Page 58 of Wandering Wild

Yielding to wisdom, I reluctantly draw back and ask, “If I help you, do you think you can walk?”

Zander nods weakly, but it still takes two attempts before I can get him to his feet. Even then, he has to sling his arm around my shoulders to keep from stumbling, his heavy weight like a sack of potatoes pressing down on me.

But he’s alive, I remind myself. If I have to carry him through the entire forest in order to make sure he stays that way, then that’s what I’ll do.

My determination isn’t motivated by what he confessed before we fell into the river—though I do feel ashamed after what he shared. I have questions, so many questions, but even if he hadn’t revealed what he did, I would still be helping him now. I’m not a monster—I might have loathed him, but I never,everwanted to see him hurt, let alone dead. And the idea of him drowning because I couldn’t save him in time...

I already know I’m going to be haunted by memories of him being swept away with his eyes closed, then of his motionless chest when he failed to breathe.

“Hey, you okay?” Zander asks me, his voice raspy from coughing so hard.

I realize I’m full-body trembling against him, making our task of stumbling through the trees more challenging, but I’m still incredulous enough to say, “That’s my line.”

“I’m not the one shaking like an earthquake right now.”

“Give it time,” I murmur, looking for any sign of a shelter.

The sprinkling rain soon grows heavier, fueling my urgency to find protection from it. It’s getting later and darker and?—

“Over there,” Zander says, pointing through the trees. “I think I see some rocks. There might be a cave.”

I move us in that direction, hardly daring to hope, and then nearly sobbing all over again when I see he’s right. The cave is mostly buried by the forest and smaller than the one our group slept in last night, but it’s out of the elements, which is all we need.

“Sit,” I tell Zander, not giving him a choice as I lower him to rest against the inner rock wall. “Stay.”

Hurrying back outside, I search until I find a downed tree that still has some dry wood deep within the hollowed trunk. I gather as much as I can and run back to the cave, dumping it on the floor. Belatedly, I realize we didn’t check for any native animals, but I’m past caring now—if they’re here, they can mind their own business and let us share the space in peace.

I must say that last part aloud, because Zander rasps out a quiet chuckle and says, “Here’s hoping they agree with you.”

I ignore him and get to work, stacking the kindling among the larger chunks of wood, my hands so frozen that it takes me three tries to unzip my pocket and retrieve Hawke’s flint, then another four tries to strike a spark from it. But finally?—

“Ahh,” Zander moans as the flames lick the wood and warmth starts filling the cave.

It’s not enough, though.

The river was too cold and our outerwear is too wet for us to get the heat we need as fast as we need it. Practicality has me crouching beside Zander and tugging at his sleeves as I say, “We need to get your clothes off.”

His eyebrows shoot upward. “First you hate me, and then you try to get me naked? I might need a moment to catch up.”

My cheeks flush, but I keep yanking until he’s free of his sodden coat. “I’m not trying to get you naked. Just strip down to your thermals—they’re moisture-wicking so they’ll dry quickly, and then they’ll help you retain warmth.”

I don’t address the hating-him part of his comment, since I’m still confused about what he shared earlier. Instead, I leave him to remove the rest of his outerwear while I brave the rain and run back into the forest one last time, heading straight to the sandpaper fig tree I saw when I was searching for firewood. I wrestle off an entire branch full of fruit before sprinting back to the cave, then toss it on the ground and immediately get to work stripping my own clothes. I stop when I’m down to my long-sleeved top and thermal pants, and then I collapse beside Zander and wrap my arms around him once more.

His entire body tenses.

“Body heat,” I explain.

Slowly, his arms circle me, as if he expects me to pull away—or to push him away—but if anything, I press deeper into him.

I wasn’t lying; we’ll warm up faster this way. But that’s not the only reason I want to be close to him right now.

I need to feel his chest moving.

I need to hear his heart beating.

I need to feel himalive.

And somehow, he senses that, because instead of me offering him comfort after what happened to him, he tucks me in closer and begins to run his hand up and down my arm, a gentle, soothing motion intended to bring me calm. To make me feel safe. All things I should be giving to him.

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