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He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains.
Motion attracts my attention away from the book again. Is there something on the monitor after all?
With a sigh, I drop the dog-eared paperback on the small wooden table and walk across the room toward the monitor again. The other six monitors on the shelf are still off. Only this one seems to be malfunctioning.
Tapping on it with my fingernail, I try to make out what I’m seeing. Just blurry shapes of whites and slightly less white. The snow seems to be almost sideways, blowing in drifts.
But then, there’s a shadow in the middle. Maybe a rabbit? Maybe a groundhog or something like that?
The shadow flops forward, then stops. Snow drifts over it as the wind batters it. Then it lurches slightly to the left, then rises and…
Oh my God.
Suddenly focused, I jam my legs into snow pants and strap my boots on while simultaneously fastening a heavy parka over my shoulders. This is not weather I would ever want to be in, but whoever that is, they look dramatically less prepared than I am.
I don’t know how they got here, or why, but there will hopefully be time to ask those questions later.
The front door bangs open, caught by the wind and flattened against the logs as I push my way onto the porch, feeling around under a drift of snow for my snowshoes. Barely thinking, I set off against the fierce wind, certain that I’m headed in the right direction but unable to see farther than a few inches in front of my nose. High above me, the alpine branches crash together as winds bear down at dangerous speeds. This is the sort of weather that flattens forests and anything underneath it.
With my hands outstretched, I force myself to power through the storm, hoping to pick out some sound. When I finally do find something, it’s little more than a lump in the snow.
Leaning over, I reach through the icy surface and grab hold of fabric in my fists, then heave to lift it over my head and fling it over my shoulder. It barely weighs anything, and I wonder if some kid, maybe a runaway, somehow wandered through here by mistake. It’s a million-to-one shot, but how else can I explain it?
My tracks are almost buried as I try to retrace my steps, but somehow I find the trail I’ve made. Back in the cabin, I take my passenger and set them down in the middle of the floor, surprised to find they’re in a pale pink, nylon skiing outfit.
What the hell?
With my parka drying over the rack and boots back on the drip tray, I dare to look at this person again. They’re not moving. I’m afraid I’m too late. Perching on the edge of my chair, I steeple my fingers and rest my chin on them, trying to clear my head.
Who sent you? I ask it silently. How did you find me?
Are you still alive?
When the lump moans, I practically jump out of my chair. Rushing over, I gently reach out to untangle this knotted lump, finding arms, legs. Mittens still on. Ski boots, but no skis.
It’s a girl… a woman. She seems to be unconscious. Her lips are blue, trembling against each other as I try to straighten her on the rug, hoping to figure out if she’s injured and how badly.
“Miss? Ma’am?” I ask, hearing how stupid my voice sounds.
She doesn’t answer, and that’s a relief. Her eyelids are dark, almost translucent against her eyes. I don’t think she’s conscious at all. But her forehead is pink and looks damp, and it occurs to me she might have a fever. Auburn hair curls against the skin, sticking to it. Her lashes fringe her closed eyes, unmoving.
“Well, shit.”
Looks like I’m going to have to take care of her. Reaching out, I rest my palm against her forehead and find that she’s burning up. Seriously overheated. I doubt it’s this flimsy nylon getup she’s got on, so she must be sick. Did she fall? Maybe shot by a hunter or something?
“Jake, just take care of it. Worry about it later.”
With a sigh, I realize that’s exactly what I’ve got to do. At least she’s unconscious, and can’t hear me talking to myself like a crazy person.
From the back closet, I get a foldaway bed and arrange it in front of the glowing wood stove. It’s not exactly luxurious, but at least I will be able to get her warmed up and check her for injuries.
After setting up the bed, I turn around and stare at her figure in the middle of the floor. Doubt crosses my mind, wondering if I really should be doing this at all. I could have left her in the snow. Nobody would have ever found her. If I do this now, all kinds of things could happen from here. All kinds of consequences, and I won’t be able to contr
ol any of them.
“Jake, stop being such a wuss.”
She weighs almost nothing, I realize again as I lift her from the floor and place her gently on the cot. Kneeling next to her, I carefully unzip the pink nylon jacket and peel it away from her chest. She’s wearing a thin, athletic shirt with a zipper at the neck. Using my fingers, I decide to run my hand up her arm, starting at her fingers, checking for the telltale crunch of broken bones.
