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I want to have him take more ibuprofen and drink more water and maybe even possibly eat something, but I’m afraid to force anything onto him. He has finally stopped shaking and coughing, his eyes closed as he rests, letting his body recover from what just happened.
With his eyes still closed he whispers, “I’m okay, Laney.” It’s like he’s trying to reassure me, which feels so typical of Alex now.
Back when we first met, I would never have said he would put anyone first but himself. Since being trapped out here, all he’s thought about is how he can keep me safe, how he can help me. He’s a different person. Now it’s my turn to figure out how I can help him.
“Rest, Alex,” I tell him, kissing him softly on his forehead, pushing his hair back, I trace my fingers down his cheek as he takes in a long, slow breath.
I grab one of the towels I’ve been using to bring his fever down and I clean up the puke. The last thing he needs is for that to be left on the floor near the mattress. I sit next to him, holding his hand as he falls asleep and when I think he’s resting comfortably, I slip out of the cabin.
I begin looking for the orange mushrooms, foraging under the logs that are stacked along the cabin since Alex said they grow on soft or rotting wood. I find a large amount under a large tree branch that has fallen behind the cabin. I drop half into the pot I have and the other half into a mug, scooping some snow into the pot too, I head back inside.
I put the pot on the stove, letting the snow melt and boil with the plan to have Alex sit with his head over it, letting the steam relieve his breathing.
When I would get a cough as a kid my mom used to let the shower run really hot and have me sit on the toilet with the door closed. She used to tell me the steam would help my cough. I have no idea if it was true, but I’m willing to try anything.
Alex is still sleeping, his breathing is less labored but even at rest his face looks pained. He’s trying really hard not to show me how much he’s struggling, but I know. He doesn’t need to be strong for me anymore. It’s my turn to do something to help him.
As I wait for the water to boil, I mash up the mushrooms, planning to put more of them into the pot of boiling water, thinking the vapors might help. I push the mug to the center of the table when I finish and that’s when I break down.
Deep heaving sobs rack my body. I’m lost and a mess and I swear if Alex dies out here, I’m never going to recover. I let my head fall to the table, crying, my thoughts swirling with all the awfulness we have found ourselves in. And it truly feels like no one is looking for us. Maybe they think we’re dead. We should be. If we don’t get out of here soon, Alex might be.
I start to debate attempting to hike out of here. We have boots and gear and snowshoes. But Alex is in no shape to do anything but sleep. I could try to pull him on a mattress through the snow.
What the fuck am I even thinking?
I can’t pull him through the snow on a mattress. Even with all the weight he’s lost, he still outweighs me by at least eighty pounds. I’m just so desperate to find a way out of here, a way to find help for Alex. If only one of us had our beacon or the walkie to give the lodge an idea of where we are. It’s all what-ifs at this point and that has gotten us nowhere.
I hear the water begin to boil and I leave it for a few more minutes while I try to rouse Alex. Walking over to the mattress, I kneel down, whispering his name softly as I run my hand over his cheek.
“Alex, can you sit up?” I ask, and he moans a little, my heart shattering in my chest at the sound. “I want you to try something. Something that might help your breathing,” I now explain, hoping he gets a small burst of energy at the idea of being able to breathe easier.
“Okay,” he mutters, trying to push himself up on his elbows but he fails. He’s so weak and exhausted. I swallow back the tears that threaten, not needing him to see me crying. He looks like shit, his face is sunken in, his eyes are red rimmed with deep black circles. I wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him on the street.
“Here,” I say, helping him roll onto his side. I grab the pot from the stove, placing it on the floor next to where he’s lying. “I need you to lean over this pot as much as you can. I’ll put some pillows under your arm on this side and I’ll hold you up from behind.”
I begin rolling the pillows up to prop him up on his left side, and then I climb in behind him, a towel in my hand.
“Okay, I’m going to put the towel over your head and add these mushrooms to the water.” I drop them in, the aroma of the eucalyptus fills the small space almost immediately and I find something oddly calming about it.
Alex leans forward, the towel now over his head, my arms wrapped around his waist, holding him in place.
“Take long, slow breaths,” I instruct, and he does, letting out a few spluttered coughs, but they subside quickly.
Oh my god, maybe it’s working!
I’m sure he can feel my heart hammering against his back, racing at a speed I’ve only felt before a race. My nervousness and fear are controlling everything I do at this point. I can’t even remember what it feels like to not have my heart racing. It’s become my norm out here, especially since Alex got sick.
The tears slip down my cheeks, silently crying while Alex tries to make this at-home remedy work. He continues to breathe slowly, less labored and with less wheezing. And as much as I want to think we’re in the clear, I know we’re not.
We sit like this until the water begins to cool and the smell begins to dissipate. Alex leans back against me, the weight of his body pushes me back and we both relax down into the mattress.
“Thank you,” he whispers, his words still strained like talking is difficult and it probably is. I don’t want him wasting his breath to thank me. He doesn’t ever need to do that.
“Don’t talk. Just rest. I’m here,” I say, kissing a path along his cheek to his lips. They’re dry and cracked, but there’s not much we can do. I want to have him drink some more water, but he’s finally resting comfortably. I hate to disturb any of the peace we’ve found.
I rest my head on his chest, closing my eyes, I’m asleep before I realize it. It’s obvious both of us are spent, doing more sleeping than anything anymore. With Alex being sick and me overwhelmed with the stress of our situation, it’s what we need.
I swearI’m dreaming when I hear it. The whirring sound. I try to place it, listening, my eyes are heavy, closing and opening, my lids not wanting to stay open. The sound fills my dreams and I picture the ski lift starting up, but that’s not the noise. It’s louder than that. A garbage truck outside the condo I share with Zoey. It’s the automatic arm lifting the dumpster, getting rid of the garbage and waking us up early. But again, that’s not it. It’s a constant sound, rhythmic and methodic. A lawn mower and I swear I laugh, caught somewhere between awake and asleep, wondering why someone is mowing their lawn in the dead of winter.
