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What drives him, what has always driven him, is his need to protect me.
In his eyes, I will always be eight years old.
I will always be that broken, helpless boy who needs his big brother to throw himself into martyrdom to save me from suffering.
He would rather kill me than watch me hurt again.
Before Frankie, I shared his way of thinking.
But not anymore.
I’ll accept whatever comes if she’s waiting for me on the other side.
His hand rests on her brow, and his mouth pulls down. “She’s burning up.”
I nod, unable to speak past the pain in my throat. She’s been running a fever all night.
“Go to sleep.” He sits beside her on the bed.
And that’s where he stays until I reluctantly, miserably fall asleep.
39
Leonid
—
You can’t avoid that which is meant to happen.
Denver used to say that when we were kids, and I always hated it. But as I take over Kody’s shift and throw myself into the longest night, I start to believe it.
Frankie’s declining.
Fever. Chills. Cold sweats. Delirium. She can’t hold anything in her stomach. Even the smallest sip of water comes back up.
“We have to delay.” Cradling her head in my lap, I find Kody’s gaze across the room. “Even if we carry her, she’s in no shape to travel thirty miles through snow and ice.”
“I’ll get Denver.” Wolf climbs from the bed and hurries out the door.
I want to stop him, but he’s right. We missed the window to leave before Denver wakes. He’ll expect us to head out any minute, and we need a damn good reason to stay.
Against every instinct inside me, I slide from beneath her shivering body and separate myself from her, from the situation, from my emotions.
She can’t be the reason we suspend our departure. That would imply we care about her.
“As far as Denver’s concerned,” I whisper at Kody’s ear, “we view her as another failed attempt. She’s just like the others. Which means we’ll let her succumb to the same fate.”
A blizzard thrashes in his eyes, and I feel a charge at the sight of it. His reaction is about Wolf and his need to protect him, but something tells me his concern extends to her.
I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
On one hand, I don’t want him to want her. But on the other, I need him with her, not against her.
“We stick with the story.” I grab the hot water bottle from him and hold it to my face. “We’ve been up all night, cleaning vomit, and now we’re sick, too.” I touch his forehead. “You’re not hot enough.”
On the bed, Frankie hasn’t moved. She looks dead. I know she’s not. But she’s severely dehydrated.
I want to go to her.
Christ, I can’t leave her here.
“Calm down.” Kody wraps a blanket around his shoulders and curls up in his bed. “He’s coming.”
His supernatural hearing marks the approaching footfalls before I do. I drop to the floor, hide the water bottle under a pile of dirty clothes, and assume the fetal position.
The door opens, and Denver rushes in like a katabatic wind. “What’s wrong with you?”
“They need Jesus.” Wolf slips in beside him and saunters to Frankie. “And I don’t know what she needs. She’s been puking all night.”
Denver squats beside me and touches my forehead. “Chills?”
“I’m fine.” I rasp my voice and give a shudder for good measure.
He checks Kody next, who says nothing.
Humming thoughtfully, Denver steps to the window and stares out at the dark hills. Over the past couple of weeks, he’s been hiking to the highest point and watching for animals through his binoculars.
I know what he’s going to say before he voices it.
“The last of the caribou already moved south.”
He doesn’t need to say the rest. Large game has been meager for months. Our winter food storage is way below normal, and Kody’s injury put us behind schedule, exacerbating the problem. We’re days behind the herd, and every hour we delay shortens the window.
If we leave now, we’ll be lucky to get enough meat to survive the winter.
“We can still get moose,” Wolf says.
“When was the last time we got one?” Denver turns, cutting his eyes through the room. “Hmm? When was it? Five…six years ago?” He blows out a breath. “The geese will fly over soon. We can shoot some down. But that’s all we’ll have for the next six months.”
Rations.
We won’t starve, but it will feel like we are.
It happened once before. Eight years ago. Terrible hunting season. Kody returned empty-handed every time he went out. We begged Denver to take the plane out to follow the herd, but he said there are too many rivers and valleys. Nowhere safe to land. And not enough fuel to take flights in between his gas-guzzling trips to the city. He won’t risk his only mode of transportation.
