peered down the trail and saw how intertwined the branches were about ten feet up.

“The drone can’t come any farther,” I whispered. “It will crash in here.”

The drone spun and gained elevation, and we lost sight of it.

“We’ve got to move,” Sampson said. “They know this trail and where it comes out. If the drone doesn’t have enough power to fly there and wait for us or if the snow picks up, Malcomb is going to send his snowmobiles after us.”

In the distance, coming from back up on the plateau, we heard a low growling noise that expanded and got stronger with every second.

“He’s already sent the snowmobiles after us!” Bree said. “Run!”