No Safe Haven

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  "Cole." I could feel my eyes widening and my body got weaker by the second.

  "Andie, come here." His voice sounded hoarse and he pulled me close. His breaths came in gasps. The journey back up the mountain had taken its toll.

  Oh, God, I'm so sorry! Sobs started to shake my body, I was cold, tired, in total misery.

  "Shh . . . It's okay, Squirt, I'm here." Cole stroked my hair as I cried, clinging to his huge frame.

  "Cole, I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you. I'm so scared, I didn't know what to do!" The tears turned into sniffs as I snuggled closer to him. I didn't want to let him go. I couldn't.

  "Andie, you're fine. I'm here now. We need to put the packs back."

  I nodded. Pull yourself together, Andie.

  Cole pointed at Mom. "How's she been?"

  "Uh"— I sniffed and wiped my nose—"okay . . . I think."

  "Well. That's better than nothing." He paused and stared at me.

  I blinked and cocked my head.

  "You've got ice all over your cheeks." He chuckled and wiped at them.

  I puffed them out to emphasize the cold fact.

  "You're a goofball."

  "Hey! Only a true goofball can make thirteen duct tape wallets, a duct tape flag, and two duct tape checkerboards—including pieces—in only a few hours."

  "Seriously?"

  "Well, I had to do something to occupy my time while you were gone. After I took care of Mom, I still had a lot of time on my hands. She's been sleeping the whole time." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "So I put my hands to work creating something, then I'd go check her temp and try to cool her down. If you hadn't come back, I don't know—"

  "And you built the snow cave?" he interrupted. "All by yourself? You didn't overheat?"

  "Yep, yep, and nope. I took off my coat and rubbed snow on my neck to keep cool. It kept my mind off worrying about Mom—knowing I could help protect her. Although, it's not as pretty as the one you made. The walls aren't as smooth, and the tunnels aren't straight and— "

  "Andie." He smiled. "It's wonderful, Einstein. I'm proud."

  Tears fell down my cheeks again. Then I punched his shoulder. "You should be. It's not easy, I can tell you that much!"

  "I know." He stretched his back and looked around at my piles of creations. "What's with all the duct tape?"

  "Oh, we always have it with us. Duct tape and peanut butter, the two necessities of life." I smiled.

  "I see. And how's your ankle?

  Uh . . . Better to keep the subject off my ankle. He doesn't need more to worry about. It doesn't hurt anymore, so that must mean it's better, right?

  "It's kinda funny 'cause when Mom and Dad went on their first date, he wore a pink shirt and red tie. Mom teased him about it, saying he shouldn't wear pink and red together. So every year since then, on Valentine's Day, he would wear the same conglomeration. So that's why the flag is pink and red. Plus you can see it well against the snow."

  Cole laughed. "And your ankle?"

  "It's fine."

  It wasn't a lie. Well, not really. Okay, it was. But he had more important things to worry about.

  Like Mom.

  And getting us off the mountain.

  And keeping the bad guys away.

  * * *

  ANDIE

  1:46 a.m.

  A small tingling feeling raced up my back. I pulled off one of my layers and sighed. If only Dasha were here.

  Cole's eyes met mine.

  "I'm fine."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah."

  Cole still showed concern but he dropped the subject.

  "I do miss Dasha."

  "Remind me who Dasha is."

  "My li'uudzi and lggeyi husky łic'ae." I giggled. See if you can figure that one out!

  Cole's brow furrowed. "Your what?"

  "My black-and-white husky dog."

  "Oh, right." Cole nodded. "And why did she all of a sudden come to mind?"

  "Well . . ." I sighed. "Dasha's special. It's almost like she can sense when I'm getting too hot or cold."

  "Are you hot?"

  "I'm fine."

  Was he still worried? Even though he was a man—an army man at that—he seemed to worry about me a lot. "Anyway, she's really smart. One time we were playing outside and I started to get hot but didn't know, so Dasha pulled me down and ran to grab my water bottle. Once she was sure I was drinking she ran inside to get Mom. It was really close. I almost had to go to the hospital."

  "Wow."

  "Yep. We also started training her with hand signals. She's really good at it." Why was I blabbering so much? Must be from the lack of company. I smiled on the inside. Or, in other words, lack of interesting company.

  "What kind of hand signals?"

  "Well, I can tell her to get the newspaper, to roll over, shake hands, speak, jump up, spin in a circle, grab my favorite stuffed animal, lick somebody, etc." My mind started to fog and things started to spin. Uh oh.

  "Cool."

  If I told him I was hot, he'd worry. If I didn't, I would pass out and he would be even more worried. Harsh. "Uh, Cole?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Maybe I am getting a little too hot."

  Cole spun around to face me. He yanked off my jacket.

  Everything went black.

  ———

  My eyes slid open and slowly focused. "Oh . . . hi."

  Cole sat at my side hovering above me. "Hey. I'm glad you're okay, Squirt."

  "Yep." I sat up, making sure I wasn't still hot. "I'm fit as a fiddle."

  "You sure you're not hot?"

  "I'm pretty cold now."

  "Leave your jacket off for a few minutes just to make sure."

  "Okay . . ." I watched as he hesitated then turned back to the small camp stove thing. He kept looking back over his shoulder.

  I rolled my eyes. "Cole, I'm fine. Stop worrying so much." Men. I sighed. Maybe I should have told him sooner. I nodded. That must be it.

  Just so long as he didn't tell Mom, we would be good. In her condition she couldn't handle having to take care of me on top of having enough strength to take care of herself.

  And Cole. Couldn't forget the huge, lovable, worried Cole. He was part of the mountain climbing circus too.

  Oh, brother. I was in the company of an injured mother who needed to take care of herself instead of others and an obnoxiously large and mysteriously weird army man. Of course I was going insane.

  It was only natural under the circumstances.

  * * *

  JENNA

  April 11

  Sultana, Denali National Park

  3:56 a.m.

  The quiet surrounded her like the cozy sleeping bag that held her. Jenna blinked, then pulled herself from the sleep that wanted to pull her back. Her leg was like a portable heater inside the bag. And the throbbing pain in it pounded out a steady rhythm that radiated all the way up to her head.

  Good. Maybe it would keep her awake enough to talk to Cole. There was so much to tell him. Her leg must be infected. The pain, the heat . . . clear signs. Antibiotic cream could only go so far, and with the elevation . . . well, she knew the statistics. Injuries couldn't heal up here. They only got worse.

  How long would she survive? And how long would she have clarity of mind to be able to explain things to him? She let out a huge sigh. Someone had to take care of Andie.

  A rustling close by sounded like someone rolling over. Jenna turned her head and found Cole watching her.

  "Jenna?" Cole whispered. "You awake?"

  She nodded.

  Cole worked his way out of his sleeping bag and brought her some water. "Here. Drink."

  Water was
an amazing thing. As it slid down her throat, she felt like new life was breathed inside her body. It soothed. It quenched. It cooled. "Thank you."

  Inches away from her own, his face conveyed a tenderness she didn't think she'd see from this hard military man. He lay down next to her, propped up on an elbow. "How're you feeling?"

  "Warm."

  He reached a hand to her forehead and touched her skin lightly, then frowned. He scooted closer and helped her unzip the sleeping bag. "Let's get you uncovered, and see if we can cool you down."

  "Okay. But Cole?"

  "Yeah?" He continued working, not looking at her.

  "I have a lot I need to tell you."

  His gaze jerked back to hers. Uncertainty, fear, and a little distrust flashed across his features. Anger sparked—then died as quick as it started. Who was she kidding? She'd given him every reason not to trust her, just by being unwilling to trust him. On top of that, she questioned him constantly, demanding to be in control all the time. He may never understand, but it was high time she did some explaining.

  What if the fever worsened? What if she became delirious? She may not get another chance. "Cole, I really need to talk to you. While my thoughts are still straight."

  "Okay." He slid back into position with his head propped up on his hand. "Talk. As long as you keep drinking."

  Someone was taking care of her for a change. Bossing her around. The thought brought a small smile to her lips. "First, I want to thank you. For everything."

  Cole started to shake his head.

  "Nope. Don't interrupt, and don't shake your head." She gave a feeble laugh. "Second, I want to apologize for making life difficult for you the past few days."

  He let out a chuckle, but quickly covered it with a straight face. "Sorry."

  "Smart aleck. Anyway, I've always had to be in control where Andie is concerned, and after Marc died, well . . . let's just say, it was my way of dealing with things."

  "Okay." Those deep brown eyes searched her face, and the connection between them was palpable. He listened with intent now, not just with his ears.

  "Andie has always had special needs. But we wanted her to have the most normal life she could. Wait, let me back up. She has a rare nerve disorder. Did you know that?"

  Cole nodded. "She told me a little about it. But I probably don't fully understand it."

  Jenna leaned her head back and stared at the snow cave ceiling. "Can you help prop me up? I want to be able to drink and talk. This is going to take a while."

  "Sure." He rolled up his bulky coat and positioned it under her head. "You probably need to drink some more anyway. We need to get some Tylenol in you as well. Might help bring the fever down."

  Rolling over to her side, Jenna lifted her head and sipped. Laying her head back down on the coat, she looked at Cole. "No. No Tylenol yet. The pain will keep me awake and alert for now."

  He looked as though he was going to argue, then he nodded.

  "Andie was diagnosed at eighteen months. She was a tough cookie, but most Alaska natives are. When the doctor came in to explain the problem to us, I wanted to know how to fix it. But there wasn't a way to slap a Band-Aid on it and make it heal."

  He nodded again, his eyes begging her to continue.

  "What she has is called HSAN—"

  "Hereditary Sensory Autonomic Neuropathy."

  Jenna stared at him, mouth open. Cole just grinned. "Andie told me."

  "So did she explain it?"

  He nodded. "But go ahead. You may give me more info than she did."

  "Andie doesn't feel pain until it's twenty to thirty times the intensity you or I would feel. The nerves don't signal the brain because they're missing fibers. She also can't regulate her own body temperature, and that's why overheating can kill her. The nerves can't get the message to the brain that she's too hot, so she doesn't sweat."

  Cole held up a hand. "Okay, so let me ask a question."

  "Go ahead."

  "She's never sweat? Never?"

  "No."

  "Wow."

  "Yeah. They told me if she ever got hot enough to sweat, using their twenty to thirty multiplication scenario, she would be dead. It was crazy, we had to control the temperature everywhere we went. You'd think in Alaska it would be easy, but it wasn't. Most places had their heat too high in the cold months, so we'd have to drag her out into the subzero temperatures to cool her off. Going to friends' houses became an impossibility. Traveling even more difficult. So we bought our own plane, and Marc flew us everywhere we needed to go."

  Cole raised his hand again.

  Jenna grinned at this big man acting like a schoolboy. "Go ahead."

  "What about playing outside?"

  "Well, in the summer months, we had to watch the temperature closely, and since we're tilted so close to the sun during that time, the sun could heat her up fast. Even if the air temp was only forty degrees. In the winter months, well . . . that's another story."

  Cole tilted his head. "How so?"

  "Andie would come running up to me with the digital readout for the outside temp and say, 'Mama, look! It's cold, I go outside!' and she would barrel out the door without socks, boots, gloves, coat, or hat. Marc and I would haul her back in and tell her that she still had to be careful. We didn't want her getting frostbite."

  "A real daredevil, huh?"

  "Oh, you have no idea. Take a stubborn child, and remove the fear factor. Think about it. If you have no fear of consequences—mainly pain—you'd try just about anything."

  Jenna watched as Andie's reality sunk in. "Yep, she tried to fly. Would climb anything and everything. And would insist that her daddy catch her as she dove toward the concrete—which, as you can guess, scared Marc out of his wits." Jenna couldn't help a laugh. "The funniest thing happened when she was about three and a half. She went through this phase—you know watching all the other toddlers run around and fall down. Well, Andie discovered that other kids would fall down and cry and someone would pick them up, kiss them, dote on them . . . you get the picture."

  "Oh boy."

  "Yeah. 'Oh boy' is right. Because she started falling down on purpose. She'd cry at the top of her lungs, but as soon as someone picked her up, she would clap her hands and smile. Like it was all a big game."

  "Sounds like you guys had your hands full."

  "Yeah, well, let's just be honest. I don't think Marc or I ever slept with both eyes closed until she was at least five years old."

  "Okay." Cole's face took on a quizzical expression, like he was stumped by something. "So explain this—the other night, she was shivering. Said she was really cold in the snow cave. I don't understand."

  Jenna liked this guy. He paid attention, and he really seemed to care. "Well, it goes both ways."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Her body can't regulate her temperature if she gets too hot, but her body also cannot regulate itself if she's too cold. Once her temperature starts to rise, you better watch out, because it's extremely difficult to bring it down. Fevers can be life-threatening to her. She can't sweat, so her body can't help itself out. The same thing with cold—once her body gets too cold, it continues to plummet. Doesn't know how to warm itself back up."

  Cole absorbed this information, his expression so like Marc's when he prepared for a mission that Jenna caught her breath.

  "Andie told me she had to have brain surgery."

  Seems like her daughter had confided quite a lot in Cole. "A couple of years ago, Andie got sick. Really sick. She curled up in a little ball, her eyes glazed over, and she wouldn't eat, drink, or even talk unless you forced her."

  "What happened?"

  Jenna breathed deeply. "We didn't know. All we knew is that our child who had never complained of pain—ever, in all her life—now sa
id her head hurt."

  Memories of that terrible time flooded her, all the worry and fear, the struggle to understand . . . The worst journey she'd endured as a parent: watching her child suffer—lay so still and unresponsive—without answers or a way to help. She choked back the emotion and forced herself to go on. "The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong until they did an MRI of her brain." Jenna blinked back tears. Even now, all this time later, it still shook her. "They discovered another rare condition."

  "What did they find?"

  "Her brain was being squished by her skull. It's called a Chiari malformation of the brain. Basically, her brain didn't have enough room, so it was oozing down into the spinal cavity, putting pressure on her spinal cord."

  The somber expression in his eyes said it all: it was too much for one kid to endure.

  "Anyway, a large fluid-filled cyst had developed on her spinal cord because of the pressure, and she began to have worse problems. She'd fall down the stairs, run into the wall, miss the chair when she was sitting down. It was horrible. And it took an awful toll on Marc to watch his baby struggle."

  Jenna glanced over to where Andie slept. "She kept a smile on her face through most of it, but every once in a while, it really got to her." Jenna shook the memories away. "Andie had brain decompression surgery a little over a year ago."

  "I'm sorry."

  Those two, quiet words, so full of compassion, almost undid her. "But as awful as that was—"

  Jenna swallowed back the grief threatening to overwhelm her. "There's more. While she was still in the hospital . . ."

  Cole's eyes widened, understanding dawning. "Marc."

  Jenna nodded. "While my little girl lay in that hospital bed, I had to tell her the worst news of all—"

  Emotion clogged her throat, choking off the words. Tears dripped off her chin as the memory and grief resurfaced. When she could finally speak again, it was in a whisper.