Leaning a little closer to the man as he continued shifting, Ell put an arm across my chest and tried to hold me back.
I said, “It’s okay. I just wanna see if he’s got a mark.”
Hesitantly, her arm fell and I stumbled through the snow, the light trained on his face. There was no mark there, but I knew we weren’t in the clear yet. Just because I had seen the line on the foreheads and faces of the others, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be hidden elsewhere. Still, my gut feeling told me this guy wasn’t dangerous. Just lonely and suffering from cabin fever. After my stay on Prism Lake, both in our house and in Helga’s, I was familiar with that concept.
“We can’t leave him out here,” Ell said. “I mean, if he’s not infected or whatever. That would be wrong, right?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“So what do we do?”
I handed her the flashlight. “Keep it on me. I’m gonna look for the gun and the knife.”
Ell nodded. First I walked around the guy, who started mixing in groans with his twitching, and grabbed the crutch. It wasn’t an assault rifle, but it was pretty solid despite its low weight. There was a large dent in the metal near the arm cushion. Usable, but Stone would probably have a fit about the damage. More importantly, the crutch was better than no weapon at all.
It took me a minute or two to locate the rifle because it had sunk through the few feet of fresh powder. I dusted the snow from the muzzle and the stock, and then put the strap over my shoulder as I started searching for the blade. I found that faster, thanks to having seen it fly from the man’s hand when Ell intervened. It had been buried a few feet from where he lay, near some of the splatters of blood.
As I pocketed the knife, the man found himself able to talk. “What—what the hell happened?”
Grabbing the rifle and aiming it at him, I said, “You attacked us, and my girlfriend here knocked you on your ass.”
“Huh?” The man struggled to sit up and clutched the wound above his eye. This movement caused both Ell and I to take a cautious step away. The cold had pretty much stopped the bleeding, but I doubted it stopped the pain. The man blinked a few times, shook his head, and then stared wide-eyed at Ell, who I had given the crutch. “You gotta helluva swing, ma’am.”
Now would’ve been a good time for her to reply with some sort of badass quip, which I’ll admit is what I expected—but she didn’t. She said something very…Ell-like instead, and I loved her all the more for that.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. I just wanted to knock the knife out of your hand, not knock you unconscious.”
The man shrugged. “It’s all good, sweetheart. No harm done. Hell, I needed a nap anyway. I’ve been up for—shit, I don’t know how many days.”
I eyed the man warily. He seemed normal enough to me, but after what we’d gone through in Woodhaven, I operated with even more caution than before. The man saw me looking at him, and he arched an eyebrow. I found it funny how it was my expression that caught his attention and not the fact that I was currently aiming his own rifle at him.
“What is it, chief? I got some food on my face? Spinach in my teeth?”
“You were rambling on about ‘Thumbprint People’ or something like that,” I said. “But you don’t look like you’re infected. I don’t see any marks.”
A ripple of uncertainty passed through the man’s features. “I—uh, I thought you were, you know, them…fuckin’ with me.”
“What are the ‘Thumbprint People’?” Ell asked, huddling closer. Although the resulting surge of adrenaline kept my blood warm and we’d only been outside the snowmobiles for five minutes—if that—the subzero temperatures were starting to get to Ell and I both. We needed to find shelter before frostbite settled in.
“That’s a long story,” the guy answered. “Way too long to tell ya out here in what I like to call ‘Santa’s Asshole,’ but in short, the Thumbprint People are how the shadows get in my head. Personal and all that. I’m sure y’all know, seeing as how ya survived this long.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry about shootin’ at y’all,” the guy continued. “It’s true that I ain’t been in my right mind, yeah, but I ain’t tagged. I promise you.”
“Promises don’t mean anything these days,” I said.
“Did they ever?” the man replied and smiled again. How he could smile after probably having a concussion, I’ll never know. Maybe it was the concussion that made him do that.
“Good point,” I said.
“Guess I just needed a good smack on the head.” The guy winked at Eleanor. I didn’t like that, but the whining of an approaching engine diverted my attention elsewhere. Our other snowmobile.
Stone eased his way toward us, the light nearly blinding to our dark-adjusted eyes. When he saw it was me holding the gun and not the stranger, he picked up the pace. Then he parked about a dozen feet away, cracked his door, and shouted, “You guys okay?”
I gave him a thumbs-up.
“Good. Now let’s get the fuck outta here!”
The man pulled himself to his feet, clutching his head with one hand the whole time, as if letting go would cause it to fall off. My aim on him had gotten lazy, but at that movement, I stiffened. He didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he nodded toward Stone’s snowmobile.
“Y’all are gonna travel in that? A two-seater?” He snorted. “Good luck. You won’t get more than a mile before that old gal shits the bed.” The man turned, pointed at the other sled. “What about that one?”
“Broke down,” I answered. Then, through gritted teeth: “Nearly crashed it when you shot at us.”
“Well, let me make it up
