Chapter 8 #2
He stopped her when she reached for her flashlight.
“Can’t risk it. Penlights only and shade it with your hand.
Light shines for miles from this height.
” And there were two men combing the soggy terrain for their prey.
They’d have found the vehicle and possibly narrowed down the direction he and Mackenzie had taken.
Her shivering was impossible to ignore, his just as violent. The space was cold, extremely so. They had to get dry quickly. “Got any spare clothes in your pack?” he asked.
“No. The jail has all my worldly possessions except this outfit Kevin provided. I left the prison uniform on his porch.”
He pulled a tight bundle from his supply. “Put these on. It’s all gonna be huge but maybe adequate with some extreme measures.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure? What will you wear?”
“I’ve got something to use until Kevin’s borrowed clothes dry. Go change.”
“Uh, where do I . . .”
He pointed to the corner and turned his back, studying the old firefinder and the map. “No peeking. I promise. I’ll just finish exploring the supplies.”
She scurried to the bunk area, and he took the opportunity to poke around.
God might have provided some useful items along with the lifesaving shelter.
He prowled, elated to find a few things that would help with survival and comfort.
He moved on to what served as a kitchen area.
He discovered a plastic baggie full of sugar and salt packets, which he immediately secreted in his pack.
When he looked in the box by the telescope, the next prize had him almost crowing aloud.
Mackenzie approached and he did a double take, his find hidden behind his back.
His sweatpants engulfed her slender legs and she’d taken a hair elastic and cinched them tighter around her waist. His sweatshirt was massive too, so she’d rolled up the cuffs.
The crew socks puddled around her ankles, and she rested one foot atop the other.
But her smile was so warm and lovely he felt transfixed by it.
“What?” She pirouetted. “I’m not doing your clothes justice?”
“They’ve never looked better,” he said, hand on his heart. Honest reaction he’d forgotten to suppress. He recovered. “And I have a gift for you. Here.” He produced the battered pair of stained leather hiking boots.
She gaped. “Boots? You found these here?”
“Previous tenant left them. Maybe a little too big, but . . .”
She stared at them as if they were rare jewels.
“Are you kidding? They’re perfect.” Flinging her arms wide, she hugged him.
She might have meant it to be a momentary action, but his arms went around her and he held her close and she let him.
Her body was soft against him, her hair smelling of rain and the curve of her cheek pressed to his chin.
His heart lit up like a beacon. What? Why?
He couldn’t explain the wild firing of emotion, but when she pulled away, turning to scurry to the lower bunk bed, his cheeks felt hot and his balance a little off.
Trauma bonding. Simple as that. Two people struggling to survive, emotions heightened due to the circumstances. Totally understandable. He wouldn’t let it get out of hand.
The bootlaces were stiff and the leather too, but the super thick socks helped take up the extra space and he watched in satisfaction as she took some tentative steps in the new footwear.
“Jimmy Choo has nothing on these babies.” She took them off and put the wrecked sneakers with the rest of her clothes spread out to dry.
With his heart still racing, he pulled himself together. “I’ll change quick, and then I need to do some maintenance. Can you be my assistant?”
She laughed. “I guess you don’t have any other candidates, so sure.”
After he’d pulled on the remaining dry clothes from his pack and spread his wet garments next to hers, she followed him to the broken window.
With her palm shielding the beam of her flashlight, she provided enough illumination that he was able to fit a black plastic bag over the missing glass with the roll of duct tape from his supplies.
It stopped the cold wind from rushing in.
Helpful, since he could see his breath puffing in the frigid air.
He would have given a month’s pay to be able to light the small stack of dry wood in the stove, but that would be too much of a tip-off to their pursuers.
He then whacked the dust off the bunk mattresses, which caused them both to sneeze.
Dusty or not, he couldn’t wait to fall into a much-needed sleep.
Every muscle was crying out for food and rest and his rebuilt shoulder was clamoring.
The telescope was crooked, but Gideon straightened the tripod and reattached it, then peered into the viewer before he gestured for her to look.
She squinted into the eyepiece at the sprawling countryside below them. A glimmering necklace of lights eastward caught her attention.
“The dam,” he said.
“Still holding.”
But for how long? The rivers were already close to capacity, overflowing in some places.
While she continued to scan for any sign of pursuit, he went on with his search. Below the telescope was a cabinet that he opened.
“Well, lookie what we’ve got here.”
“Blankets?” she squeaked.
He cheered as he pulled out two musty-smelling wool blankets. “Sure as shooting. And they’re nice and dry. You take them. It’ll help you sleep.”
She pushed one back at him. “Nope. Even stephen. One for each of us.” She wrapped hers around her shoulders. The fabric smelled of mothballs. He flung his on the top bunk.
The night sky grew impenetrable as the darkness became complete.
With the illumination his penlight provided, Gideon locked the hatch through which they’d entered.
Secure, a hundred-plus feet in the air. It would afford them an excellent view of anyone pursuing, but it created other problems too.
If Al and Jerry or any of Bullseye’s people found them, would they have time to get down from their lofty perch, or would they be easy pickings?
Pluses and minuses. Right then, the biggest plus was the fact that they were dry and out of the elements.
They each discreetly used a waste bucket, which had been a must for the fire-watchers since there was no plumbing.
He checked his phone. It was nearly six thirty, but it felt like midnight. No bars, which meant no messaging or calling. Hers wasn’t any better.
“Here.” He handed her a portable charger. “At least we can keep them juiced up and ready for the moment we have coverage.”
She plugged in and slumped on the lower bunk.
He longed to do the same, but if he lay down he’d be out like a blown candle. He stretched his depleted limbs. The moment had arrived to apply the old razzle-dazzle. “I’m hungry. You?”
She closed her eyes and moaned. “So hungry.”
“While I’m preparing our meal, can you see if there’s anything helpful in that box under the lower bunk?”
She sat up. “There’s going to be a meal? You better not be teasing about a thing like that.”
“Patience, young grasshopper.”
While he made his way to the tiny kitchen corner, she pulled out the darkened metal trunk from under her bunk. “Some maps, a flashlight, minus the batteries. An empty tin of cat food. And, oddly, a cookbook titled Three Hundred Sixty-Five Soup Recipes.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I only know how to make chicken noodle. I could use more ideas. Like how do you make that onion kind with the melty cheese on top?” The thought made his mouth water.
“No idea, but chicken noodle sounds divine right about now. Or really any kind at all.” Her stomach growled loudly to underline the point.
His was complaining too. If only he’d known he’d be going from his survival class to diving into the freezing river, to climbing to the top of a fire watchtower in a matter of two days, he’d have done a more thorough job fueling up.
And laying in supplies. He was carrying only the basics, and that wasn’t enough for two people.
The list of items they were lacking was endless.
But they’d enjoy one good dinner at least, and he found himself looking forward to her reaction.
“If you’d care to join me, madam,” he said grandly, “your dinner is served.”
She moved to stand at the small table. He gestured her into the rickety wooden chair, while he balanced on an upended crate. The tiniest sliver of moonlight sliced through the clouds and illuminated their dinner spot.
“I didn’t find any plates, so this will have to do.” He put a piece of tinfoil in front of each of them along with foldable metal forks from his camping kit.
Her brow quirked. “You have a burger and fries hidden in your backpack or something?”
He beamed. “Nothing so fancy, but it’s hot.”
The word made her eyes grow wide, and the thrill inside him blossomed.
“Hot? How did you . . .” she started, dropping off as if she were witnessing a natural wonder of the world.
He opened a small thermos. The waft of heat felt miraculous as he dumped half the contents onto her tinfoil.
The smell made his mouth water.
“Kevin’s pasta?” she said, incredulous.
He smiled. “Uh-huh. Last night I asked him if I could have some, and he said yes.”
“Unbelievable.” She put her face close to the noodles. “Oh my stars, it’s still steaming.”
His smile widened. “The trick is to warm the thermos with hot water and then dump out the water before you fill it. Retains the heat better.”
She sat back with a shake of her head. “You are a wilderness wonder, Gideon Landry.”
He laughed. “I’ll put that on my business card and expect you to post a Yelp review of my class, even though you tanked it by scaring away my only student.” Emboldened by her praise, he reached out and took her hand. “For grace,” he said quietly, and she nodded.