A sound stopped him. Low. Guttural. Not human. All three of us froze. “Tell me that was your stomach,” Chloe whispered.
Max’s face drained of color. “Nope.”
We turned toward the cave mouth, where a shadow peeled into view—a saber-toothed cat, teeth bared, yellow eyes fixed on us like it had just skipped breakfast and was feeling curious.
Max didn’t blink. “New rule. Don’t look directly at the apex predator.”
Too late. Chloe was already fumbling in the pack.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
She pulled out a flare. “Buying us three minutes,” she said, striking the cap.
The flare burst to life, red and screaming. The cat recoiled, blinking against the light.
“RUN!” Max shouted.
And we did. Boots slipping on packed snow, breath burning in our throats, the flare’s red glow throwing warped shadows across the cave walls. Behind us, the cat snarled—a guttural, bone-deep sound that vibrated through the ice.
“Tunnel splits!” Chloe shouted, headlamp bouncing wildly. “Left or right?”
“Left!” Max panted. “No—wait—right! There’s a slope!”
“That’s not helping!”
I veered right, no time to think. The passage narrowed, ceiling dipping low. We ducked, slid, scrambled. My shoulder clipped the wall and pain flared. I kept moving.
Behind us: claws. Fast ones.
“Light ahead!” Chloe yelled.
A soft glow, bluish-white, spilled around a bend. I lunged toward it just as the tunnel widened—and ended. We skidded to a halt on a narrow ledge high above a frozen expanse, breath fogging the air in front of us.
For a second, I thought it was a ravine—the jagged depth of it, the sheer drop, the uneven sprawl below like shattered mirrors jammed together.
Then Max leaned forward, eyes wide behind his fogged goggles. I followed his gaze—and saw it clearly now. It was a lake. A frozen one. Enormous, silent, and blue with ancient cold.
A growl echoed behind us, closer now. Claws scraped stone.
“We can’t stay here,” Chloe said. “Pick a direction.”
“There is no direction,” I snapped. “Unless you brought climbing gear or jetpacks—”
She pulled another flare from the pack.
Max’s eyes widened. “Wait. That’s your plan?”
“It’ll distract him.” She popped the cap. “We jump.”
I stared at her. “That ice won’t hold.”
“It’s early Ice Age. Everything’s colder. Thicker. Probably.”
“Probably?!”
Max didn’t wait. He grabbed my arm and pulled, and the next thing I knew, we were airborne—wind tearing past my ears, the frozen world spinning below. I hit feet-first, the impact firing pain through my legs as the ice groaned beneath me. Chloe landed a heartbeat later, tumbled into a crouch, and came up swearing, already scanning for threats.
“Move!” she shouted. We ran, the lake groaning beneath us, each step echoing like gunfire. Max led, weaving around jagged slabs, frost plume rising from his boots. Behind us, a deep, bone-jarring thud. The saber-toothed cat had leapt from the ledge, its weight punching into the snow with terrifying grace.
Chloe cursed in full technicolor. I didn’t blame her. We kept running. To our left: a rise in the terrain, boulders half-buried in snow. Shelter, maybe. Or a dead end. Didn’t matter. I aimed for it.
The cat’s roar hit us like pressure—loud enough to rattle teeth. My lungs burned. The wind cut through every layer I wore.
“Almost—there—” Max gasped.
The rocks came into reach. Chloe scrambled up first, slipped, caught herself. I shoved Max, then followed. My hands screamed from the cold. My foot slipped—and Chloe caught my arm, yanked me up just as claws slashed through the snow below.
The cat paced at the base of the rise, growling, tail twitching. One leap and it could reach us.
“I’m open to ideas,” I said, breathing hard.
Max pulled the emergency radio from his coat. “Think this thing has a scare saber-tooth setting?”
Chloe rummaged through the duffel again. “No, but this does.” She held up a small black disc with wires.
“What is that?” Max asked.
“Piezoelectric pulse mine,” she said, matter-of-fact.
He blinked. “You packed a mine?”
“Of course. I built it to repel bears for that Girl Scout camping trip.”
“That is not a bear!”
She pressed a button. The disc glowed.
“Wait,” I said. “What if it doesn’t—”
Chloe flung it. It hit the ice beside the cat and detonated in a burst of light and sound—like a thunderclap stuffed with glitter and rage. The cat howled, reared back, and bolted, vanishing into the white.
Silence.
Max exhaled. “New rule,” he said. “Chloe packs the survival gear from now on.”
