Page 24 of Aviator
“I’m sorry,” is all I hear.
* * *
“Dean? Can you hear me?”
I fight my way out of unconsciousness, the memory of that day clawing at me along the way. But I’d rather be consumed by the physical pain of reality than the pain guaranteed in my memories.
My eyes snap open, and Kenna’s worried expression fills my vision. It goes slack when she realizes I’m awake, and she throws herself over my chest. I grunt in pain.Christ, what happened to me?
And then she’s pulling away with a rushed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t mean to hurt you even more. I’m just so fucking glad you’re awake.”
I close my eyes again, hoping it’ll keep my vision from swimming. My voice croaks when I speak, my throat is bone dry, and my mouth tastes like rancid ass. “How—how long was I out?”
The sounds of rustling meet my ears, and I can sense Kenna moving around wherever we are. I hear the drythunkof wood hitting wood, and the scent of something burning reaches my nose. This suddenly reminds me of the fire in the engine, and my eyes shoot back open. Kenna is adding a couple logs to a small fire. My vision is blurry, so I can’t make out where we are, but it sure ain’t a five-star resort—or a hospital. Dread creeps into my consciousness, tensing my wounded muscles and making my heart pound rapidly in my chest.
“Um, two days, I think? I was starting to worry you’d never wake up.” Kenna laughs slightly, but when I meet her eyes, they’re bright with unshed tears. From relief? Fear? I don’t fucking know. My head hurts too much to put clear thoughts together.
“Where are we?” My eyes close again as I try to assess my injuries, but it’s hard to focus. My throat is so dry that speaking induces a coughing fit.
“Before we went down, you’d radioed in that we were on the north side of the mountain. I have a map, but I’m not sure I have the location right. We’re about a hundred yards from the wreckage. I found a little cave thing to build a shelter.”
My eyes pop open again, and I find Kenna lifting a water bottle to my lips. I drink thirstily until I remember we should be conserving water. Kenna shakes her head. “No, you need to drink. We have plenty of snow, so I can melt more.” When I hesitate, she gives me a stern look. “Don’t make me force it down your throat, Dean Tyler.”
It’s a surprisingly intimate act, letting her help me drink water. She helps me sit up with one hand behind my head while another holds the bottle to my lips. The sense of being completely vulnerable to her fights against my every instinct to shield myself from relying on anyone else. But in this instance, I don’t have a choice.
I try not to notice how close she is, hunched over me. How gentle her hands are, cradling my head. It’s been so long since I let anyone care for me I’d forgotten what it felt like. It’s unnerving, and what makes it even more so is that there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
I push her hands away, but she glares at me. “Don’t be an idiot. You need to drink something,” Kenna says and rights the bottle. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” I answer hoarsely after drinking deeply. “How bad is it?”
She glances away, and that’s all I need to know to confirm it’s as bad as it feels. “You’ve got a gash on your ribs. Maybe a concussion. . . and I think your leg is broken.”
My eyes slip closed again for a moment. “Sit me up,” I tell her.
“I don’t think—”
I cut her off with a shake of my head. “Just do it.”
“You’ll have to tell me how so I don’t hurt you.”
“Wrap your arms around me under my shoulders, and I’ll push with my good leg. Just give me some leverage. Don’t worry about hurting me. I’ve had worse.”
“Are you sure?” At my look, she says, “Right, okay. Here we go. I’m sorry in advance. I know this is going to hurt like a bitch.”
She leans her body over me to circle her arms under my shoulders. She can’t quite reach all the way around, but I wrap my arms around her, too, which allows me to push with my uninjured foot. I laboriously scoot my way to sitting until I’m up against a cold rock wall. My head and ribs ache something awful, but that doesn’t even touch the pain radiating from my leg. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my head swims with nausea.
I list to the side, and Kenna exclaims, “Whoa there. Don’t pass out on me again, okay? I don’t want to do this alone anymore.”
Waving a hand, I keep my eyes closed until the room stops spinning. “I’m good. Just give me a minute and stop fussing.”
Ignoring my sharp tone, she says, “Do you think you could eat something?”
The thought sends my stomach heaving in protest, but I know not eating will be infinitely worse in the long run, so I say, “Probably.”
She hands me something, and I don’t even look to see what it is because it doesn’t matter. Nothing sounds appetizing, but I know I need the energy. After I choke it down, I say, “You said I’ve been out for two days? Have you heard any ’copters around? There should have been a rescue team.”
Kenna shakes her head and spins around in the small shelter to dig through a pile of things on the ground. “No, not a damn sign of anything besides a ton of snow. I did get this from the wreckage. I think it’s an emergency radio? Shouldn’t it lead them to us?”
