Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Beneath the wings of the cave, I found one of our answers—not in a cage of ice and echoes, but in the pages of a manual that could very well be our wings to safety.
Guided by the ghostly sighs of the wind, I navigate the stygian darkness. The cave’s mouth calls to me with the voice of the storm beyond, a cry of the roaring river and keening gales.
Are we too late? Is the trail to the top already impassable?
I reach the bottom of the slope that leads to the entrance. Beyond the threshold is nothing but a flurry of blinding white.
Leo’s words echo in my mind, a plea to wait inside, a forced promise.
What if that promise becomes our enemy? What if he’s stuck? What if he’s hurt?
No, he’s too strong. Too smart. Too invincible.
Hope flickers dimly, fueled by the fragile wish to find him waiting just outside, beyond the curtain of snow and wind.
If I go out there, I’ll know. Maybe I’ll hear the sound of the snow machine as it approaches.
Heart heavy with worry, I ascend the treacherous slope, my snowshoes biting into the ice with each laborious step, until I stand on the brink of oblivion, swallowed by the ferocious whiteout.
Visibility is a cruel joke, the world reduced to a blur of arctic fury. Powerful gusts try to topple me over as I inch closer to the river. Stinging ice plasters to my exposed lips and works its way under my goggles.
Where is he?
The storm mocks me, its frigid fingers smacking my flesh, daring me to venture farther in search of him.
I should turn back and wait. But for how long?
How far did he go? A mere half-mile? Is it a straight shot? Did the blizzard obscure the path, leaving only a maze of white and danger?
Panic creeps in as I hesitate, torn between the urge to retreat to shelter and the drive to press on.
The deeper fear spurs me forward, the terror of what lies ahead with Leo alone against this raging tempest.
Each step is an eternity. A calorie-sucking, unbearably cold, impossible eternity. Five steps. Ten steps. Too late, I realize the stupidity of this decision.
I need to go back.
As I start to turn, a strange noise tingles through me.
Huffing.
Grunting.
Then a vibrating sound cleaves the wind.
A growl, inhuman and terrifying, a harbinger of death.
I spin, my stomach bottoming out. Through the sheets of snow, a nightmare takes shape.
A grizzly bear.
A behemoth of muscle and bared fangs emerges from the storm thirty yards away, its gaze locking with mine.
My soul leaves my body. My blood drains to my boots. Fear paralyzes me, rooting me to the spot, a deadly indecision.
I should’ve stayed in the cave, and now it’s out of reach, somewhere behind the thing that wants to eat me.
To run is to invite death, yet in my hands lies the power to stop it. The rifle trembles with my trembling pulse.
Three rounds, love. If you aim true, you’ll only need one.
Ice coats my gloves and numbs my fingers, rendering them clumsy and unresponsive, a poor match for the rifle’s demanding trigger.
The bear doesn’t care. It charges, and the pressure to act tightens a fist around my throat.
Leveling my aim, I fire, and holy fuck, I’m not ready.
The explosive boom, the violent recoil, it’s an unforgiving punch against my shoulder, sending me careening backward as if a wild creature struggles against my hold.
The bullet misses, and the terror of my situation crystallizes, threatening to bring me to my knees.
It’s not just a physical failure but a psychological blow, stripping away the thin veneer of control and leaving raw, unmitigated panic.
I can’t do this.
With the beast barreling toward me, each second stretches into infinity, warping time under the strain of my imminent death.
Two rounds left.
I eject the shell. Chamber the next. Adjust my grip, the act of pulling the trigger complicated by the bulky gloves and the shockwave of fear ricocheting through my system.
I’m going to die.
My second shot is a fuck you in the face of the storm, a bullet of hope that falters, hitting a front leg.
The grizzly continues its relentless advance, slowed, limping, but undeterred.
A juggernaut of rage, hunger, and undying strength.
I open the bolt and chamber the last round.
My shoulder throbs as I dig the butt of the rifle deep into bruised muscle. Steadying my sights, I fire.
Hit!
I stumble back, and the bear stumbles, too, roaring as it crashes onto its chest and skids across the ice. But I’m already turning, fleeing into the blizzard.
Sprinting, heart pounding, lungs panting, I muster every ounce of energy left to distance myself from that thing.
Then I hear it.
That vicious, harrowing growl, crashing down my spine. The thunder of enraged footfalls, stomping, gaining speed, shaking the ground. The sound of chaos unfolding.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
I glance over my shoulder and scream.