Chapter 6
Russell
A sound so loud it vibrates through my bones echoes around me, jerking me out of sleep.
I swing up to sit, ready to bolt. My heart pounds in my chest, in my ears, behind my eyes, and every muscle in my body is tensed so hard it feels like they might pop.
Wren’s next to me with the same terrified expression of shock and confusion on his face.
“What the hell was that?” I can barely hear his raspy voice because all sounds are suddenly distant and hazy, and I can’t seem to properly focus on any of them.
Danger.
Danger.
Danger—that’s all I know it is. We’re not safe. It could be anything, anyone, a missile, a bomb, or a—
“Russell?”
I let out a shaky breath and snap my eyes down to my hands.
I have to calm down.
I’m home. In my house.
But my body won’t calm down. I feel the familiar buzz of adrenaline rushing through me, spiking my pulse, making me dizzy and hyper-focused at the same time. My limbs tremble in that infuriating way, like I’ve lost all control of them. Of everything.
“Are you okay?” Wren asks. He rakes his fingers through his hair to smooth it back before rubbing his eyes. I manage to nod, trying not to worry him. “What the fuck was that?” he adds quietly.
I don’t know, but it felt like it shook the entire house.
I push away the invasive, irrational thoughts urging me to run and fight and grab a weapon, and get up. While Wren watches me from the bed, eyebrows pulled up with concern and biting his bottom lip, I slowly open the window shutters to check outside, holding back my panicked breathing.
“Shit,” I hiss. The massive pine on the east side of the property, near the road leading further up the mountain, lies uprooted right in front of the building.
Wren sidles up next to me, and his sudden appearance makes me twitch and step away with a little choked gasp. I really need to get ahold of myself.
Breathe. Relax.
He checks to see where I’m looking with an uneasy expression. “Oh my god. That…that could’ve fallen on the house.”
“It didn’t,” I say. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take a moment to focus on my breathing with my eyes shut. It’s fine, everything’s fine.
Then, once I open them again, I notice the power line. It’s down, too. Snapped under the weight of the tree. “I don’t think we’ll have any electricity, though,” I note with a tired sigh, pointing to the side for him to see.
Wren releases a similarly unhappy sound. “Great. Of course.”
“Don’t worry. It didn’t fall on the house.
That’s all that matters. We’ve got a heap of firewood to keep warm.
There’s a buncha candles and lamps with a charge, too.
I also have a small generator downstairs that I can turn on to heat some water for a shower.
” I hold my breath after saying that, noticing Wren’s eyes studying me intently.
Do I still seem too on edge? I don’t want to worry him.
“I um…I’ll get some more wood from downstairs,” I murmur and go grab my coat.
Wren says nothing in response.
He must’ve slept in his jeans tonight—at least that’s what he was wearing when he got out of bed.
I really ought to find him something proper to wear.
Looking back, I probably should’ve let him get his bag from the car, but all I thought about was that big metal casket plummeting down the hill, and my mind screamed at me to take him and drag him away, no matter what.
Life is all that matters. Always. Equipment, things…they can be replaced. A human life can’t. It’s too precious. Too fragile.
There should be some old clothes in one of the boxes at the top of my dresser that might fit him.
I rub and stretch the back of my neck on the way down the stairs, trying to release the pressure held there. My stomach won’t stop cramping. Every step I take feels like I’m walking with springs at the bottom of my feet. Ready to dash, move, or duck at the sound of any more danger.
There’s no danger, Russell.
I clench my jaw before drawing in a controlled, deep breath.
I walk out through the back, where the wooden awning keeps the area clear from snow and protects the firewood that’s stacked against the side of the house.
I use the opportunity of being here to assess whether any other trees could pose a threat, or if there’s damage I didn’t see from the inside. It all looks fine, thank the gods.
The blizzard isn’t letting up, though. The wind is still plenty strong, and the cold seeps into my bones, no matter how hot-blooded I usually am.
As I’m about to go back in with a heavy bucket of firewood, a rustling sound somewhere behind me gets my attention. I turn sharply, half expecting to be just another overblown figment of my messed-up imagination, but…it isn’t.
There’s a little bird there. A magpie.
All the tension inside me releases as I rest my eyes on it. Stumbling, panting with its beak open, and covered in snow, it struggles to get under the wobbly work desk at the edge of the awning, probably in an attempt to find shelter and escape the storm.
I approach it slowly. It startles anyway, but it doesn’t fly away. I don’t think it can. Its wing is stretched out awkwardly, folding only partially as the bird flops around.
Is it broken?
“It’s alright, little fella. Shhh,” I whisper and gingerly move toward it. “What’re you doing here? You should be hidin’ somewhere safe.”
The poor thing freaks out as I get closer, but it quickly loses steam and ends up just sitting there on the ground, trembling and leaning to the side, staring at me as if it’s surrendering to its fate. It must be too exhausted or too cold. Probably both.
It’s going to die if I leave it here, so I carefully reach for it, making sure to fold the wing into my grip and press the bird against my chest as it caws in protest. Its tiny body feels so cold under my skin. I need to get it warm quickly.
Struggling with the bird in one hand and the heavy bucket in the other, I push the door open, hold it with my foot, and stumble inside.
“Rus?”
The bucket crashes against the ground with a loud thud. My balled fist extends, ready to strike, before I blink and realize it’s Wren standing in front of me, eyes bulging at me in shock, lips parted as though he was about to scream.
Shit.
“S-sorry,” I mutter. Quickly letting my arm fall, I swallow and look down.
I nearly punched the living daylight out of him.
Goddammit, Rus. The bird in my grip struggles, so I release the hold slightly.
I’m probably lucky I didn’t crush it like a peach when my entire body seized up.
“I’m sorry, it was…it’s… I get on edge sometimes. ”
Wren releases a measured, slow sigh and nods. He doesn’t seem angry. “Like…from combat?” he asks quietly, those sky-blue eyes studying me with careful interest. “PTSD?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say under my breath and bend down to put the logs back into the bucket.
Wren quickly joins me. I’ve seen guys with PTSD.
Seen how it can rule their entire lives.
I’m not like that. I have it under control most of the time.
I’m lucky. “It’s just that wakin’ up to a loud bang isn’t the best for my brain, that’s all. ”
“And the…random bird in your hand?” he asks with the faintest frown before glancing at the creature with an amused smirk.
“Oh, I found it outside. I think its wing is…maybe not broken, but it ain’t right somehow. It’ll die out there like this, so I’m takin’ it upstairs and keeping it in until the storm passes. I’ve got some birdseed I can feed it.”
We both reach for the same piece of wood to put back in the bucket, and as our fingers brush, we lock eyes and stare at each other for a moment. With an awkward smile, I move away while Wren picks it up.
He seems a little lost in thought. I wonder what that’s about.
“Are you planning to just let it fly around the room? Isn’t it gonna hurt itself?”
“The poor thing’s already injured. And exhausted. I’ll put it in a dark box with some water and food by the fire for now, give it time to recover first.”
There’s a soft smile on his face. He looks…pleased? At least it’s not that strange sadness from before.
We’re almost finished with cleaning up the mess I made, and the magpie no longer thrashes inside my grip. “You sound like you’ve done it before,” Wren notes.
“I’ve helped some wildlife here and there.
A few squirrels. A grouse. A pigeon or two.
I know you ain’t supposed to really intervene with nature and stuff…
I only do it when it feels fair. I’m not wrestlin’ a rabbit out of a fox’s mouth to save it.
That’s life. The way of things. But there’s no harm in givin’ a few animals a second chance. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
Wren meets my eyes again as he kneels in front of me with an intense, thoughtful expression. I want to ask what he’s thinking about, but he looks down sharply and grabs the bucket of wood, standing up with it in his hands.
“I can get that,” I blurt out.
He snorts. “I’m not that weak, you know?” With that, he turns and heads for the stairs, his gait swift and determined.
My cheeks burn up from embarrassment. “That’s not what I—” I clear my throat and follow him while I check on the bird. It has definitely warmed up in my hand at least. I feel its tiny heart pounding wildly against my skin, which is good. Still has some fight in it. “You’ll be alright,” I whisper.
I head to the junk corner of the room by the kitchen, where I throw all the random crap that doesn’t have a place anywhere else. There’s a big enough cardboard box I can use. I stab some holes in the sides of it while holding it between my legs.