Not if I Save You First

by Ally Carter

  He looked down at her. “I lost you.”

  Maddie didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t walking anymore. He was just standing in the snow and the cloudy streaks of moonlight, staring down into her eyes like maybe it wasn’t too late to go back, do it all again.

  But there were no second chances. Life didn’t work that way, and Logan, genius that he was, was smart enough to know it. So he looked back to the trees and kept walking.

  “I don’t know why, you know?” Maddie’s voice was faint, but she ran a hand across Logan’s chest, like she was trying to feel his heartbeat through his coat. “One day he was in the hospital and the next he was coming home. But he wasn’t home. Not really. He just told me to pack a bag and the next thing I knew we were here and we had other lives.”

  “Your dad loves you, Mad Dog.”

  There was awe in his voice. And envy.

  Maddie hated every word.

  “Logan, no. You’re wrong. Your dad loves you, too.”

  Logan laughed then, and it was colder than the wind.

  He started walking faster, away from the man who was chasing them, away from the risk that, in a way, had been on his trail for six long years and might never, ever stop.

  “Rest, Mad,” he told her.

  “I thought I was supposed to keep talking.”

  “Yeah.” Logan laughed a little. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

  “We’re going to be okay.”

  Maddie was an excellent liar. When you talked as much as she did, you get good at saying all kinds of words. She could even convince herself most of the time. She’d gotten especially good at that in the past six years.

  It’s not that cold in here.

  Elk meat is delicious and tastes like chicken.

  It’s almost impossible to get sick of salmon.

  (Even though it is very, very possible to get sick of salmon.)

  But the biggest lie was this: I don’t even need people anymore.

  Maddie needed her father. And Maddie needed Logan, even when he was just a memory or a name on a letter. Even when he was just someone to hate. Long before he was the boy who bound her wounds and kept her warm and carried her through the forest, she needed him.

  Her darkest, deepest fear was that a part of her always would.

  “You’re not shaking anymore,” Logan told her, looking down.

  With the snow still falling and the ice in the trees, it was almost beautiful. It was almost like a dream. The good kind, for once.

  “Mad?” He couldn’t hide the worry in his voice or in his eyes. “You’re not shaking anymore!”

  “I feel fine,” she told him.

  “No. You don’t feel anything. That’s worse.”

  “It feels better,” she said, even though she knew that he was right.

  “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “There is no hospital, Logan. There’s no help.”

  “Then what is there?” he snapped. He didn’t mean to. Maddie could see the remorse in his eyes as soon as he said it. He opened his mouth, as if to apologize, but then it felt like a movie again.

  The snow stopped falling.

  The clouds actually parted.

  The moon sliced through the darkness, like a spotlight through the trees.

  And there it was.

  It was covered in ice, and snow had blown up against it, a drift that might have hidden its silhouette. But Maddie knew the shape of a roof when she saw one. Maddie knew miracles when she found them.

  “There’s that,” she said, and Logan followed her gaze to the tiny cabin that sat a little higher on the hill.

  Dear Logan,

  I really miss you. And I’m mad at you. But not as mad as I am at myself for continuing to write you these letters.

  Maddie

  It wasn’t more than a shack, but the sight of it must have been enough to stun Logan, because he didn’t complain when Maddie slid from his arms.

  Then stumbled.

  Her head spun a little, and she felt his arms around her again, but he didn’t lift her. He just held her as they tried to climb the rise of the hill toward something that wasn’t quite a cabin, wasn’t quite a shack. But it was there. And it had a roof and walls and there was a stovepipe sticking out of the snow on top of the slanting roof.

  “What is that?” Logan asked, and Maddie could see where he’d be confused.

  “It’s a trapper’s shed,” she said, then stopped. Every one of her senses seemed to go into overdrive as she looked around at the glowing white stillness, as she listened to the wind. Branches cracked under the weight of the snow and the ice, but not even the birds were moving out there.

  They were alone.

  For now.

  “Logan, did you bring us here because you saw it on Stefan’s map?”

  The map and the bridge and the man seemed a million miles away. It seemed like it had happened last year. Six years ago. It was another lifetime. Everything had changed since waking up in Logan’s arms.

  Logan must have felt it, too, because he shook his head as if trying to shake off some foggy dream. “I … No.”

  “Think, Logan. If it was on the map, then he’ll know it’s here. We can’t stay here.” She looked at the snow-covered ground. Their footsteps stood out like neon in the moonlight. Now that Maddie was upright again—thinking again—she wanted to panic.

  She looked up at the sky and prayed that the clouds would come back, that the snow would fall harder and cover their tracks.

  It had been falling steadily for at least an hour. Maybe if they were lucky their steps near the bridge would be covered by the time Stefan made it there.

  But Maddie felt like she hadn’t been lucky in a very long time.

  “Logan, think!” she snapped. “Was it on the map?”

  Maddie knew him. Not the president’s kid. Not the tabloid troublemaker. Maddie knew the boy who had been so freakishly smart and helplessly awkward that he had been willing to befriend the girl who never shut up. Just so he wouldn’t have to do any talking.

  Maddie knew Logan’s secret. She didn’t need to give him special tests to know the truth. Logan had seen that map. Which meant Logan would remember that map. He had to.

  “Logan,” she whispered. “Look.”

  So he closed his eyes. He shook his head. “It wasn’t on there.”

  And Maddie felt herself sway again, falling into his arms.

  Logan didn’t want to cry. It wouldn’t be manly, for starters. And for some reason, since seeing Maddie again, he felt the need to be as manly as possible. He didn’t let himself think about why.

  But mostly, Logan didn’t want his tears to freeze. It would be the only part of him that wasn’t frozen.

  Like a guy who swears he isn’t hungry until he actually smells food, Logan didn’t know how cold he’d been. He didn’t realize how hard it was to keep moving one foot in front of the other until he was moving toward a roof and four walls.

  Going was one thing. But to go on and on, walking indefinitely toward nothing, was much worse.

  It wasn’t because he carried Maddie. No, just the opposite, in fact. Maddie’s weight in his arms was what had kept him moving forward, what gave him his strength. Logan had no idea where they were going, but he knew what he was doing—he was getting Maddie to safety. It was the only thing worth doing. And he was going to do it if it killed him.

  But now that the shack was in sight, Logan’s legs wanted to falter. He wouldn’t let them, though. Not now that Maddie was as white as the snow and teetering, unsteady as they climbed the hill.

  Snow had drifted in front of the door, but there was no lock, and when Logan pushed against the wood it opened into the small, dark space that was just as frigid as the air outside. The drift collapsed, snow falling over the threshold and dusting the floor, but at least they were out of the wind here. They were at least a little safe from whatever predators might be filling the woods.

  Or some of the predators
, at least.

  Logan hadn’t lied to Maddie. The shack wasn’t on Stefan’s map. But he also knew that he’d left footprints. A day’s worth of sleet had turned the ground to ice, and the snow was a fluffy blanket atop it. More had fallen, and the wind was blowing, but they could be tracked. It was possible. But there was nothing he could do about it, and he didn’t dare mention his fears to Maddie, even though he knew she must be thinking the same thing. There are some worries that are just better if they’re never said aloud.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Maddie nearly doubled over in relief when she saw the small black cast-iron stove.

  There was a matchbox sitting atop it and Logan bolted for it. “Empty,” he said, tipping the box upside down to prove his point. Disappointment roiled within him, and he threw the empty box at the wall.

  “We don’t need it,” Mad told him.

  “But—”

  “Not when we’ve got that.”

  He turned and saw the corner of the shack where wood was stacked and dry and waiting.

  “Somebody up there loves us,” Logan said. He actually bent down and kissed a log. It tasted like safety.

  Maddie laughed at him, and that was the best thing in the shack, Logan decided. The sound of Maddie’s laughter.

  “That’s a rule here,” she told him. “There are cabins like this scattered all over, built by hunters or trappers or whatever. But if you use the wood, you replace it.” She got a little somber. “You could be saving someone’s life.”

  Then Logan remembered the matches. “Lot of good it does us without matches.”

  Maddie sounded insulted. “Bring me the box.”

  “Mad Dog, it’s empty,” he reminded her. Maybe the hypothermia was getting worse. Maybe she was starting to not think straight.

  But she sounded just like Maddie—just like Old Maddie—when she said, “Will you bring me the box, please?”

  So Logan did as she asked.

  She eased open the door of the little stove. It was dusty and the hinges squeaked, but everything seemed okay. At least it did in the dark.

  Logan watched as Maddie tried to tear at the cardboard of the box, but her hands shook. She was weaker than she’d ever admit, so he placed his hand over hers, took the box, and ripped.

  “How small do you want the pieces?”

  “Tear it into strips and make a little nest in the stove. Then go strip the bark off some of those birch logs.”

  “Okay,” Logan said.

  She was unzipping her coat, but it wasn’t the hypothermia playing tricks on her, Logan was sure. He watched as she pulled on the chain that was around her neck, tugging something out from beneath her many layers.

  The breath she drew was deep and shaky and almost reverent as she looked down at the small items in her hands.

  “I was terrified he was going to take them,” she said, but Logan couldn’t imagine why. They were the most un-Maddie-like pieces of jewelry he had ever seen, but she held them like they were precious.

  Like they were life itself.

  “Here,” he told her when he came back with the pieces of bark. “Is this enough?”

  “Yes,” she said, and took the biggest piece.

  Logan knew a lot of things, not the least of which was when to get out of the way. That was the first thing he’d learned as a toddler in the governor’s mansion. So he sat down and scooted back and watched Maddie make a small nest of the cardboard pieces inside the stove. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out her little tube of Vaseline, but her hands were too cold and she could barely work the lid.

  “Uh, Mad Dog, maybe your lips can wait?”

  “You’re more than welcome to wait outside,” she said as she spread some on her lips. She smirked, then started spreading Vaseline all over one of the pieces of cardboard and wadding it up. By the time she placed it on the biggest piece of bark it was a tiny, greasy ball.

  Her hands shook as she worked. She was so pale. He had to get her warm, but he knew better than to rush her.

  “This is a firesteel,” she explained, taking the necklace off and holding up a small metal rod. Then she held up the other piece. “And this is magnesium.”

  It wasn’t big, maybe the size of a pack of gum. And Logan watched as Maddie carefully ran her knife along the magnesium block, shaving off little pieces that fell onto her oily piece of cardboard.

  “Magnesium shavings are really flammable, and they burn super hot.”

  “Yeah. Four thousand degrees,” Logan filled in.

  “That’s right.” Maddie sounded shocked. And disappointed. Like maybe she couldn’t call him an idiot anymore.

  “That’s why this works even when it’s wet. It’s better than matches,” she explained.

  “What about the Vaseline?”

  “It’s oil. The cardboard is a candle now, basically. Usually, you need the Vaseline. Or you need the magnesium. But tonight …”

  “We need both?” Logan guessed.

  She looked up at him. “I’m not taking any chances.”

  “What can I do?” he asked. He was feeling restless, desperate.

  “Pray.” She held the little rodlike piece of metal close to the ball, then brought the dull side of her knife to it and waited a moment, drew a deep breath before swiping her knife down the little rod.

  Sparks flew, lighting the air. For one brief moment that frozen shack was full of fireflies. For one split second it was summer.

  But then, just that quickly, it was gone and darkness filled the cabin. Logan could hear Maddie’s breath rattle. Even in the shadows, he could see her hands shake.

  Maddie didn’t seem deterred, though. She acted like this happened all the time, being stranded in a blizzard a hundred miles from a hospital with nothing but a tiny, flickering spark standing between you and certain death.

  Logan refused to think about the certain death part, so instead he looked at the girl.

  A little blood was still in her hair, he could see it when the sparks flew again. He thought about the Maddie he used to know. She would have never been seen with her hair like that, with her face dirty and her nails broken. But that girl hadn’t been silly. She hadn’t been vain. She was just … bedazzled. And she was still before him, certain and strong and saving his life.

  “You can do it,” he reminded her. “You’re Maddie Freaking Manchester. You used a bear trap on a really ticked-off Russian. You can start a fire.”

  So Maddie pulled her knife down the rod again. Sparks flew from the end and, in a flash, one of them caught.

  Logan actually held his breath as Maddie blew on the tender flame, then transferred the little burning ball to the nest of cardboard inside the stove and surrounded it with more of the bark, careful not to smother the flames that were growing stronger and brighter and hotter with every moment.

  As Maddie started adding bigger pieces of wood to the fire, Logan looked at her in the light. She still looked like his Maddie, but she was so much more now.

  “It’s a shame we didn’t have any nail polish remover, huh?” he teased. He needed to hear her laugh again. Everything was okay when Maddie laughed.

  But Maddie didn’t laugh.

  Instead, her head jerked up, almost like she’d heard a shot, seen a bear. Logan actually jolted, looking around. But Maddie was staring right at him.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said it’s a shame we don’t have any nail polish remover. But I guess lip stuff will do.” He looked down at the small flame that was slowly coming to life. An orangish glow washed over her face and she was maybe the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Or she would have been. If she hadn’t looked like her best friend had just died. Again.

  “Why did you say that?”

  Logan wanted to laugh, tell her she was talking crazy, being so much of a girl.

  “Why did you say that, Logan?” she practically shouted.

  And Logan remembered the truth. The lie.

  She’d been so mad, so �
�� hurt. He hadn’t thought … But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Logan didn’t think anymore.

  “Logan, why—”

  “I told you, Mad Dog,” he said at last. He made himself meet her gaze. “I remember everything I read.”

  Logan was thawing. Maybe it was the fire that was growing, throwing light around the cabin and putting off the sweetest heat that he had ever felt. But more likely it was the rage that was coming off of Maddie, burning like the sun.

  She pushed herself across the cabin floor. Dust mixed with melting snow, and she didn’t even care that they had come there to get dry. At that moment, she just had to get away from Logan.

  “You read my letters? You got them. And you read them. And you never wrote me.” The cold came again. “You lied.”

  “Maddie—”

  “You … Why didn’t you write me, Logan? Why?”

  “Because you were gone!” Logan didn’t know where the words came from or why he was shouting. He just knew that a hurt he thought was gone was pouring out of him and he couldn’t stop it. Everything was too raw, too primitive. “You left. And you were better off.”

  “Do you think I wanted to go?” Maddie asked him. “If you really read my letters, you would have known … You would have known how it was.” Her voice broke, and Logan knew how much that simple fact must have hurt her.

  He pushed his hood back, ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t write to you, Mad, because I wanted you to stop writing to me.”

  “But why?” Maddie sounded like someone who had been waiting her entire life to ask that question. She looked like someone who would wait a lifetime more for an answer.

  “Because you weren’t just my best friend. You were my only friend. And I almost got you killed.” He laughed a little, cold and dry. “Looks like that’s a bad habit.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she told him.

  “Fine. Don’t believe me. But I know from personal experience that when your only friend leaves, sometimes the best thing you can do is try to convince yourself she never existed.”