Begley didn’t even chide Hoot for his whispered expletive. Because at that moment the three of them heard another sound, one which they couldn’t identify but which they knew portended a continuation of the disaster.
They traded mystified looks.
Later they determined that what they’d heard was the splintering of wood. Trees that three grown men couldn’t reach around had been snapped as easily as toothpicks. At the time, they couldn’t see it happening because of the whiteout.
Speaking for all of them, Wes said, “What the hell is that?”
Then they saw it, dropping out of the low clouds, snow, and fog, destined for earth like a landing spacecraft with its red warning lights still flashing. The power line tower struck the ground with such force that even the deep snow didn’t cushion it. Later, Wes swore to those to whom he gave an account of the bizarre event that the repercussion caused his car to bounce off all four tires.
He and the two FBI agents stood in speechless awe for several moments, unable to absorb what they’d just witnessed, unable to believe that they’d survived. Had the tower fallen thirty yards closer, it would have crashed on top of them.
Dutch’s fate was unknown. Wes could only hope that he and Hawkins had survived. But the other casualty was Mountain Laurel Road. It was now blocked by tons of steel and forest debris that formed a barricade two stories high and almost that wide. No one could go up that road now.
It was equally impassable to anyone hoping to come down.
CHAPTER
r /> 19
LILLY ADDED A STICK OF FIREWOOD TO THOSE smoldering on the grate. She’d been stingy with them, adding one at a time, and only when necessary to keep the fire alive.
Despite her frugality, the wood supply she’d carried in earlier had dwindled to a few chunks, which she’d hacked off the larger logs. If the wood continued to burn at this rate, she might have enough for another two hours.
What she would do when it ran out, she didn’t know. Even inside the cabin, without a fire she would probably freeze during the coming night. She desperately needed the fire to survive. But—and here was the irony—the exertion of carrying in more firewood would likely kill her.
“Lilly?”
She rolled her lips inward and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could close off her ears as effectively. His voice was too persuasive, his arguments too reasonable. If she let them sway her, she could become victim number six.
Arguing with him was exhausting. They went round and round, getting nowhere. She wasn’t going to release him; he had an arsenal of arguments for why she should. And then there was her wheezing. Talking exacerbated it, so she had stopped answering him altogether.
“Lilly, say something. If you’re still conscious, I know you can hear me.”
His tone had developed an angry edge, sharpened by her refusal to respond. She left her place near the fireplace and went to the living room window, glancing into the open bedroom door as she walked past. “Why don’t you be quiet?”
She pushed aside the drapery and looked out, hoping to see that the snowfall had abated. Far from it. It was so thick she could see only a few yards beyond the porch overhang. The mountain peak had become an alien landscape, white and soundless and separate.
“Has it slowed down any?”
Shaking her head, she turned from the window and hugged her elbows for warmth. Moving away from the fireplace for even a brief time had allowed the cold to penetrate through her layers of clothing. She had put on every pair of socks she had with her, but her feet remained cold. She would have blown on her hands for warmth, but she couldn’t spare the breath.
Tierney hadn’t complained of being cold. His strenuous efforts to escape the handcuffs were keeping him warm. Apparently he had decided that escape was worth having raw, bleeding wrists after all. He hadn’t even tried to cover the sounds. She’d heard the continual clank of metal against metal, the thumping of the headboard against the wall, and curses of sheer frustration when the cuffs refused to give.
“How’s the firewood situation?” he asked.
“Okay for now.”
“For now. What about later? An hour from now?”
She stepped into the open doorway. “I’ll worry about it when I need to.”
“When you need to, it will be too late for worry.”
He had vocalized her worst fear, so she didn’t waste breath on a contradiction. “Would you like . . . another blanket . . . over your legs?” She was forced to pause between phrases to gasp for breath.
“When did you take the last dose of your medication?”
“My pill?” she wheezed. “Yesterday morning.”