Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Lincoln
Where the fuck is the rescue party? I’m trudging through snow that’s higher than my knees, icy wind whipping my blankets around. When I glance over my shoulder to make sure Trinity’s still there, she raises a gloved hand in the air, probably flipping me off.
I have to keep her moving and pissing her off is the most effective way of doing that. Do I really think she’s a pussy? No, but calling her one lit a fire under her ass.
Realistically, we’re probably only covering about a mile an hour in this snow. I think we’ve been walking for around fifteen hours, traveling north of the crash site because that’s the direction the plane was flying. I hoped we’d eventually reach civilization, but so far, we’ve seen nothing but snow and trees.
We could stop at the next densely forested area we find, but I don’t think we should. With wet feet, we’re on borrowed time. I stop my train of thought as soon as it goes there.
In hockey, if you think you could lose, you’re far more likely to. You have to go into a game with a laser focus on doing whatever it takes to win. That’s how I’m approaching this situation. It’s not about the number of miles or the temperature. It’s about my personal drive. No quitting.
I didn’t tell Trinity I was hoping rescuers could track us through my phone because I didn’t want to get her hopes up. I’ve got a friend who’s an FBI agent and I know they can do some sophisticated shit with phones these days.
I turned the phone off to preserve the battery. Maybe that was the wrong move. Maybe it’s already dead anyway.
This can’t be the way I go out. There are so many things I never got to do. The pro hockey record that seemed so important a couple of days ago feels completely meaningless now.
Living. That’s what matters. Making it through this without either of us losing body parts to frostbite.
I’m worried about Trinity. Pain and exhaustion are taking a toll on her. And while I’ll carry her until my legs won’t walk another step if I have to, I can’t walk a hundred-plus miles in these conditions.
Part of me wants to get out my phone and record a message for my dad if my phone has any life left. There’s a chance rescuers will find it and share it with him. But Trinity will know how dire I think things are if I do, and I don’t want that.
“Lincoln.” Trinity’s voice is hoarse, barely audible over the wind. I turn and see her pointing. “Light.”
I squint at the faint glow in the distance. How could there be a light out here? Blinking, I try to get a better look at it, but there’s snow blowing everywhere.
“I don’t know,” I say. “You think so?”
“It’s a light.” Her voice is stronger now. “We have to walk that way.”
I guess if there’s even a chance, we should do it. I turn to the right, leading her in the direction she was pointing.
This place is darker and quieter than anywhere I’ve ever been. There are no city lights. Just the stars. Our heavy breaths are the only sounds until the howl of a distant wolf breaks the near silence.
As we draw closer, my pulse kicks up as I realize Trinity is right. We’re walking toward a light. I break into a run, which is really just a faster walk in all the snow. After another quarter of a mile or so, I see that the bright outdoor light is mounted on a pole that’s around twenty feet tall. In its glow, I make out the shape of a roofline.
“A building!” I call over my shoulder to Trinity. “There’s a building!”
She cries out and starts to hobble-run. Tears burn my eyes as I race the rest of the way to what turns out to be a small cabin. I’m breathless by the time I step onto the front porch, which spans the entire length of the front of the cabin.
I take a few seconds to catch my breath as Trinity makes it to the porch.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says through tears. “Should we knock?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see any vehicles, but there might be someone in there.”
I approach the front door, lowering my brows when I see that it’s locked from the outside by a bar of metal. It looks like if I just lift the bar, I’ll be able to open the door.
I pound on the door for a full fifteen seconds, then wait. Nothing. I pound again, this time yelling.
“Hello? Hey, we need some help! Anyone in there?”
When we don’t hear a sound in response, Trinity and I exchange a quick glance. I raise the black metal bar and turn the doorknob to open the door.
The sweet scent of cedar greets me as I step inside, a wood floorboard creaking beneath my foot.
“Hello?” I call out. “I’m not an intruder; I just need some help.”
The outside light isn’t helping in here. I get my phone from my pocket, my hands too cold to push the buttons I need at first.
When I finally get it powered up and turn on the flashlight, I shine it around the room. The cabin is all open, with a bed against one wall, a fireplace, a kitchen area and a bathtub.
There’s also a neat little wood rolltop desk with a lamp on top. I walk over and use my phone flashlight to find the little knob on the lamp, turning it.
We’re alone here.
The cabin is flooded with dim light and Trinity gasps. A bed and fireplace are more than either of us were even hoping for. She pushes the door closed and drops to her knees, crying.
I’m on the verge of tears myself. Finding this cabin feels like a miracle. It doesn’t seem to be heated, but just getting out of the wind is huge.
“Maybe there’s a phone.” She gets up and limps toward the desk.
“I’ll look. You need to lie down.”
She looks at the bed and then back at me. I glance at the small love seat in front of the fireplace, which has a folded quilt draped over one arm.
“I’ll sleep on the love seat; you take the bed.”
“No, we’ll share the bed. Both of us need to get out of our wet clothes and get warm. Let’s add that quilt to the bed.”
I nod, glad she’s being practical. As she sits on the edge of the full-size bed and pulls off her wet boots and socks, I look around for a phone but don’t find one. I go through all the kitchen drawers and the small chest of drawers standing near the front door.
“Holy shit.” There are clothes inside.
I pull out two sets of one-piece thermal underwear and two pairs of socks. When I turn to show Trinity, she’s got her left foot up on the bed and I get my first good look at it.
I didn’t know it was this bad. Her ankle is swollen to twice its usual size and it’s marked with purple bruises. Guilt stabs me in the chest. I pushed her to walk all those miles in this condition. She’s right—I am an asshole.
I consolidated most of the contents of the first aid kit into the survival kit, so I’d only have one thing to carry. I open it and take out the nylon wrap.
“You want me to wrap it?”
She shakes her head. “Maybe tomorrow. Did you find dry clothes?”
“Yeah.” I walk over to her. “You need some help changing?”
Her cheeks turn pink as she looks up at me. “I can do it. Can you not look, though?”
“Of course I won’t look.”
I walk over to the wall next to the front door, which has multiple gun racks loaded with different-sized guns, a few hunting knives and even a bow and arrow. Whoever owns this place seems to be a big hunter.
“Ah...” Trinity hisses through her teeth. “God, that hurts.”
I keep my back to her as she changes, which sounds like a painful process.
“Okay, I’m decent again,” she finally says.
She’s wearing white long underwear which is about two sizes too big, the color dull from lots of washings. Even with her blond hair a mess and her face red from the cold, she looks cute.
“Here.” I walk over and put an arm around her, supporting her while she stands on her good foot.
I pull down the blankets in the bed and then help her sit down on it. Tears shine in her eyes as she looks up at me.
“Can you believe this?” She smiles.
“You were right about finding shelter.” I grab a pair of socks and bend down, helping her get her good foot into one.
“You might’ve been right, too. Maybe there’s a rescue team at the plane right now looking for us.”
Her eyelids are drifting closed.
“You want to try a sock on that other foot?”
She shakes her head. “No. I just want to sleep.”
I help her tuck her feet beneath the covers and then cover her up. The bed has sheets and two blankets on it, one of them made of thick wool and the other another worn quilt.
I spread the other quilt out over the bed, suddenly very aware of my wet, freezing feet. I walk around to the other side of the bed and slide off my wet clothes, groaning with happiness as I slide on the dry socks. I step into the long underwear after that and button it up.
There’s a pack of matches on the fireplace’s rustic wood mantel and a lot of firewood in a small back room of the cabin. I get a fire going and hang up all of our wet clothes, switch off the lamp and climb into bed beside Trinity.
She’s already snoring lightly. I close my eyes and exhale fully for what feels like the first time since we set out from the crash site.
I don’t know where we are or exactly what will come next, but the worst of the danger is past.
We’re going to live.