When the opening is large enough to accommodate me, I go to my hands and knees and slither through. I find myself in an aviary constructed of chicken wire, steel T-posts and a few four-by-four wood braces. It’s just high enough for me to stand upright. I wish for wire cutters as I walk the perimeter. Relief leaps through me when I realize the wire is attached to the structure with only a few fencing staples. I try yanking it with my hands but the effort is unsuccessful, so I throw my shoulder against it. The chicken wire stretches and bends and then snaps away from the building. I work my way down to the bottom, peel back the wire and slide through.

Free of the coop, I dart around to the other side of the building. Though the moon is obscured by clouds and the shadows of the trees, there’s enough light for me to make out the track marks of the snowmobiles. They went in the opposite direction from where we came in. Taking off at a run, I retrace the tracks back toward the trailer.

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

By the time I arrive back at the trailer, I’m in bad shape. I’m no longer shivering. The cold burns my lungs. My heart is pounding so hard my chest hurts. I can’t hear anything over the roar of blood in my ears. At some point, I dropped the piece of wood. Someone could sneak up on me and I wouldn’t hear them approach. I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

I stagger like a drunk as I round the end of the trailer, and for a crazy instant, I can’t remember where the door is. Then I see the stairs and lurch toward the deck. At the foot of the steps, I stumble and go to my knees. All I can think about is getting inside. I’m not sure I can stand, so I climb the steps on my hands and knees. Gripping the doorknob, I pull myself to my feet and open the door.

I totter to the bedroom, fall to my knees and pull my .22 from beneath the mattress. I know my phone is there, too, but in my confused state I can’t find it. Gripping the .22 with both hands, I leave the bedroom, keeping my eyes on the windows as I walk back to the living room. I stand there a moment, my head swimming, trying to decide what to do next. I’m aware that I’m experiencing the initial stage of hypothermia, but the knowledge doesn’t help.