"We lost the generator," I say again, the reality starting to sink in. "We can't charge the batteries for the collar release. Or the big camera."
"We have the solar panels in the primary sled," Nash says. "It'll be slower. We'll have to ration power. But we can make it work."
"And the sat phone?" I ask, realizing I haven't seen the case. "Was it in the back sled?"
Nash goes still. He looks toward the sled we managed to save. Then back at me.
"The main unit was in the Pelican case," he says. "On the back sled."
My stomach drops. "So it's at the bottom of the river."
"Yeah."
"Do we have a backup?"
"We have the emergency beacon," he says. "The SPOT device. It sends an SOS with our coordinates. But we can't make calls. We can't check in."
"I can't call the university," I whisper. "I have a check-in scheduled for Friday. If I miss it …"
"If you miss it, they'll worry," Nash says. "But we're alive, Aris. We have food. We have heat. We have the machine. We can still do the job."
Nash moves closer, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders over his shirt. He tucks the edges in, sealing me in warmth.
"Listen to me," he says. "We are going to be fine. We'll ration the batteries. We'll track Waldo. And when we get back to town, you can call the university and tell them you did it all without their precious updates."
He tips his head back, exhausted and almost laughing. "Besides, now nobody can interrupt us."
The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. No phone. No connection to the outside world. Just us, the snow, and the wolves.
"No interruptions," I repeat softly.
Nash holds my gaze for a beat longer, then stands up. "I'm going to check the perimeter. Make sure our gray friend didn't follow us."
He grabs his rifle and walks to the edge of the firelight, staring out into the dark.
I watch him go, pulling his shirt tighter around me. I should be terrified. We've lost gear and communication. We're being hunted.
But as I sit by the fire, wearing Nash's clothes, his warm hands still living in my palms, I know I'm in trouble.
I'm not scared. I'm exhilarated.
And that's a variable I definitely didn't account for in my research proposal.
Chapter Twelve
NASH
There is intimate,and then there is "sharing a two-person emergency shelter" intimate.
The tent is too small for what's happening inside it. It's designed to keep two humans alive by trapping every BTU of body heat in a space the size of a coffin. It works. It's warm. But it also means that when I wake up, Aris's head is resting on my chest, her leg is thrown over my thigh, and her hand is fisted in the fabric of my thermal shirt like she's trying to keep me from floating away.
I stare up at the orange fabric inches from my face and try to regulate my breathing.
Friends.That was the deal.
But lines in the snow have a way of disappearing when you almost drown in a frozen river and spend the night clinging to each other for survival.
And it's not just the proximity. It's yesterday.
