Shelter

Wind screamed across the landscape, pelting Beth’s face with needles of ice. Her lungs ached. Her legs were so heavy.

One step.

Another step.

She shoved her legs through another knee-deep drift as they burned with exertion. She was sweaty yet freezing and couldn’t stop shivering.

“Oh, there’s the hut! Thank God!” Alice pointed ahead through the whirling snow. The form of hut #4 was just barely visible, a dark block hulking on the slope.

“Oh my god, finally.”

Suddenly Alice stopped and Beth skidded to a halt behind her.

“What are you—”

“shh! Listen.”

The wind howled around them, but beneath that was another noise.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Slowly, Alice and Beth approached the hut.

“Oh, it’s just the door.” The unlatched door of the hut was thumping in the wind.

They stepped inside. Like the other backcountry huts, this one had built-in bunks, a few chairs, and a place for a stove. Beth latched the door behind them and collapsed onto the floor.

“Ew!” She jerked her hand away from a warm liquid.

A pool of wet, warm blood.

She screamed.

A limp hand hung over the edge of the bunk. A hand attached to a body with staring, empty eyes and a slit throat.

Alice and Beth were ten frigid miles from any other shelter. Probably 20 miles or more away from help. They could only hope that the murderer was far away and not going to return…

but the blood was still warm.