Mara Wrench's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

Mara slammed the cabin door behind her and dropped the hiker beside the cot. The wood was old, the walls thick with the smell of pine and dust. A hunter had built this place to last. Through the frozen window she saw the lion settle on its haunches near the broken rail gate out front. Watching. Waiting. She dragged a split log from the woodpile by the cot and wedged it hard against the door. Then another. Her shoulder ached. Five hikers were still out there in the storm, and she was pinned inside by a cat that would not move. She knelt by the hiker and tore open her medical bag. Warm hands first. She rubbed feeling back into the blue fingers, then built a small fire in the stone hearth with kindling from the woodpile. Flames caught. Color crept into the hiker's face. The pulse under her glove grew steadier. Mara went back to the window. The lion had not moved. It looked at her, then turned its head uphill, the same slow turn it had made at the sign. Her chest tightened. It was not trapping her. It was waiting for her to follow again. She checked the hiker. Breathing even. Warm. Safe inside walls and fire. She could leave one alive here to find the others. She pulled the logs from the door, gripped her staff, and stepped out into the snow. The lion rose and started uphill. Mara followed, the cabin glowing behind her, five names still unfinished on her board.