Page 69 of Dark Sky

Joe didn’t answer.

Boedecker leaned into Price and said, “If you’re worth so much and we manage to get you out of here, you’ll probably want to reward us, right? Maybe give Joe and me a few stray million and some stock options?”

“That’s not necessary,” Joe said, but Boedecker cut him off.

“A few million is nothing to this guy,” he said. “He says his life is worth a lot more than that.”

“No,” Price said.

Boedecker sat back. “No?”

“No. I don’t believe in charity, just like Steve Jobs. Providing income for my thousands of employees and dividends to my shareholders is more than enough for any man to do.”

“Are you shitting me?” Boedecker asked.

Price shrugged. He apparently didn’t want to discuss it any further. “The people I’m associated with will hire guys to come find me if we can avoid the Thomases long enough. It’s in all of their best interests that I’m okay, after all.”

Joe didn’t know what to say.

“Even if that all happens,” Boedecker said, “any effort to rescue us won’t just happen in an instant. This isn’t downtown San Francisco.”

“I know that,” Price said defensively.

“They’ll need to put together a search-and-rescue effort and that takes time,” Boedecker said. “You’ve got to get people together, plus horses, helicopters, et cetera. It isn’t one of those flash-mob things you do online.”

Price looked to Joe for confirmation. Joe nodded.

As he did, Joe thought he heard a sound outside the cabin. It was a kind of muffled snap, as if someone had stepped on a dry branch and broken it through a layer of snow.

He sat back, suddenly on high alert. Boedecker did the same. He’d heard it, too. Price did a sharp intake of breath as if preparing to speak and Joe touched his index finger to his lips.

“Shhhhh.”

“What?”

Joe chinned toward the front door.

Price questioned Joe by raising his hands, palms up.

Boedecker rose and got to his feet with a slight wobble. The alcohol still dampened his movements. He reached out to the table for his speargun, which he’d re-armed.

Joe stood as well and sidled over to the bed. He didn’t want to unfurl the bedroll until he had to. But he wanted to be in position to do so.

He surveyed the interior of the cabin once again. There was only one way out, which was through the front door. The window frames on each wall were too small for a man to fit his shoulders through. They were trapped inside, but it also meant there was only one wayin.

Boedecker padded over to Joe and gestured toward the door. “Should we rush it?” he whispered.

Joe shook his head. He thought that the sound they’d heard might be a moose or elk outside, or possibly a dry branch breaking because it couldn’t hold the weight of the snow on it. But he had to hear another sound in order to confirm the first.

Then he heard the clearing of a throat, and: “Joe? Are you in there?”

It was Earl Thomas. He sounded as if he were fifteen to twenty yards away and directly in front of the cabin. Probably looking out from around a tree trunk, Joe thought.

Joe didn’t reply.

“Brock? You in there?”

Boedecker looked to Joe and they exchanged worried glances. Joe tried to calculate the odds. Was it a legitimate strategy to simply wait in silence? Would the Thomases decide the cabin was empty and move on without checking inside?