Cover Your Tracks Page 3

  Sometimes, if the lightning and thunder were particularly powerful, her mother would sneak into her room, saying, “I’m here, sweetheart. It’s all right now.”

  “Mother?”

  “Shh, don’t let your father hear us.”

  With age, Margo’s fear vanished—or so she’d thought until this night.

  Steadying her nerves, she drew in a slow even breath and waited for the next illuminating flash. Soon her mother’s responsibility would be her own. She wouldn’t allow a little thunder to consume her strength.

  When the sky lit up, she looked beyond the wall of snow and up into the forest. Evergreens, caked with white mounds, brought back memories of her favorite childhood snow globe, which always sat on the mantle at Christmas time. How she marveled at the ruffled white when she shook the globe—a tangible piece of magic contained in a precious world of its own. Now, as she looked into this forest, all that magic was lost. Limbs and branches, caked with masses of snow, hung so low that a single bump or nudge might rip the trees from their roots or snap their trunks in half. What would it take before the trees came down? The slightest change in wind, another two inches of snow, thunderous vibrations from the storm?

  Lightning flashed again, and oddly enough, the snowflakes appeared to be growing as they fell. She reached out a hand, captured one, and pulled it under the roof of the platform. The single delicate flake was soft, crackly, and nothing like the biting cold. But that wasn’t true. As exquisite as this one flake was in her palm, the hard truth was this storm wasn’t letting up, and together all of these lovely snowflakes were perilous. She blew the flake from her hand, and again, glanced toward the back of the car.

  Another flash illuminated the ground, revealing footprints in the snow. The imprints were a foot deep and led away from the car and down the path of the railway.

  “Nick?”

  He didn’t answer. But her shouts were drowned out by a loud clap of thunder. She flinched, then told herself she wasn’t the target of this strike. She wanted to go back inside the car, but she forced herself to stand on the platform. In the distance, she heard something—a cry, a shriek, metal grinding, a limb snapping? Had it come from below in the gulch? Were people alive?

  She turned toward the opposite side of the platform, which faced the ravine. She considered going back inside, thought about shirking her responsibility. No, she had to check. She had to help Nick and any others who could be injured. It was foolhardy, but she was a doctor, damn it, and an ER doctor at that. She treated trauma cases. She had no first aid kit, but she could clean wounds with melted snow, use the cleanest fabric handy as a bandage, make splints out of tree limbs or furniture parts, and use old-man’s beard, which grew on trees, as an antiseptic. Back home, even during her pregnancy, she’d gone into the field to treat the injured.

  But not eight months pregnant.

  Clinging to the rail, she started toward the opposite side of the platform to look into the gulch, to listen more carefully. On her third step, her ankle came down on something hard, and she started to slip. She tightened her grip on the railing, but her legs sailed out from underneath her and slid off the edge of the platform. She landed on her backside but managed to hold on without sliding all the way off. Twenty pounds lighter, and she might have gone off. Releasing one hand from the railing, she felt her belly. Nothing seemed amiss. So she hoped.

  She placed her hand on a lower rung, swung one leg at a time back on the platform, and lifted herself up. She wasn’t going any closer to the edge near the gulch. Waiting on another lightning strike, she stared into the pitch black that obscured the gulch. When it flashed, she saw nothing more than a white billowy valley. She hoped Nick was wrong, that someone had survived that crash. And yet, there was no sign of life, nor any trace of the train buried underneath the snow.

  Then someone or something screeched.

  She started toward the platform stairs that faced the mountain. Had the stairs been on the narrow gulch side, she wouldn’t have risked it.

  The baby moved. “I know, but we have to help Nick or whoever survived,” she said rubbing her belly, the sound of her voice maybe for her benefit, maybe for the benefit of her unborn child.

  She grasped the railing and started down the stairs. When she reached the ground, she made her way toward the back end of the car, placing a hand on the side wall for support. With each step, she sunk almost knee deep into the snow. She followed Nick’s footsteps, but one wrong step could send her tumbling down the embankment and toward the wall of snow.

  At the rear of the car, she searched for Nick, calling his name. No answer.

  The snowfall abated, and the clouds parted in a few spots, revealing a few stars. The moon hadn’t fully risen yet, but the reflection of light against the snow was enough to provide some visibility. She studied the ground, doing her best to make sense of Nick’s footprints. Before long, she realized that the path he had taken meandered in various directions. He must’ve been searching for solid ground. Then she spotted a trail of prints leading away from the passenger car and in the direction of the previous train stop.

  What if he’d decided she was too much trouble and had chosen to leave her behind? Was he abandoning her or going for help? Surely, help.

  She pulled the hood of her coat back to listen. The biting cold stung her ears. She stood perfectly still, trying to hear the voice of anyone nearby. In her mind she felt as if she could close her eyes and step out of this nightmare, but when she refocused all she had was the wilderness with its whistling wind and creaking tree limbs. A frigid gust penetrated her clothing right to the bone. It was as if her long down coat were nothing more than a fine gossamer. She glanced over her shoulder and back. Go back or continue?

  The clouds above closed, obscuring the meager light from the sky. Her surroundings suddenly became unfamiliar, and the words frozen in my tracks came to mind. Paralyzed, she let out a hysterical laugh that came from a person she didn’t recognize.

  Lightning flashed. There was Nick. The light disappeared, and he was gone.

  CHAPTER 7

  Margo started in the direction where she believed she’d seen Nick, but stopped when she heard his commanding voice.

  “Stay where you are,” he said.

  She sighed in relief, and all the muscles of her body relaxed. He approached with an uneven gait, and he held a large branch that served as a makeshift cane. Was he hurt or using the stick for balance, a kind of ski pole? Lightning flashed, illuminating his face. The feral glare in his eyes caused her to flinch and take a step back.

  “Get inside,” he ordered. “It’s not safe out here.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. What was wrong with him? He had no right to be angry with her. When he took a half-step forward, he faltered, and it wasn’t just a slip in the snow. He needed her help. And there she was, standing outside in the bitter cold like a lunatic, risking her own life and getting nowhere. He’d warned her to stay inside, and she’d ignored his good advice.

  “You’re limping, Nick. Come inside so I can take a look at your leg.”

  “It’s nothing. Let’s go. You should never have come out.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “You should be worried about yourself and the baby.” He wrapped an arm around her, and although he’d been out in the cold for some time, his body warmed her like a comfy woolen blanket. They headed toward the train car and inched their way alongside it until they reached the platform stairs. He supported her from behind as she climbed up. Once inside, he guided her to the couch. Still shivering, she was acutely aware of how reckless she’d been exposing herself and her child to subfreezing temperatures. But she’d heard a scream. It wasn’t in her nature or her training to leave an injured person in distress, much less to let another human die in the cold.

  “Why did you leave the car?” he asked.

  She startled at his harsh voice. Injured people are often belligerent, she reminded herself. “I heard you cry out. I
assumed it was you. I’m sorry, Nick. I should never have asked you to go out there.”

  “There are no survivors,” he said in an even voice, the abrupt change in tone jarring. “Only us.” He brushed the snow from his pants.

  “You’re hurt. Let me—”

  “I took a step and sank down in the snow. I wrenched my leg on something solid. Maybe a big rock.”

  “Let me take a look at it.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nick, I’m a doctor. I could—”

  “It’s nothing.” The words carried a tone of finality.

  It wasn’t nothing. Not the way he was limping, not with his need for a makeshift crutch. But she understood. He was an ex-soldier and probably hated appearing vulnerable, probably didn’t want to seem frail in front of a woman, doctor or not. As long as he didn’t get worse, she’d honor those feelings.

  He found a closet and returned with a wool blanket, along with a box of crackers and a few cans of Vienna sausages that were packed in a welcome basket. “Not gourmet, but a fortunate find. People have survived on a lot less.”

  “Any bottled water?” she asked. If not, they’d be in trouble. They couldn’t drink melted snow, which could be full of bacteria.

  He shook his head and sat down. “We’ll find a way to purify the snow at some point. Don’t worry. We’ll protect the baby.”

  She picked up the tin of Vienna sausages and opened it. Her mother would’ve been appalled at the dinner menu. Isadora Pratt Fletcher had always been the perfect Southern hostess, a dynamo in the kitchen, a dynamo in general. Typical of a Pratt woman. Margo had inherited the more reserved Fletcher personality from her father, but physically she was a Pratt woman. She looked like her mother, who looked like her mother. They all had dark, thick hair and light-brown eyes flecked with gold. They were tall and medium-framed. Margo’s sisters, Heather and Blanche, resembled the Fletcher side of the family—slim, small-framed, blond, and beautiful—a gift from their father’s Norwegian descent. Margo had always wondered if her father played favorites because her sisters looked like him.

  On the other hand, her mother made her feel as if she were her favorite. She was the one child who would sit and listen, rapt, as her mother shared family recipes or explained how baking had evolved over time. Often her mother would explain the historical relevance of the dishes she’d prepared. Other times, she’d share family stories. Margo’s favorite had always been the pioneer bean story. Pioneers ate what was locally grown, and when produce was scarce, they relied on dried beans and pocket soup, which was basically the old-time version of bean soup with a bouillon cube. Her mother’s tales were quintessentially her Southern way of preparing her daughters—and probably now Margo’s niece—to be good wives. Etiquette was so important to Isadora that even on a picnic she’d set out cloth napkins, glass tumblers, and stainless-steel dinnerware, whereas other families used paper, Styrofoam, and plastic. Still, her mother might have been proud that Margo had found sustenance in this barren landscape, that these Vienna sausages were amounting to her mother’s version of pocket soup.

  “What do you think is going on with the rescue team?” Margo asked Nick. “Someone should’ve been here by now.”

  “They probably can’t get out here.”

  She began to shiver and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. “Doesn’t make sense. You’d think that at least some aircraft …” She shrugged. There was no use in speculating. At her hospital, the EMTs usually responded quickly, but not always. “So where does that leave us? We just sit here and hope we don’t freeze to death?”

  “You should eat something.”

  “I’m feeling queasy all of a sudden.”

  “You can’t go without eating. Not in your condition.”

  He was right. She had to keep up her strength to make sure the baby didn’t suffer. She nodded and forced down a cracker and a sausage. Then he got up and walked back to the kitchen, where he searched through more cabinets.

  It was getting colder, and it wasn’t from the blood rushing to her stomach after eating the snack.

  “There’s a bed at the back of the car,” he said. “You should go rest, wrap yourself in all the blankets, and cover your face and head. You and the baby will both be fine.”

  Before pregnancy, she might, out of pride, have insisted that he take the bed. Especially with his injured leg. Now, her baby took priority. As she shifted her weight forward to stand, a loud thump sounded on the platform. Her heart trilled. With the back window of the train frosted over, it was impossible to see out.

  “Someone’s out there,” she said. “Maybe someone else survived. Or it could be someone from the rescue team.”

  Maybe this nightmare was over. Maybe the rescuers would find more survivors from the main train. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if others had survived? She was ready to help the injured, to save some lives. She stood and waddled toward the door. Nick slammed a cabinet shut and charged toward her. Just as she reached for the door handle, he grabbed her arm and jerked it down.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “Let go of me! That hurts!”

  He let go and braced a hand against the door. “We have to keep that door shut.”

  “What’s wrong with you? There’s someone out there!”

  Something bumped the back window again. A blur of movement rushed past the window frame, the form not that of a human being but of an animal. Whatever was out there began scraping its claws across the glass.

  “Coyotes,” Nick whispered.

  CHAPTER 8

  Margo was rattled by the continual scraping on the back door, but also from Nick’s physical aggression. She rubbed her arm, still feeling the pressure from his hand. She wanted to thank him for preventing her from opening the door; she also wanted to scream in his face that he’d better never touch her like that again. Ordering her around like a foot soldier was one thing. Putting his hands on her so roughly was quite another. She’d dealt with uncooperative patients in times of medical emergencies and understood the circumstances. She’d also felt the death grip of her father’s hand around her wrist on one of the worst days of her life. This felt different. The savage look in Nick’s eyes confirmed that he was quite capable of inflicting physical harm if provoked. She was no match for him.

  She backed away and retreated to the couch, needing a moment alone to compose herself. She startled when she turned around and discovered he’d followed her. As soon as she sat, so did he. That was also unexpected. She didn’t look at him. Her heart was beating hard, and she didn’t want to show him how much he’d upset her. She reminded herself no matter how gruff this man had been he hadn’t harmed her, that he’d protected her and the baby. Their situation was perilous, and she needed him to survive.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

  She nodded, relieved to hear him express remorse, but his words weren’t exactly an apology.

  “If we’re quiet, the animals will go away,” he said. “It’s not typical for a coyote to attack a human, not unless the animal is starving or sick.”

  “Is the door secure?”

  “They can’t get in. Don’t worry, they’ll give up.”

  They sat quietly, listening to the coyotes climb up and down the back stairs, thumping and pacing on the platform. There was growling, scrabbling, and yelps of pain. The animals must’ve been fighting among themselves. It was hard to determine what was going on with all the commotion, and harder to judge how many animals were out there. Three? Four? As many as ten?

  A horrid thought crossed her mind. “What if they break through the glass?”

  He put an index finger to his lips and shook his head, which was far better than him putting his hand to her mouth.

  They waited, the minutes excruciatingly long. Sometime later, maybe ten minutes or twenty, the tapping of paws on metal stopped, and a welcome silence came. She was glad he hadn’t suggested that she go to the back bedroom to sleep. Despite Nick’s reassurances, she
couldn’t shake the irrational thought that the animals would return and force their way inside. If that happened, she needed a protector, someone versed in combat and the art of self-defense. She’d refused to listen to the man’s advice earlier, which had almost been a costly mistake. Of course she could trust Nick. She had to trust him. No wonder Nick had been so angry when he found her outside. She’d acted foolishly.

  He raked his hands through his hair, leaned back, stretched out his long legs, and yawned. This was their first moment of repose since this ordeal had begun.

  She had the feeling he was a person who disliked compliments, and yet she was compelled to offer one. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, rubbing her belly. “I mean both of us, all of us.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m curious, did the army teach you how to separate railroad cars?”

  “The military teaches you a lot of things. Separating train cars isn’t all that hard. There’s a cut bar. You lift it. The cars uncouple.”

  “Yes, but on a moving train?”

  “You can’t do it when the train is accelerating, but when it’s slowing like ours was there’s slack in the connection, and you can disengage cars, particularly a passenger car like this one.”

  His explanation made sense. His capability in the face of danger comforted her. His volatility worried her.

  They were quiet for a long while. The cold inside the car lingered like a persistent virus. Her breath was a visible mist. She rubbed the palms of her hands together, a nervous habit she inherited from her mother and one she’d tried to break for years.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked.

  “The train stopped moving parallel to the highway, turned northwest, and crossed a creek. Our previous stop was at the entrance to the park. We made one stop, so my guess is that we’re about halfway through the mountains. Deep inside the forest.”