by Meg Maguire
“It’s not ditching. It’s just… This can’t ever happen again, Kate. I’m sorry. Everything else you do for me, you can still do that. But once we get back and start producing the next season, I’m not letting you be a part of the shoots.”
“What, you’ll just do it all by yourself?”
“Maybe…or I’ll hire somebody. Somebody…” Ty trailed off, eyes focused over Kate’s shoulder as though the words he sought were hovering behind her.
“What? Somebody better trained?” she demanded. “Somebody competent, or—”
“No, just not you, okay?”
“You can’t do this, Ty.” The pleading quality had hijacked her voice again and Kate felt another pang of disgust. She hated herself for turning so suddenly pathetic, hated Ty for having the power to make her this way. “You just can’t do this.”
Ty smiled, tight and sad. “It’s my show. I think you’ll find I can.”
That proclamation drove a spike into Kate’s heart, and before she could stop them, words were tumbling out of her, shrill with anger. “I can’t believe you’re being this selfish.”
“Not wanting you to get hurt is selfish, suddenly?”
“This is my life! This show is my life.”
He huffed out a frustrated sigh and shook his head in a patronizing way that brought Kate’s blood to a rolling boil. She stopped and set the camera on its case in the snow, rubbed her face.
He halted a few paces ahead and turned. Kate couldn’t make out his expression through the heavy flakes. “We have to keep moving, Katie. And we need to stay close. The visibility’s going to hell.”
She barely heard the words. She was six months ahead of the present, picturing herself waving goodbye to Ty as he left for the next season’s locations, left her behind, left whatever it was they were together behind without looking back. See you, Kate. I’ll send you a postcard.
“Kate?”
She shook her head, tried to clear it, but succeeded only in scrambling the pain and hurt, redoubling it. All the emotions she usually blocked out were finding weak spots, poking through the holes in her armor.
“I’m not changing my mind on this, Kate. I’m sorry.”
That last word shoved her right over the edge and Kate found herself doing the only thing that felt right—she strode forward and pushed him. A harmless shove, then another that sent him back a step. Then a flurry of angry, ineffective fists to his chest. Ty let it go on for a few seconds and then grabbed her wrists and steadied her.
“Kate, stop.”
“Take back what you said—about gutting my job and wrecking my life!”
“This isn’t your life. That was your life, back there.” He nodded in the direction they’d come from, where the sled had flipped. “That thing you almost lost—for a television program. That’s your life, and I just about got you killed just now. It’s over. Nothing’s worth that.”
She jerked her elbows, trying to break his grip but standing no chance. “You can’t just decide that!”
“Yeah, I can.”
“Goddamn it, Ty, where is this coming from? From one sled accident in three seasons of shooting? From…from the fact that I told you not to kiss me?” The last couple words came out a mumble.
His eyes dropped back to hers. “No. I just can’t let you endanger yourself for this. For me.” His hold slackened and Kate yanked her hands back.
Panicking, she tried a different approach. “You’re over-reacting because you’re freaked out. But I’m fine!” She patted herself down, her shoulders, ribs, thighs. “I’m fine! And this isn’t just your show. This is mine, too, and you know it. All of it, especially out here.”
He cast his gaze to the snow between their feet. “I’m sorry, but I’m not changing my mind on this.”
“I can’t believe this.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“It’s just a stupid show, Katie.”
How could he say that? This stupid show, as he called it, was the sun Kate’s life had orbited around these past two and a half years. She paused only a moment, just long enough to pull her glove off before she hit him again. Hard this time, an open palm across his face that jerked his head to the side with a snap and left a mean red mark blossoming beneath the heavy stubble on his jaw.
“Kate—”
“I’ve signed a hundred waivers to risk my neck for this ‘stupid show,’” she hissed. “You don’t get to fire me because I almost get hurt making a program whose whole goddamn premise is trying to frigging stay alive! Of course it’s dangerous! That’s the point!”
“Calm down.” Ty made a move to grab her flailing arms again but she pulled back, livid.
“No! I won’t! You don’t get to do this! I’ve put my blood and sweat into this. Literally. Five seasons, you said. You promised me five seasons or until they stop renewing us. Five seasons of this, not me behind a desk in L.A. and you out here where all the good stuff happens.”
“Then I lied, Katie. I changed my mind, okay?”
“Don’t call me that!” She hadn’t corrected his calling her Katie in a very long time. No one ever called her that, not even when she was a little kid. Lovable, perky girls were called Katie, not prickly ones. The nickname was wrapped inexorably up in Ty, in how she felt around him, and she couldn’t hear it now. “How can you do this?”
“It’s a show. It’s a job. You’ll find another job, if what I’m offering isn’t enough.” He exhaled heavily. “We’ll tweak the terms and I’ll get you an amazing severance package, okay? I mean, where are your priorities? Why can’t you see how big a deal it is that you nearly lost your life back there?”
Can’t you see that you’re my life now?
The silence that rang out in the wake of the shouting was deafening. Stomping back to the camera, Kate dusted off the snow and zipped it into its case, then set off along the trail. She could just see Ty’s red jacket in her periphery. Just as well he was on her bad ear’s side. She didn’t much feel like hearing anything he might have to say.
The flakes fell around them, silent and steady. Kate forced herself back into professional mode and filled her overheated head with concerns of actual survival, not just the canned and dramatized variety. Ty was right about the visibility. Kate’s pack contained a flare gun, but there was no point setting one off to try to alert the safety team, not in these conditions. At this rate the dogs’ tracks would be obliterated within the hour. They needed to at least get to that fork, and fast.
The silence out here was eerie, broken only by the creaking of their boots in the wet snow. Trudging a few paces behind her, Ty spoke, his muffled words wasted. He jogged a few steps to walk on her good side. “Kate?”
“Don’t talk to me.”
For a long time, the better half of an hour, he didn’t. When he did speak again, all he said was, “We need to think about shelter.”
Kate didn’t reply at first. She got the camera out and handed Ty the empty case to carry. Flicking on the power, she trained the viewfinder on his tired face.
“Not now, Kate.”
“Do your job,” she said coldly. “I’ve always done mine.”
Ty sighed and the look in his eyes was one of sad obedience. As he walked, Ty addressed the camera, informing the audience about Saskatchewan, about the unseasonable weather currently dogging them, about gear. Kate tuned out, lost in her own worries. Eventually Ty fell silent and she shut the camera off. They continued in heavy silence and even heavier snow.
Eventually Kate broke the long lapse in conversation. “This really doesn’t look good.” She stared at the ominous pewter sky swirling above them.
Ty shook his head in agreement. “We’re not going to make it to the safety crew.”
“No, we haven’t even reached the fork.” She thought for a moment. “Tent’s on the sled.”
“Yeah. We may need to build something.”
Kate sighed, accepting her fate. At least this was their area of expertise, plus working kept her calm. She turned the camera ba
ck on. “Rolling.”
“Jesus, Kate. Now?”
“Yeah, we’ve still got to bring home forty-two minutes’ worth of airable footage. We’re not giving up just because we lost the fishing spot. This is better, even—you’re always complaining about authenticity.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Fine. But don’t think I don’t suspect you’re doing this to get out of helping.” His attempt at reestablishing their old levity didn’t stand a chance against Kate’s current mood.
“What are you going to do, Ty? Fire me?” She hid the true bitterness of her words behind the lens, making them sound light and pithy, though she was still fuming. He may as well have fired her. That’s exactly what it felt like. Still… Her track record for talking Ty into things was impressive, and if she could just be patient and let the shock of the accident fade, she might be able to change his mind about his ridiculous decision.
“Okay,” Ty said to the camera. “I’ve decided that reaching the safety crew’s not going to happen fast enough in this storm, so I’ve got to reprioritize and get a shelter assembled, in case I can’t get out of here before tomorrow. The things I’m most concerned with are the cold and dampness. I need to get something built up off the ground—” he mimed a shape with his hands “—with a buffer against the wind, even if I don’t have time to get four walls in place. We’re working with a few more hours of so-called daylight, I’d guess. I’m also worried about a fire, since the film crew and I got pretty wet when the sled pitched us.
“Now, looking around—” he waved his arms around at the snowy, slushy scene, and Kate scanned it with the camera “—you wouldn’t reckon we’d have much luck trying to get a fire going. But if you’ve watched this show enough times I hope I’ve taught you that you can almost always get a fire started even if the tinder’s looking grim. Anyhow, I’m going to search for some wood for the shelter.”
Kate and the camera followed as he surveyed the area for materials. The chances of finding anything looked very grim, indeed.
Ty paused his search after a few fruitless minutes to address the audience. “Now the axe that any adventurer worth his salt would bring with him on this kind of trip is, I’m sad to say, making its way back to the dogs’ base camp at this very moment. And I can tell you, getting a shelter put up without an axe is going to be about ten thousand times harder.” Ty sighed heavily, contemplating this. “The other option,” he said, still walking, “is to build a snow den. It might seem contradictory, building a shelter out of snow when you’re trying to stay warm and dry. But actually it’s an ancient building technique, and the insulation the snow can—”
He paused, seeing that Kate was pointing over his shoulder. He turned.
“Oh,” he said, spotting the neon orange sign posted at the edge of the trail. Kate zoomed in on its words and instructive arrow. Emergency Shelter, 1 km.
She aimed the camera back at Ty.
“My crew has a better idea, apparently,” he said, and offered a glimmer of his trademark smile.
He set a quick pace and Kate followed him the half mile to their salvation, a shed-style building erected just a short way off the trail. It looked to be in decent shape, with the exception of a broken windowpane and a carpet of moss creeping up one side.
“Emergency shelter,” Ty said, turning back to his future audience. “This just goes to show you that, in this day and age at least, getting stranded doesn’t always mean slapping a lean-to together. If you find yourself lost on a trail or in a popular hunting or trapping area, you might be able to find a man-made place just like this one. Let’s see what we’re working with, here. I can see a chimney, at any rate, so let’s hope that means we’ve got a woodstove.”
He tested the knob of the mildly moldy front door and pushed.
“Eureka,” he began, then ducked and stumbled backward, covering his head as a dozen black birds rocketed out of the door and past their shoulders. “Right.” He took the camera from Kate and scanned the space with it before they ventured inside.
It was as big as a couple of toolsheds, eight feet by fifteen, Kate estimated. Ty’s prayer had been answered—a squat wood-burning stove sat at the far end next to a small pile of gnarled lumber left by whoever had been sequestered here last. Someone had taken the time to build a shelf above the stove, and on it sat a banged-up tin pot and a chipped mug, as well as a pair of rusty double-A batteries and an ancient, mildewy hunting magazine.
“Oh, glorious!” Ty jogged to the stove, bending over then straightening up again, holding an abandoned axe in front of the camera lens. “It’s dull, but I can’t tell you how excited I am to see this.” Kate watched Ty record more of their discovery and his commentary for a few minutes.
“Damn, this is lucky,” she said when she could speak again. A wobbly-looking card table stood by the door, kept company by an aluminum folding chair. There was even a small single bed against the wall near the woodstove. It looked exceedingly utilitarian, a metal army-style cot with a slatted headboard. Kate didn’t trust the moldy mattress on it one bit, but they had a sleeping bag with them, which could make it workable. A heck of a lot more workable than a frigging snow den.
“Welcome home, darling.” Ty set the camera down and scanned the shelter with his hands on his hips. “This is a bloody blessing, eh?”
“Better check for rats,” Kate said. They poked around but found only the evidence of the squatting birds. She pulled a roll of electrical tape out of her pack and secured an empty pretzel bag over the missing window pane.
“Smells a bit,” she said, flaring her nostrils at the musk of rotting wood.
“Yeah, sorry.” Ty walked to the bed, sat down with a groan of rusty springs. “I wanted to get you the honeymoon suite, but it was booked.”
“Get us a fire going,” Kate ordered, not wanting to think about such things as honeymoon suites right now. This man had, after all, just demoted her. And what it felt like, more than anything else, was a breakup. When he’d told Kate he wanted her off filming, what she’d really heard was, “I’m dumping you.” And she’d never imagined a breakup could hurt this badly. If she started thinking about it now the pain would be too great to bear. She’d never cried in front of Ty and she’d be damned if she was going to start now.
“Actually, you get the fire going,” Ty said, and he fished in Kate’s pack for a moment then tossed her her lighter. “I’ll go look for some decent wood for when that stuff runs out.” He nodded at the selection of old firewood they’d inherited.
“Fine. Bag us a three-course meal, while you’re at it,” she said.
“As you wish.” He disappeared with the axe, leaving Kate alone with not nearly enough distractions. She unstrapped the sleeping bag from her pack, tossed it across the bed and took a seat. Spinning her lighter’s thumbwheel around and around, she got lost in the sparks.
God. This couldn’t happen. This was her entire life, this show. Not being here, being a part of the real process, would be worse than getting fired outright…saying goodbye to Ty as he left for weeks at a time, off to do the things they’d always done together, as a pair. Now she’d be left in his dust, or worse, in the dust of some hateful replacement. Kate looked down, dropped the lighter and fisted her hands, letting her nails bite into her palms, letting the pain push away her urge to cry. She’d moved to L.A. expecting something a lot different from this—something a lot safer and cleaner and more glamorous. But damn if it hadn’t grown on her. Damn if Ty hadn’t grown on her.
Damn if she wasn’t half in love with the bastard.
5
TY TRUDGED THROUGH the ever-deepening snow, looking forward to pulling his slush-filled boots off as soon as he’d gathered enough wood to get them through the night. The flakes seemed to be getting bigger by the minute. He tendered a mental prayer to his ambiguous and unreliable higher power that the storm wouldn’t get so bad that they couldn’t travel the next day. Hunger had long since left him weak and dispirited and he didn’t think he co
uld take much more of this godforsaken wilderness…. Of course he’d finally decided to lose his nerve on the one shoot where quitting wasn’t an option.
Kate’s temper had him more nervous than the weather, though—he’d half expected lightning to shoot out of her eyes at him during that fight. He couldn’t blame her for being angry. This was her show. She’d never failed to rise to any challenge since he’d taken her on as his assistant. Sometimes he felt he’d known her forever. Yet he could remember the first time they met as if it had been last week.
Ty hadn’t yet found an office or apartment when the network had unexpectedly optioned his pilot, so Kate met him at his hotel on a typical sunny L.A. afternoon. She turned up at precisely the appointed hour, clad in a blazer and a pink, collared shirt, shiny pointy-toed shoes and pressed slacks. She looked as if she’d just stepped off the set of a soap opera in which she played a ballsy, no-nonsense, sexkitten lawyer.
Ty shook her hand and watched her slip a glossy lock of her hair, complete with salon-fresh highlights, behind her ear. This was so not going to work.
He’d posted the job the previous afternoon in the online trade papers, and all he’d said was, “PA needed on location for new reality / survival program. Crap pay, great travel opportunities.” He’d been hoping for maybe a beach bum kid, some twenty-something wannabe pro surfer with a taste for adventure and an up-for-it attitude. A hard worker, but relaxed and adaptable, competent with a camera and mics. Someone like himself, whose only dream was to get paid to travel and have fun. The woman who arrived that morning wasn’t any of those things, as best Ty could tell.
“Tell me about your experience, Miss…Somersby,” he said, squinting at the take-out menu he’d scribbled her name on the previous evening when she’d phoned. He tried to sound professional, but he really had no idea what he was doing. He’d never expected the channel to pick up the pilot he’d taped on a climbing acquaintance’s beer-fueled dare. But a rival network had recently begun production on a similar series, and they’d been eager to try to beat the competition out of the gate. That Ty demanded little in the way of budget, schedule or staff had clinched the deal.
