8. Noah
Chapter eight
Noah
I hear Mia say my name, her voice deadly calm. That tone sends a chill down my spine. Something is off. I tread carefully, making my way to where she disappeared into the trees. As I approach, I spot the bear before I see her. It’s a black bear watching Mia intently. In the grand scheme of things, I’m glad it’s not the grizzly, but a bear is a bear.
“Don’t panic,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady.
She scoffs. “I know better. I just didn’t want you to do anything stupid and anger it.”
I clap my hands loudly. “Go! Get out of here!”
The bear doesn’t move. It just stands there, almost defiant. I clap again, louder this time. “Go! Get!”
“Go!” Mia shouts, waving her hands in the air. “Get out of here!”
For a tense moment, it seems like it might not budge. But then, with a huff, it turns and saunters off into the forest. My relief nearly takes me to my knees. That had been close. I am about sick of the bears .
“The warm weather last week must have brought them out,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. “We need to be careful. They’re hungry.”
“And we’re warm, juicy snacks.”
She picks up her camera bag and throws it over her shoulder. “How far off our path do you think we are after running from the grizzly?”
I grimace because I know she’s not going to like the answer. “I don’t know, but I think it’s better if we get out of the trees. I need to get my bearings again.”
She nods. “Okay.”
She puts on her gloves, and we walk out of the trees. That’s when I get a good look at the sky. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It looks like we might get another storm.”
“No!”
I can hear the horror and fear in her voice. I feel the same way. The situation is dire. We are looking at death. She’s been around the world enough to understand exactly what we’re facing. If that storm moves in, we’ll die of exposure. I know where the airstrip is. But I can’t quite place the cabin I’m supposed to get her to. I imagine it’s nestled in the trees, which is great for privacy, but it means I’ve never actually seen it.
“Just a second,” I tell her, stopping and taking a couple of deep breaths.
I turn around, trying to get my bearings. I close my eyes and focus, combining what I know from my flyovers with what I see on the ground. My life depends on me figuring this out. When I open my eyes again, I know which way to go.
“Are you okay?” Mia asks.
I force a smile. “For now. We need to go that way.”
We start toward the cabin. Every once in a while, I shout out to keep the bears and whatever else might be lurking at bay. I hitch up my bag and keep breaking a path through the snow.
“I wish I would have brought my bear spray,” Mia says, slightly out of breath.
I chuckle. “Trust me, that’s not going to do much against a grizz.”
“But it would make me feel better,” she mutters.
I laugh. It’s a tight, humorless sound that does nothing to ease the tension between us.
“Would it really?” I ask, glancing over at her.
“Yes. ”
“Let’s just get to the cabin,” I tell her. “I know it sucks out here. You’re cold. I am, too. We just have to keep pushing on.”
“Noah,” she says, her voice small and full of fear.
I stop and look around, searching for the new threat.
“I’m not just cold. I’m freezing. My fingers...I think I might have frostbite.”
Her voice is matter-of-fact, starkly contrasting the fear I can see in her eyes. This fear is more than just the cold. It’s about the situation we’re in—lost in an unfamiliar landscape with no certain path to safety. We’re putting all our hope into a cabin that may or may not be close.
“All right,” I say with a nod. I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds. I’m anything but calm. I know how fast hypothermia can set in and what it means. “Let’s take a look.”
She peels off her gloves and holds out her fingers. They’re a mottled mix of pale skin and patches of angry red. I take her hands into mine, grimacing at the icy feel of her skin .
“Crap,” I curse under my breath, examining her fingers as gently as I can. It’s worse than I thought. The tips are turning blue.
She flinches and tries to pull away, but I keep a firm hold on her hands. “We have to do something,” she whispers, a note of panic creeping into her voice.
I don’t answer immediately, focusing on massaging some warmth back into her fingers. “We can’t take the chance of not reaching the cabin in time,” I say, my voice gruff with concern. “We need to make a temporary shelter and get a fire going. Fast.”
Fear flashes through her eyes, but she nods in agreement, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be out here any longer than we have to be. Can’t we just keep going?”
I put her hands to my lips and blow on them. “We won’t keep going if you fall over. We need a fire to thaw you out. Then we’ll move. It’ll take thirty to forty minutes at most. We don’t have a choice.”
She nods. “Okay.”
We set to work, collecting the dry branches from the undergrowth of the trees. I find a spot directly under an old fur that is devoid of snow. I collect some pine needles, shoving them in my pockets. I clear a space, arranging the kindling. My hands shake as I work, the worry chilling me just as thoroughly as the cold gnawing at my bones.
“Here,” I instruct, guiding her under the tree. There’s barely enough space for one of us, let alone both, but she’s clearly in danger of hypothermia. It should shield her from the worst of the wind. I pull out the matches from my bag and quickly light the fire. It takes a few minutes to build it up and generate some real heat. She takes off her gloves and holds out her hands.
The fire flickers, casting a warm glow on her face and highlighting the worry in her eyes. But as the heat starts to work its way into her body, I can see some relief. She tucks her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, holding herself tight to conserve warmth.
I go back to scrounging for what I can and manage to find a couple of larger branches that the snow hasn’t completely soaked. I use my knife to whittle away the damp outer layers and add them to our little fire. The flames rise higher, making the small space under the tree feel even smaller but warmer. I can see the color returning to her cheeks. She bends her fingers, making fists and straightening them again.
“Get closer,” she offers.
“I’m good.”
“No, you aren’t.”
I squeeze into the small space, our bodies pressing together. I unzip my coat and pull her against me. She turns, her face nuzzling against my neck. Shivers run down my spine, but it has nothing to do with the cold. I rub my hand up and down her arm, doing what I can to get her circulation going. Even after just a few minutes close to the fire, I can feel my body warming up.
“How are your fingers?”
“Better.”
I pull off one of my gloves and reach for her hands. They are still icy. I hold them in mine before sliding them under my shirt and pressing them against my chest. Her hands are colder than shit and make me wince, but body heat is a quick way to warm her up.
She looks up at me, her eyes searching my face for a moment, and then, to my surprise, she relaxes. She rests her head against my shoulder and relaxes into me again, her breath hitching in both pain and relief. I can feel the chill beginning to ebb away from her body. The tenderness of the moment is interrupted when my stomach gives a loud groan, echoing around us. It breaks the tension, and we both laugh.
“I’m hungry too,” she says. “I think my stomach is too cold to growl.”
“We’ll stay here for fifteen minutes, and then we need to move.”
“Okay.”
As we sit huddled together, the situation doesn’t feel so ominous.
“I never thought I’d be grateful for a tree,” she murmurs into my neck.
“Neither did I,” I reply.
Her hand moves a couple of inches across my chest, touching a new patch of warm skin. I’m not thinking about the cold. I’m thinking about her touching me. I’m thinking about what it would be like to have her hands on me in a very different environment. I push the thoughts away. This is not the time to get lustful. Then again, if I’m going to die in the next few hours, sex with a beautiful woman does seem like a good way to go out .
We sit quietly, listening to the wind picking up again. As cozy as we are, I know we have to get up and start moving. This little hidey-hole is not going to keep us warm and safe overnight. The fire is going out, and we have no more branches.
“I hate to say it, but we need to go,” I sigh.
She groans. “I am so warm and cozy. I almost fell asleep.”
“I know. Hopefully, in another couple of hours, we’ll be in your friend’s cabin eating a hot meal and sitting in front of a crackling fire.”
“That sounds like heaven.”
“I know. Ready?”
She pushes herself away from my chest, taking a deep breath before nodding. “Ready.”
We stand in unison, brushing off the pine needles. We both put on our gloves and kick snow over the dwindling fire. The wind hits us as we leave the sanctuary of the trees, but I try to hold on to the warmth from the blaze. With a parting glance at our temporary refuge, we head further into the frigid wilderness.
“Thanks,” Mia says after a while, her voice soft. “I’m sorry to have slowed us down. ”
“Just doing what I can to keep us safe,” I reply. “You didn’t slow us down. We’re moving faster already.”
We are moving faster, but the heavy white clouds rolling in do not bode well for us. We have to get to the shelter. The clouds blot out the sun, dropping the temperature. Nightfall is going to be worse.
“Looks like another storm is coming in. We need to get to the cabin. We can’t be out in the elements.”
She nods, understanding the urgency. We quicken our pace, our breaths coming out in visible puffs as the temperature continues to fall. The wind picks up, turning the soft snow into needles of ice.
“Are we close?” Mia asks, her voice strained.
“I think so,” I say, hoping I’m right. I’ve flown over this area enough times to have a rough idea of the layout, but everything looks different on foot, especially in the snow. The wind is sweeping the snow across the terrain, threatening to throw off my sense of direction.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” Mia asks.
“It’s not great.”
“Noah, I feel like I should apologize.”
“Why?” I ask .
“Because you were flying me out here. I was late. I’m sorry.”
I stop walking and turn to face her, bending my knees to get eye level with her. “This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have said that. I should have canceled the flight. I thought I could beat the storm, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
I watch her lower lip quiver for a split second before she raises her chin. “Okay. Let’s not have more reason to be sorry. Let’s move.”
I grin. Then, without thinking about what I am doing, I give her a quick kiss on the lips before turning around and continuing our journey.