Sim drops to his knees just as the long fracture in the ice comes apart, lurching, grabbing for solid ground. Maeve grips the claw like an ice pick and kicks again, hammering into the shelf with all her strength twice, three times. There’s a deep groan as the lip breaks apart under them; she pitches her body back up where it’s safe just as the weak layer begins to slide.

“Maeve!”

His arm flails, grasping for her.

Then he’s gone. The forest below like a hand, closing around him.

Maeve stares after him, breathless; the empty space where his body was. There’s a long and blinding howl from below. A shudder runs through her, every muscle quaking, and for a moment there is nothing beyond that.

The scar on her hand now matched by a newer wound. It’s stopped bleeding. Finally. Maeve closes her other hand over it, protecting it, trembling with effort.

Wind sweeps along the ridge. Her ears are ringing and it’s hard to concentrate. She can hear her own breath, but can’t seem to get enough air. She knows what this is: shock setting in. She needs to keep moving while she can.

She pushes up to standing. Dan is lying only a few yards off, his body blown apart in the cold.

Maeve turns away, dragging her bad leg. There’s a new scent in the air, a stronger, heavier musk rising up from the forest. Metallic. She doesn’t look back.

Somewhere in the clouds above, the hum of the chopper grows louder. She can hear it; she’s following that sound only. It’s hard to see anything through the gray morning. Black spots, like the missing pieces of a puzzle, drop into her view. Like a bad connection. Pixelated. She cannot seem to stop shaking.

To the east, the sun is rising, stronger and stronger every minute. She lifts her eyes, following the light. The steady blink of a searchlight still skims the morning haze.

At the lift terminal base, she eases herself up onto the ledge and tries sliding out into the open, then stops and sinks a hand into her coat’s deep pocket instead. She can’t climb out onto the lift. Not now, not the way she wanted to.

But she’s already imagining how her dancers will look. How to make these movements, this broken body, into something beautiful.

The bear is behind her now. Maeve reaches down and lights a flare.

Acknowledgments