Chapter 17: Give It Up

Ski Barn, Lynx Mountain Ski Resort. February 6, 2005. Sunday afternoon.

"Hey, gorgeous. Sorry to keep you waiting."

Max strolled over to El during the second break in the ski lesson as if there'd been nothing strange about him being away for so long. He'd disappeared for thirty minutes. El had tried using her cell phone to call Diana, but she still had no reception. She was on the point of leaving the barn to find one of the team members when Max finally appeared. Improvising what to do while undercover was a lot harder than glossing over muffed lines on stage.

"Just a minor mishap," he said, laughing it off. "Lily slipped on the snow. Tore her designer pants but no damage otherwise. The woman has two left feet."

What Max was relating sounded like Diana's plan, but Lily wasn't supposed to actually have an accident. Had Peter made a last-minute change? If he had, he wouldn't have been able to tell her. Or maybe Lily had slipped on the way to the Jacuzzi and they'd taken advantage of it? El decided her best option was to play along. "I'm glad someone found her. She could have been badly injured."

"Not her. She's too well padded. Now, what did I miss? How about showing me your moves?" he added with a grin.

The ski lesson went on till three o'clock. Max then excused himself, saying he needed to check on his daughter. He'd been polite but somewhat distracted during the lesson. El wasn't finding it easy to follow the ski instructor's directions but Max helped. He didn't attempt to make a pass and made no mention of getting together in the future. Too bad. El had prepared a long list of witty remarks to have on hand to deflect any overly forward action on his part. She wound up not needing to use a single one of them. Max had been the perfect gentleman.

When she exited the ski barn, a strong gust of wind blew snow in her face, temporarily blinding her. No wonder Lily slipped. El put her head down and kept a careful watch on the path as she headed for the lobby. It was treacherous going. Even walking slowly, she slipped a couple of times and nearly fell. She exhaled in relief when she arrived safely at the main building.

Peter said he'd leave her a message with reception. Once the evidence was secured, the team planned to return to New York. They might have already left. Her friends had intended to spend the afternoon enjoying the Jacuzzi and getting massages. El planned to join them after she changed. Her work as an undercover operative was done. She'd enjoyed it, despite being left in the dark about the audibles they'd called. She wished she knew more of the details, but she'd probably only find out when she was back home.

At the reception desk, El gave her name and waited while the hotel clerk searched for messages. It took him longer than she'd expected. He even checked in the back office before coming back, saying nothing had been left for her.

That was puzzling. El called Peter's room, using the hotel phone. No answer. Then she asked if Diana had checked out. When she found out she hadn't, she tried calling her room. Again no answer. El paused to think where the others were supposed to be. Travis had been assigned to keep Mandy occupied at the dance lesson. They could still be there. El headed for the elevators to go downstairs to the dance club. Near the elevator bank, she spotted Diana and Travis hurrying toward her. El increased her stride to meet them, growing increasingly alarmed that something wasn't right.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked. "Peter didn't leave me a message."

"We were going to ask you the same question," Diana replied. "Peter was supposed to call me on his two-way radio but I haven't heard anything yet. Was Max with you the entire time?"

"He left at 2:05. I checked my watch. A call had come in for him on the hotel phone and he left to answer it. He was gone till 2:30. He said he'd received a call that Lily had slipped and hurt herself, but it turned out to be nothing." Their worried expressions were compounding her own anxiety.

"That sounds like he talked with Lamar," Travis commented.

Diana nodded. "I called up to the suite from the lobby as we'd planned. I saw Lamar exit the elevator and head toward the location where Lily supposedly had fallen. Jones called me and reported that at 2:10 Rocko received a message on his two-way radio. He told Jones that Lily had hurt herself, and he needed to assist. He mentioned he hoped to be back shortly, but he never returned. Jones hung around in the game room for a while then went upstairs to check my suite. He didn't find any sign of Neal and Peter. He's gone to check their room."

"Rinaldi arrived at the dance floor ten minutes ago and took Mandy away," Travis said. "Diana was waiting for me and we came straight here."

While they were standing in the hallway, Jones walked up. "No sign that Peter and Neal returned to their room." He turned to El. "We'll find out what's going on. Why don't you go back to your suite? We'll call you as soon as we discover anything."

El's feet were frozen in place. This was what happened when the plan fell apart. No wonder Peter went to such lengths to prepare for every contingency. But nothing was fail-safe. She wanted to stay with them, but she knew she'd only slow down their search. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Travis and Jones exchanging looks. The next thing she knew, Travis had taken her by the arm and was urging her to come with him. "I'll go with you to your room. Would you like me to stay?"

"Thanks, but I can manage." El fought to maintain her composure. They were so short-handed. They needed Travis more than she did.

#

Once El left, Jones huddled with Diana and Travis. Their highest priority was to notify the front desk of their identities and enlist the resort security in the search effort. While Travis brought the resort up to speed, Diana assisted Jones in verifying the locations of the Rinaldis. Lily had left the Jacuzzi and was having a massage. For the moment, they could leave her alone. They found Max and Mandy having a snack in the lounge. Jones identified himself to Rinaldi and ordered him to come with them for questioning.

Diana escorted Mandy to her mom. She felt for the kid. Diana was no longer a writer and rival for Neal's affection, but an FBI agent taking her dad into custody. She was going to remember the anguish in Mandy's eyes for a long time. Diana didn't attempt to explain the situation to Lily—there were too many unknowns.

Thirty minutes later, in a side office of the resort that had been allocated for their use, the three of them reviewed the current status. Rocko and Lamar were missing. The suite had been searched, but there was no evidence that Peter and Neal had been there. Rinaldi claimed to know nothing about what happened to any of them. For now, they were forced to treat it publicly as a missing person case since there was no evidence of foul play. Jones used the landline to contact the local and state police to aid in the search while Travis called the Bureau in New York and the nearest field office in Albany.

#

The van lurched along the snow-covered road as it plowed its way up the mountain. The last jolt sent Peter sliding against the side panel. The van had chains on top of its snow tires, but even with the equipment, maintaining traction was problematic.

He and Neal were lying on the floor in the cargo area. Their ankles were bound together. Lamar sat on the bench seat opposite them. He kept his gun constantly trained on them. Peter had been stealing glimpses through the windshield and his heart sank when he saw the route they'd picked—a service road going up the mountain behind the resort. A gate had been installed to keep guests out. There wouldn't be any vehicles to spot them.

Rocko had gotten out of the van to open the gate. Once they were through, he stopped the van to close it. The snow was falling so hard that their tracks would soon disappear.

"We should kill them now," Rocko yelled to Lamar over the roar of the engine.

"Are you nuts?" Lamar shouted back. "The cops would find blood in the van. I'm not going down for this."

Peter knew it was probably fruitless but he had to try to convince them to give themselves up. "Neither one of you needs to go down. You set us free, we'll guarantee your—"

"Shut your damned trap," Lamar growled, "or I will for you." Peter didn't respond. He wanted to keep them distracted but not to the point of provoking them.

Neal was making minute movements with his arms, probably in an effort to free his hands. Peter had tried but the cords binding his wrists were too tight.

"How far up do we have to go?" Rocko yelled. "The incline's getting worse." He shifted into a lower gear. "We could dump 'em in the woods since you're so picky about the van."

"Nah, we're too close to the resort. They'd be found. Just a few more miles should do it. At the crest, there's a sheer drop-off. They won't be found for decades."

"Don't count on it," Peter said. "We weren't alone at the resort. Our team's looking for us now. You're not going to get away with this. Give up now. You'll be able to make a plea bargain." Neal was letting Peter do the talking, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. Peter kept slanting a glance at him for a signal.

About five minutes later, it came. A quick exchange of blinks and Peter tensed his muscles as he continued to distract Lamar. "Is money what you want? I can supply you with all the cash you'll—"

Neal exploded into motion, propelling himself upward and straight toward Lamar. He sent the gun flying in Peter's direction. With a loud curse, Lamar grabbed hold of Neal while Peter scrabbled to get a grip on the pistol with his bound hands. Rocko jerked his head around at the first sounds of the struggle, making the van careen to one side of the road. Peter twisted to one side, clutching the gun with his fingers, and fired. He got Lamar in the arm, but it was only a flesh wound.

Lamar released his hold on Neal, attacking Peter instead. As they fought for the gun, Neal hurled himself into the cab. Rocko was fighting to regain control of the van. Peter arched his back to fire another shot just as the van plowed into a tree. The force of the collision propelled the van off the road. It began sliding down the side of the mountain.

#

El paced nervously in her room. Lisa and Sylvia were still at the spa. She hadn't had a chance to tell them what was going on, but figuring out what to say was the last thing on her mind. She stopped to look out the window. It was growing dark, the gray gloominess of the clouds hung over the mountains like a shroud. Her mind went through a thousand different scenarios and what could have gone wrong and each outcome was worse than the one before.

Finally, there was a knock at the door. El rushed to open it and found Diana standing outside. She pulled her inside. "Tell me you found them."

Diana shook her head regretfully. "Sorry, Elizabeth, not yet but we will."

"What did you learn?"

"Resort security joined the search. They reported that one of their cargo vans is missing. We suspect Peter and Neal are in the van." She hesitated as if considering her words. "The two bodyguards are also missing."

El swallowed and nodded mutely. Diana didn't need to spell it out for her. She knew what that meant.

"The New York State Police are searching right now on all routes leading away from the resort. As soon as the snow stops, we'll send up choppers. In the meantime, would you like to stay with me in my suite? I have an extra bed."

El accepted the offer gratefully. Being shut off from what the others were doing was excruciating.

"I can help you pack," Diana suggested. "Would you like me to be with you when you tell your friends?"

"Don't Jones and Travis need you?"

"Not at the moment. They're coordinating the search with the State Police. I'd welcome the company."

#

Neal came to with a gasp. All he could see was Rocko's jacket. The goon's weight was crushing him. He struggled to extricate himself. Rocko was either unconscious or worse. The last thing Neal remembered before passing out was that the van had struck something. It must have flipped over since they were now lying on the cab ceiling. He reached up to check Rocko's condition. He could feel a slow pulse in his neck. His hand came back wet and sticky. Blood. Rocko had acted as an airbag for Neal, shielding him from the broken glass. Was that some sort of karma?

But Rocko was crushing him painfully now. His chest felt like he had a cracked rib or two. Gritting his teeth, Neal managed to squirm free. He struggled to the back of the van where Peter and Lamar were lying motionless. The van had its nose high in the air. It was like climbing down a well to get to them.

He reached Lamar first and stopped to check on him. Lamar was in no shape to cause trouble. He was lying face down with blood seeping out from underneath him. Neal remembered hearing gunfire when they crashed. He rolled him over to assess the damage. Lamar had a bullet wound to his lower chest. He was still alive but unconscious.

Neal heard a reassuring groan from Peter and he crawled over to check on him. His motion caused the van to rock, making him realize how precarious their situation was. He worked to free Peter's hands and then his feet. As he removed the cord from his ankles, Peter's eyes opened. "How do you feel?"

"Like I smashed into a tree," Peter muttered.

"Brilliant deduction. That's what we did." Peter tried to sit up and Neal gently pushed him back. "Let me check you out before you start riding broncos."

"I'm okay," he insisted, hanging on Neal's arm to support himself. The van continued to sway ominously so Neal didn't debate the point. "How are the guards?"

"Both unconscious. You must have shot Lamar in the chest. Rocko's got a head wound."

Peter nodded as the van gave another sharp lurch, tossing Neal on top of Peter. He scrambled up as the van started to slide down a steep incline.

"Hold on," Peter yelled. They grabbed side straps and braced themselves as the van lurched at increasing speed down the mountain. The roof acted like a sled. As the van jostled against first one obstacle then another, Neal felt like he was in a pinball machine. Trees and boulders slowed their descent, but they were also tearing up the van panels.

Their forward momentum finally stopped when they collided against a fir tree. The van continued to rock, alerting them this was only a temporary respite. "Everyone out," Neal shouted. "This is our stop."

Peter had already headed for the back door and was attempting to push it open. But it was so badly dented that the door handle wouldn't budge.

Neal stood next to him and they both flung themselves repeatedly at the door, even as their actions caused the van to rock more violently. At last, the door gave way to their combined efforts, providing them with an escape route.

Before he jumped out, Neal glanced behind to make sure Peter was following him. Peter was rifling through Lamar's jacket. "No time for that, Peter! We gotta move. It's a death trap in here." Smoke was already rising from the engine.

"Go!" Peter ordered. "I'm right behind you. I got his radio and gun." With another screech of stressed metal, the van pitched forward.

Neal jumped out with Peter right behind him. Neal wouldn't score any points on his landing, and it had done his ribs no favor. He rolled over to haul himself up. Peter was already on his feet and was scanning the van anxiously. Smoke was now pouring out of the engine.

"It's gonna catch fire!" Peter shouted as he gave Neal a hard shove away from the van. Neal slid and scrambled down the slope, taking refuge behind a large spruce about fifty feet away. Peter joined him as a loud crack rent the air and the fir trunk supporting the van snapped in two. The van pitched over and crashed down the slope.

From their shelter behind the tree, Neal and Peter watched it disappear from view, leaving only a trail of smoke behind. Neal focused on catching his breath, too drained to say anything.

He dragged his eyes away from the smoke to survey their surroundings. The road was high above them, perhaps two hundred yards. A steep ravine was below. Snow was still falling but the wind had abated somewhat. He looked over at Peter. "Anything broken?"

He shook his head and winced from the movement. Feeling the back of his neck gingerly, he said, "Just bumps. You?'

"I'm okay." Peter regarded him skeptically but didn't challenge his assertion. They'd both been battered and bruised by their sled ride, but they'd survived. That would have to suffice. "Any idea of where we are?" Neal asked.

"I was trying to keep track. I'd studied the trail maps at home and then again at the lodge. We shouldn't be too far from Smugglers Trail. Once we find it, we can follow it upslope to a first aid station." Peter eyed him questioningly. "You think you can manage a trek?"

Neal stood up, brushing the snow off. "You've been teasing me ever since Halloween about winter survival boot camp. It's finally arrived."

Peter spun around to stare at him, a tired grin breaking out. "You caught me. This entire escapade was my fiendishly clever way to make you experience winter boot camp. Okay, cadet, break time's over. Mush."

Neal scanned the route ahead of him. The clouds were so thick it was hard to tell what time it was. They were standing in knee-deep snow and would have to force a path through it to get to the trail which would probably be covered in just as much snow. They still had the jackets Rinaldi had provided to go down to the basement, but they were both wearing jeans and running shoes. Not the best clothes for what they had in mind. At least they were on a slope. If they'd been in a ravine, the snow would have been deeper, right?

Peter pointed in a direction diagonally down the mountain. "I'll take the lead. Follow in my tracks. It will be a little easier."

Neal had never been in snow this heavy. The temperature itself wasn't too bad but it would rapidly drop off as dusk approached. Peter was already plowing his way down the slope. Neal put his head down and concentrated on following Peter's tracks.

Mentally he described the scene. It would be good for his journal. When he got back, he could enhance the tale for Diana. He could chronicle their trek as going through the frozen wastes of Lovecraft's Plateau of Leng. Azathoth should love that.

Minutes, hours passed. It seemed like they'd been slogging through the snow forever. The exertion had made Neal's chest muscles tighten into painful bands. He focused on short breaths to reduce the strain. His ribs were becoming increasingly vocal in their complaints. Figures. Whenever he got into an accident, his ribs were usually what took the injury for the team. Good thing it wasn't his ankles. Strong Caffrey ankles. Gotta thank someone for that. What else? Banged up shoulder from forcing the van door open. Could be a lot worse.

"We found it!" Why was Peter so excited? If this was a trail, it didn't look very different from what they'd just been trudging through. "I was right. This has to be Smugglers Trail."

Wonderful. More snow. Not quite as deep. Neal tried to smile enthusiastically but it sure didn't look like a trail to him. A neatly swept concrete sidewalk—that was a trail. Not a snow-filled gap between trees.

"How you holding up?" Peter was looking at him worriedly.

"Great." Neal valiantly attempted to project the proper amount of cowboy-up spirit as he plunged his hands deeper into the jacket pockets. They were lucky the jackets had hoods. Gloves would have been nice. "You feeling like a Viking yet?"

"Just about. What a winter adventure!" His forced attempt to convey exhilaration was futile but touching. Peter was breathing heavily, his face red from the exertion. He'd been blazing the path for them from the beginning and must be exhausted. He was now permitting himself a quick breather, leaning against the trunk of a fir. Neal did the same, closing his eyes for just a second.

"Hey, cadet!"

"Huh?" Neal struggled to open his eyes.

Peter was shaking his shoulder. "Stay with me. Don't go taking a nap on me."

"Not napping. Resting. Big difference." Neal suppressed a grimace. Peter had picked the wrong shoulder to grab, but the pain helped dispel the frost which had been settling in his brain and turning his thoughts into icicles.

"What happened to the USB drive?"

Neal patted his jacket over the front placket of his shirt. "Did I mention what a great tailor I have? Mozzie had created a pocket for the drive under one of the front buttons. We tested it before I left."

Peter chuckled. "Remind me to buy three cases of honey wine when we get back."

Neal started to laugh and caught himself barely in time, but not soon enough to prevent a cough.

"Okay, cadet. Time to head out again."

Neal cleared his throat, swallowing back a second cough. "Let me lead for a while. Now that we're on this magnificent trail, we're almost home free."

Peter shook his head. "That's okay. It shouldn't be far to the first aid station, but we'll have to go upslope." He glanced up at the sky. The sun was glowing dimly through the clouds, barely above the side of the mountain. "We should be able to make it before nightfall."

Neal nodded.

"Got your breath?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Let's go. Does the first aid station have heat?"

"You bet. Medical supplies. Water. Food. They're probably putting the steaks on now."

Neal forced a smile. "Right. Tell me more."

#

By the time El finished unpacking, Diana had the fire going in the fireplace and had made tea. The cell phones were still out. The power had blinked a few times earlier but was now holding steady. It was six o'clock and pitch-black outside.

"Don't you need to help the others?" El asked. "I'll be fine here."

Diana looked hesitant. "You sure?"

El pulled out a book from her tote. "I'd feel better knowing I wasn't distracting you from your job."

A knock on the door interrupted them. When Diana opened the door, a blur of cream-colored fur rushed straight for El.

"Satchmo!" She buried her hands in his fur as he squirmed next to her, his tail beating a frantic staccato on her legs. Satchmo wasn't allowed on furniture, so El sat down on the floor next to him. She looked up at Jones and Travis, who were smiling at the reunion, and asked, "How did you manage this? Dogs aren't allowed in guest rooms."

"Under special circumstances they are," Travis explained. "Service dogs are permitted and Satchmo qualified. He's performing a valuable service right now."

"This was Travis's idea," Jones said. "He can be very persuasive when necessary."

Diana turned to face Jones. "What's the latest report?"

"The resort van is still missing. The State Police have brought in vehicles with high-intensity searchlights. The snow's stopped. That's a big help. In addition to the main road, there are three service roads. They're all being searched. As soon as it's light, helicopters will be brought in."

"I talked with the front desk about that phone call Rinaldi received," Travis said. "They recorded the number. It was a Manhattan area code. I've been in touch with the Bureau and they're investigating it. It looks suspicious. The call was placed from a phone booth at the Port Authority Terminal. So far they haven't been able to trace it further."

#

"Is that it?" Neal asked.

He'd finally convinced Peter to take turns walking in front as they'd gone up the trail. Their bickering about who should lead succeeded in keeping up their spirits. Diana should write two chapters in her story about the heroism of Neal Carter and Peter Gilman climbing the Plateau of Leng. As daylight faded, a renewed sense of urgency propelled them forward. The clouds were keeping temperatures from dropping much. Both of them had stumbled and tripped more than a few times, no doubt adding to their collection of colorful bruises.

Peter stared at where Neal was pointing. "I think so. God, I hope so."

They forced their legs to go as fast as they could to the object ahead. It turned out to be the first aid station—a prefabricated steel storage shed, maybe twelve by eight feet. To Neal, it looked like a palace.

Peter arrived first and tried the door. It was locked. "I was afraid of that. The ski staff all have keys, but Rinaldi took mine. Can you do your cat burglar thing?"

Neal nodded. They'd been walking with their hands in their pockets but his hands still felt frozen. With fumbling fingers, he felt along the collar edge of his shirt and finally extricated his pick.

"Another custom job from your master tailor?"

Neal managed an exhausted grin. "He's the best." Blowing on his fingers to warm them, he started on the lock. Fortunately it was a simple one, requiring no dexterity. Even Peter would have been able to manage it. He opened the door and stepped into the ice-cold blackness inside. "Where's the light switch?"

"Sorry, buddy. No electricity. Keep the door open. There must be a flashlight in here." Neal gazed around the dim surroundings. The wall panels were fitted with shelves containing an assortment of supplies. The panels must be insulated. It wasn't a freezer inside, more like a super-cold refrigerator. There was one window with a sliding panel shutter in front of it. Neal slid the panel back to let in what little light was left from outside and quickly closed the door. Peter was rummaging through the shelves.

"Found us a light!" Peter called out triumphantly. He quickly switched on the LED lantern.

The excitement of scrounging through the supplies gave Neal a needed boost of adrenaline. When they took inventory a few minutes later, the results were impressive. Emergency blankets, first aid supplies, a box of granola bars, water, and the best item of all—a kerosene heater. Peter immediately set to work getting the heater going. Neal estimated the small unit would only last for a few hours, but the shed was small. Now that he wasn't moving, he realized how bone-chilling frozen he was. His teeth wouldn't stop chattering.

Peter tossed Neal several packets of silvery foil. "Use those tarps in the corner to make cushions for the floor then cover them with the blankets. We'll wrap ourselves in additional blankets once I get the heater going."

Neal eyed the four-inch square packages dubiously. "You must be hallucinating from that bump on your head if you call these blankets."

"Space blanket, tenderfoot. Survival boot camp lesson number five: what you're holding is a Mylar blanket. NASA developed it. It reflects ninety percent of our heat. They tear easily so treat them carefully, but we've got a box of them."

When Peter got the heater going, Neal immediately held his hands out to the warmth. God, it felt good.

"Stop that," Peter said sharply. "The heat is too intense. You'll damage them."

Neal reluctantly pulled his hands back. "Do I have to worry about frostbite?"

"Probably not. Frostbite starts at twenty-eight degrees. What with the snow falling, it must be a balmy thirty degrees outside."

Neal bit back his sarcastic comment. If Peter wanted to call this balmy, he'd just go with the flow while thinking of the warm sands of Hawaii.

Peter's next comment was even harder to take. "We need to strip off our wet clothes and let them dry."

Neal clung to his jacket in horror. "I can't. I'll freeze."

"No, you won't. Your clothes are making you feel even colder. You gotta trust me on this. Wrap yourself in one of these blankets and keep a safe distance from the heater."

He was already miserable. If Peter were wrong in this, which Neal was convinced he was, how much more miserable could he get? Once the misery meter had topped out, would he simply skate along? Skate, yeah that was fitting. Neal chuckled, but stopped when he saw Peter give him a concerned look. He probably thought Neal was delirious from the cold. Was that possible? He was certain he could.

They laid their wet jeans, shoes, and socks in front of the heater. Their shirts had been protected by their jackets so they could keep them on. They sat on the tarps, holding their legs tight to their bodies, and covered themselves with Mylar blankets, even using some of the foil to make hoods. For what must have been a half-hour Neal and Peter just sat there absorbing the heat. They had some bottles of water. The darkness quickly settled in. They relied on the heater for light as well, conserving the batteries for later. Neal was too tired to talk. Peter passed him a granola bar. He wasn't hungry but obediently ate a few bites.

Next thing he knew Peter was talking to him. He rubbed his eyes ... must have fallen asleep.

"That's quite a collection of bruises you have," Peter said. "I should check 'em out."

"You have a matching set." Neal stood up, his muscles protesting. Aspirin was a definite yes. He examined the back of Peter's head with the help of the lantern. There was no blood, and the skin wasn't broken, but he had a golf ball-sized lump to show for their ride down the mountain. He claimed he wasn't dizzy or nauseous. Right. Claimed he was too hardheaded to be bothered by it. Liar. But Neal wouldn't call him out for it.

More troubling was Peter's left wrist. It was red and swollen. "Looks like you got a sprain. You should have said something."

"What could you have done about it?" Peter wiggled his fingers. "See? Not broken."

Neal wrapped it with a compression bandage, grumbling, "I could have made us stop every few minutes and had you plunge it in snow. I could have grabbed a handful of snow and held it on your head."

"Turn me into a snowman? We would never have gotten here before dark." Peter's other injuries were bruises. Lots of aches and pains but nothing broken. Cold packs were included in the first aid kit. They were already cold and didn't need much additional time in the icebox outside.

"Your turn," Peter said.

"No need. I'm fine. Just some bruises." Neal kept a firm grip on his blanket. "Besides, you should be resting your wrist."

"I'll survive. You can leave your blanket on."

Neal resigned himself to the inspection. "Make sure those fingers are warm first."

Peter gently probed his chest where the worst bruising had occurred.

"That's where Rocko was crushed against me," Neal explained. "I've gone through this before. I don't think any ribs are broken. Just bruised, maybe cracked."

"Wrapping them is a good idea." Peter took out a compression bandage. Neal held one end to his chest and braced himself while Peter secured it. He then brought in the cold packs for Peter and had him place one on the back of his head and the other on his wrist.

Peter looked over at Neal. "Since you're a veteran of rib injuries, you know you should use cold packs on your ribs too."

"I know but please don't make me. I absolve you of all responsibility."

He made himself look pitiful enough that Peter relented with a final warning not to blame him for the rainbow colors he'd have on his chest later on.

Neal brought over a couple of bottles of water and two granola bars and sat down beside Peter in front of the heater. "Dinner is served."

Peter chuckled as Neal twisted off the cap and ripped the granola bar packaging open for him. "The service in this restaurant can't be beat."

A few minutes later, encased in a metallic cocoon with a gourmet meal to enjoy, Neal was beginning to feel more like himself. He glanced around the shed. "Why don't they have a burner phone?"

"I'm putting it in the suggestion box," Peter said, "but service may not be back up anyway." He'd already tried the two-way radio he'd taken from Lamar but all he got was static.

"I don't see any reason for us to go to the emergency room."

Peter considered a moment. "You're scared of El, aren't you?"

"Terrified. All she asked was for us to stay out of the emergency room during her getaway."

Peter took a bite of his granola bar. "She didn't say anything about falling down a mountain."

"Good point." They both stopped talking for a long moment then Neal said softly, "I wish we could let her know we're okay."

"Yeah."

Notes: I read a true account where a person survived with bumps and bruises after her car flipped over in a blizzard and skidded down the side of a mountain. According to one of the state troopers who investigated the accident, the snow helped cushion the impact and enabled her car to slide rather than roll down the slope which would have greatly increased the risk of serious injury. But I'm no expert on exactly what damage would occur to a van and the people inside in a similar situation and plead dramatic license for what happened in this chapter.