Ice Rogue

Ice Rogue

  A Novel

  by

  Haylee Steele

  Copyright 2013 by Haylee Steele

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Moonfish

  A white sun hit the crack in the windshield, sending rays of blinding light in all the cardinal directions. The passengers in the back of the Plymouth Horizon winced and cried out as though they'd each just had a knife plunged into their skulls.

  But not Snowden, who rode shotgun. She studied the crack like a botanist studying a vein in a leaf, a meteorologist scrutinizing the pattern of a snowflake. She marveled at the crack that divided the windshield, and beyond it, how it cut into an otherwise perfect landscape of mountains and snow-dusted evergreens as though it were a fissure in the very earth itself.

  “Jesus, Zach!” Minhas scolds from the backseat. “I thought you were gonna get that fixed.” Even though it was winter, still, in the northern region of Montana, he wore a cut-off athletic tee. His biceps glowed with fake tan.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel and the other casually resting in his lap, Zach shrugged. He wore mirrored aviators, his dark curls spilling over the frames. “Sorry, man, but just paying the deductible would cost more than this rust bucket’s worth.”

  “And you spent all of your money on a drum set,” Keeley chimed.

  “It was used,” Zach defended.

  “Seriously, it’s been cracked since junior year. Of high school,” Minhas added.

  “Yeah, because you body slammed Jacob Taylor on it!”

  “Still, Mom’s gonna kill you when she finds out why you don’t have money for books next semester.”

  “Keeley, shut the hell up.”

  With a smug and satisfied smile, Keely relaxed in her seat and rested her head on Minhas’s meaty shoulder. Minhas resolved to twisting his cap the right way and pulling the brim down over his eyes.

  “Oh come on, guys,” Zach called to the backseat. “We’re almost there. Only twelve more miles ‘til we should be cresting the slopes to the luxurious Moonfish Ski Resort.”

  Keeley pretended to snore loudly and Minhas followed suit.

  Defeated, Zach sighed and rested his hand sensually on Snowden’s knee. Her hair fell in white-gold ringlets, obscuring her faraway gaze. “You excited for this?” he asked.

  With a forced smile, Snowden nodded.

  “I think it’ll be good for you—for all of us—to get out for a few days. You agree, don’t you?”

  Again, Snowden nodded. He was right, after all. For the past three months, she had left Zach’s and Keeley’s house only to go to the funeral. When college restarted in January, she didn’t go back. She just stayed with Keeley in her room and waited for Zach to come back on the weekends. He always did. “Thank you,” she said, and she really meant it. “Thank you for taking me out here. I’m sure you’d rather spend your spring break in Florida with a bunch of hot college chicks.”

  “You’re still a hot college chick, Snow.” Zach leaned over the shifter and planted a kiss on her cheek. Then, suddenly, he reefed on the wheel. “Whoa, shit!” The brakes screeched as the Plymouth Horizon whipped a donut on the two-lane highway. Snowden felt an intense, familiar fear as the vehicle balanced on two wheels, careening toward a fifty-foot drop. She shut her eyes and waited for the shards of glass to embed themselves in her forehead, waited for the impact against the asphalt to take its turbulent toll on her body. She screamed in an effort to drown out the sounds of bones snapping and teeth being ground to dust. And then, as abruptly as the vehicle had been thrown into motion, it stopped.

  Minhas’s skull hit the back of Zach’s seat like a battering ram. When he regained an upright position, his face was blotchy and his eyes bulged nearly as much as his biceps. “Jesus, Zach!” he yelled again.

  But Zach did not heed him. He gaped at the mountain pass where something had gone barreling across the road. Snowden tore her eyes away from the window for one blessed second to look at Zach. Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and his aviators were askew. “Did any of you guys see that?” Zach asked breathlessly, his voice quavering. “I mean—fuck. Snowden, did you see it?”

  Snowden didn’t answer. She’d gone back to staring doe-eyed out the windshield. She had seen something, but it had all happened so fast. All she could make out was a white blur. She checked the mirror. The snow was torn up behind them, erasing any tracks that might have been left behind.

  “Keeley?”

  “I didn’t see shit, Zach! You just hit a patch of ice!”

  “No, it was huge; it was like—”

  “Ooh, the abdominal snowman?”

  “Abominable,” Snowden muttered.

  “Dude, you’ve been eating too many hash brownies,” Minhas said. “As much as I know I’m gonna be freezin’ my balls off up here, it still ain’t cold enough for Frosty to be struttin’ his stuff down the highway.”

  Keeley giggled and Snowden even felt a smile playing upon her face. She looked at Zach with reassurance and somewhat more composed, he put the car back into gear. In a matter of moments, they crested the top of the hill and began the descent to their destination.

  As they crawled down the slope, Snowden followed the cables to the chair lifts. She counted only about a dozen operating chairs. The rest appeared to have been weathered to the point beyond use and some had been completely taken by storms. The seats swung languidly, creaking as they did so, as though ghosts occupied them.

  “Here it is,” Zach announced as he coasted to a stop in the vacant parking lot.

  “You’re sure?” Keeley asked. She curled her upper lip. “Looks pretty fuckin’ dead.”

  Zach shrugged. “Must be their off-season.” He pointed to a sign and read “Welcome to Moonfish Ski Resort.”

  Snowden climbed out of the vehicle and felt thankful for the first time in a very long time that her boots touched the ground. Her heart rate slowed to normal. She took a deep breath and surveyed the resort. They stood in a basin at the base of the mountains. The welcome lodge loomed at the edge of the parking lot. Several windows had been boarded up and the logs were in desperate need of a coat of varnish. Leaning against a metal garbage bin was a Christmas wreath, the needles turned copper and the red ribbon faded to pink. She wondered if it had actually been discarded, or if it had simply fallen from its hook on the side of the building. Multiple strings of Christmas lights with broken bulbs were clipped to the gutters. The neighboring cabins were in a similar state of disrepair. New roofs were needed all around. The only new thing about the place was a fresh layer of snow.

  Keeley stood with her arms crossed, leaving Minhas to grapple with her overstuffed duffel bag. She looked like a sportswear model with her skinny jeans, UGG boots, and puffy jacket. Her bangs swept stylishly across her penciled brows, adding to her allure. “This place is seriously sketch.”

  Snowden shouldered her backpack and followed Zach down the half-shoveled walkway. The welcome mat at the front door was scarred and faded and seemed to have worn out its welcome several seasons ago. Zach knocked on the door and stepped back, waiting for an answer. Dogs barked from behind the lodge, but no one came to the door, not even when Minhas pounded with a bear-sized fist.

  “Let’s just go,” Keeley suggested. “Find a hotel, we can hit up Glacier National Park tomorrow. I don’t know why you didn’t just listen to me, Zach, and drive to the Grand Tetons.”

  “I’d like to se your Tetons,” Minhas said out the side of his mouth.

  Keeley shoved him while biting back a smile.

/>   “Maybe they’re out fixing something our cutting firewood,” Zach suggested. “Just, here.” He turned the knob and the door creaked open to reveal the dim interior of the lodge. “Hello?” Zach called to the shadows. “We have a reservation.” He walked inside and the rest of the group followed.

  The interior of the lodge was as outdated and desolate as the outside. A pair of plaid couches sat near the fireplace, their recliners broken and cushions sagging down to the wine-colored shag carpet. A slew of animal heads decorated the walls, antlers and glass eyeballs coated with dust. A black bear rug draped down from the loft and an antler chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, a few bulbs flickering.

  “Lavish,” Minhas muttered. “Who wants to check out the hot tub later?” He pointed to the deck where there was a hot tub covered by a black tarp. A Christmas tree skeleton lay over the top of it, its glass ornaments glinting in the sunlight.

  Zach shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This place looks nothing like it did on the Internet.”

  “Dude, I think there’s a pretty long list of things that don’t look like they do on the Internet,” Minhas said.

  “When was the site updated, Zach? In the sixties?” Keeley shot him an annoyed look.

  Zach showed her his middle finger.

  Minhas dropped his and Keeley’s bags to the floor and walked over to lounge on one of the dilapidated couches. He kicked off his boots. “It’s definitely sketch, but I don’t see why we can’t chill here for the weekend as planned. We’ve got a hot tub, a roof over our heads, probably a decent store of alcohol under that bar, and those slopes look beast. I’m sold. Girls?” He looked at the three of them individually.

  “No way,” Keeley said. Her hands were tucked tightly in her armpits. “I feel like I’m gonna get murdered here.”

  “It’s a fuckin’ ski resort, Keeley,” Zach said. “Not Camp Crystal Lake.”

  “What does that have to do with anything—?” Keeley stopped talking. A shadow appeared from behind the bar, larger than life almost. Snowden stared, trying to make out what it was, but saw only a silhouette. The figure approached, and Zach wrapped his arm around her waist.

  In a dozen echoing footsteps, a man stood before them. He was broad-shouldered and easily surpassed six feet. His appearance was grizzled with gnarled, shoulder-length hair and a strong, unshaven jaw. In a calloused, grease-stained hand he gripped a steaming coffee mug. It held a sweet stench like bourbon. “Mr. Miller?” he said. His voice was as gruff as the rest of him.

  “I’m him.” Zach chanced half a step forward.

  The stranger took a pull from his coffee cup. “Dixon. I take it you didn’t get my message.”

  “I—”

  Dixon sneered. “My mistake. Maybe instead of leaving a voicemail I should have sent you a text or a hologram or whatever the hell you kids call ‘communication’ these days. Then maybe you’d have taken me seriously.”

  The couch creaked as Minhas sat up.

  Snowden stood behind Zach, biting her lip.

  “Zach, what’s he talking about? What message?” Keeley asked.

  Dixon answered for him. “There’s a storm moving in. About a week after your friend made his reservation, I called him advising him to reschedule. Apparently,” and he raised his index finger into the air to emphasize his point, “he neglected to share that information with all of you.”

  Keeley glared at her brother.

  Minhas came around to rejoin the group. “Great, what the hell do we do now?”

  “Go home,” Dixon said. “Get as far away from the mountains as possible.” He tipped back the rest of his coffee, then turned on his heel, dismissing them.

  “Mr. Dixon, wait.” Snowden stepped forward.

  Dixon paused. He looked down at the crook of his elbow where Snowden’s hand was placed.

  “Can’t we just stay tonight? Please? It’s getting dark and we—” She started to tell him about the thing in the road, but thought better of it. “It’s been a very long drive.”

  Dixon regarded her carefully, his eyes burning with an intensity few men could muster. There was an acute fascination with the way he studied her, almost as though he were measuring her, deciding on something, perhaps.

  Snowden remained still. She did not remove her hand.

  Finally, something about Dixon’s exterior softened. He let out a huff air. “You can stay tonight,” he agreed. “First light, though, you all hit the road.”

  Chapter 2

  Misery Loves Company

  Dixon put them up in the loft. There was no heat in the other cabins right now, he explained. Snowden and Zach placed their bags on the queen-sized bed and Minhas and Keeley had already claimed the pullout couch.

  "Hey Zach," Minhas called as he tossed his duffel onto the couch. A thermal long sleeve and two mini-shots of vodka spilled out. "I think Dixon's got a thing for Snowden. You see the way he was starin' at her, all creepy-like?"

  Zach nodded. "I don’t favor the way he looks in general, like he'd kill anything that crosses him."

  On the other side of the room, Keeley picked up a stuffed squirrel. She turned it over in her hands, then set it back down on the shelf.

  "He's fine, you guys," Snowden cut in. "I'm sure he's just lonely is all. He wasn't expecting us."

  "Well, him lettin' us stay here overnight doesn't stop that storm from comin'." A smile spread across Minhas's broad face. "Bet he's hopin' he gets snowed-in with Snowden."

  Snowden shook her head. "You always think the worst of people, Brian."

  "Thinking is a sign of not knowing. I know it. You better keep an eye on her, Zach."

  Snowden looked to Zach, but he only stared back at her stone-faced.

  Keeley came by and put her arm around Snowden's shoulders. "Well, I for one am looking forward to a much-deserved girls' night with my best friend. Even if we are in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere freezin’ our tits off." She grinned as, from behind her back, she produced a bottle of cranberry wine.

  Minhas dismissed the girls with a wave of his hand. “You two get all giddy with your tits and twats. Zach and I are gonna see about settin’ up that hot tub.”

  *

  The next morning, Snowden was the first to wake. She peeled back the mismatched curtains to look outside. Gunmetal clouds hung low over the mountains, but aside from that, the skies seemed calm. A breath of wind caused the chairs on the lift to creak, but otherwise all was quiet.

  The night had not been so quiet, however. Come nightfall, the coyotes had taken to howling at a crescent moon that offered little illumination of the resort, and the dogs in the kennel had seen fit to requite them. There were other creatures too—raccoons that screeched as they tousled and owls swooping in on their prey. She even thought she heard a bear—a low, distant growl that would have been strong enough to shake snow off the mountains. But she had convinced herself that it was only the wind, and gone to sleep.

  Keeley still lay in bed, her face half-hidden beneath the flannel coverlet. The girls had fallen asleep together in the bed, leaving the guys to share the pull-out couch once they’d abandoned their futile attempt to revive the hot tub. Minhas’s bulk claimed most of the mattres; he slept with his arms and legs spread as though he were performing a jumping jack. Zach lay on his side, his hand draped over the edge, fingers lightly brushing the shag carpet. All three of them looked out for the count.

  Kicking her stocking-feet through her skinny jeans, Snowden crept down the stairs. The aroma of coffee grounds rose to greet her, luring her toward the bar where Dixon stood. He hunched over a bolt-action rifle that lay on the counter, cleaning it methodically with a grease-stained rag. The smell of the oil was sharp—not unlike shoe polish—and mingled with the spiced notes of coffee and bourbon.

  “Good morning,” she offered, combing a hand through her mess of blond curls.

  Dixon grunted and barely spared her a glance before turning to his coffeemaker. L
ike a bartender pouring a glass of beer, he dutifully filled a mug to the brim with coffee and slid it across the bar to her. Snowden smiled and suppressed a sigh. He’d left no room for cream or sugar. Politely, she took a sip. It was so thick she could chew it, and she wondered if there weren’t more than just coffee grounds brewing in Dixon’s pot.

  He held out a metal flask that she respectfully declined. “Whatcha got there?” she asked.

  “Ruger M77,” he growled.

  “For hunting bears?”

  He grinned darkly, showing a row of surprisingly white teeth. “Sure.”

  Snowden felt a shiver course through her veins. The fine, almost invisible hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but not necessarily out of fear. She could not place what exactly she felt; she had been numb for so long. She changed the subject. “Thank you for your hospitality. You have no idea how much it means—”

  “I gave you shelter, which, trust me, up here can mean the difference between life and death. As far as hospitality goes, it’s always been a piss-poor subject of mine.”

  Snowden fell quiet and simply watched as he finished cleaning the steel rod. Though the gun may have been in immaculate working condition, it showed signs of serious wear. The finish on the trigger guard and forestock were worn completely smooth and there were nicks in the barrel. “Speaking of life and death…” Dixon grabbed the rifle one-handed and pumped one into the chamber. “This is usually a deciding factor as well.”

  “What the fuck?!” Zach came flying down the stairs, bug-eyed, wearing only a grey t-shirt and checkered boxer shorts.

  Snowden and Dixon both stared at him. Dixon took a leisurely sip of his coffee. “Blondie and I were just havin’ a conversation about hospitality. Weren’t we?”

  Snowden nodded. Suddenly, Keeley and Minhas appeared at the top of the stairs. Keeley clutched the bedspread up to her neck.

  Dixon’s mouth curved into an amused grin. “Wakey, wakey.”

  “Dude, you’re not gonna like, kill us, are you?” Minhas asked from twenty feet above.

  Dixon shouldered his gun. “Probably not in this life. Though I can’t say the same for whatever’s out there.” He motioned toward the window where the mountains loomed behind a grey fog.