Chapter Fourteen
February 2004
Caraș-Severin County, Romania
The snow fell steadily and thickly. The midday sun was hidden behind grey clouds. The cold wormed its way through the gaps in Jack's clothing: the wrists of his gloves, his calves, his exposed face. His injured leg throbbed, and the growing knot on his head protested under the tightly-fitting fleece cap.
From the train tracks, he and Irina walked west, through a swath of farmland between the rail and the highway. They emerged from a thicket of trees and halted at the shoulder, watching overloaded lorries drive by at reckless speed. They kicked up ice and dirt, spraying it around them, mercilessly pelting them. After a few minutes of gauging time and distance, they crossed first one, then the other lane and were safely in the trees on the other side.
The branches offered some respite from the incessant snow, and they rested against the trunks. Irina eyed him. Gauging his level of endurance, no doubt. Her lips parted to say something, and then compressed into a tight line. Whatever she'd meant to say to him, she had wisely thought better of it.
He imagined she drew out the brief pause to give him recovery time, and was simultaneously resentful and grateful.
They found a path between farm plots, and followed it another hundred yards to the river. The swale was wide, and forested. Jack's mobility was challenged as they climbed down, avoiding tree roots, rocks, and sliding snow and ice. He was already slowing her down, and was keenly aware of it.
They struck the riverbank, and the wide, shallow stream was frozen over. Jack leaned against a tree trunk and said, "Where's the next bridge?"
She checked the map. "South of the highway, two miles."
"We want to avoid the highway," Jack said. "And the villages. We could cross the ice," he suggested.
She shot him a look, but acquiesced. "It's the best option we have."
He was studying the map, his finger tracing a line down the river. "We can follow the river -- it provides good cover -- to the gap between the villages, then strike West into the hills. We'll cross when we find a favorable spot. What do you think?"
"It's the best plan," she said, then straightened. "Ready?"
"Let's go," he said. As they followed the river south, they tested the ice with fallen tree branches and tossed rocks. The ice seemed thick enough, though the water was still flowing underneath.
They trudged through the rising snow and uneven terrain, and as the adrenaline of the gunfight slowly wore off, Jack found himself stumbling. The toe of his boot caught a rock hidden beneath the snow, and he tumbled forward.
With Irina's help, he pulled himself out of the snow. She handed him the ridiculous knit cap she'd found for him earlier, and they trudged on.
They found a spot where the river narrowed, and the ice seemed thicker. "This is as good a spot as any," Jack observed. "You go first, and I'll follow."
She crossed easily and turned to watch him. He slowly and carefully stepped across, trying to distribute his weight evenly and not stress the ice. He had no wish to add hypothermia to his list of deficits. Soon, they were both across and moving south along the west bank of the river.
The afternoon was wearing on, and they were making slow progress. Any moment now, he expected sirens or military vehicles to move along the road, beginning the inevitable manhunt.
They found a gap between two villages, and hiked up out of the swale and into the river basin, covered in a patchwork of fallow, snow-covered fields. Jack was able to manage the flatlands well enough, but as the hills rose into mountains ahead of them, he knew he would be tested.
After a couple of miles, the farmlands gave way to the back country: rapidly rising terrain with snow-covered pines. Jack felt the elevation change immediately, and was challenged with each step. He fell behind Irina, ceding the navigating to her. And concentrated on simply putting one foot in front of the other, and not falling.
Irina stopped. "Jack? Do you need help?"
"I'm fine," he said automatically. "We need to keep going. I won't let you down."
She walked back to his side. "I know you won't," she said seriously. Irina didn't attempt to assist him, but he noticed that she slowed her pace to match his.
Jack was aware that he was stubborn, but he wasn't delusional. Grateful for the slackened pace, he walked beside her.
"Brebu Nou is on the other side of that ridge?" he asked.
Irina nodded. "There should be a hiking trail. I'm trying to find it." She took a drink from her water bottle, frowned as all she got was a tiny sip of water and a block of ice. "I'm thinking we should try to strike the road on the other side. Follow it into the village. It's more exposed, but less chance of getting lost."
But I still have to get over that ridge, Jack thought. And down. Down was almost worse.
He pulled off his hat and smoothed his hair back, wincing as he hit the painful spot.
"Wait -- did you hit your head while we were on the train? Stop, sit." She firmly led him to a nearby boulder and he felt her fingers combing through his hair as she probed the injury. "Have you felt dizzy? Nauseous?"
"I didn't hit my head," Jack said. He winced when she found the knot. "I got into a fight. I don't think it's serious," he added. "I just have a headache."
She frowned. "Even so..."
He looked up at her, turning the conversation around, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She bent down and began gathering the snow at the base of the tree, packing into a tight snowball. "Here," she held it to the lump on his head.
The cold was a shock, but his headache eased immediately. He sat, listening to the absolute stillness only a snow-covered forest could achieve. She held his head still with one hand, pressed the improvised ice pack with the other. He felt himself relax, whether due to exhaustion, relief, or ... something else, he could not say.
She drew the snowball away. Holding it in one hand, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a bandana. She wrapped it around the ice and handed it to him. "Let me know when it melts, so we can stop to get more snow."
Bereft of her touch, he simply nodded. He tucked the snowball into his cap, and at least it provided some relief as they continued their trek.
They climbed slowly up the ridge, and Jack's world narrowed to the point where he was only aware of the jolt of pain that shot up his leg with every step. Ahead of him, he could see Irina's silhouette against the white of the snow, leading the way. He was glad that she was, because he knew he was in no condition to navigate.
It went on for hours, one foot in front of the other. Long experience had taught him to push the pain aside, ignore it. But there came a time when he could no longer disassociate from it. Pride kept him going, though as time wore on, he knew he was slowing her down. And pride would eventually fail.
Up ahead, Irina disappeared from view. Jack blinked, though the dim light conspired with his fatigue to blur his vision. Bemused, he continued to plod along, barely registering her absence.
A minute later, Irina came into his field of vision and strode confidently toward him. When they met, he stopped and waited silently for her explanation.
"There’s a farm up ahead, just through the trees. It looks like they have a barn or a loft of some kind. I think we should stop. Can you make it?" She asked.
Jack nodded, then moved to step forward, but found his leg wouldn’t support his weight. He caught himself, but his good leg shook with the exertion. He was at a crossroads; the exhaustion was overwhelming him. With effort, he swallowed his pride and ground out, "I… could use some help."
Irina was immediately at his side. She ducked under his arm so it lay across her shoulders. She then placed her own arm across his back. "All right?" she asked. When he nodded, they moved forward slowly, each step seeming like it took an eternity. After a few feet, Irina stopped. "I can’t help you if you won’t lean on me," she snapped. "Relax."
There was no alternative, Jack knew. So he let out a shuddering breath and leaned into her as she led them through a gate and into the barn. Several sheep and goats regarded them suspiciously.
There was a pile of fresh hay mounded in one corner, and by silent agreement Irina led him there, and he allowed himself to crumple onto the hay. He arched his back and rolled over, his face contorted with pain. "You should go ahead," he said once he caught his breath.
"You could have a concussion. I can't leave you here."
"You can't simply sit here and keep me company until the police arrive," Jack said. "All of our work would go to waste."
She frowned, glanced at the door, and then back at him. "All right. I'll return as fast as I can. Stay warm."
"It is imperative that you secure the package," Jack said and for a moment, he reflected on the irony of entrusting a Rambaldi artifact to Irina Derevko. He stared up at the rafters of the barn, thinking of all the ways this could go horribly wrong, in spite of their success on the train.
"If this farm is inside the police search perimeter," Jack said in measured tones. "Then don’t come back."
"Understood." Irina strode to the barn door, stood on the threshold and looked back. "I'm going to Brebu Nou, If I move quickly, I can make it there before sundown. Try to get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can."
"For Sydney," Jack said. "It’s for Sydney." He wasn’t sure if he were reminding her or himself; but he felt the need to speak their daughter’s name. To seal the agreement, to remind Irina what they were fighting for. In the end, he had to trust in Irina’s love for Sydney to carry through the mission.
He closed his eyes and surrendered to the exhaustion and pain.
