Chapter 47 - Lily
Lily
The cabin’s interior was colder than outside.
Dean bumped against a wooden rocking chair. It swung and knocked against him as he tripped and stumbled.
I caught him before he hit the floor, urging him to lean on me for support. Dean’s violent shivers didn’t lessen. If anything, they’d increased.
“He’s feeding the chickens,” Dean said. The rest faded to mush.
The empty cabin showed no sign of life. If this were his grandfather’s home, where was he? The one-room cabin’s sparse interior offered no clues.
“There’s a bed over there.” Dean didn’t protest as I guided him toward it. “We need to get your clothes off.” I pushed him onto the bed and removed his damp shirt first. Its cotton material was a poor insulator against weather like this. “Can you take off your pants?”
His mouth moved, though I didn’t understand what came out.
I pulled back the layers of thick blankets, pushing and prodding him to lie down. Dean didn’t help, but he didn’t resist, either.
“All of your clothes. We need to get you naked.”
“Funny,” he said through chattering teeth.
At least he understood that.
I peeled the pants off his legs and touched one icy thigh. “Don’t move. Stay here until I get back.” I tucked the heavy blankets around him.
He didn’t speak, though his tremors subsided. I took it as a hopeful sign because we needed one.
I sat next to him, desperate for my own quick break from the day’s exhaustion.
My roommate, Violet, had listened to podcasts. One of her favorites was about survival, stories from people who lived through extreme circumstances, like shark bites or avalanches. I sometimes listened, assuming I’d never experience similar. That belief proved more wrong than I ever imagined.
Slowly warming a person was key to combating hypothermia, and core temperature mattered more than the extremities. No plunging the victim into a steamy hot bath. Not that it mattered, considering the lack of available hot water.
I stood, scanning the penlight across the room. Spartan and impersonal, with a small kitchen area and a wood-and-fabric couch. The bare walls added to the bachelor pad’s feel. It could belong to Dean’s grandfather.
The fireplace and the woodpile interested me most.
I fell to my knees in front of it and rubbed my hands together before laughing at the absurd gesture. There was no heat to warm them.
I’d never made a fire before. Growing up, Dad made them on the rare nights we wanted one. My apartment lacked a chimney, and Dean had borne the responsibility ever since.
What was the rule? Stack them in a wide square? Leave room to breathe.
Screw it. “Come on, Sutton. You survived a comet and worse. You can build a damn fire. Get on with it.”
I placed kindling on the grate and a few logs on top. A match from a box on the mantel created a feeble flame. I shrieked as my fire sprang to life, growing perfect flames. It’d require feeding again, but it was enough to erase the worst of the frigid air.
Keeping warm would be a problem if we stayed, but surviving the night came first. I’d manage the rest of winter after nursing Dean back to health.
I pressed the back of my hand against his forehead and cheeks, despite knowing he didn’t have a fever. His cool, clammy skin worried me, though his tremors had slowed.
His unfocused eyes opened to follow my movements.
“Stay here,” I said, half-meaning it as a joke. Dean’s eyelids fluttered and sank shut. I shook him awake. “Don’t fall asleep. Stay awake. Sleeping is dangerous.”
His eyes shot back open.
“If you fall asleep, you get worse.” I wasn’t sure if I mistook concussions for hypothermia, or if they both carried the same symptoms and treatment.
Satisfied, I explored some more. The kitchen’s long countertop held a few appliances, like any modern home.
Sugar, coffee, spices, and more were in the cabinets.
A half-full water pitcher sat by the cold stove.
I set it by the fire to warm and continued my search.
Pasta noodles, nuts, and chocolate bars.
I licked my lips at that. A box of crackers. Soda crackers meant salt.
My stomach growled as I ate one. I grabbed a glass, poured some of the now-tepid water, and carried my new treasures to Dean.
“Drink.” I held the glass to Dean’s lips and forced him to swallow. “So you don’t get dehydrated. Eat some of these.” I tore a cracker in half and shoved it into his mouth. Dean chewed and swallowed as I gave him several more pieces. “Food in your belly. I’ll find you more tomorrow.”
He often reminded me he’d been cold or hungry before, turning early childhood memories into justifications for his current actions, without realizing it showed how little he valued himself.
He’d done the same again during our second escape. How much sleep had he forgone to find me? How much physical activity? How many times did he tell himself to rest later or eat later?
“You should eat,” he slurred after a few more crackers.
I shoved another one into his mouth instead of answering.
We kept at it until he finished most of the cracker sleeve and emptied the water glass. His head fell back on the pillow as he shook his head, refusing any more food.
Dean’s tremors had stopped.
With him taken care of, the night’s events hit me all at once. My bleary eyes demanded rest, while the long-gone adrenaline left sore muscles behind. My body begged for relief.
I added another log to the fire and admired my handiwork. If we were stuck in the cabin for any length of time, I could keep us warm, provided we found wood.
I drank some water and finished the last few crackers before removing my clothes and crawling into the bed next to Dean. He didn’t move, so I curled my body against his still-cool skin. The clamminess had disappeared.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” I said, unsure if he heard me. “We owe each other that. Also, you’d better be fine then, or I swear you’ll regret it. Never leave me again.”
Exhaustion spread through my body as I heard Julian’s gunfire and felt his hands between my legs. I saw Dean’s miraculous appearance and burrowed against the sleeping figure beside me.
“Thank you for coming for me. For not giving up on us. I won’t give up on us either. We’re together in this, whatever happens.” We’d left my father behind, and I didn’t know if Ryan was alive or safe. I worried for Rose, knowing she’d be swept into the madness. “I love you, too.”
Dean’s chest continued its slow rise and fall as the fire burned.