Winter, White and Wicked - Shannon Dittemore Page 0,71
of. I lunge over Hyla and push my way onto the windowsill. One boot secure and now two.
“Take hold of my belt,” I tell Hyla. “Don’t let go.”
Her face is pale, the blood still fresh and bright on her shirt, but she does what I say. She wraps her fist around my belt and the set of her jaw tells me she’d lose an arm before she’d let me fall.
My hands grip the top of the sill, but the ice is wet and they slip. My fist tightens and I find purchase. The wind is sharp and cold—it fills my mouth and burns my lungs—but it’s nothing to the trees that slap at my face and stab at my ribs.
And then the Dragon’s engine lets up. I wheel on Kyn, glaring at him through the open window. “Do. Not. Slow. Down.”
His eyes are daggers, but he pushes his foot to the floor—I hear it in the kick of the engine. I give him a curt nod before I turn.
Now, I lean away from the rig and with one hand I grab hold of the saw’s arm. With the other I pull the dagger from my belt, flip it in my hand. Limbs continue to pelt me, but my parka keeps the worst of it off my face. I take a skinny branch to my lip, which makes blood pool in my mouth and my eyes water.
The cables are housed inside the arm, but they’re exposed where they connect to the useless blade. Cut that line and this arm will fold in on itself. I’ll be able to re-engage the left arm without burning out the motor. Though, the hinged joint is farther out than I can reach from here.
“Don’t let go,” I yell to Hyla, the wind shoving the words back into my mouth. I shimmy as far down the sill as I’m able, then I push to a stand, stretching my legs and reaching for the cables.
Hyla’s hand is still wrapped around my belt but I’ll dislocate her shoulder if I fall now. I chance a quick look at the tank tread churning far below. Kicking up dirt and ice, grinding the slush beneath it, noisy and menacing.
I’m having trouble seeing, the rabbit fur lining my parka tickling my face and blocking my view. My hands are full, so instead of loosening the string tightening my hood, I slice it through with the dagger. The hood falls away and a branch slaps me in the face. My cheek stinging, my nose running, I rise on my toes and reach as far as I can.
And there!
A single swift flick of the dagger and the cables are cut through. The arm drops down, folding back into position.
It’s done.
I feel the relief in Hyla’s hold and turn to grin at her.
Her shining smile is the last thing I see.
A tree grabs my hood and I’m yanked sideways. The zipper cuts into my throat and I’m pulled from the windowsill. It’s so sudden, there’s no time to react.
And then my hood tears free and I swing violently toward the rig. Hyla’s half outside, her face stricken with pain and determination.
I hit the door beneath the window, hard. Then I’m bouncing away and back again. I’m sprayed with slush and mud, but it’s Hyla’s grip that has my heart missing beats. Will it hold or will I be ground beneath the Dragon’s tread?
There’s something darkly poetic about dying that way. With someone else driving my rig and the only freedom I’ve ever known crushing me whole.
I slam against the Dragon as my thoughts fly to Winter. To the slush on the ground, to the melting snow peppering me as I flounder. To the things Winter can do, the things she has done for me. She could save me if she wanted to. But I handed her wolves over to Mars. I sent her away.
It’s all so fast. The stupid thoughts colliding inside my head, regret and angst roiling. And then I’m lifted up and with another pummeling of branches, Hyla pulls me into the rig.
“I’ve got you, Sessa, I’ve got you.” But my arms and legs are unwieldy and her strength is spent. Half my body flops across the seat and onto Kyn’s lap.
His hand finds my forehead, shoves my matted hair up and away from my eyes. I’ve lost my second stocking cap.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” His eyes move from my face to the road and back again. Vigilant on all counts.