The Dark Need Read Online Free PDF

ice creaked and groaned under them. But then they were in the weeds, frozen weeds that snapped like twigs under his weight and the girl’s.
    His hand locked numb around his ax, Matt peered through the frozen spaces between the trees. Thought he saw that structure again, barn or house. He stumbled up onto his feet. Half carried, half dragged the girl up the bank. His own body shaking. Snow started to fall, flakes heavy and thick, touching his face and his hands like kisses almost too soft to feel. His chest seemed too tight, his movements too sluggish. Hypothermia. He had to get them both indoors, out of their wet clothes—clothes already freezing and coating with ice, cracking slightly each time he moved. With a shout—in defiance of cold and snow and serial killers and Mr. Dark—a shout as though his voice might warm his insides in the absence of anything else, he charged up through the trees like a weather-maddened bull. Found that structure looming before him, a heavy door of wood so old it had no color other than age. He tried to stop, slid and slammed into the door. The girl silent in his arms. He lowered her clumsily until she was sitting propped up against the wall beside that door, snowflakes on her hair and caught on her lashes.
    It took him two tries to slide it open. His hands and his whole body shaking.
    Then he gazed into the musty dark. The dim silhouettes of stalls and the stink of old straw and the smell of horses told him where they were.
    Stables.
    Old and unoccupied, yet clean. No holes in the roof; the place had been kept in good repair. Perhaps for nostalgia. Or perhaps a horse was housed here during the summer months. Matt bent and lifted the girl into his arms and carried her in. She was shaking against him as though her body were trying to shatter apart. He lay her quickly in a mound of old straw—perhaps a season old, as yet unrotten. Then rushed to the door, slid it shut, closing them within the dark. Not as cold in here. A high-pitched squeak and a flapping from the rafters—probably a bat waking. He ignored it, moved quickly along the walls, searching with his hands since his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark interior. His hands found hay, old bridles and hooks, a saddle hanging to the left of the door. Then a coat, a heavy winter coat with wool fleece inside. His breath came out in a rush of relief. He plucked it from its peg. It was heavy. Good.
    He stripped the girl from her clothes, fumbling against the numbness of his hands. Then his own clothes. He lay beside her on the dry scratch of the straw and took her firmly in his arms, pressing himself to her back, naked. His teeth still clacking, his fingers numb, dangerously numb. He didn’t try to warm her hands and her feet—warming extremities first could cause shock. He’d known a few hard winters as a child, and he knew that. He drew the wool coat quickly over them both, then lay as still as he could, shaking with her, waiting for the air trapped with them under the coat to warm, waiting for their bodies to warm each other. The coat smelled of horse and tobacco. Though he didn’t smoke, the scent made him think of a pipe, the glow of fire from its bowl. It was a warm thought, and comforting. He began chafingher sides, then her upper arms, with his hands, trying to warm her with friction. Said in her ear, “Wake up. Don’t sleep, don’t sleep.”
    If only he had something warm for her to drink, but he doubted the owner of the stable had left a flask of whiskey hanging on the wall, and he didn’t dare throw off the coat to go look.
    After a while, he felt warmer, felt her warmer against him, the coat heavy, holding them down, inviting them to be drowsy. He fought to stay awake. Felt for her pulse with his fingers. It was normal. Her heart was beating, pumping hot blood throughout her body. She still slept, but her breathing was even. He took one of her hands, ran his fingers over hers. They felt chilled, but not frozen. Another