Darkness(49)

“Yep.” Cal said it matter-of-factly. Gina realized that she’d just watched him kill a man. Not that she objected, under the circumstances. Ivanov would have killed either or both of them without turning a hair. “You okay?” He straightened, glancing back at her and then casting a quick, probing look around the small room.

“Yes.” Forget how glad she was to see Cal. Forget the pounding of her heart and the lingering aches and pains from her fall and her shaky insides from her hideous encounter with Ivanov. The horror of what lay in the common room crowded into her mind to the exclusion of all else. Her next words came out in a jumbled rush. “In the next room, Mary and Jorge—two of my friends—are dead. I think nine of them are dead. Ivanov—this one’s name is Ivanov—and the others shot them. Murdered them. There are two others—two more men with Ivanov. That I know of.”

“I saw them.” As Cal spoke, he pocketed the gun and bent over Ivanov again. “There are a lot more than that. They’re all over the island. We’re going to be dead ourselves if we don’t get a move on. Open the dryer door, will you?”

More? A lot more? The thought sent Gina’s heart rate soaring again. But this wasn’t the moment for questions, and she brushed past him to open the door of the dryer. It was large, an industrial-size front loader. A few items of clothing lay in the bottom of it. Ignoring them, she looked back at him. He had Ivanov in his arms and was carrying him toward her. His intention was clear: he meant to stuff the dead man in the dryer.

“It’ll buy us some time,” he said, presumably in response to the look on her face. “Once they find the body, they’ll know somebody was here and they’ll be coming after us with everything they’ve got.”

Gina’s blood ran cold at the thought. Closing her mind to the horror of Ivanov’s lolling head and dangling limbs, to say nothing of his sightless, still-open eyes and the blood sliding across his cheek, her question was purely practical. “Will he fit?”

“I’ll make him fit.” Cal grunted as he shoved Ivanov’s head and shoulders inside the dryer.

“The others could come back at any minute.” Fresh panic knotted her stomach at the thought. Remembering the gun made her feel slightly better, but only slightly. A shootout with an unknown number of armed murderers probably wasn’t going to end well. Quick as it occurred to her to do so, she ran over and locked the door, trying to be as quiet about it as possible. The click was barely audible, but even that small sound made her wince. It was an ancient deadbolt, clearly not often used, since Attu was usually deserted. Probably the lock wouldn’t keep anybody out for long, but at least it would prevent someone from taking them by surprise. She was still unnerved by Ivanov’s unexpected entrance.

“See if you can find me some boots that’ll fit. Size thirteen.” Cal was stuffing the rest of Ivanov’s body inside the dryer as he spoke. Ivanov’s knees were wedged against his nose in a way that wouldn’t have been possible in life.

Gina jerked her gaze away. Right now, the best thing she could do was concentrate on the things that were doable, like getting him clothes. A glance at Cal’s feet confirmed that he was still wearing his improvised shoes from that morning, along with what looked like his now-dry but salt-bloomed and unsuitable-for-the-weather suit pants and the big black parka that had confused her at first glance.

Cal said, “This guy the only one who saw you?”

“Yes.” Running her eyes along the cubbies, Gina saw that three were missing their outdoor gear: hers, Arvid’s, and Keith Hertzinger’s. Did that mean that the others—Ray? A quiver of grief ran through her as his tanned, genial face rose in her mind’s eye—were all dead? Shoving the thought from her mind, she rushed to Bob Gordon’s cubby. Bob was the biggest guy in the group, at maybe six-one and two-hundred-some-odd pounds. Hopefully he had big feet.

“So what do we do now?” She grabbed the boots, then snatched Bob’s insulated snow pants and gloves from the hooks.

“Get the hell out of here.” He was trying to jam Ivanov’s arm inside the dryer with the rest of him as she ran back toward him.

“Here.” Gina plopped the boots and other things down beside the dryer.

Ivanov’s arm now safely inside, Cal covered the corpse with a blue towel.

“Did you make that call for me?” He was doing his best to force the dryer door closed.

“I didn’t get a chance.”

He shot a look at her over his shoulder. “The satellite phone somewhere you can grab it?”

“It’s gone. They took it.” Gina snatched two of the survival backpacks from the cubbies.

He swore. “You sure?”

“Yes.” She pulled the redundant items—the tent and the ground cover—out of one of the backpacks.

Kneeing the dryer door viciously, he finally got it to latch. Looking through the dryer’s round glass window, Gina would have sworn that it held nothing more sinister than a load of laundry.

“That should keep them from finding him for a while,” Cal said with satisfaction. Hopping from foot to foot, he pulled off his makeshift shoes and grabbed the snow pants. Gina stuck the things she’d pulled from the backpack in the other dryer along with his discarded “shoes” and ran back to the kitchen. Behind her, he was slamming his feet into the boots.