The cold bit into Karen like knives, stinging the exposed skin on her cheeks and fingertips. She rubbed her hands together uselessly, any body heat immediately sucked into the swirling darkness around the wagons. Her teeth chattered, knocking together painfully, and it was all she could do to keep from biting her cheeks and tongue.
The wind ripped across their little group with brutal indifference; a wild, unending roar engulfing them. She rode in the last wagon in a single file line as they trudged up the mountainside, through snow that would reach her thighs if she stepped out into it. The thin sheet of canvas that covered the wooden vehicle seemed inconsequential, though it was flapping so hard in the relentless wind that she did worry it would fly away, leaving nothing between her and the icy void.
She shared this car with Mary-Beth and Miss Grimshaw, but none of them had spoken in hours. Even Grimshaw had nothing unpleasant to say, which ought to show what kind of dire straits they were in. Til now Susan was always wired, ready to screech orders at the drop of a hat, shouting about chores she never bothered to pick up herself. Now she just sat in silence, staring at her hands. Mary-Beth was always quiet, though, and a bit harder to read. Karen found herself watching her out of the corner of her eye, trying to judge her mental state. She supposed anyone could be pretty shaken up, after what they'd been through the last few days.
The wagon groaned and creaked around them as they continued up a steep incline. They were packed in tight with boxes and crates, a trunk wedged at the base of her spine was digging into her back. She'd given up trying to light a cigarette, the wind would just snuff the match as soon as it was lit. Her hands were starting to shake with the need for one, the cold, and the bitter sadness she was biting down so hard on. She took a deep breath and hissed it out between her teeth. There would be time to mourn the dead once she was sure she wasn't about to join them.
Turning her head away from Grimshaw, Karen surreptitiously unscrewed the lid of the flask at her hip, took a swig, and tucked it securely back away before she could be accused of dulling her senses. Sometimes, you just need to be a little dull. The knife-sharpness of the wind against her skin lessened just slightly, and she leaned back, ignoring the aches where wooden boxes pressed into her.
She peered out through the opening in the back of the wagon, past where Mary-Beth was huddled over her knees, but could make nothing out but the deep black of night, the swirl of snowflakes through the glow from their oil lamps, and a vague silhouette of one of the boys on horseback, trailing behind them. A pang of worry for the horses struck her, but she shoved it back down, reminding herself that they might all be about to die. Then, a voice lifted over the tumult, so faint through the noise that she had to strain to make it out. It was Reverend Swanson, the telltale slur of his speech laced with a note of anguish.
"Abigail says he's dying, Dutch. We'll have to stop someplace."
The words hit her harder than a punch, roiling in her stomach. Davey. She wrinkled her nose, swallowing the pain like cough syrup. That's the thing when all your friends are outlaws, sometimes they die. She knew that better than most. Dutch's voice rang back, clear as ever, though he sounded exhausted.
"Okay. Arthur's out looking, I sent him up ahead."
Good, thought Karen. That was a good decision. Most of the boys were competent, in their own ways, but Arthur could always be trusted in a tight spot. He'd pull through for them. She bent over her hands, sandwiching them between her knees and chest, and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no sleeping through this cold, but the weariness was settling into her bones. Her eyes sprang back open at the return of Dutch's voice, a kernel of hope slipping through despite everything.
"There. Arthur! Any luck?" Then, in reply, the sound she had been waiting for.
"I found a place where we can get some shelter. Let Davey rest while he... you know." The deep gravel of Arthur's voice reached her ears a moment before she understood what he was saying. "An old mining town, abandoned, it ain't far. Come on."
"Come on!" Echoed Dutch's sharp voice, as he directed the group to follow along behind Arthur.
Were they finally going to get out of this god-forsaken storm? Hope was suddenly fluttering wild inside her chest, and she struggled to hold it in check. Starving to death in the husk of an abandoned building would be even worse than freezing out here. Looking around the wagon, though, she could tell that the conversation had pulled Mary-Beth and Grimshaw from their own thoughts. They were all glancing around shiftily, like the promise of shelter could be broken if they looked at it for too long.
They rode on for what felt like ages, the thought of a warm place to rest making the cold feel even colder. Miss Grimshaw kept checking her pocket watch, and once Karen asked how long they'd been heading for the town, but she said it had only been fifteen minutes. Karen stifled a groan, knowing the look on Grimshaw's face meant not to test her. Then, without warning, they were slowing. Pulling into an empty, snowed-out street along with the rest of the caravan, and through the haze of the lanterns, they could all see the shape of a cabin.
It wasn't much to look at, just a squat, dark building against the piles of shimmering snow; but to them, it was everything. Choking down a flood of emotions she didn't have time for, she tugged on her scarf, pulling it over her nose, and climbed out the back of the wagon after Mary-Beth. The fingerless gloves she wore allowed her to use her hands, but by now they were close to useless with cold. Freshly trodden snow crunched under her boots, and an ache pulsed through her nearly numb toes.
In an instant, Grimshaw was back to her disagreeable self, pacing the line of carts and yelling instructions at anyone not already busy.
"Mr. Williamson, Mr. Morgan, You two can carry Davey inside. For Christ's sake, do be careful!" Her shrill voice piped above the wind and the horses, accusatory, as Bill fumbled with his side of Davey's cot on the way out of the wagon.
One of Davey's arms flopped limply off the side of the cot as they hefted him up, and he didn't lift it. He didn't look right, like this. His straw-yellow hair fell limp around his face, scruffy beard surrounding a slackened mouth instead of a mischievous grin. His eyes were closed, and Karen cringed away. She didn't need anyone to tell her that he wouldn't be opening them again.
She fell into step behind the others, trailing towards shelter. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she peered around the unlit landscape, spying more buildings dotted across the unbroken surface of the snow, which glittered like diamonds under the bouncing lights they carried. A whole town was up here, now empty. She found herself wondering what sort of people had lived this far up in the mountains, and what had driven them away. She kept to the tracks the boys had cleared to the cabin, as the fresh snow reached half way up her legs.
Hosea's silver hair caught the lamp light as he held the cabin door open for Abigail, who hurried in ahead of the boys with little Jack clutched to her side. Everyone else crowded in behind Arthur and Bill, herded along by Dutch. Karen drifted a short distance behind them, growing numb inside the closer she stood to Davey's body. There was a ringing in her thoughts growing louder by the minute, drowning out everything except what she wanted to forget.
They piled one by one into the log structure, which seemed much smaller with the whole lot of them clustered inside. Arthur and Bill had settled Davey's body on a table, where Abigail was looking over him, face somber. It was already warmer, sheltered from the wind, but Karen suddenly felt like she was choking.
She cursed under her breath, grabbing for her flask and hastily taking another sip, enjoying the sting of the whiskey. Everyone was so goddamn close to her, and her scarf was cutting off her air. She clawed at it, ripping it back from her face and sucking in a deep breath. Tilly glanced over in her direction, but didn't say anything; just furrowed her brow in worry and looked back to Dutch. Karen kept her eyes ahead and propped herself against a wall, shaking like a leaf in the wind.
Grimshaw was barking orders before they were all inside the building, as she hurried over to Abby and the others.
"Miss Gaskill, get that fire lit quick. Miss Jones, bring in whatever blankets we have. Mr. Pearson, see what we got in terms of food." Her crisp, worried voice was now the only sound between them, the wind howling outside already seemed so distant. It took Karen a moment to realize she'd been ordered to do something, and another to recall what it was- fetching blankets. She shook her head to clear it, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Davey's dead." Abigail's words fell limply into the room, addressed to no one in particular. As if anyone couldn't tell by looking at him. Tilly held onto Jack, who stared around at the group of them, his fear evident in his small features.
"There was nothing more you could have done." Bill murmured back to her, laying coins over Davey's shut eyes.
Karen scoffed, shoving herself away from the wall. The tension in the air was impossibly thick, everyone hanging on whatever would happen next. Suddenly, the order to retrieve the blankets seemed like a blessing. She pushed through the crowd, stumbling to the door.
"What are we gonna do?" Hosea chimed in, voicing their unspoken concerns to Dutch. "We need supplies."
"Well, first of all you are gonna stay here," Dutch replied, his voice taking on the magnetic tone that made everyone lean in and listen. Their enigmatic leader was all that held them together, no one bothered pretending otherwise. They'd be lost without Dutch. "You are gonna get yourself warm. Now, I sent John and Micah scouting up ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna ride out, see if we can find one of 'em."
"In this?" Arthur asked, his tone incredulous. She agreed, really. Wasn't it a bad idea to go out riding in a blizzard? She pressed that thought down, with her worry for Sean and Mac.
"Just for a short bit. I don't see what other choice we have." Dutch narrowed his eyes, and Arthur didn't push it further. "Listen. Listen to me, all of you, for a minute."
Karen knew what came next. It was time for a rousing speech, for Dutch to remind all of them that they needed to remain strong, to stay together. She trusted Dutch, but honestly, she didn't want to hear it. Not when Jenny and Davey couldn't. Not when Sean and Mac were still missing. No one paid her any mind as she opened the door and tracked her way back out into the cold.
It was like another world out here. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust, but the moon was wide and bright. Swirling white encircled her, dusting her eyelashes and lips with tiny crystals. Before, the cold had been eating away at her, hollowing her out. Now, it was like a switch had flipped. Standing with everyone gathered around Davey's corpse had made her feel sick inside, like death, and the deep ache of the cold was a constant reminder that she was here. No matter for how much longer.
It was like a dam breaking, and everything she'd buried rose to the surface. The ringing in her thoughts crystalized into a blast, as she remembered Jenny taking that shot. It had all happened so fast. The Pinkertons were on them, and they were running, Jenny in tow. Karen was pulling her onto the back of Old Belle when it happened.
The bullet ripped poor Jenny straight open from her stomach, red pooling fast through her pretty blue dress. She had looked down at herself, dazed, then up at Karen. Her eyes were locked on Karen's when they'd clouded over.
Now, Karen tripped over her own feet, running the short distance through the night toward the wagons. Her toes caught on the ground in front of one of the carts and she fell against it, feeling the cold wood on her fingers where her gloves didn't cover. Tears steamed and started to freeze on her skin as they rushed down her cheeks. Faces flashed in her memory, and bile rose up the back of her throat.
She'd probably have thrown up, if there was anything in her stomach. The last she'd eaten was a few bits of salted beef at noon yesterday. Nausea gripped at her insides and she doubled over, crying harder, dry heaving over the trampled snow at her feet.
"Get... your shit together," She hissed to herself between choked off sobs, trying to snap out of this sudden spiral. Her absence would be noted, quickly. "Lousy bitch... told you to get blankets. So get... the damn blankets."
Bracing against the side of the wagon, she slowly pulled herself back to standing. Disgusted by her own emotional display, even if no one was around to see it, she shoved away from the cart roughly and set to brushing the snow off her skirts. The spiteful wind chose this moment to slip around her neck, stealing away her still-loose scarf. It kicked up into the air with a gust of snowflakes, rippling under the light of the shining moon, already so far from her grip. Then, it was gone.
In an instant her hair was whipped around her face, tangled, golden curls wild in the untamed wind. She took a couple of stumbling steps after it, then just stopped. The vastness of the mountaintop echoed around her, little ice crystals quickly gathering in her hair and under her neckline. She stood there a few minutes, unable to move, staring at the spot in the distance where the scrap of fabric had disappeared.
Then came a sound behind her, the awkward clearing of a throat from the direction of the cabin. She was so startled that she nearly jumped out of her skin, suddenly remembering where she was. She pivoted on the spot, knocking more snowflakes from her hair to her shoulders.
Arthur stood a few feet away from her, his broad form bathed in silver moonlight. He, too, was brushed with a layer of snowflakes, glittering off the brim of his hat. His hair and beard had grown shaggy, the size of him highlighted by the tattered blue jacket he was wrapped in. He definitely looked the part of a man on the run.
"Miss Karen," Hearing her name in the rumble of his deep voice plucked at something inside her.
"Mr. Morgan," She responded, stiffly. She was suddenly keenly aware of the tear tracks still visible on her cheeks, and that she was being racked by shivers so strong it was hard to stand. She relied on her poker face, though, fairly confident that Arthur wouldn't press her on it. "Did Grimshaw send you to check on me? You can tell that old nag she'll have her blankets in a minute."
He looked confused for a moment, his eyes lingering on hers, like he was trying to find some hidden meaning there. The crisp blue of them stuck into her, weighed down with something deeply sad. She wrapped her arms around herself, a buffer from the wind. Holding his gaze made her feel small.
"Nah, nothing like that," He cleared his throat again, glancing out to the churning night sky, then back to her eyes. There was an intensity in him that someone might miss, if they weren't looking for it. "I saw you leave, you didn't come back. It, er, ain't safe out here for long."
He seemed almost sheepish, explaining himself. She couldn't quite decode it, and her hackles were already up. Arthur was always so self-assured, but there was a shift in him. A sudden shiver passed through her, weakening her legs, and she hissed as she dropped to one knee. She pressed a hand into the snow to steady herself, her uncovered fingertips stinging brightly.
He was next to her in a single stride, one large hand pressed to her back. She swore she could feel the heat of it against her, even through her many layers and his thick riding gloves. As a rule, Karen didn't let people help her. This damn cold, though, was cutting right through her now, so she let him shift his other hand under her arm. She lifted herself up with his help, dropping her arm and backing away as soon as she could hold her own weight again.
"Thank you." She said, hastily forcing the words out.
"No problem," Arthur simply nodded. His gaze flicked down to her bare neck, then back up, but he didn't mention her missing scarf. He jerked his head toward the wagon. "Miss Grimshaw sent you for blankets, then?"
She nodded back, tightly, shaking too hard to trust her voice. She started to move toward the cart, but he was already there, hooking one foot over the step in the back and heaving himself inside. He rummaged around for a moment, then reemerged with a pile of worn blankets cradled in his grip. He dropped down from the wagon, boots landing heavily and sending a cloud of dusty snow up around them.
He settled them into her arms without a word, then took a thin quilt from the top of the pile. Shaking it out once, he draped it gently around her neck.
"Dutch is waiting on me," He said, his gaze drifting in the direction of the hitching posts. "You gonna be alright getting back to the cabin?"
"Of course, Arthur," She said, the tremble in her voice undermining her irritation. "I know it's hard to believe, but a fragile little lady like me can walk a couple hundred feet by herself."
"I do not doubt that, Miss Jones." He tipped his hat, unaffected by her sarcasm, then turned and disappeared back into the howling dark. Karen watched as his silhouette faded away, obscured by the storm. She stood there several more minutes, blankets gathering snow, waiting for the cold to chase away the heat in her belly.