The snow was an inch deep when she awoke to find the sun threatening to emerge through the veil of night. She was sore and cold – she could hardly feel her feet – but she was warmed by the thought of Logan lying next to her. He was, surprisingly, still asleep.
She shook him awake and he jumped, startled out of dreams too quickly. He blinked a few times, setting his eyes on her, recognition building slowly. As though in a haze, he stood groggily and began gathering their things – really just the one blanket and the map – stuffing them haphazardly into his small satchel.
"Good morning," Marie said.
Logan didn't say anything. His eyes were on the forest. He didn't seem to be looking at any one thing, just staring out into the purplish glow of early morning. Instead of turning toward her, he shook snow off his coat and started walking.
It dawned on Marie that he was not going to wait for her. She stood and was shocked by how badly her legs responded. Taking a few awkward steps, she followed him; she was still unaware of just what had happened during the few short hours they had rested to change his mood so drastically.
"Hey," she called out, as his figure became smaller and smaller in front of her. "What are you doing?"
This time, he responded. "Hurry up."
More sure of her legs, Marie ran to catch up. It was a struggle just to keep up with him. "What's happening?" she asked breathlessly.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
He glanced at her, and quickly set his gaze forward. "I just don't want to slow for anything, all right?"
"I'm sorry," she replied, not a little sarcastically. "My legs aren't quite as long as yours." She *was * sorry, if only because they'd gotten off on the wrong foot so early in the day. She still couldn't figure out what had happened, what she had done to make him so angry – though she had an idea.
He had the courtesy to seem slightly apologetic when he answered, "Well, I'll try to slow down."
Marie noticed he still wasn't looking at her. "Thanks," she mumbled. Then added, "You know, I don't think anything of it."
He looked at her. "What?"
The expression on his face made Marie think maybe she shouldn't have broached the subject. "About what… happened. I don't think anything's changed." And she didn't. But maybe it had been a mistake to bring it up at all. After all, she had no experience in those matters. It was probably bad manners to talk about something of that nature. Especially when it was meaningless, as their encounter was. "Nevermind," she added.
His face softened slightly and he took her arm. "The faster we go," he explained. "The faster we get there. And the sooner you have your father back."
She nodded. "The sooner you're rid of me."
Logan's fingers tightened on her arm, but he remained quiet. For a while, all they did was walk, hurriedly making their way through the forest. Marie felt dizzy and out of breathe. She'd just awoken, but she felt as though she'd been up for days. With each step – each leg lifted up and over mounds of snow – she felt her resolve weaken. What if she was a burden? What if she couldn't help save her father? "I'm so tired."
The grip on her arm was firm. Logan was helping her, nearly dragging her now, through the woods and the slush on the ground. For a long time, all Marie did was concentrate on her feet, every step a struggle. As the day progressed, her thoughts wandered from the Austrian forest. She thought of a winter she spent with her father in New York. It was one of the first outings out of Mississippi she could remember. Her brother was alive then. Raven wasn't in their lives. The snow was falling so quickly, it had no time to turn dark on the ground. It fell and fell, and was white and bright, and beautiful. She didn't remember the cold. It was impossible to recall the numbing of her fingers and feet, and nose. All she knew was that she was happy then. Her father was so strong when she was a child; he could probably carry the world on his shoulders. He had to carry her, when she was tired of running through the park – when she needed his warmth and comfort. She thought about her father, and the thought carried her now.
Remy was out of cigarettes and in a foul mood.
Robert Darkholme had given his word that fifty thousand dollars were his for the taking - if only he could save him from Eric Lensherr. Remy had accepted, only a bit reluctantly, just to find himself in the difficult position of actually getting Darkholme out of that run-down shack, and back onto the Orient Express. Easier said than done, considering Eric's men were all around. Eric himself was nowhere to be seen, but Remy was sure he was nearby. He would never leave so valuable a commodity as Darkholme alone and unattended. But, then again, that was what Remy was for.
Still without an idea of just what he was going to do, Remy went back into the cabin. Darkholme was asleep, huddled underneath a small blanket. The fire had gone out and the cold was nearly unbearable. Remy picked up a few logs and went to work.
"Have you figured something out?" he heard.
"Awake, monsieur? You looked like you were dead."
"I may as well be if you haven't thought of something."
Remy's smile was all teeth. "You let Remy worry about that."
"You said that last night."
"And I say it again today," replied Remy, impatient with Darkholme's badgering.
Darkholme quieted, perhaps afraid to alienate the man who would be his savior. It was a long while before he spoke again, saying, "I wonder if anyone is looking for me."
Remy chortled. "Non. No one cares, mon ami."
"My daughter cares."
"So? What can your daughter do?"
The words silenced Darkholme once more.
Soon, Remy had a raging fire built. He leaned back and warmed his hands. He was still itching for a cigarette. "Maybe by nightfall," he said. "When most of the men are asleep. That would be the best time."
"Nightfall? But, that would mean waiting another - "
"Yes," Remy interrupted. "We wait. No choice now. If you want to brave all of Lensherr's men you do it alone. Fifty thousand ain't worth nothing to a dead man, oui?"
Darkholme sat up, clearly nervous. "But, the train… how do we know it will still be there? They must be nearly done clearing the snow?"
"Possible that's true. In that case we hike to the next town."
"And where is that, exactly?"
"Exactly, I don't know. Lensherr has the map."
"Is there anything you do know?"
Remy snapped. "*Merde!* Do you think I have to do this? Do you think I must help you? You're nothing to me!" He held up a log and threatened to hit Darkholme with it, swinging once, hard, for effect.
Darkholme fell back onto his haunches, holding one arm up for protection until he realized no blow would fall. He looked up at Remy expectantly, frightened.
Sighing, Remy threw down the log and ran a hand through his wild hair. "We wait," he said, storming out of the cabin, in the bright cold morning. Robert Darkholme closed his eyes. He had no choice; he waited.
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