“Stay down.” He planted a hand on her wet torso and levered up to his knees, partially protected by a snowbank. His vision swam, but he drew his gun from the back of his waist. Hopefully, the weapon still worked. No movement showed through the snowy day, but somebody waited there. He aimed for a cottonwood and fired, hitting it dead center. The sound split the hush with an ominous threat.
Silence echoed back. His arm ached, and his hand shook, but he fired again, missing the tree but making his point. His vision blurred, and he blinked several times to focus.
A flashback tried to return him to the desert, to heat and pain, but he shoved it away for the moment. He’d deal with the past later.
Ophelia partially rolled to her side on the icy ground, coughing out more water, her body shuddering.
“Hold on, baby. Just a couple more minutes,” he whispered, trying desperately to see movement in the trees. The wind threw snow at him, and his damaged left leg went numb. He had to get Ophelia out of the elements and into warmth, but the shooter remained present. Armed. Waiting and dangerous.
He lifted his arm and fired two more shots, and branches cracked loudly, crashing down.
Several seconds later, an engine ignited. It sounded like a four-wheeler. Birds squawked from the forest interior, protesting the disturbance.
Everything in him wanted to hunt and pursue the shooter, but he didn’t have enough time. He tucked his gun into his pocket and stood, lifting a shuddering Ophelia up with him.
Her face turned as white as wax, and her blue lips barely formed words. Her body sagged, her knees giving out, her arms flopping by her sides.
He shook her, leaning in. “You have to stay awake. Just stay awake.” He’d lost his radio. They needed warmth, and they were at least thirty minutes away from shelter, through the icy storm. If he didn’t get them somewhere safe, they’d both die. Hypothermia would take them. He dragged her to the sled and shoved her on, straddling the seat behind her, planting her hands on the heated grips, and pushing her feet up the runner. Water poured from their clothes, icing over almost instantly. Shit. This was bad.
She slumped against him, and he drove with one hand, wrapping his free arm around her waist and yanking her against his body. “Fucking stay awake,” he yelled.
She jerked and then nodded, her icy hair sticking to his chin.
His limbs dragged with weight, and his feet felt like hot pokers slicing ice beneath his toes. He sped up, taking a turn too fast but managing to stay on the river trail. He drove past two more fishing holes and turned toward the jagged mountains to the west. Snow billowed around, hampering visibility, but he knew their location.
His arm started to go numb, and he shook it, still driving. They didn’t have time to stop. There was no more time. Period.
Ophelia had gone quiet and unmoving, but he didn’t have the energy to shake her. Hopefully the engine and hand heaters at least kept her conscious.
Finally, he drove out of another grove of spruce and spotted the warming hut built against mountain rocks, shielded by a rock cliff. He reached the front and cut the engine, haulingOphelia with him like a sopping wet and frozen doll. He dragged her to the door and kicked it open and then closed, shutting the storm out. “Take off your clothes.” He moved toward the fireplace where the Miller boys had already left logs stacked with kindling ready to light. God bless those kids. He dropped to his knees. His hands shook, and his arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, but he opened the box of long matches and struck one, instantly lighting the kindling.
The fire caught quickly, expertly structured.
Still on his knees, he forced his coat zipper down with freezing fingers and shoved the wet garment off. Much lighter, he stood, turning to face Ophelia, who hovered in front of the long bench that ran the length of the far wall. It was the only furniture in the room besides the several provision boxes piled against the adjacent wall.
Her hair hung in a frozen mass around her pale face, and she stared at the fire as if not seeing it. Ice coated her hair and sweater. She’d stopped shaking, which was a bad sign.
He reached her, unzipping her sweater. “Olly? You’re in shock. Stay with me.” He removed her frozen wool. Her badge hung from a chain around her neck, and he gingerly lifted it over her head to place by the jugs of frozen water. Then he unzipped the snow pants, dropping them and gently nudging her to sit on the bench.
She fell like a log, and ice cracked from her pants. He pulled off her boots and socks, bending to check her toes. He couldn’t tell if she had frostbite or not. Lifting, he removed the rest of her clothing. Even her undergarments were wet, so they had to go.
She blinked, her gaze unfocused.
He flipped open the lids of the two nearest boxes and drew out sleeping bags and blankets, wishing he hadn’t lost his radio.
He threw several heavy blankets onto the floor in front of the fire and clumsily zipped two sleeping bags together beforereaching for her and lifting her, nearly dropping them both from the effort. Murmuring something reassuring to her, he wasn’t sure what, he zipped her into the bag, sitting her to face the fire and lean against the heavy bench. “Don’t fall.”
Move. Just move. A mantra he’d learned a long time ago. All he wanted to do was climb into the bag with her and fall asleep. He flipped open another bin lid, found a can of broth, and struggled to pull up the tab. Grunting, his fumbling fingers finally worked, and he dug for a small pot to dump the contents into.
“Keep breathing, Ophelia,” he ordered, setting the pan right in front of the fire and tugging a cup out of the bin. He shuddered, and dizziness attacked him. He rode the waves until the room cleared so he could remove the rest of his wet clothing. His pants had been waterproof, unlike hers, so he kept his boxers on and then reached for the sleeping bags, partially lifting her up so he could climb in behind her.
He pulled the bags up to their necks and wrapped his arms around her chilly waist, partially lifting her to sit on his lap. Her thighs were even colder than her butt, and he bit back a wave of pain. She felt ice-cold against him, and considering his core temperature had dropped dangerously low, they faced disaster.
His fingers tingled, which was good, but his feet still ached. He winced, his lips cracking. “This is gonna hurt you more than me.” He pinched her hip.
Her slow murmur didn’t reassure him.
He pinched harder.
