only static now, but he pushed himself into motion and skied down toward the toe of the avalanche. Once there, he removed his skis. Most of the time the bodies were found at the end of the slide. Korbin tried to control his morbid thoughts.
The bodies
.
Hearing a snowmobile, he spotted it emerging from the trees. He crouched behind a mound of clumpy snow until the sound grew fainter. Then he stood and resumed his task while he kept watch for the snowmobile. Had Damen seen Savanna being swept away?
Damen was determined to kill him, and now probably Savanna, too. And Korbin had a good idea why. He must have seen the email he’d left open for police at Collette’s home. Police hadn’t found it because Damen had gotten there first. He’d seen what Korbin had uncovered.
Seeing and hearing no sign of Damen, he put all of his attention into finding Savanna. Maybe Damen had assumed Korbin had suffered the same fate. Maybe he’d run out of ammunition.
Using a grid pattern, Korbin began to search for a signal from his transceiver. The avalanche was moderately sized, with the crown of the slide stretching across the topography at the base of the slope. In seconds he picked up a signal and stopped every few paces in order to determine from which orientation it was the strongest. When the signal faded, he knew he had passed her. He marked a line in the snow. Then he headed back in the same direction he’d come until the signal faded again. He marked another line in the snow.
Walking to the midpoint of his imaginary bracket, he oriented himself toward the strongest signal and adjusted the sensitivity of his receiver, turning it down to catch differences in strength more efficiently. He walked at a right angle to his original line until the signal began to grow weak, repeating the same method as before. When he was at the midpoint of his second imaginary bracket and found the strongest signal for the second time, he again walked at a right angle.
Finally, he pinpointed the area where he thought Savanna was buried. He checked his watch. It had been more than ten minutes since she had fallen with the slide. With shaking hands, he extended his collapsible probe pole and began sticking it into the snow. Five more minutes passed before he hit something. He estimated her depth and began to dig. Careful not to force it into the snow so hard that it would harm her if he struck her, he worked diligently.
All the while, haunting images of Niya suffocated him. Her bloodied body. Her cold lips as he breathed air into her lifelessness. Pumping her chest, refusing to let her go.
The shovel revealed clothing. He threw the shovel aside and dropped to his knees to dig with his hands and find her face. His heart raced and his breathing filled the air in great billowing puffs. He exposed her chest and dug higher. Collar. Hair.
Face!
“Savanna!”
She broke through the last layer of snow, gasping for air and looking dazed, reaching for him. A new thought came to him that kept his adrenaline up. Hypothermia.
Dragging her out of her white grave, he laid her on the surface of the snow and unzipped his jacket, then hers. He pulled her against him and used his body heat to warm her.
She tried to bring her arms between their bodies in an attempt to warm them as well, but he wouldn’t let her. Her limbs would have been the first to plummet to dangerously low temperatures in the snow, and if they were warmed first, chilled blood would be driven to the core of her body. If that happened, it could kill her.
When she relaxed underneath him, he knew she was getting warm. Lifting his head, he looked down at her. She was breathing normal now, her eyes calm.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime.” He grinned and got off her.
She sat up and looked around, grateful to be alive. “We should have stayed at Crimson Morning,” she said in a light tone. Humor diffused how close she’d come to dying. But she meant what she had said.
Did she think Crimson
The bodies
.
Hearing a snowmobile, he spotted it emerging from the trees. He crouched behind a mound of clumpy snow until the sound grew fainter. Then he stood and resumed his task while he kept watch for the snowmobile. Had Damen seen Savanna being swept away?
Damen was determined to kill him, and now probably Savanna, too. And Korbin had a good idea why. He must have seen the email he’d left open for police at Collette’s home. Police hadn’t found it because Damen had gotten there first. He’d seen what Korbin had uncovered.
Seeing and hearing no sign of Damen, he put all of his attention into finding Savanna. Maybe Damen had assumed Korbin had suffered the same fate. Maybe he’d run out of ammunition.
Using a grid pattern, Korbin began to search for a signal from his transceiver. The avalanche was moderately sized, with the crown of the slide stretching across the topography at the base of the slope. In seconds he picked up a signal and stopped every few paces in order to determine from which orientation it was the strongest. When the signal faded, he knew he had passed her. He marked a line in the snow. Then he headed back in the same direction he’d come until the signal faded again. He marked another line in the snow.
Walking to the midpoint of his imaginary bracket, he oriented himself toward the strongest signal and adjusted the sensitivity of his receiver, turning it down to catch differences in strength more efficiently. He walked at a right angle to his original line until the signal began to grow weak, repeating the same method as before. When he was at the midpoint of his second imaginary bracket and found the strongest signal for the second time, he again walked at a right angle.
Finally, he pinpointed the area where he thought Savanna was buried. He checked his watch. It had been more than ten minutes since she had fallen with the slide. With shaking hands, he extended his collapsible probe pole and began sticking it into the snow. Five more minutes passed before he hit something. He estimated her depth and began to dig. Careful not to force it into the snow so hard that it would harm her if he struck her, he worked diligently.
All the while, haunting images of Niya suffocated him. Her bloodied body. Her cold lips as he breathed air into her lifelessness. Pumping her chest, refusing to let her go.
The shovel revealed clothing. He threw the shovel aside and dropped to his knees to dig with his hands and find her face. His heart raced and his breathing filled the air in great billowing puffs. He exposed her chest and dug higher. Collar. Hair.
Face!
“Savanna!”
She broke through the last layer of snow, gasping for air and looking dazed, reaching for him. A new thought came to him that kept his adrenaline up. Hypothermia.
Dragging her out of her white grave, he laid her on the surface of the snow and unzipped his jacket, then hers. He pulled her against him and used his body heat to warm her.
She tried to bring her arms between their bodies in an attempt to warm them as well, but he wouldn’t let her. Her limbs would have been the first to plummet to dangerously low temperatures in the snow, and if they were warmed first, chilled blood would be driven to the core of her body. If that happened, it could kill her.
When she relaxed underneath him, he knew she was getting warm. Lifting his head, he looked down at her. She was breathing normal now, her eyes calm.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime.” He grinned and got off her.
She sat up and looked around, grateful to be alive. “We should have stayed at Crimson Morning,” she said in a light tone. Humor diffused how close she’d come to dying. But she meant what she had said.
Did she think Crimson
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