A loud noise cracked in the room. From my tied-down position on the couch, I couldn’t see what was happening, but I heard the heavy wooden door fling open and felt a burst of cold as air rushed into the room. I heard Sal’s voice shouting my name; I saw Pierre step away from the couch to go for his rifle. There was the sound of gunfire and Justine’s sharp, high scream as a second shot was fired, then a third. The quick succession of sound and movement in those seconds seems as much a blur to me now as it did then. I don’t know who fired the first shot—Pierre or Sal—or who died first—Pierre or Justine—but I was left with the impression that it had all happened just the way Sal had planned—quick, cold, and efficient.
The one thing that has remained clear in my memory is Ludwig Jacob Feist. He had been so entirely absorbed in his examination of me, his concentration so fixed, that even Sal’s explosive entrance didn’t tear him from my side. At first he simply froze. His pale eyes went wide behind his glasses, registering that he was conscious of a disturbance. And then he calmly slipped his notebook full of measurements and his camera filled with photographs into a pocket of his ski jacket, stood, and ran.
The next thing I knew, Sal had Feist by the arm and was pulling him out of the house. There was the slam of a door and then Sal returned and unbuckled me, strap by strap, until the blood returned to my arms and legs. I sat up and scanned the house. Everything looked different in the harsh sunlight—exposed and diminished. As I walked out of the house, I paused at the bodies of Pierre and Justine. They had fallen side by side, their blood pooling together over the stone floor.
Outside, the sky was a clear, pale blue, filled with a rare show of sunlight that gilded the mountains gold. The only sign of the storm lay on the ground—high snowdrifts licked at the buildings, covering doorways and windowsills. The snowcat had plowed a path through the snow and sat idling in front of the house, sending clouds of exhaust into the air. Dr. Feist shouted for help from inside the cab, his voice dampened behind the thick plastic windows.
Sal walked out of the house carrying the mink coat I had worn on my trek down the mountain. He must have searched through Justine’s and Pierre’s belongings, because he carried the books on cryptozoology under one arm. The backpack hung over his shoulder. My tennis shoes were in his hand.
“Madame,” Sal said, pausing to look me over. “We had best get going. Vita would like you at the castle.” He walked to the door of the snowcat and opened it. “Come, madame. Get in.”
Right then and there something inside me broke. All that had lain dormant for weeks and weeks exploded in my mind. For the first time, I understood the truth: Vita was not suffering from a genetic disorder. She was not physically disabled. She was a mutation. She was, as Justine had said, a missing piece of the evolutionary puzzle. But she was foremost my puzzle, the mystery that explained me, the ancestor whose defects defined mine. I couldn’t go back to the castle. I couldn’t return to Vita and all that she represented. And so I did the only thing I could: I turned and ran.
Through the abandoned village I went, pushing through the snow. I was barefoot, but I didn’t feel the cold. As I ran, I felt a new power take hold. I was stronger than before. My lungs were bigger, my legs faster, my eyes sharper. These mountains were my habitat. I could run forever and never stop.
I heard the engine of the snowcat grinding behind me. I dove into a narrow passage between two houses, climbed past an old shed, running and running, until I came to the base of the mountain. An enormous ledge of rock loomed above, heavy slabs of granite frosted with snow. But now everything was different. I hoisted myself up, clutching at the rock face, and began to climb. As the snow crunched under my feet, I remembered my grandfather taking me barefoot in the snow. I understood now that he had wanted to teach me something. I understood that this terrain was part of my nature: the snowy rise of the mountain, the ice-covered