by Vivien Vale
What I want to do is rotate myself so I’m face down and crawl carefully back to level ground before I push myself up onto my feet. I just need to make sure I stay traveling in that direction, since I’m pretty sure I went in a straight line all the way here.
I twist in the snow, or I try to, but my arms and my back are not cooperating.
Fuck, is there any part of me I can just fucking move at this point? I try kicking my leg into the air, and there it goes...
And there I go. Darn, gravity is winning this battle in overtime, pulling me feet first down the slope.
I start out sliding on my back, but gravity gets stronger before long, and I’m tumbling, rolling, as it gets steeper for a second, then levels off.
The fall doesn’t last long, and I end up on my back again, this time on level ground.
I start twisting, and this time, my body accommodates me. Now I push myself easily off the ground.
I don’t feel hurt at all, and the whole thing gave me a nice surge of adrenaline. The wind’s quieter now, but the snow is getting even heavier, falling straight down.
I still can’t see shit, but I have to find a way to get back to where I started. I may need to cli—
BANG!
I instinctively emit a shrill yell at the sudden, close noise, and I stumble over my feet, falling onto the snowy ground again.
I hear myself breathing fast, and, oh no, I notice a growing pain in my right ankle.
I can’t move, and my heart’s thumping like crazy. What the hell was that noise?
It sounded like a gun. Who was the crazy dead shit shooting in this storm? More importantly, what or who was their target?
Chapter 17
Dylan
It’s such a fucking female thing to do.
Now Emma’s decided, against what should be anyone’s better judgment, to run off into a raging blizzard instead of staying in the safety of the cabin.
Emma acted without thinking, and now I’ve got to go and save her. Typical.
If she’d stopped to think about her actions for even a goddamn microsecond, this could’ve all been avoided.
The wind is as fierce as I’ve ever felt it up here, which is not fucking good.. Most of my face is covered, but where it’s exposed, I can feel the icy cold biting into my skin.
With my head down and my arm up as a shield against the forces of Mother Nature, even walking is a slow, perilous challenge. Each step I take brings me waist deep into the snow.
I stop for a second and consider going back to the cabin to grab my snowshoes. I’d be much faster on snowshoes, but I’d lose valuable time and whatever progress I’ve made already.
Fuck.
This girl is so much more fucking trouble than I’d thought she’d be. For the umpteenth time, I regret rescuing her and bringing her to my domain. I should’ve dropped her off along the way at maybe some luxury hotel or a shopping mall.
Really, I did what I had to. There weren’t any serious fucking options but to bring her here, and now there are definitely no other options but to find her—wherever she is.
The faint footprints I’ve been trying to follow have been wiped completely out by more snow. This is going to be fucking impossible.
She could be anywhere. There are thousands of acres of wilderness out here.
“Emma!”
The wind carries my voice away, and I know it’s pointless. Wherever she is by now, she won’t hear me...
Instead of continuing the way I’ve been going, I turn slightly and head south. Even in this storm, I know the area pretty well.
There’s no real logic to my changing direction. I mean, she could’ve gone in any fucking way, but I need to stay focused. I have to follow my instincts.
I had been going uphill, but I figure she couldn’t have kept going up there in this storm. This shit’s bad enough as it is without trying to trek up the slope.
Hopefully, she would’ve started heading down a flatter terrain. Problem is, level ground here eventually starts sloping downward. Sometimes sharply.
Up ahead, I see what might be a footprint. By the time I get there, the wind and snow have destroyed almost all evidence of what it once was.
Still, I study it for a few minutes.
It’s definitely a footprint. And it’s from a boot.
One of my boots.
The same boots Emma was wearing when she left.
Inwardly, I breathe a sigh of relief. If she’s been here, and she’s headed south, there’s still hope she’s safe.
If she’d gone in another direction, she may have fallen off a ledge by now.
An image of her exquisite body, sprawled out over some icy rocks, blood oozing out of her skull, her expression vacant, and all the color drained from her face suddenly assault my mind.
I blink rapidly a few times to rid myself of the gruesome image.
With renewed vigor, I follow what might be a trail of her footprints.
If only the storm eased off a tiny bit, the search would be a lot easier, although she’s unlikely to run into any unwelcome company in this kind of weather.
Neither poachers nor bears venture out into blizzards like this.
I grimace.
Okay, so I’ve gone and found some promising evidence of where Emma could be, but I’m a long fucking way from being out of the woods.
I still need to fucking find her. I continue slogging down the trail of possible footprints.
With each passing second, I start to worry more and more. If I don’t fucking find her soon, I won’t have any chance of finding her alive.
By now, my own gear is saturated. Snow is dripping down my back, and even my feet are wet. None of my waterproof gear is designed to withstand the forces of nature to this extent—at least not for this long.
I shiver a little and stop. I’m losing the trail of footprints. Now, it’s just pure fucking snow in front of me.
I scan the ground around my feet, and something to my right grabs my attention. The snow looks a little depressed there.
Am I seeing things out here? Is there such a thing as a fucking footprint mirage in the snow?
Whatever it is, it looks like there’s another depression a few more inches away.
Bang!
Before I can even take a step in that direction, a gunshot rattles the trees. It came from somewhere behind me.
What the fuck?
I spin around as a high-pitched scream pierces the air. If someone’s hurt Emma...I swear I won’t rest till they’re dead.
Have those evil bastards tracked her all the way out here?
My foot catches on something, and I tumble. Fuck, I’m on a slope, which I should’ve fucking known was here.
I feel myself falling, and I know there isn’t shit I can do about it. I roll, bracing for impact, and eventually come to a quiet stop.
Fuck.
Now I’ve lost the trail altogether. My heart is beating wildly in my chest as I get to my feet.
I’m about to turn around and start my way back uphill when I hear something.
It’s a sound that grabs my attention immediately, yet it’s soft and quiet.
“Emma,” I call, and listen. “Emma is that you?”
Obvious sobbing meets my ears.
“I’ve fallen and...” she calls out, and stops.
I try and follow the sound of her voice.
“Keep talking, Emma,” I urge her. “I’m nearly there.”
Just then, I nearly trip over a huddled figure. Relieved, I bend down and wrap my arms around her.
Emma sobs uncontrollably into my chest. I stroke her wet hair, holding her.
I want to scream with joy and relief, but I stay calm for Emma’s sake.
That gunshot is still ringing in my ear, and I don’t know if we’re in danger.
“Are you hurt?” I whisper into her ear.
She pulls away from me. “I tripped and fell on my ankle,” she says, pointing to her right leg.
I let go of Emma and take a
quick look at her ankle. From what I can see, she sprained it, but it didn’t look serious.
“If I help you up, do you think you can walk?” I don’t care if she can’t. I’d be happy to carry her.
She nods. “Did you hear the...was it a gunshot?”
I nod.
“Who...do you think...” she doesn’t finish the question, but I don’t have the answer.
I shrug. “Let’s get out of here,” I suggest.
I help her up, supporting her with my arm. We’ve barely walked ten steps when we come upon a trail of blood. It looks fresh.
When Emma sees it, she squeals. Quickly, I put my hand over her mouth.
“Shh,” I whisper. “If they’re still here, we don’t want them to know where we are.”
I can see her eyes widen in horror, but she nods. I remove my hand from her mouth.
“Let’s follow the trail,” I mutter, keeping my arm around her waist for support.
The blood trail leads us to a cave.
“Oh, no...Look!” Emma gasps and, before I can move, limps ahead of me.
I follow her into the cave. Inside are a baby cub and its mother. The cub’s mother is bleeding profusely, and she’s near death.
Before I can stop her, Emma is kneeling beside the two.
To my amazement, the mother bear makes a moaning sound and nudges her cub toward Emma. The poor, dying mother bear doesn’t stop moaning until Emma wraps her arms around the cub.
I take a step toward them. The mother bear lifts her great big paw to pat her offspring before closing her eyes and breathing her last. I watch the massive brown body slump to its side.
By the time I kneel next to Emma, she’s bawling her eyes out.
“Look,” she sobs, “this poor little baby just lost its mom. I can’t...It’s too horrible.”
The little fellow is snuggled in Emma’s arm, staring anxiously at me—and then at its mother.
I go to inspect the deceased bear more closely.
It doesn’t take me long to find the gunshot wound. Fucking poachers killed a mother bear.
If there wasn’t a blizzard out there and Emma in here with me, I swear I’d go after the fuckers and kill them myself. I fucking hate poachers.
“Is she dead?”
Emma’s voice snaps me out of my rage.
I nod. “We better get back to the cabin,” I mutter. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”
Emma stands up, wiping her face with the back of her hands.
“Come on, little fellow,” she says to the baby bear, and scoops him right off the ground.
“What’re you doing?”
She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Taking him with us, what do you think?”
I shake my head. “You can’t. That’s a wild animal.”
“I can, and I will. His mother gave him to me to look after. Didn’t you see how she pushed him to me and only calmed down when I took him in my arms?”
Her eyes are blazing while I struggle to find the right words.
“But Emma, he’ll grow up and...” I don’t bother arguing anymore.
I can see it in her eyes. She’s not going to budge on this.
Chapter 18
Emma
The cold is intense. It’s worse than anything I’ve ever experienced in my entire life, worse even than the latest intense no carb, no fat, no dairy, gluten-free, organic water diet all my friends are on at the moment.
It feels as if someone’s locked me in the freezer about four days ago and forgotten to get me out. My muscles shake and shiver, convulsing in protest and defense against the whipping winds and the wet, soggy snowflakes that pelt against the exposed flesh on my red cheeks.
But all of that no longer matters. My own needs pale into insignificance against those of my new charge. Here is a creature of the wild, totally defenseless and at the mercy of the elements.
Dylan’s burning eyes have left scorch marks, but heck, I’m not going to leave this fur ball behind. He’s already snuggling into me. There’s a low soft cry as his eyes are still fixed on the dead body of his mother.
Suddenly I wish I could do more for this little guy. I want to turn back time and fix things so he doesn’t lose his bear mom.
“It’s still not a good idea,” Dylan’s voice snaps me out of my reverie.
“Let me guess?” I snarl. I’ve just about had it with his all too male attitude. “You’d just leave him here to die?”
“That’s the way the world works, Emma,” Dylan grumbles. “Eat or be fucking eaten. Time you city folk get used it.”
I bite my lip. Of course I’ve seen the nature shows, and I know we live in a dog-eat-dog-eat world, but I can’t just leave this little fellow here.
“We better get back to the fucking cabin before the three of us freeze to death out here.” Dylan insists.
The minute we leave the cave and the little bear can’t see his mom anymore, his tiny sobs increase to spine-tingling howls. It nearly rips my heart in two. I’ve never heard anything so woeful in my life.
We barely speak on the way back. Dylan’s stomping off some nasty energy. I can see the snow melt where his feet land. Whatever’s eating him, I hope he’ll be in a better frame of mind when we return to the cabin.
I try and focus my energy on the little fellow in my arms. I stroke his damp fur and mumble non-coherent words at him. Occasionally, Dylan turns around with a deep, furrowed brow. The way those eyebrows are knitted together, he might hurt himself.
By the time we get close enough to the cabin for me to recognize my surroundings, the bear’s woeful cries are ripping me to shreds. Ear-piercing is the best way to describe them.
My thighs, calves, and aching back are also screaming in protest. I won’t have to work out for an entire month, maybe even year, after my extreme exertion today.
When I first made the decision to storm out of the cabin in the heat, my rush of anger aimed at Dylan, I’d regretted my decision almost instantly. But as is the way with rash decisions, by the time I came to my senses, it was too fucking late, and I was already lost in the haze of snow and wind.
I’d felt like I was going to collapse only a few steps into the heavy snow—but all of that is gone now, replaced by concerns for another being.
When my eyes zero in on the cabin, I beeline for the home stretch. And just like that, the awful noise of the creature in my arm stops. It’s as if someone’s turned the switch to off.
Wow.
Either baby bear is hurt and passed out in pain, or he’s totally exhausted. I don’t know much about animals, particularly bears, but I suspect it’s the latter.
Walking back up the steps, I use my feet to stomp most of the snow that clings to my pants and boots off to the deck below.
“We made it.” I breathe in heavy gulps of air as Dylan glares at me.
Without a word, Dylan opens the door, and I just about collapse into the cabin.
Dylan is hot on my heels, and as soon as he’s inside, he starts to peel off the first layer of clothing: his coat. Already, water’s pooling on the floorboards where we stand.
Baby bear does not open his eyes.
“How about a bed out of flannels?” I turn to Dylan to gauge his reaction. After my earlier outbursts, he might not take this too well.
His expression is difficult to read. He’s eyes are still smoldering, burning up on the inside. “Sure. Yep. Let’s do that.” Zero enthusiasm.
“Okay,” I try and force a smile to my face. Is it going to be like this all the time? Surely we should be able to break this tension between us. I mean, holy shit, we’re two adults.
I watch him bound up the stairs and come back with an armful of flannels.
Dylan positions the flannels on the floor near the fire, making a little cocoon in the middle for me to gently place the cub inside.
“That’s good,” I mumble and see Dylan crouch on the floor, fluffing up old shirts.
Carefully, I unzip my coat, but I keep a tight grip around
the bear. As gently as I possibly can, I crouch down beside the makeshift bed and delicately place him in the little burrow that Dylan has created for his body.
To my relief, the bear cub remains asleep, and I take a piece of the flannel to tuck over his back to add an extra layer of warmth. Not that he probably needs it, he’s got plenty of bear fur and all…but it’s just a tender gesture to instinctively protect something living that’s more vulnerable than I am.
“Does he look hurt?” Dylan asks, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of his close presence. I feel my skin tingle, and it’s difficult to formulate a response. My throat’s parched, as if I’ve walked through a desert instead of a snowstorm.
With great effort, I shake my head. I glance at him, the huge man, so bear-like himself. He’s so fucking close I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“Good.” Dylan’s own voice sounds softer. “When he wakes, we’ll give him a thorough check-over.”
Standing back up, I nod. I barely breathe, afraid of what’ll happen next. I mean, if the past few hours is anything to go by, Dylan should storm out in the next few seconds.
But he doesn’t. We stand together, side by side, for a few seconds, watching the bear cub’s little chest rise and fall with each breath.
As the minutes tick by, the electricity between us is increasing. I think I can practically see the sparks fly between us. Time seems to have slowed right down and the moment stretches on.
“You know…” Dylan speaks first. “You have a really good heart. You’ve always loved babies and animals and…you know…things like that.” He coughs and scratches his cheek, turning a smile towards me.
“Thanks.” I bite my bottom lip. “I couldn’t just leave the poor thing behind. It would have died for sure.”
“It sure is cold out there.”
“Yes…” I whisper and notice my trembling hands. Wet still drips off my clothing. “I should really,” I start and stop.
“Let me help you.” Dylan extends his massive hand and unzips my coat.
“Thanks.” Now I’m trembling all over. I’m not sure if it’s only the cold or something else.
Our eyes meet and lock.
Words seem suddenly superfluous. Without saying anything, I begin to unbuckle his snow pants. When they drop down around his ankles, he steps out of them.
