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He stared at the ladder, debating with himself whether he should carry everything up in one trip, or leave the gear here and take Angie up unencumbered. The second way would make getting her up there easier, but then he had to think about the effort of making another trip.
When he thought about the possibility of dropping her, that made the choice obvious. Angie first, then the rest. He put the flashlight on a shelf, unslung both rifles and propped them against a stall. “I’m going to put you on your feet,” he explained, gripping her waist with both hands to shift her weight. “Foot, rather. Can you stand?”
There was a pause while she processed what he was saying, then she said, “I don’t know.”
Not what he wanted to hear, but honest. He lifted her off his shoulder and carefully let her slide down his body, and once he had her upright, close to the ladder, he kept one arm around her until she had her balance. She grabbed the ladder, leaning into it, and put all her weight on her left foot.
The lower level was dark with shadows, but enough light came through the two windows above that he could see she was trembling from head to foot. The hard rain had washed away a lot of the mud that had been covering her when he’d found her, but she still looked like hell, her face paper white in the dimness, her dark eyes huge and glassy and rimmed with the bruised look of utter fatigue. She stood there swaying and shaking, watching him without even a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, waiting for whatever he told her to do next.
He slid the heavy saddlebags from his left shoulder and let them drop, then glanced up, considering the different ways he could get her up there, visualizing each one. Piggyback would be easiest on him, but he didn’t think she had enough strength left to hang on, so that was a nonstarter. Putting her in front of him and basically pushing her up would require too much effort on her part, and right now she probably didn’t have the strength to handle that anyway. Only one way was left. He removed his hat and tossed it to the floor beside her saddlebags. “Over my shoulder one more time.”
She didn’t comment. He took in a deep breath and gathered his own strength, then gripped her waist, tossed her into position, and went up the ladder. He took it slow and steady, because he sure as hell didn’t want to drop her on her head. The upper floor was a long flight up—fourteen rungs, to be precise. He had to hold her with his left arm and use his right hand for climbing, at the same time keeping her angled away from the ladder so he wouldn’t bang her ankle.
The last two rungs, and stepping from the ladder onto the ledge of the sleeping platform, were the trickiest parts. He had to shift his balance, and he was reaching down for support rather than gripping something at eye level. He’d gone up that ladder hundreds of times without giving it a single thought, but with Angie on his shoulder he thought about every move, made sure it was the right one, then cautiously executed it. He was too tired to take anything for granted, not even muscle memory.
When he was standing solidly on the sleeping platform, he eased her off his shoulder and held her steady; if he didn’t hang on to her, she’d collapse to the floor. Her knees weren’t steady, and it wasn’t just the ankle, it was sheer exhaustion.
He guided her hand to one of the partition walls. “Hold on for just a minute. Can you do that?”
Silently she nodded.
As swiftly as possible he removed her sodden coat and let it drop to the floor, then unsnapped and unzipped her slicker and tossed it to the side, too. While he was at it, he removed his own slicker and coat. The air inside the cabin wasn’t warm, but they had to get dry before they could get warm.
Stepping inside the sleeping partition where he’d set up his mattress and sleeping bag, he turned on the small propane camp heater he’d brought, and the LED lantern. The too-white light that lit the small space was eerily, uncomfortably similar to lightning, but minus the drama. For a brief second Angie looked a little spooked, then fatigue washed the expression away.
“Okay, let’s get you more comfortable,” he said as he threw the sleeping bag off the mattress so it wouldn’t get wet. Going back to her, he didn’t waste time helping her hop to the bed; he simply picked her up and carried her the short distance, going down on his knee to lay her down, then carefully easing her right foot down. She shuddered, then sighed and closed her eyes.
“Thanks,” she said, slurring the single word.
“I’m going to get our stuff and bring it up here. I’ll be right back.”
This time she didn’t answer. Dare was down the ladder and back up in less than a minute, bringing everything, even Angie’s muddy rifle. After dumping it all on the floor, he pulled the ladder up and laid it on the ledge, making the sleeping platform inaccessible to both man and beast.
Angie hadn’t moved since he’d laid her on the mattress; it looked as if she’d fallen into a deep, instant sleep … one in which she was still shaking and shivering.
He hated to wake her up, but he didn’t have any choice. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, shake it off,” he said as he pulled out the clothes and provisions he’d need. “We have to get you out of those wet clothes.”
Things were definitely screwed up when he actually wanted to hear her say, “In your dreams, buster. I’d rather die of hypothermia than let you see me naked.”
But she didn’t say that, or anything else. She was either asleep or unconscious.
Shit.
He went through the clothes he’d brought, which didn’t take long. Everything he owned was way too big for her, but it would have to do for now. He hadn’t gone through her saddlebags yet, but even if she had packed a change of clothes they’d likely be damp, at the very least, and who the hell wanted to sleep in jeans, angyway? He grabbed a flannel shirt, a pair of long johns that would be too big but would be warm and comfortable—and easy to get on her—and the first-aid kit. Then he got a pack of wet wipes and sat down on the floor next to the mattress. Food and water would be next, but he wanted her dry and warm first, and he wanted a look at that ankle. He hoped like hell it was just a bad sprain. Sprained they could handle; broken would be a huge pain in the ass to deal with.
“Sit up,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and shaking her.
Clumsily she knocked his hand aside. “Lea’ me alone,” she mumbled.
“No can do. Come on, sit up. You’re going to die if you don’t get out of those wet clothes. You’re already hypothermic. You won’t get warm until you’re dry. So sit up.” He put brisk command in his voice, as if he were still in the military.
She opened her swollen eyes a little and, like a good little soldier, tried to struggle to a sitting position, only to fall back when her muscles refused to obey.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I’ll help.” He slipped a hand under her back and very gently eased her up, then grabbed the saddlebags and stuffed them behind her to help prop her upright. As pillows, they sucked, but they were all he had. “Just sit up long enough for me to get you cleaned up and in dry clothes. That’s all you have to do. I’ll handle the rest.”
“ ’kay.”
