Riders (Riders, #1)(76)
Before we headed into the mountains, we stopped at a market and loaded up on food and supplies to last us a few weeks. Essentials like rice and beans. Canned soup. Crackers and chocolate bars. Then we left Oslo and drove past some of the most stunning vistas I’d ever seen in my life. Smooth winding rivers that cut through soaring mountains. Bright blue glaciers nestled in ridges. Waterfalls that dropped hundreds of feet into vivid green forests. After the past days crammed in train cars, not sleeping, on edge from Ra’om’s effect on me, the views and the fresh air restored me some.
Finally, with nothing around us but raw, unspoiled nature, we reached a tiny tourist stop where a woman gave us a map and instructions for reaching our hut. There were no more roads now. We had to go the rest of the way on foot.
By then, it was getting late in the afternoon and an approaching storm was bringing in strong winds and cooler temperatures. I was tempted to spend the night in the van, considering the group’s safety, but everyone else was determined to sleep in a place that was completely stationary.
We pulled on our packs and set off on a trail that climbed through dense alpine forest. Over an hour later, the trees thinned, the wind picked up, and the trail turned into pure ankle-twisting, rocky misery. Below us, a network of fjords spread out, their waters so calm they mirrored the dark clouds above perfectly.
“Where the hell are we going, Jode?” I’d already asked for the location and marked it on my GPS. But I was feeling the seventy pounds of food and supplies on my back. The cadre in RASP would’ve given this hike their stamp of approval.
“You told me remote,” Jode replied. “Remote requires a good bit of trekking.”
“You mean hiking.”
“No, Gideon. I mean trekking.”
We’d been doing that a lot, Jode and I. I’d become a human autocorrect for all his weird British phrases. He used fancy as a verb. Nosh meant food. Bum was ass. Loo was bathroom. And everything was either bloody, brilliant, or both, bloody brilliant, which to me only described one thing. Actually three: the color of my cuff, my sword, and my armor. They really were bloody brilliant.
“We should almost be there,” Daryn said. She was carrying a pack as heavy as mine, and didn’t looked winded at all. Tough girl. Tough, pretty girl.
Eyes down, Blake. Focus on the trail.
“We were told this hut is so far off the main trails, it never gets used,” she added.
“And it’s free, right?” Bas said, huffing at my side. He grinned at me, his teeth a white flash in the stormy light. “So it’s afjordable.”
That made me laugh, which I needed. A free cottage hours away from the nearest sign of civilization sounded like the opening to a horror movie to me—and I’d actually seen creatures that belonged in horror movies. I knew they were real so I wasn’t exactly feeling calm.
We arrived at the location as the last bit of daylight faded out of the sky. I studied it as we approached. The location was incredible—a bluff that jutted right over a fjord, providing panoramic views of mountain ranges as far as the eye could see. But our shelter itself wasn’t as impressive.
There were actually two small huts on the bluff. As we drew closer, I noticed the nearest one had a partially collapsed roof and a missing door. The other was built right into the hillside and was only slightly larger than the outhouse farther up on the hill. The hut appeared to be uninhabited, but I went ahead and checked things out first. Approaching with my sword—wishing it was my M4—I cleared the tiny cabin, finally relaxed, and took a moment to study our new digs.
Roughly ten by ten feet, the place looked more like an animal burrow than anything else. The wall abutting the mountain was made of huge stones the size of tires. The other three walls were a combination of irregular wood beams, more stones, and, plugging a few cracks, rolled-up towels and magazines. There were three wooden platforms for laying out sleeping bags, the highest one barely eighteen inches below the ceiling timbers.
A fireplace was built into one wall. Above it, rusted pots, spoons, and knives hung on a wire. They clanged together with the wind that swept through the open door like something out of a nightmare. I was starting to understand why this place was free. On the plus side, I didn’t see any sign of rats or mice, and the two small windows seemed to be in working order.
“I like it,” Daryn said.
No one chimed in. The place itself was fine with me. I wasn’t going to miss towel service or a mint on my pillow. But I didn’t like the idea of us being on top of each other again. We were all definitely in need of some personal space.
“It’ll work,” I said. “First choice of bedroom’s yours, Daryn.”
She pushed her backpack onto the top bunk. Marcus and Jode quickly claimed the other two. Selfish *s. But I let it slide because we were all smoked and it was starting to get cold.
“We need firewood,” I said. “And some kindling, before it gets too dark.”
“I’ll do the kindling,” Daryn said, stepping outside first. I couldn’t blame her. She’d just spent a few days with four bitter guys who hadn’t showered in … well, in a few days. Frankly, I was grossed out for her.
When she left, we all stood there for a few seconds absorbing her absence. Absorbing how she changed us. Her composure was contagious. She brought something to our group that was palpable. Without her around, a tide of tension came rushing in.