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I still have no clue how we survived or how neither of us were buried alive. I shouldn’t be arguing with him. I should be grateful we’re together and that we have shelter, but maybe none of this means anything if we aren’t rescued.
Alex begins to move about the cabin. I watch as he opens cabinets in what some might call a kitchen, finding plates, mugs, bowls and then a drawer full of utensils. All of these are useless to us since we have no food.
Just as he’s about to open the door to a small, very old-looking refrigerator that sits on the worn out wooden counter, I call out to him, “No, don’t open that.” It’s like the kind of fridge you’d find in a college dorm and couldn’t possibly hold anything more than a small carton of milk or a few cans of beer.
With his hand still on the door, he turns to look at me, the animosity between us still boiling at the surface. He doesn’t want me telling him what to do, and I probably could have said it better, but we’re both a fucking mess.
“Why?” he growls.
“Because whatever is in there is rotten and is going to smell horrible. You want it to stink in here even more than it already does?”
He doesn’t answer me, but he steps away from the refrigerator, moving now to a small pantry that sits in the corner. I close my eyes when he reaches it, taking in a long slow breath as I send up a silent plea for help. We need this pantry to have food in it, even if it’s old canned food, it’s still food.
“Delaney,” Alex says, my eyes still closed and when I open them, he’s standing in front of the pantry, which is stocked with cans.
I jump up, joining him as we both grab a can from the shelf, turning it over and looking at the date.
“Tuna, December 2020,” he says, and I’ve never been happier to find two-year-old food.
“Carrots,” I reply, “October 2019. Do you think they’re still good?”
“Does it matter?” Alex replies, and he’s right, it doesn’t. We need to eat, even if it’s several years old, it could be our only chance for survival.
“We need to take stock of everything we have,” I respond, the two of us now working together rather than against each other as we remove and count all the cans of food we have.
We pile everything on the little table in the center of the room, organizing everything by date, with the newest items at the front and the oldest at the back of the pantry. Both of us figuring we should eat the newest stuff first so we don’t get sick. And if we have to, we’ll eat the old stuff later. It’s a ridiculous plan for a ridiculous situation.
“There’s no bathroom,” I now say, looking around the room, and my words make Alex smile. I take in his face, his beautiful smile, a smile that I love and long to see, finding comfort in it. But it also makes me realize how fucked we are, and as much as I don’t want to keep crying, I can’t stop myself.
“Come here,” Alex says, pulling me to him and this time I go willingly. Wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, I cling to him, sobbing into the musty old flannel he’s now wearing. He holds me close, his hand running up and down my back.
“It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but we’ll make it work. There’s an outhouse just outside the door,” he tells me, and now it’s me smiling. Never in my life did I think I’d be using an outhouse, but more so, I never thought I’d be trapped in the middle of nowhere.
He rests his chin on the top of my head, letting out a hard breath that blows through my hair, and we stand in silence for several minutes, neither of us speaking, neither of us knowing what to say. What can we say? Our situation is dire and there might not ever be a way out.
“How does someone even get to a cabin like this?” Alex asks, almost like he’s muttering the question to himself, like he can’t possibly fathom why anyone would want to live like this.
“Snowmobile,” I reply. “There are no roads out here. It’s too dangerous.”
“Maybe the guy who owns this cabin will show up.” And as much as I love his hopefulness, we both know that’s not going to happen.
This cabin has been vacant for at least the last two years based on the canned food, and that’s a seriously rough guess. Years ago, investors came through and bought up all the land around Badger Creek, offering top dollar to the hunters for their land, but never doing anything with it. It’s been stagnant ever since. Our only hope is that people are out looking for us, that helicopters notice the smoke from the stove, that Alex’s lost beacon is signaling to our home base and giving them an idea of where we are. Even if the beacon was lost farther up the mountain, it might lead them to us.
But until this snow stops, there’s no hope.
“Will you let me take care of that cut on your head now?” Alex softly asks, his lips brushing against the top of my head.
I nod, but I can’t seem to let go of him.
3
ALEX
Despite Delaney agreeing to let me help her, neither of us move, apparently unable to let go of each other and lose whatever comfort we are finding in this moment.
I fucking hate that I lost my beacon and even though I know her anger toward me is less to do with it going missing and more to do with her fear about our situation, I still feel like I’ve failed her.
Ever since that day I did fuck up and had to undergo training again, I’ve made it a priority to not fuck up again. This means I don’t forget my beacon, my phone or anything else I’m supposed to have with me. And yeah, of course that’s because I was pissed I’d fucked up in the first place and wanted to prove to her that I could be trusted, that I was responsible and that I knew how to do my job.
