by Angela Scott
He tried to shift, to turn towards me, but he couldn’t. He had to settle with only cranking his head to the left to see what I was doing. “Grab some dry pine needles and small kindling. That’ll give you a good start.”
I did as he instructed. He’d indicate some small twigs and branches, and I’d gather them up into a pile to use. He told me how to cup my hand around the small flame of the match to keep it from accidently blowing out. Where we’d had a mother of a storm earlier — winds from hell — the air didn’t hold even a hint of a breeze in the air, but I cupped that flame as though our life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
“Get down close to it.” He waved his arm. “There, like that. You may have to blow on it if it doesn’t take.”
The tiny flame licked the dry needles and brush, tasting them without really swallowing. I worried it wouldn’t take before the wooden match burnt my fingers.
“Come on, little fire. Come on,” I whispered. “You can do it.”
“Are you talking to the fire?”
“Maybe.” I hadn’t realized I was, but when the tiny flame wrapped itself around the small mound of pine needles and forest scraps, it was my turn to smile.
“Hey, look at that. You actually did it.”
Yeah, I’d done it.
I added increasingly bigger twigs and sticks per Marco’s instruction.
“Careful, don’t smother it.”
“I’m trying not to.”
I placed two larger sticks on the growing flames, and soon we had a nice little fire going. I sat back and took in the fruits of my labors. “You’re a good teacher, Marco.”
His cheeks grew a little red. “Nah, you’re a good student. First match and everything. Maybe you’re better at this survival stuff than you think.”
With no sign of Dad or Toby, and Cole not coming to rescue me from the suckage I found myself in, I’d better get good at this survival stuff. A fire was a nice start and boosted my confidence.
“Well, let me see what we’ve got to call dinner.” I shifted a little on the ground, trying to get comfortable in spite of my battered ribs. I hurt, but I kept my complaints to myself. “Are you in the mood for a half a package of dried stew or a full package of dried mashed potatoes, the ‘just add water’ style?”
He shrugged. “They both sound awful.”
“True, but until we can find a working McDonald’s or Subway, we have to make do.”
He groaned. Not a little groan, but a long-drawn-out one.
I scrambled to my knees. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“You said McDonald’s. What I would give for a Big Mac and some nuggets right now. I miss it so bad. You’re cruel.”
I settled back on my hind end, relieved. I wasn’t ready to face what was coming. Not yet.
No, definitely not yet.
He waved his arm at the supplies littering the ground. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t want. I think there are some pieces of jerky in all that mess for your cat. She might like that.”
I found the package of jerky and ripped a few small pieces. I held it out to her and she wiggled free from Marco and jumped to the ground, coming to me.
“You want it, huh? Smells good?” I placed it in front of her and she settled right in, gripping a piece between her paws as if she was some mighty hunter to gnaw on it.
I held out a piece to Marco. “Something to tide you over until I can get some water boiling?”
He took it, but he only held it in his hand, not lifting it to his mouth.
The water bottle was less than half full and I knew we needed more. It would take most of what was left to make our dinner. With the heat and mugginess, we needed to make sure to stay hydrated. I struggled to my feet. Stupid ribs. Stupid body. “I’ve got to get more water.” I held it up for him to see and gave it a little shake. “I’ll be right back.”
Marco thrust out his hand and gripped my arm when I tried to pass him. “I … what if … I mean, you’ll be quick, right?”
I placed my hand over his and gave it a comforting pat. “I’m going to be back. I swear.”
He was quiet for a minute before he nodded. “But you’ll be quick?”
“As quick as I can be.”
He nodded again.
“I’ll take my walkie-talkie and you hold onto yours. You can keep checking in on me, okay?” I found his and placed it in his free hand, the one not gripping me. “We have to have water, or else I wouldn’t go at all.”
He seemed to contemplate that and released his hold on me. “Hurry.”
“I will. Watch my Callie for me, okay?” I handed him her leash.
“Okay.” He wrapped the loop around his fingers.
I placed a couple of more branches on our small fire, grabbed the water bottle, filter, and my walkie-talkie, and gave Marco a reassuring smile before heading off to find the stream before it got too dark.
The flicker of a flame hinted at a desperate existence as the glowing coals dimmed. Dang it!
I placed the water bottle and filter on the ground and turned all my attention to the near dying fire. “No, don’t go out on me!”
I hadn’t thought I’d been gone that long, but apparently, I had.
I coaxed the fire back to life by adding more small kindling and blowing gently on the tiny flame. When I could add larger pieces of wood, I relaxed a little and fed the fire a little at a time. I was becoming a water-filtering, fire-saving survivalist.
“At least I got back just in time to save it.” I placed a couple of larger branches on the growing flames. “Sorry I took longer than I thought.”
When Marco didn’t answer, I turned to face him. “Is everything….” One look at him and I didn’t need to finish.
Large beads of sweat lined his forehead and rolled down the sides of his cheeks. His face contorted in pain—his eyes squished shut, his mouth pursed tight. His body trembled uncontrollably. “Can you make the fire a little bigger? I feel really cold.”
I’d do whatever he wanted.
“Yeah, of course.” I added more wood to the flames before standing and slowly approaching him. I placed my hand to his sweaty head. He was burning up. “Let’s get you something to drink, okay?”
His eyes remained squeezed shut, but he parted his lips as I opened the bottle and poured water between them. It didn’t take but one attempt to swallow before he wrenched forward and vomited.
He threw up more than just a little water.
The hot liquid splattered my hand like someone flicking a paintbrush full of paint. In the faint light of the fire, his dark blood glowed on my pale skin. No!
Images of Dylan, the mall boy, dying in front of me swam in front of my eyes, dizzying and terrifying all at once. So much blood. Blood oozed from all his orifices, and within moments, he was gone.
“I’m sorry.” Marco wiped his hand over mine, removing his blood. “I didn’t mean to throw up on you.”
“That’s okay.” The words squeaked past my lips. “I shouldn’t have given you so much.”
I had hardly given him anything at all.
He fell back against the tree, still shivering, his hand on mine. “Did the temperature drop? It feels like winter.”
It may have cooled some with the sun going down, but not enough to make that much of a difference. A degree or two?
“Umm…” What do I do? What do I do? “Okay, how about this?” I slipped my hand from his and grabbed his sleeping bag from the pile of supplies. I unzipped it completely, opening it wide, and tucked it around him, knowing full well that placing a blanket on him wasn’t the answer. Like shoving a finger in a hole in a dam.
He kept his eyes closed but clung to the sleeping bag until his knuckles turned white. “Much better, thanks.”
I poured a little water into my hand and ran my fingers over his face, trying to cool him down. “How does that feel?”
He nodded, but his teeth chattered.
This wasn’t a “feed a fever, starv
e a cold” kind of situation. Even though I knew the outcome wouldn’t be what either of us hoped for, I couldn’t sit by and do nothing either.
“I’m going to make the fire bigger.” I wiped his forehead with more water and then glanced to Callie to check on her. She continued to chew on her ever-shrinking piece of dried meat.
Marco was okay for a minute. She was okay for a minute.
I tossed larger and larger logs and branches on the fire until the flames reached a good foot or two high. The heat it cast smothered me in its intensity. Beads of sweat lined my own forehead, but I didn’t care.
Marco was cold, and I was determined to fix that.
Especially since I couldn’t fix anything else.
Chapter 15
“Will you hold my hand?”
When I’d first met Marco a couple of months before, I would’ve said hell no. No touching. Don’t even look at me, because it creeped me out. He followed me around the bunker and often made crude comments directed at me, thinking that was the way to win a girl’s heart.
Holding his hand was the least I could do — for him, for me.
I eased myself to the ground, my back against the fallen tree, and reached up to take his clammy hand in my own. “Are you thirsty? We still have water.”
In fact, we had a whole bottle full. He’d said he wasn’t hungry, just cold. Watching him suffer and feeling helpless to do anything, I no longer felt hungry either.
“No, I’m not thirsty.” He squeezed my hand.
Since our last attempt in which he’d thrown up blood, I couldn’t get him to even try another sip, though I asked every chance I could. Maybe it was best not to try. Where was that water supposed to go anyway? His crushed stomach? Where? I didn’t want to think about it, but I knew water was essential for survival, so I kept trying.
“If you need anything, anything at all, let me know, okay?” I was serious. Aside from not being able to remove the giant tree that lay across him, I was pretty much game for anything else. If I could do it, I would.
He didn’t say anything but ran his thumb over the back of my hand in a circular motion.
The flames of the fire crackled and lapped at the dry pieces of wood I had stacked on it to create a decent roar, one big enough that people could see it from far away. The orange and yellow tentacles danced, twisting and turning, casting elongated shadows and light in the dark. It messed with my mind a little, making me see movement where there wasn’t any.
If only the movements were real. If only someone would come.
But it wasn’t, and they weren’t.
“Just so you know, I never believed that stuff the other guys said about you.”
I turned my attention from the fire and looked to Marco. “What?”
His eyes were closed, but he licked his lips, running his dry tongue over the chapped surface. “None of this is your fault. I never thought it was.”
What is he talking about?
I figured he was delusional, so I ignored his rambling. I dipped the fingers of my free hand in the open bottle of water and touched my wet fingers to his mouth. He couldn’t drink, and he said he didn’t feel thirsty, but a little water on his cracked lips might help. Hopefully, a few drops made it down his throat, too.
“From the moment you showed up at the bunker door, with all that lightening screwing up the observation equipment, they talked about you. Then you pulled through when you should’ve died and boy, the guys started talking even more. Like your cat? How in the heck did your cat get inside your room when you were in quarantine? Where did the cat even come from? That one’s still a mystery to me. You were so weird about seeing a guy that no one else saw. You’re still kind of weird about that. Because of all that you scared everyone, even my dad. But I told them you weren’t a witch or an alien. I stood up for you. I did. I mean, they made fun of me for it, but I didn’t care. They always made fun of me, so what if they teased me more?”
I narrowed my gaze at him. Was he delusional? If he wasn’t, if everything he said were true, then that left me feeling not so great about myself. “Someone thought I was a witch?” I decided to test his cognitive ability. “Really?”
He nodded, his eyes open a slit. “You have to admit that lots of strange things tend to happen when you’re around. Lots and lots of strange things. None of this happened until you showed up.” He lifted his arm and waved it over himself. “Like what about these winds? I’ve never seen anything like ‘em. Not in my whole life. Have you?”
Okay, that was a loaded question. Truthfully, I had experienced something similar — the tornado that nearly killed Cole and me. For a moment, I almost decided to lie and say no. Instead, I answered his question with my own. “How would I make something like a major wind storm happen? How would I screw with electrical equipment when I was out of my mind and near death? How would any of that even be possible?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t say I believed it, just that the others tossed it around between themselves. They said you were bad luck.”
I had no idea anyone thought anything about me at all, but Dale leaning in near me as he whispered, “You” before he cut my rope from the tree made sense. He was trying to kill me, of that I had no doubt, but I figured the jerk of a guy was crazy in the head. I had no idea he had a purpose behind his madness. Great. Just dandy.
True, lots of crap and unexplainable things did happen to me — the sun burning my arm in less than a few seconds time, a massive tornado, seeing the Aurora Borealis lights in an area that should never see them, shifting weather patterns — but the idea that I caused these things to happen? That I was bad luck? Now, that was insanity. Who were these wackos my dad associated with? Seriously.
“I think you’re okay.” He squeezed my hand again. “A little stuck on yourself, but okay.”
“Stuck on myself, huh?” I took a deep breath and released it slowly. Being forced to take a hard look at myself wasn’t super fun.
“Just a little, but you’re getting better. You would’ve never held my hand like this when we first met. Now look at ya.”
Had he read my mind? “I definitely need to be a better person, that’s for sure. If I ever find other people, I’ll be sure to make a mental note of this and try for less stuck-on-myselfness. I’ll do better.”
“You’re being kind now. That counts for something.”
Did it? Was that what it took? Someone on the verge of death for me to be kind, more compassionate toward them? I may not be a witch but swap out that first letter for a B and that would be me. I might not be bad luck, but I wasn’t a good person. Not really.
He spoke through his yawning, “It’s getting real late, isn’t it?”
Glittering stars peeked through the branches above. A hint of the moon cast a soft glow, not enough to see by, but enough to let us know it was there. Hours must have passed, but how many, I couldn’t be sure. “Yeah, it’s pretty late.”
“No one’s coming, are they?”
I squeezed his hand, a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t think so.” I hated admitting that to him and to myself.
“I should probably stay awake and keep a look out just in case, but I’m feeling really tired. You mind taking first watch? I just need an hour and I’ll be good to take over. You’ve got to be tired, too.”
Utterly exhausted was more like it — physically, mentally, and emotionally. Everything about this day had drained me. “I’m okay. Get as much sleep as you need. I’m fine.”
He squeezed my hand again, holding the squeeze much longer than before. “I don’t think I can keep my eyes open anymore.”
Maybe I shouldn’t let him sleep. Concussions, a person should stay awake, but a person trapped under a tree? What was the protocol for that? “I’ll be right here when you wake up. I promise.”
“Thanks for not leaving me, Tess.” He dragged his thumb across the back of my hand. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you here. I really don’t want to be by myself.”
“
I’m not going anywhere.”
He swallowed hard. “Can you sing me something? I know it’s weird to ask, but it might be nice.”
I turned a little to look at him. His eyes drooped closed. “You might not think so once I start singing. I’m not very good.”
He chuckled, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. He hacked, rising an inch or two with each attack before collapsing against the tree once more. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Tears ran from his eyes. The whole time he coughed, his eyes remained squeezed shut. When the coughing eased, I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. His breathing grew shallower, and the sound that escaped his lips raspier.
Cole had forced me to sing Hallelujah with him back in the airplane hangar. I wasn’t a singer, far from it. I mean, I liked to sing. I was more of the alone in the shower kind of singer. That night, singing with Cole had been amazing, almost magical. Well, up until the point he had said, “That will do, pig. That will do.”
Marco remained silent, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in a light rhythm. I didn’t know if he had fallen asleep or had passed out.
“I’m not very good.” I cleared my throat a little. Marco didn’t move or say a thing. “So, you’ll have to forgive me.”
I turned to face the fire, no longer wanting to watch him getting weaker, but I clung tightly to his giant hand.
I opened my mouth and surprised myself when the words from Kermit the Frog’s Rainbow Connection tumbled from my lips. Strange how a song tucked away in the back of my mind, something my mother used to sing to me as a little girl, came rushing back. I hadn’t thought of that song in years, many years, yet each word flowed through me as if I’d heard it only moments before. Each and every word. Unrehearsed. Unplanned. I remembered it all.
The flames of the fire blurred as tears hindered my vision. A few slid down my cheeks. I let them, not once attempting to wipe them away. I could clearly see my mother’s face in my mind, singing to me. Right there, yet so far away. I held a dying man’s hand. I had no idea where my brother and father were or if they were even alive. For all I knew, I was completely alone. I had no idea how I was going to get off this mountain. I had no idea what the next few hours might bring.
