Or rather, the lack thereof.
We’ve burned through almost all of it.
Though honestly, it lasted a lot longer than I thought it would. Considering we’ve kept the fire roaring 24/7 because it’s the only goddamn heat source in the entire chalet...
“We need more wood,” I tell Sorrel when I walk back to the kitchen. She’s washing breakfast dishes with melted snow at the kitchen sink. “Before we attempt the roof. A quick run to the wood storage. Think of it as a practice run for the roof.”
She turns, drying her hands on a towel, and says: “Are you sure you’re not just trying to delay clearing the satellite dish? Delay our rescue?”
There’s that sarcasm I’ve come to admire. Good to see it back. Because let’s be fucking honest, that mountain lion scared the shit out of her.
And me?
Yeah.
Me too.
Not that I’d admit it to anyone but myself.
Still, the question lands hard. Because fuck if I know anymore. Part of me wants that dish clear, wants rescue, wants her safe and warm in civilization where mountain lions don’t stalk the perimeter and she has proper food and her parents and friends can stop worrying about her.
The other part?
The other part wants the storm to come back. Wants the roads to stay closed. Wants this bubble we’ve built to last forever.
I don’t answer her question.
“But youareright,” she continues, reading my silence correctly. “If something goes wrong on the roof, we’ll need heat. Besides, even if clearing the dish works, rescue won’t come immediately. We’ll need the fire regardless.” She crosses her arms. “And it certainly feels safer to make a quick run for firewood than to be exposed on that roof for who knows how long while we’re shoveling out the dish.”
I nod. “Okay. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“So where’s the wood stored?” she presses.
My jaw tightens. “North side. Under the eaves. Near where we keep the food.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Near where the cougar has been circling.”
“Yeah.”
She’s quiet a beat. “Hmm. Maybe not so safe. Well.” She straightens her shoulders in that way that means she’s made a decision. “Let’s gear up then.”
“No.” The word comes out sharply. “I’ll go. You stay inside where it’s safe.”
Her expression shifts from cooperative to mutinous in about two seconds. “Absolutelynot.”
“Sorrel, that thing is dangerous,” I tell her. “You saw it. I’m not risking you.”
“We’ve already been through this.” She steps closer, jabbing a finger at my chest. “You promised we’d do everything together, remember?Everything. No going outside alone.”
Fuck.
My own words, thrown back at me.
“That was before I knew how bold the cat would be,” I argue, even though I know I’ve already lost. “It’s different now.”
“It’snotdifferent.” Her voice softens but stays firm. “Gregory, I’m terrified something will happen to you, too. So we go together. Or not at all.”
The admission stops me cold. She’s scared for me.
