Page 27 of Craving Chaos

SHAE

I’m disoriented when I wake in the night. Not because I don’t know where I am. I’m confused about why I’m awake when I’m still so damn tired. While I don’t normally sleep with someone wrapped around me like the stripe on a candy cane, I’m too exhausted for it to have been a problem.

As my grogginess clears, I realize I’m so hot that I’m starting to sweat.

No, that’s not right. I’m sweating, but not because I’m hot. Renzo is burning up. The welcome blanket of his warmth has become a raging inferno of blistering heat.

I clasp his limp hand near my stomach to slip from the bed and find it’s eerily clammy. I scoot away from him and sit on the edge of the bed. Renzo’s forehead is dotted with sweat.

Shit, this is bad.

It isn’t nearly warm enough in here for him to be so hot. He’s got a raging fever. It’s got to be his wound. Infection is the most logical explanation.

I slathered it in antibiotic gel, but who's to say what rancid bacteria could have been growing on those bear claws, and the sewing kit wasn’t exactly sterile.

Shit. Okay. What do I do now?

First, the fire. I know he needs to cool down, but I need to be able to see, so I stoke the fire and add the rest of the wood. The snow is completely melted, so I fill our cup, drink half of it, then sit on the bed and try to wake Renzo.

“Hey, big guy. I need you to wake up.” I pat his cheek and finally get movement. His eyes squint open and look around, but I get the sense he’s not actually present.

“Not yet. I’m still tired,” he mutters and lays back down.

“No, no. Not yet. I need you to drink some water.” I get him to prop himself on his elbow, then coax him to drink. “You’ve got a fever, Renzo. I need you to drink as much as you can without getting sick.”

He nods and mutters unintelligibly. The second the cup is empty, he plops back down, practically comatose.

I take in a shaky breath and start to work his arm out from his hoodie. I leave the T-shirt on underneath and lift the bandage to examine the wound. It doesn’t look terrible, but it’s definitely red and puffy.

That’s when my damn imagination acts up and decides to whisper that it might not be infected. It could be rabies. Maybe that’s why the bear wasn’t hibernating.

I’m not sure what’s worse—the thought of him slowly dying from infection, or the possibility of me having to kill him to protect myself.

Not helpful, Shae. Stop freaking out.

I put another layer of ointment over the scratches and replace the bandage. Then I slide the hoodie over his head and decide it would be too hard to get it off the arm he’s lying on. Reducing the layers will help, but he could use a cool rag, too. I remember my mother doing that when I had a fever as a kid. I fill up our cup one more time, then dig around for another towel. I don’t want to have to use the bloody cup towel. I locate a plaid hand towel and dip it in the remaining water in the bucket, then lay it on his forehead while I make a quick trip to fill up the bucket with snow for melting.

I look around helplessly to see if there’s anything else I can do, but nothing comes to mind. I’ve done everything I can for the moment.

The cabin is quiet save for the crackle of the fire, yet there’s no way I can go back to sleep. Worry gnaws at my insides like angry termites hollowing out a log. Instead, I sit next to him, my legs crossed, and gently wipe the wet rag over his forehead and cheeks.

“Come on, big guy. I need you to get better. You can’t…” Emotions clog my throat, trapping the words behind a sob I refuse to let loose. “You can’t leave me here alone.”

A fever normally wouldn’t worry me, but nothing about our circumstances is normal. He hasn’t had nearly enough water for his body to handle a high fever. We don’t have much food and no medicines. And our luck is so abysmally low, I hate to test it. Combine all that with my own exhaustion, and I can’t hold back the tears that stream down my cheeks.

I’m scared.

No amount of optimism or bullheaded determination can erase the shittiness of this situation.

“You know,” I say to the night air. “We met at the warehouse two days ago, as far as I can figure. That was February 12th, which means this is the 14th. Valentine’s Day. You can’t leave a girl alone on Valentine’s.” My words thin to a choked whisper.

Renzo starts mumbling in his sleep. His brows knit together, hardening his features. He looks so intense. So commanding. I wish I knew what he was dreaming about, but his words are unintelligible. Delirium. I think there isn’t any sense to be made from them until one word rings clear.

Chaos.

I don’t know why, but it makes me smile. “That’s right, big guy. I’m here.”

I wet his forehead one more time, then lie down. I sleep in short intervals, waking every hour to make him drink and make sure he’s not hot enough to need the wet rag. By morning, he’s sleeping peacefully enough that I eat a can of potatoes, then pass out until midday.

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