We march for hours. The sun is a pale, useless smudge behind the churning grey clouds. The temperature plummets further. My beard freezes solid. My skin burns beneath my frozen clothes.
I monitor her pace. I listen to the cadence of her boots crunching in the snow. She is slowing down. The pauses between her steps grow marginally longer. She is freezing. Her core temperature is dropping.
I halt. I turn.
She stops, swaying on her feet. Her lips have a dangerous blue tint.
I close the distance. I yank her against me, wrapping my arms around her small, curved frame. I envelop her in my heat. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, ignoring the snow piling on my shoulders.
"Santi," she mumbles, her voice slurring.
"Do not speak. Conserve your energy." I press my jaw against her pulse point. It beats strong. Stubborn.
"I can keep walking."
"I know you can. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met." I state it as a simple, undeniable fact.
She goes still against me. She does not deflect the compliment. She just breathes me in.
I step back, keeping one hand locked around her wrist. "Half a mile. We push for half a mile. If we don’t see a structure, I’ll dig us into the snow."
She nods. We move.
The terrain begins to incline. The trees thin out, giving way to a rocky ridge. The wind howls over the exposed stone, driving ice particles into our eyes. We hit the small wooden porch. I try the heavy timber door. Locked. The wood is swollen with moisture and ice. I welcome the pain. Every strike of ice against my skin is a reminder that she is shielded.
Then, through the blinding whiteout, a shape emerges.
Straight lines. Artificial angles. A roofline of untouched snow.
"There." I point through the gale.
Reese squints. A sudden, sharp burst of adrenaline hits her system. Her grip on my coat tightens.
It is a small, heavy timber cabin tucked against the base of a massive granite cliff. The abandoned ranger station. It looks neglected, battered by decades of brutal winters, but the walls are solid. The roof is intact. It is shelter.
We move toward it. We clear the final fifty yards in a stumbling, desperate sprint.
We hit the small wooden porch. I kick the heavy timber door. It is locked. The wood is swollen with moisture and ice.
I do not hesitate. I back up one step. I drive my boot directly into the door frame near the latch.
The wood splinters and the bolt plate tears free. The door flies open, crashing against the interior wall with a violent thud.
I pull Reese inside. I shove the door shut against the howling wind. I drop the iron crossbar into place.
The wind cuts to a low, distant roar behind the walls. The air inside the cabin is stale, freezing, and thick with dust. But there is no snow. There is no biting gale.
I drop the survival bag. I turn to Reese.
She stands in the center of the dark room, shivering violently. Her teeth chatter. Fine tremors wreck her frame. The adrenalineis crashing out of her system, leaving nothing but cold and exhaustion.
I strip my outer coat off and toss it onto a dusty wooden table. Then I step into her space.
"Arms up," I command.
She obeys, too exhausted to argue. I unzip her soaked, frozen jacket. I peel it off her shoulders. I toss it to the floor. I strip her damp sweater over her head. She stands before me in a thin thermal shirt, shivering so hard her knees buckle.
I catch her. I lift her off her feet. I carry her to a small cot pushed against the far wall. I lay her on the mattress. I crouch and pull her snow-caked boots off, one at a time. Her socked feet are ice-cold against my palms. I rub heat into her feet, then tuck them under the wool. I grab a dusty wool blanket from a nearby wooden chest. I wrap her in it tightly, sealing the wool around her.
