Chapter 11

11

Present Day

The sharp wind was gaining momentum, sending showers of grainy snow pummeling against Wylie with each gust. She needed to hurry to the barn to retrieve the wire cutters.

She figured she had no more than twenty-five minutes to get to the barn and back to the accident site before the woman was seriously in danger of hyperthermia. Even then, it might be too late. Once Wylie freed the woman, she still had to get her back to the house.

Agitated, Wylie looked to the dark sky and the snow pelted her face. She needed to get back to the woman before the weather got worse. Her face and ears, now exposed to the cold, burned painfully. She couldn't imagine how the woman had survived this long lying in the snow.

Once at the top of the lane, Wylie paused to catch her breath, but the wind was whipping itself into a frenzy, creating cyclones of snow that twisted and convulsed about her. She had to keep moving. She pointed her flashlight toward the barn and the silos disappeared behind a veil of white. The soft light coming from the house urged Wylie forward. The hiking sticks helped keep Wylie upright, but her legs felt heavy and ached with the effort of stepping through the high snow.

As she approached the house, the ice-laden trees were further weighed down by the new snowfall and threatened to snap with each blast of wind.

She had been gone too long. The fire may have gone out, the boy's injuries may have been worse than she thought, and she still needed to get back to the woman. Wylie's chest tightened, and she picked up her pace as she powered through the final fifty yards to the front door.

She pushed through the door bringing a flurry of snow inside with her. Wylie shut the door behind her and dropped the hiking sticks with a clatter to the floor. Ignoring the gouges her ice cleats were making in the hardwood floor, Wylie went straight to the sofa where she had left the boy. He was there, still asleep, with Tas curled up next to him.

Next, Wylie checked the phone, knowing that the chances of making a call were slim. She was right; no maintenance workers would be sent out in weather like this.

Wylie added another piece of wood to the fire and fought the urge to stay and warm herself next to the flames. Her ears and nose burned painfully. She had to keep moving. Wylie went to the closet and grabbed another coat and scarf. She had given the woman her stocking cap, so she pulled the fur-lined hood attached to the coat over her head and tied it into place.

Wylie dreaded stepping back into the storm, but the clock was ticking.

With renewed determination, Wylie left behind the warm house. The storm continued to rage. It felt as if the wind was coming at her from all directions.

Wylie passed the rickety henhouse and the toolshed that had been reclaimed by earlier renters as a dumping spot for their unwanted furniture and household items. Once inside the barn, Wylie shook the snow from her coat and checked her watch. It had already been about twenty-five minutes since she left the woman. She scanned the rough walls in search of what she needed.

Hanging from nails and hooks were rakes and hoes and all matter of farm tools. She located the wire cutters, a rusty shovel, and an old-fashioned wooden toboggan with steel runners. A musty horse blanket hung from a bent nail, and she laid it atop the sled with the other supplies securing them with an old rope.

She held on to her flashlight but abandoned the hiking sticks, didn't dare bring anything else. It was going to be hard enough to lug what she had through the snow and back, hopefully with the woman in tow.

Though the snow was blinding, and the wind was scrubbing away any sign of her earlier tracks, Wylie at least had a good sense as to where she was headed.

She kept the flashlight and her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. Wylie's plan was simple in theory. She would snip away the tangled barbwire, freeing the woman, who would hopefully be still alive. If the woman couldn't walk on her own accord, Wylie would do her best to pull her to the house on the toboggan. The shovel just seemed like a good idea.

By the time Wylie was halfway to the wreckage, despite her warm layers, cold permeated her body, and she questioned the wisdom of this rescue mission. One wrong step and Wylie could end up with a broken leg and find herself in an icy grave. Wylie wasn't known for her decision-making skills as of late, and what good would it do if they both froze to death? What would the boy do then?

Wylie considered backtracking. She was good at leaving. That was something she knew how to do. This was different, though. No one was dying back home. Her teenage son, Seth, was still furious at Wylie for trying to lay down the law and wasn't missing her one bit. He was in good hands with his father.

Finally, through the eddy of snow, she saw a glint of metal, and the wreckage came into view. Wylie picked up her pace. She was almost there.

Wylie left the road and crossed down through the ditch to the barbwire fence that skirted the field, searching for the yellow scarf left behind as a place marker. As she drew closer to the truck, there was no sign of the yellow scarf. Chest heaving, she stopped short. She must have made a mistake. Wylie dropped the shovel and the rope connected to the sled and turned around in a slow circle. Everything looked the same—a stark, barren, snow-covered wilderness.

She had to have passed the spot where the woman was located. There was no way the scarf could have blown away in the storm; she had been sure to wrap it securely several times around the metal barbs.

The scarf and the woman could be buried beneath one of the chest-high snowdrifts that pressed against the fence. In frustration, Wylie backtracked along the fence and, this time, moved even more slowly until she reached the first large drift. Using her gloved hands, she began brushing the snow aside until the fence was visible. No scarf appeared.

Wylie kept moving. The cold snaked its way through her layers of clothing. She couldn't stay out here much longer. Just when she was ready to give up and head back to the house, her eyes landed on a clump of yellow fabric snagged around a fence barb. She dropped her eyes to the ground, expecting to see the woman's frozen, broken body ensnared in the fencing. But it was gone. The scarf was gone.

Wylie dropped to her knees, peering closely at the metal fencing. Minute drops of blood and what looked to be bits of frozen flesh clung to the fence. She ran her fingers across the ground.

Wylie got to her feet and examined the ground for any new footprints, but the heavy snow and wind had already swept the frozen canvas clean. There was no sign of the injured woman. Why would she have left in this brutal storm when Wylie had promised to come back to help her?

Wylie wandered around the wreckage and field searching for the woman until the cold forced her in the direction of the house. What was the woman running from and where could she have gone? A new unease settled in Wylie's chest. She had so many questions and now there was only one person left to answer them and he wasn't talking.