Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,114

had already soaked up enough water to double her weight. Any movement threatened to break the ice behind her. Doing anything would kill her. Doing nothing would kill her.

She worked herself up for another scream, hoping the troopers or whoever had the dog team behind her might hear. She managed no more than a pitiful gurgle. Maybe there was no one there anyway. Her mind was just playing tricks on her. She laughed out loud, wedged there against the ice over a merciless black torrent of frigid water. Anyone who saw her might think she was going crazy—but that had happened a long time ago.

Six inches of ice crumbled away behind her, causing her to drop deeper as the river drove her backward, only to pin her against the ice again. The water reached high on her chest now. Only her fingertips touched the handlebar. If she lost it she’d be sucked under.

Unless . . .

An idea wormed its way into her freezing brain and warmed there long enough she could get her head wrapped around the gist of it. Panic killed most people when they fell through the ice. At least that’s what she’d read, but that was when they fell in a lake and the rushing water itself wasn’t trying to beat you to death. Still, if she could calm down, and moved slowly, she might be able to turn around, to work with the current to get her chest out of the water and up on top. Her gear was gone, the cabin too far away, so she’d probably still freeze to death, but that wouldn’t be as bad as drowning in the dark as she bobbed along trapped under the ice.

She rolled sideways, kicking as best she could in the heavy clothing while applying the tiniest bit of pressure to the handlebar to assist her movements without dislodging the sled. She tried twice, but it was no use. The hydraulic force held her fast. It was simply too strong, but the attempted movement did free the rifle sling—and gave her another idea.

Carefully, moving sloth-like from fear and cold, she pulled off her right mitten with her teeth, then reached with a shaking hand to unsnap the top swivel of the rifle sling at her shoulder. Her fingers were dead nubs at the end of a dead hand. They seemed to belong to someone else. She almost dropped the gun four times in the process, but miraculously, she was able to bring it around in front of her. The hole was relatively narrow, just wider than the sled. She set the gun across the ice, the barrel on one side, the butt on the other, forming a crossbar she could hang on to. The ice wasn’t strong enough to pull herself up, but she found she could now let go of the sled handle without getting swept away. It was only a momentary stay of execution, but momentary was better than the alternative.

Her dogs heard the other team before she did. They went crazy, yelping and jumping against their lines. The movement dislodged the sled and it began to slip farther into the water, dragging the team backward.

“Serves you right!” Donna sputtered, her sodden arms draped over the rifle. The grip of the cold water was slowly squeezing the life out of her. “I hope you all drown!”

And then the beam of a headlamp cut the night, illuminating the falling snow and the terrified dogs. Low voices whispered behind the light, then a second sled slithered out onto the ice without any dogs attached. A parka-clad figure lay facedown in the basket, reaching forward over the brush bow with mittened hands.

Donna shuddered, at once flooded with relief and fear.

It was Birdie Pingayak. Out of all the people in Stone Cross, she was the closest to the VPSO. She was also the bravest. Of course it would be her.

* * *

Cutter stood as far back on the runners of the double-trainer as he could, skating gently to push it and Birdie with it onto the thinning ice. The howling wind made it impossible to hear the tiny fractures spider-webbing across the surface, but he knew they were there. Birdie had unhooked her own team and left them on the bank along with Smoke, anchored with the snow hook. She lay on her belly now, distributing her weight along the entire sled. Donna called out, but instead of helping her, the little Eskimo woman reached across and unsnapped the