Page 22 of Aviator
I pile it all in the back of the cave and kneel by Dean’s too-still body. Even if he is a stubborn jerk, I don’t want anything to happen to him. Especially if I can do something to stop it.
Glancing at the pile, I realize that I need to move him closer. He’ll need all the warmth he can get if—no, when—I manage to get it started. Tugging his body along on the sled, I get him as close to where the fire will be as possible. Sweat streams down my face, and now my hands are trembling with exhaustion and the cold, which will no doubt make it difficult to strike the lighter. But I refuse to give up. I know we need this fire. It could define the line between life and death for both of us.
I set aside the worst of the pile—wet paper and damp wood—to dry for future use and place the best pieces in front of me. Carefully, I shred bark from wood and tear bits of paper into fine strips. I build all of this into a nest in the center of a circle of large rocks to block most of the wind. The perfect home for my first fire. Hysterical laughter threatens to burst free from my throat, but I wrestle it back. I’ve never even been fucking camping. I don’t even like Airbnbs. I prefer my own bed, cozy and safe, in my own home. I swear to God, if we make it out of here, I’m never leaving the safety of the city again.
The day is cold and gray, the chill continuing to work its way through my body. After what feels like hours, and just when I lose hope, a small flame finally flickers and takes root in the nest of paper.
“Yes!” I shout, my voice echoing off the rock walls. “I did it!” The flame flickers and dies in a puff of smoke, and my smile fades. “Shit.”
The next time I get a flame, I don’t celebrate until I’ve fed it more paper and shavings, tending it to a small but steady blaze. Now I know how Tom Hanks felt inCastaway. I’ll never make fun of him again. The glow of the fire illuminates the small interior of the shelter, and the warmth slowly spreads through my body, easing the ache in my bones. I bundle us both underneath our coats and the emergency blanket, sitting as close to the fire as I can manage without getting burned.
The fire crackles and shifts as I stare into the flickering light, my thoughts becoming lost in the dance of the flames. Drowsiness comes over me, and I give in to the exhaustion, slumping against the cold stone wall behind me as I keep watch over Dean, hoping we’ll both still be here in the morning.
CHAPTER TEN
DEAN
Everything fucking hurts.
The only thing that provides any relief is the sound of her voice telling me everything will be okay.
Georgia?
No, that isn’t right.
Before I can figure out why, I’m swallowed by the blackness once again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KENNA
The morning sunhas barely made it above the horizon, but with it comes at least the possibility of a rescue. Overnight, the cold reached a level I didn’t think was possible, even with the small fire to fight off some of it. I pull my coat tighter around me and glance around our makeshift shelter. It was a miracle we didn’t freeze, though I’m not certain I haven’t.
Sleep was an impossibility. Every time I started to close my eyes, an overriding panic would surge through me, and I’d fly awake to make sure Dean was still breathing. I want to hate him, to be angry and resentful, but I was too relieved to find him alive each time I checked. I huddled with him underneath our coats and an emergency blanket that looked and felt like tinfoil but managed to reflect our heat back on us. Or what little heat there was from the fire.
When the darkness around us turned from black to gray, I almost wept.
We’d made it through the night.
I press my fingers to Dean’s throat, a practice I’ve gotten used to after panicking all night, terrified he’d be dead or that the fire would go out while I was sleeping. Relief fills me at the steady throb of his pulse against my fingers. He’s still alive. I’m too exhausted and frozen to feel anything, really, but I’m sure if I could, the prevailing emotion would be relief.
Guilt soon replaces the relief. If I hadn’t forced him to come out here, we wouldn’t be in this mess. If he doesn’t make it. . .
I push the thought away. I can’t think that way. The moment I start, I know I’ll let it consume me, and I’ll be frozen with fear. And then I’ll never know what happened to Kady.
I pull away from Dean and rise to my feet, wincing at the stiffness that courses through every muscle in my body. It’s not just the cold that’s making me ache. The crash was brutal, and my ribs feel like they’ve been rearranged by an overenthusiastic MMA fighter.
As though sensing my absence, Dean shifts restlessly. His breaths are ragged and shallow, and I know he’s struggling. I’d give anything for an insult. . . a glare. . . anything.
“Dean? Are you okay?” I ask, concern in my voice as I move back to his side. He doesn’t answer, his face twisted in pain.
I shift the emergency blanket closer around him, trying to block out as much of the cold as possible. But I know it’s not enough. Not in this weather.
We need help. . . and it should have been here by now.
Right?
Despite every bone in my body protesting, I move to the opening of the shelter. There has to be an emergency radio in the wreckage of the helicopter, right? I just have to find it. I have to try, at least. What the hell else am I going to do in the meantime besides freeze to death anyway? Maybe if I find it, Dean will know what to do to ensure the rescue teams find our location—wherever that is.
