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Chapter Three
“What’s going on with that fire?” Lazarus asked Jeri ten minutes later when the cold, and his brother's ripe curses, pulled his concentration away from his search of the premises.
Instead of the cheerful, comforting crackle of flame and the smell of woodsmoke, the air was still chilled and damp.
Jeri shook his head. “The kindling is damp from the snow that’s come down the chimney. It’s not catching.”
“Damn, I didn’t think to bring any fire starters,” Dante muttered as he dug through one of their bags and lined up the contents into useful rows. He turned to Lazarus “Did you?”
Lazarus shook his head. “Try the girl’s bag. We need to pool all our resources, anyway.”
Lazarus shook out a thick blanket he’d found in a chest that doubled as a tabletop. It was a bit musty, but it was large and cozy, if nothing else. He draped it over the woman’s prone form and automatically checked her vitals as he did so. He didn’t have any formal medical training, but all three of them had taken classes that covered emergency first aid and survival skills. It was a must, given their line of work.
Storm Chasers was how they were routinely referred to, and that was accurate in as far as it went, but it didn’t paint the entire picture. Their primary business was a photography company which they ran together. An interest which had become embedded in all of them from an early age as a result of their mother’s passion. But it was their father who had been the thrill seeker in their younger days. He had encouraged them all to do diverse and wonderful things from bungee jumps to white water rafting. The beauty and fury; the fragility of earth under the awesome power of the weather had quickly hooked them all and now that’s what they specialized their photography in. Combining both their parents' passions.
Of course, they also did their fair share of weddings and portraits and the mundane things that were necessary to stabilize the cash flow, but they were beginning to make a name for themselves and the fact that there were three of them with the same interest seemed to give them an edge when it came to the safety and logistics of the type of shoots they enjoyed.
“Shit, she’s still too cold. She’s not radiating enough warmth for the mylar to retain it. How’s that fire coming?”
“I’ve found some fire starters in her pack. She’s covered for pretty much every eventuality,” Dante commented, throwing a small package to Jeri before he came round to help Lazarus.
“She needs body heat. That will warm her the quickest.” He peered at the sofa. “You know, I think this is a sofa bed,” he said, squatting down and digging under the cushions by the woman’s feet.
Lazarus peered over his brother's shoulder. “You’re right. It is. Pick her up and I’ll fold it down. Then one of us can climb in with her.
Dante moved her out of the way, and she immediately curled into his warmth, which was a good sign.
Lazarus folded out the bed, but it soon became clear that one of the metal support bars was broken and wouldn’t stay upright. “Damn,” he cursed as he squinted in the dim light to see if he could fix it.
Pull the mattress off and put it on the floor, Lazarus,” Dante suggested. It wasn’t thick but it would provide a bit of padding and warmth.
Lazarus grunted as he followed his brother's plan and then folded the mechanism back up. He pushed the sofa backwards and made a big enough space to lay out the mattress. It would be cozy if they ever got the fire going.
He hoped that was soon. They were all getting cold.
Dante sighed as he lay her down and unwrapped the space blanket from around her. Its waterproof properties had kept the furniture protected from the wet clothing they had left on to maintain her modesty, but it wasn’t the most efficient use. They worked best through radiated heat, which normally meant a warm barrier of clothing. “We need to get rid of her wet underwear,” he grumbled. “Otherwise, it’s just going to soak through the dry mattress and defeat the object.”
Lazarus looked at his brother. “I know you’re a bit twitchy about the connotations, but this is an emergency. You know damn well paramedics cut through whatever is necessary and modesty be damned.”
“Yeah, but we’re not paramedics,” Dante retorted as he lay her on the foam pad and ensured it was protected by the mylar sheet.
“No,” Lazarus agreed grimly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and peeled them away from clammy skin that hadn’t had the opportunity to dry. “But we are the best chance this girl has.”
“Finally!” Jeri’s heartfelt thanks distracted them from their discussion, as the pair of them did what they had to do to keep her warm. Once the fire was banked, Dante pulled the makeshift bed closer to the hearth while Lazarus gingerly hung the black underwear to dry. At least then she’d be able to have them back.
He understood his brother's reticence, he really did, but what the hell else were they supposed to do? She’d be dead if they’d left her and picking her up came with another kind of responsibility. Yes, it might be a risk in this day and age where everything seemed to have become a practice of accountability and blame. He hoped that any reasonable person who appreciated that they’d saved her life, would also understand the measures they had to go to, to keep her safe. Because if they didn’t, she ran the risk of getting frostbite and hypothermia.
Hell, in the blame culture within which they lived, they might even get sued for that!
It was a chance he’d take, because despite what the world was coming to, he couldn’t in good faith, not provide the best help and care for someone in trouble.
And with that thought in mind, he resolutely peeled off his long sleeved, thermal tee shirt and crawled in beside the frozen woman, because the best way to warm someone was skin to skin contact to impart body heat.
“She’s sentient on some level,” he remarked as the woman cuddled closer to him. She’s trying to get closer to the warmth. I’m guessing a cocktail of pain, cold and that blow to her head has wiped her out.”
Dante sat on the sofa and looked broodingly at the couple; his misgivings clear.
Jeri, on the other hand, grabbed his clothing and redressed. “I’m going outside to fetch a bowl of snow,” he told them as he brandished a large tin urn with two carrying handles that he fetched from off the kitchen counter.
