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I lay Daisy down on the floor. The ground has iced over, and I swear. I can’t leave her on this.
“We need to get you off the ground,” I tell her, stroking her cheek. Her eyes have closed again. I’m too scared to take her pulse. Of course she’s alive. There’s no alternative. “You’re losing too much heat,” I say. “Just hang on a second.”
She doesn’t respond.
I head back outside and hack some leaf-covered branches off a nearby bush. I can barely see what I’m doing, and I almost slice my damn thumb off, but eventually my arms are full of twigs. I carry them back inside. Daisy hasn’t moved.
“I’m going to make you a bed,” I tell her. “One minute.”
I lay the switches down on the ground, covering the frozen stone floor, then lift her carefully onto them. Then I turn to my bag. I keep a hypothermia first aid kit in the bottom of all of my survival packs. I unpack a space blanket, a chemical heating blanket, and a blizzard sleeping bag, unfolding them all. Even though each one is big enough to completely cocoon her, they’re all folded and packaged in tiny little packets the size of envelopes, which are hard as fuck to open when you’re shivering convulsively. I grit my teeth, swearing, as my hands slip on the plastic wrapping for the fifth time. Eventually, I get them all rolled out. I turn back to Daisy.
Her clothes are wet with snow, so they have to come off. I start peeling off her coat, then her trousers and sweater. Even her underwear is damp. She must have gotten snow down her clothes when she fell. I pull off her little pink bra and pants, setting them aside, then wrap her naked body up in the blankets. When she’s tucked in tight, I bundle her up in the sleeping bag, taping it shut so none of the heat can escape. She looks like a little orange burrito in my lap, only her white face peeking out.
I sit back on my haunches, panting, and close my eyes. I’m exhausted. My energy was already rock bottom by the time I found her. Now I feel completely drained. I just want to hold her and go to sleep, but I know if I stop moving, I’ll end up as bad as her. I can’t stop moving. I can’t stop moving until she’s okay.
I force myself to turn back to my bag, and pull out the small, two-person nylon tent, shaking it open. I use a rock to drive the stakes into the frozen ground. I’m getting really weak; I need to lean against the walls of the shack a couple of times, but eventually, I have the tent up. I lift Daisy carefully, laying her inside, then pull out a can of chafing gel and light it with a waterproof match. It won’t do much to heat the tent, but it’s better than nothing. Wrangling a couple metal cans out of the pack, I head to the doorway of the shack and scoop up some of the fluffy white snow that’s blown inside. She needs water.
When I crawl back into the tent, her eyes are half-open. I could cry with relief. I zip up the tent, then stroke her forehead. “Daisy. Sit up. You need to stay awake.” I peel off my gloves to touch her face. I think she’s warming up. The heating blanket must be doing its job. Her eyes flutter.
“Say something,” I order, setting the can of snow on the heater to melt.
She groans.
I pat her face again. “Daisy. Say something. Or I’ll pour snow in your face.”
“S-s-s-say what?”
“I don’t care. Anything. Tell me how you feel. Sing me a song. Just keep fucking talking.”
She obediently starts mumbling under her breath. I don’t understand, and I don’t care. “Good girl.” I leave the can of snow on the heater until it melts and warms, then pour in a sachet of dried hot chocolate, mixing it up for her. “Here. Sit up and drink.”
She looks down at herself. “Got no hands,” she mumbles.
I realise her hands are trapped in the sleeping bag. I pull her upright to lean on me, holding the can up to her lips for her. She drinks slowly, choking a bit on the warm liquid. I give it to her in sips until the can is empty. She relaxes against my chest.
“You feel better?”
She nods, tucking her face in my neck. “Tired. But. Okay.”
“How’s your heart?”
Her lips turn down. “Sore,” she whispers.
Shit. I slip my hand down her sleeping bag, peeling back the layers of heated blanket, and press between her naked breasts, feeling her heartbeat. She sighs, rubbing into my hand. At any other time, the feeling of her soft, warm tits against my palm would have my cock rock hard in seconds; but right now, I think my balls are frozen. Anyway, I’m not exactly in the mood. Her heart feels strong and steady. “What do you mean?”
“‘S a bit broken,” she slurs.
“I meant physically. Is it—clapping?” Shit.Hjärtklappning.What the Hell is it English? “Is it missing beats?” I try.
She yawns. “No.” She wriggles against my hand, and I stroke her chest as comfortingly as I can.
“Do you know what you did?” I ask. “Riven and Eli are going fucking crazy. They think you’re dead.”
“Sorry.” Her face crumples. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I c-c-couldn’t br-breathe in there. I just—”
“Ran.” I can hardly judge her for that. Hell, when I got my heart broken, I left civilisation completely. “They think it was their fault.”
Her eyes widen. “God. They’re not out here l-looking for me, are they?”
