by Mia Sheridan
The soles of Dane’s shoes came into view first as he backed up over the mountain ledge, not a single piece of mountain climbing equipment in his possession, only a flimsy, handmade leather rope. A small gurgle of terror sounded in my throat. I would not distract him, not now when he needed to focus the most.
Slowly, slowly, he backed over the edge, my heart lurching ferociously with each movement he made. The leather rope he’d fashioned looked so damn thin, so inadequate to hold the weight of a grown man. He dangled, trying to find purchase with his feet on the rock, but seemingly unable to because of the coating of ice. After a short pause, he un-gripped one hand and moved it below the other, moving down another foot. Oh please, please, please. He came down another few feet, slowly, slowly and as he drew just a little closer, I could see that his arms were shaking. Oh Dane. Oh God.
He lowered, hand over hand, feet finding a tiny ledge when he could, but otherwise dangling. Hot tears leaked from my eyes to watch him struggling so mightily. He was supporting the entire weight of his body with only his arms and they had to be burning so badly. It should be unendurable. And yet still he held on, still he came for me.
As he approached the halfway mark, I saw that he was running out of rope and my heart stopped before resuming in a quickened beat of fear. Oh God! What was he going to do? I wanted to ask him, to call up, to help, to do something, but I knew he couldn’t answer. And I knew I was all but useless. My breath came out in small panicked bursts.
And suddenly I heard an awful tearing sound as the piece of leather at the top of the cliff, the one stretched over the edge, ripped, and Dane began to fall.
My own scream pierced the silence right before Dane’s cry of pain accompanied the heavy thud of his body hitting the ground. “Dane! Dane!” I cried, struggling to pull myself toward him with my arms, my legs dragging uselessly behind me.
“Stop,” Dane panted out in a harsh, wheezing exhale. “Stop.” I halted in my movement, drawing in huge mouthfuls of air, trying desperately to catch my breath. “Don’t move,” he wheezed. “I’m okay.”
For a moment he didn’t move at all as if he was gathering some last vestige of inner strength, and then on a loud, gasping moan, he pulled himself to a sitting position, grabbing his head in his hands and wincing.
After another few seconds, he let go of his head, turning his body toward me and crawling to where I was waiting, still up on my one good forearm. “I’m okay,” Dane said again but he most definitely didn’t look okay. His face was flushed red, and he was sweating profusely, his entire body shaking with fatigue or sickness, or probably both. “I’m okay,” he said, as I collapsed onto my back. He took my face in his hands and I could no longer hold back the tears. I cried silently, tears streaming down my cheeks as he brought his bearded face to mine, kissing me and whispering words of comfort.
“Y-you knew the rope wouldn’t reach—”
“Shh. I had to tie it on a tree at the edge of the woods. There was nothing else. That took up half the rope. I thought it would hold until I was close enough to drop with less risk. But I’m okay.”
But I knew he wasn’t okay. As far as broken bones, yes, but as far as the infection that affected him, no. He needed to be in a hospital, and badly.
God, please give him strength. Theo, help your daddy.
“I saw some smoke. I think. Did I tell you that?”
“Smoke?” I whispered, my mind becoming fuzzy as if it had taken all the stress it could and was closing down at the edges.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Just this far-off wisp of it, baby. I . . . wasn’t . . . sure, but we’re going to head in the direction it came from. Hope . . .”
I hummed back, comforted by his voice as he talked, the words only barely computing. Smoke. Just a wisp. Maybe. And that was our hope—a tiny tendril of vapor that Dane wasn’t entirely sure was real. But it was a small something. And that was better than nothing at all.
And I’d come to realize that any hope . . . no matter how small, no matter how unlikely, was just that: a wisp of smoke in the misty distance that you headed toward no matter the cost to get there.
And that’s what we would do. Together.
But right now it hurt too much to move. Dane wrapped his arms around me tightly, trapping my arms to my sides. I felt like a burrito.
“I’m going to buy you a burrito when we get back,” I murmured.
He smiled, though his eyes were filled with feverish sadness. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, his teeth chattering. “And then I’m going to marry you.”
“You already did that once.”
“I know, but I’m going to do it right this time.”
“We’re going to do it right this time,” I murmured on what I hoped was a smile. But was my face so frozen it wasn’t cooperating? No idea.
“We are,” he agreed.
I nodded, my eyes closing, my body giving way to sleep, the cold no longer permeating my entire being.
The sound of metal on rock followed soon after. Sounds of retching pricked at my consciousness and I tried to pull myself from the blessed nothingness of sleep, but couldn’t. Dane was here. It was okay. I could let go for a while. And so I drifted again . . . falling, jerking awake and then falling again, my body a heavy weight my brain had no control over. Sometime later, Dane shook me awake. “Open your mouth, Audra, and swallow this. Don’t chew. Just swallow. And then I’m going to give you a drink of water.”
My stomach clenched in hopeful agony at the thought of food and I forced my eyes open. Food? Where had Dane gotten food?
“What is it?” I murmured groggily, opening my mouth.
His hand paused in its movement toward my face and he said simply, “Liver.”
I sucked in a small breath, glancing behind him at one of the things he’d tossed over the cliff before he’d descended. The dead wolf, now lying in a pool of blood, his stomach cut open with the sharpened piece of metal. “Oh God,” I moaned before Dane’s fingers came to my lips. Despite being sick with horror and disgust, my body wasn’t going to refuse food, so my mouth opened of its own accord, taking the still-warm, slimy piece of meat inside and swallowing quickly. Dane brought the water bottle to my lips immediately and I drank in long sips before he took it away.
I ate three more pieces of raw liver that way and though it was one of the most awful things I’d ever experienced, my body rallied almost immediately with the fresh meat now taking up room in my stomach. “It has lots of iron in it,” Dane said numbly. “You need it.”
“Are you going to eat some?” I asked.
He wrapped the remainder of the meat in a piece of cloth—some item of clothing or another—and put it in his pocket, standing and swaying for a minute on his feet before steadying himself. “I tried. My body rejected it. I’ll try again later. I got some water down.” With that, he put the duffle bag over one shoulder, and I saw that while I’d been sleeping, he’d fashioned two straps with the leather rope that had fallen from the cliff along with him and attached them to either corner of the front of the carpet. Our sled. Each strap was then wrapped around his shoulders so his back and arms were taking my weight.
And so we began the journey toward that small wisp of hope.
At first Dane’s steps were slow—though mostly steady—as I stared at the silver sky, sometimes through breaks in trees, and sometimes unobstructed. We went over small hills, down valleys, through woods, and around obstacles in our path. Several times Dane stopped, still dripping sweat, his expression woozy, his eyes glazed with fever, to lower me over small cliffs using the leather strap. Then he would jump down himself, taking longer each time to orient himself, getting me situated again and continuing on our way.
At night we stopped and took shelter among the trees. Dane laid half on top of me, his overheated body keeping me warm as he shivered and moaned in pain through the deep, dark of the night. I cried as I held him. He was asleep or barely conscious. We talked sometimes, I think, though it’s hard
to say whether the words were in my mind or on my lips.
My makeshift bandage had bled through and I watched the trail of scarlet left in our wake. I was woozy from blood loss, from fear, from lack of food and sleep. But I choked down the pieces of meat Dane fed me when we stopped and that small bit of energy may have been the thing keeping me conscious. The hateful creature had tried to take, but had ended up giving after all, though it was difficult to be grateful under the circumstances.
Dane walked, pulling me behind him, for three days, maybe four. I counted the sunrises, though I was so weak by then, I couldn’t be sure. I drifted. I talked to Theo, half in this world, and half in the next. I felt as though I were drowning.
Dane had been lurching for hours, stopping and then starting again, holding on to trees and then pushing himself forward, picking up his legs with his hands a few times as if to make them remember how to work. I knew I should be afraid, but I couldn’t muster the feeling. I felt the earth slipping away too, felt myself falling. Yet, there was no fear.
Dane fell to his knees on one final yell of rage and grief. I reached my hand back to him, my fingers falling in the cold snow, the blood still seeping from my arm. How much had I lost? Buckets? Gallons? Too much. Far too much to survive. I knew. I knew.
I tilted my head as Dane crawled toward me, each movement a grunt of Herculean effort. He bent over me, to shield me with his body. His final act, to protect me. I brought my hand to his face and attempted to smile, though the edges of reality were closing in.
You must bloom, Audra.
“You’re . . . like . . . the tree,” I whispered. And I was the flower. I’d pushed through the snow to see the warmth of the sun. How could it be that I had bloomed on this cold, desolate mountain? And yet, I had. I’d danced with butterflies, admitted to the love I carried in my heart, and then I’d set it free. I’d grieved the loss of my beloved boy. Finally. I’d loved. Yes, yes, I’d bloomed. A field of vividly colored flowers opened up before me, the breeze warm and gentle across my skin. I reached for it. It was time to go—to be with Theo. It was okay. For both of us, it was okay. I closed my eyes on a breath of thanks, as Dane’s weight fell over me one final time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dane
“Code blue, code blue, his organs are failing. One, two—”
Noise, cold, pain, pressure.
Then falling, quiet, blankness. Warmth.
“Get Harding in here to look at that leg—”
Voices, beeping, music. I was dreaming . . . dreaming. Yes.
“No frostbite that I can find. I have a new respect for garbage b—”
Who was talking? So far away . . .
“One hell of a story to tell when—”
Light. Too bright. It was day. Pain bit into my head and I groaned. A wolf. It was a wolf and my head was in his jaws. I ripped him open, his guts spilling out in a slithery mess of blood and steam as I vomited in the snow. The smell. Oh God. The smell. I vomited again as I fell over the edge of a cliff, falling, falling into a deep, dark void.
“Can you hear me, Dane—”
Dustin.
How was Dustin here?
“Let him sleep. His body needs time to recover. Did you hear how they found Audra?”
“Yeah . . .” The voice. Whose? “. . . frozen.” So quiet and filled with sadness.
Audra! Audra! I moaned, fighting my way to her. I’d been dying but I’d curled over her, around her. She was right under me. Why couldn’t I feel her?
“Shh. Relax, buddy. I’ll get the nurse. Dalila, tell the nurse he needs more pain medication.”
No, no, no medication. Audra!
I moved toward the steady beeping noise, pulling myself through the snow, my legs so heavy, the world blinking in and out around me. Help. I had to . . . had to . . .
My eyes opened and I blinked, moving my gaze around the room, my heart lurching as I realized I was in the hospital. How? How? The beeping sound next to my bed increased with the anxiety that coursed through my system.
Oh God. I . . . I searched my memory, wincing with the effort. I hadn’t been able to go on. I’d tried. I’d tried, but my body wouldn’t work anymore. But then . . .
“You’re awake.” I heard the creak of a chair next to me as someone stood and I turned my head to the side, my eyes searching. My grandmother. She took the couple of steps to my bed, looking at me with tears in her eyes. “You’re awake,” she said again. “Let me call the—”
“Audra?” My voice was hoarse, so scratchy that the word came out sounding like sandpaper.
Her eyes moved over my face and my heart dropped, but then she smiled, a small one and said, “She’s down the hall. She’s going to be okay.” I let out a gasp, stark relief filling my chest. “Do you want some water?” She began to turn and I grabbed her hand, pulling her attention back to me.
“See her . . . now.”
“Dane, dear, you can’t. She’s still sleeping. She lost so much blood, and she only just got out of her second surgery this morning.”
“I want . . .” I took a deep breath, trying to clear the cobwebs from my throat. How long was I out? I had a million questions, but they all could wait. I needed to see Audra more than I needed anything else on the face of this earth.
“It’s absolutely not possible—”
Rage filled me. No one was going to keep me away from Audra. Not another living soul.
I ripped at the needle sticking out of my hand, slapping tubes away, moving the blankets back so I could get out of bed. Nothing would stop me. I’d damn well get to Audra myself.
The room spun, turning sideways, as I fell back on the pillow, pushing off it again in an effort to get up. My grandmother held my shoulders to keep me steady. “Dane, you’re going to hurt yourself!”
I pushed at her. “Goddamn it, get off me. This is your fucking fault.”
She stepped back immediately, her face stricken. I shouldn’t feel bad. This was her fault. She’d started everything that led us to this hospital. “Help me up or get out,” I grunted, pulling myself to a sitting position and waiting as the head rush cleared. My body ached everywhere, especially my leg, which felt extra thick with some sort of bandage wrapped around it.
Luella nodded, her eyes filled with something that looked like remorse. I couldn’t be sure, as I’d never seen that particular expression— Fuck if I cared anyway. Audra! “I’ll call the nurse so she can help you into a wheelchair.” She leaned over and pressed a button.
“I don’t need a damn wheelchair,” I said breathlessly, moving my legs off the side of the bed as the room tilted again.
“Please, Dane. I won’t keep you from her, but please don’t hurt yourself more than you already are. I think Audra would tell you the same thing.”
“As if you would fucking know what Audra would or wouldn’t say,” I bit out. When her face blanched, I took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Fuck,” I muttered, just as a nurse came in the room.
“Gail, will you get my grandson a wheelchair so he can go see Audra?”
Gail gave me a small smile and a nod. “It’s nice to see you awake, Dane. We’ve all been waiting.”
Once I was situated in a wheelchair, Gail wheeled me the short distance to Audra’s room. Outside her door, Gail began to push it open when I turned, putting my hand on hers and halting her. I cleared my throat. “Is she . . . I mean, her legs . . .”
But Gail smiled kindly, placing her hand on my shoulder and leaning forward. “The trauma of her fall, combined with several broken bones and nerve injury caused the leg paralysis. She’s showing signs that it was temporary and the nerve function tests are positive.”
Thank God. Thank God. I shuddered with deep relief, nodding at Gail, choking out, “Thank you.”
She nodded again, smiling. “You saved her life.”
No, she’d saved mine, I thought. Gail pushed the door open and wheeled me inside.
Audra’s room was dim and quiet, the steady
beat of her heart reassuring mine that she was alive. She was alive. Oh, thank God. Thank God.
I wheeled closer. Both legs were in casts, the right one only going as high as her knee, and her arm was wrapped in thick bandages. Her face was gaunt but perfect, her dark lashes fanned over her cheeks, and her lips opened slightly in sleep. As I stared at her in thankful wonder, I heard the door behind me open and close. Glancing back to find the room empty, I stood shakily from the chair, walking the two steps to Audra’s bed and sitting next to her, taking her hand in mine, unable to bear not touching her for another second.
I felt a hot tear run down my cheek, but I felt like laughing and shouting with happiness, the reality of the situation hitting me full force.
We’d made it. Survived. I had no clue how, but we emerged from that dark forest, not unscathed, but whole. Together.
I laughed, a strangled sound, bending over and putting my face next to hers, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, and the top of her head as I muttered unintelligible words of love and gratitude.
I felt her move under me, so I leaned back as her large, dark eyes blinked up at me. “Dane?” she whisper-croaked.
I nodded. “Yeah, honey. I’m here.” I smoothed my hand over her hair, down her cheek. “I’m here.”
“Dane,” she said again, her voice breaking, her eyes moving over my features, as if accounting for every detail of my face. Assessing whether I was okay, or perhaps whether I was real. Her fingers followed her eyes, touching my cheekbones, my nose, running over my lips as I smiled and kissed her fingertips. “You shaved,” she choked out.
I laughed, taking her hand in my own and kissing her fingers again. “Someone else did. It must’ve taken hours.”
She laughed too, a small sound filled with wonder, with joy, with heartache.
I pulled away for a second, lifting her very, very gently and scooting her over so I could climb in bed beside her, turning on my good side. She turned her head toward me and for a brief moment it was as if we were back in our intimate shelter on the mountain. Only this time, we were safe, we were warm, and there was easily accessible and nutritious food. “You owe me a burrito,” I murmured and Audra laughed again, pressing her lips to mine, so I could drink down her happiness.
