Chapter 6 #2
“I do not think I am most people.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
She raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
I flex my hands, feeling the heat beneath my skin. The way my body temperature runs too high. The instincts that guide me without explanation—tracking, hunting, knowing which plants are safe and which will poison. The strange certainty that I am capable of things I cannot name.
“I am different,” I finally say, bracing myself for disbelief.
Instead, she says, “Well, whatever you are, you saved my life. So I’m filing you under ‘friendly mountain cryptid’ and moving on.”
“Cryptid?”
“You know… Bigfoot, yeti, that sort of thing. Mysterious creatures people spot in the wilderness.” Her grin is crooked. “I run a whole conspiracy channel about this stuff, actually. Urban legends, unexplained phenomena. Drove my mom crazy.”
“Your mother did not approve?”
The grin fades slightly. “My mom didn’t approve of a lot of my life choices.
She wanted me to be different from her. Get a nice stable job, meet a nice stable guy, settle down in a nice stable house.
” She picks at the shirt hem. “But I was more interested in chasing weird stories and posting about lizard people at 3 am.”
“Lizard people,” I repeat, fairly certain I heard wrong.
“Long story. Weird story. Probably not real.” She waves it off. “Point is, I’m used to things not making sense. So you being a mysterious mountain man? Honestly, that tracks with my life so far.”
I find myself almost smiling. “You are… unusual.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” She shifts slightly, wincing as the movement pulls at her side. “Usually right before someone asks me to leave their establishment.”
“You should not move yet.” I reach to steady her, hand hovering near her shoulder. “You have already done too much. Your injuries—”
“Don’t hurt like they should. I know.” She looks down at where my hand almost touches her. “You’re really warm, you know that? Like, unnaturally warm.”
I pull back. “I apologize—”
“No, it’s not bad. Just… noticeable.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Do you feel feverish? Sick?”
“No. I feel…” I search for honest words. “Strong. Healthy.”
“The temperature thing might be why you survived up here,” she says. “If you’re running hot, you wouldn’t need as much shelter. Fewer supplies.”
The logic makes sense, but doesn’t explain the depth of the “otherness” I feel within myself. Still, I nod. “Perhaps.”
She pauses then and glances around the cave. “I’m going to have to get out of here soon, K.” She looks back at me. “How long do you think before I can travel?” she asks. “Like, actually walk out of here?”
The question unsettles me more than I expect. I don’t like the idea of her out there alone. Vulnerable.
I assess her carefully. The color has returned to her cheeks. Her breathing is stronger. But the memory of what I pulled from the wreckage—the impossible damage that should have killed her—makes me cautious.
“A day,” I say. “At least. Your body healed impossibly fast, but it still needs time.”
“A day.” She exhales slowly. “Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Luke and Ember will probably assume I’m dead by then, but—”
“You believe they will not search?”
“I believe they’ll search the crash site. Maybe the area around it. But K, we’re two days from civilization in terrain most people couldn’t handle on their best day.” She gestures at herself. “And I’m supposed to be crushed under a helicopter. Eventually, they’ll have to give up. Move on.”
The resignation in her voice bothers me more than it should.
“Then we make you well enough to find them,” I say. “Or we go to where they will search.”
She purses her lips. “Starting at the crash site?”
“Yes. If they search anywhere, it will be there first.”
“But that’s… How far did you carry me?”
“Half a day’s walk. Perhaps more. Time was…” I search for the word. “Unclear.”
“Jesus.” She touches her ribs gently, as if confirming they’re still whole. “That’s a long way to carry someone who should have been dead.”
“You were not dead.”
“I should have been.” Her voice drops. “I felt my bones break, K. Felt my chest collapse and—” She stops, swallows hard. “There’s no way I should be sitting here talking to you.”
I have no answer for this. The impossible made real through means I cannot explain.
“The fire chose,” I say, though I do not fully understand what this means.
“The fire chose,” she echoes. “That’s what you said before. What does that mean?”
“I do not know.”
She makes a sound that might be laughter or frustration. “You know, for someone who saved my life, you’re terrible at explanations.”
“Yes.”
This time it is definitely laughter—short, surprised. “At least you’re honest about it.”
The tension in her shoulders eases slightly. She shifts, testing her range of motion. Winces but does not stop.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “If I can walk without collapsing, we go back to the crash site. See if they left any sign. Any indication of where they went.”
I study her. She is better—remarkably so—but still fragile. Still healing from injuries that should have killed her.
But I understand the need. The not knowing is its own kind of wound.
“Tomorrow,” I agree. “We assess your strength at first light. If you can walk without pain, we go.”
Relief floods her expression. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet. The terrain will be hard.”
“I don’t care. Anything is better than sitting here wondering if they’re alive or dead or waiting for me somewhere I can’t reach them.”
True.
“You should eat more,” I tell her, reaching for the pot of broth. “Build strength.”
“More mystery bird soup. My favorite.” But she accepts the bowl when I offer it, and I see genuine hunger in the way she drinks.
I watch her, this strange woman with blue-tinged hair and sharp humor who survived impossible things. Who speaks of lizard people and conspiracy channels like they’re normal. Who looks at my wrongness and calls me a friendly cryptid.
For the first time since waking in this emptiness, I feel something other than void.
Purpose, perhaps.
Or the beginning of connection to another living soul.
She finishes the broth and hands back the bowl. Our fingers brush—her skin cool against my unnatural heat.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For all of this. The rescue, the shelter, the…” She gestures vaguely. “Everything.”
“You owe me nothing.”
“I owe you everything, K.” Her eyes hold mine. “And I don’t know how to repay someone who saved me from a hellish death, but I’ll figure it out.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s already settling back against the wool, exhaustion pulling at her features.
“Sleep,” I tell her. “We have a long walk tomorrow.”
She nods, eyes already closing. “Wake me if another mountain lion shows up.”
“I will.”
But I know I will not need to. I will keep watch. Keep the fire bright.
Keep her safe until morning comes and we can begin the descent.
Outside, the mountain settles into deeper cold. No more sounds of prowling cats. No disturbances.
Just the two of us, and the night, and the promise of answers at dawn.
If we can reach them.
If her body holds.
If the mountain allows it.