“Please… take me… I’m so cold…”
Ridge froze. For a second, he thought the storm was playing tricks on him. But the voice came again, fragile and breaking.
“I don’t want to hurt anymore. Please… take me to Mommy…”
Every instinct in him roared to life. He stepped into the snow without hesitation, the wind nearly knocking him sideways. Snow swallowed his boots. His breath burned in his lungs.
“Where are you?” he shouted. “I’m coming! Stay with me!”
A weak reply drifted back. “I’m here… under the tree… I can’t walk…”
He fought through drifts that reached his thighs. About fifty yards from the station, he saw her—a little girl, maybe six years old, curled beneath a pine. Her coat was soaked through, jeans stiff with ice, sneakers useless against the snow. Her lips were blue. Her small body shook violently. When her eyes met his, they were distant, glassy—dangerously close to shutting down.
“I’ve got you,” Ridge said, lifting her into his arms. She weighed almost nothing, and she was freezing. “You’re safe now.”
“Are you God?” she whispered, teeth chattering. “Did you come for me?”