Page 12 of Lost in You

My lips crack painfully when I smile. I don’t know how either of us can still make lighthearted comments when we’re probably marching to our final resting places, but Lincoln keeps saying we have to keep our minds from wandering to the worst-case scenario. I’m trying.

“We took a field trip to the children’s museum in Cincinnati and that was my first time holding hands with a girl.”

“Who initiated the hand-holding?”

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Me, of course.”

“Right. Back when you were just a caveboy? Not yet a full caveman?”

He laughs. “All women like men to make the first move.”

“Gay ones don’t.”

Another laugh. “True. But Amy Ackerman liked it when I held her hand. She wrote in my yearbook that I was the cutest boy in the whole school.”

“Do you know what became of her?”

“Amy? Let’s see...I think we went to school together until seventh grade and then her parents put her in a Catholic school.”

Lincoln is wrapped in the moving pad and the metallic silver emergency blanket, my scarf still the only covering on his face and ears. I keep my focus on his back, telling myself that if he can do this without a coat and hat, I can do it while bundled in his parka.

Every step is so hard, though. My feet seem to be made of lead. Deep down, I know being in this kind of cold with wet feet isn’t survivable for long. We’ll both get frostbite.

I’d normally find the prospect of my feet slowly turning black and dying something worth getting upset about. I just don’t have it in me, though. It’s getting dark, and our gamble didn’t pay off.

I’m vaguely aware I’m not moving anymore. My whole body still hurts. Instinct makes me curl up into the fetal position.

“Trinity!” Lincoln runs back to me, dropping his blankets and the survival kit and using both hands to lift me up. “What happened?”

“I can’t.” Emotion wells in my throat. “Take the coat and leave me.”

“No fucking way,” he says fiercely. “Get up.”

“I’m so tired.”

“We’ll find something soon. I’m tired, too, but I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“No. It’s my fault.”

I don’t have the energy to explain what I mean—it was my idea to set out like this. Without the right supplies. To leave the plane.

Lincoln grabs the parka, a hand on each side, and hauls me into a standing position. I stumble against his chest and he supports my hips, fresh pain shooting through my injured ankle.

“You’re either walking, or I’m carrying you.” His breath against my face is the only warmth I’ve felt in...who even knows anymore? “We either live together or die together, you hear me? I’m not leaving you.” He digs through the survival kit and takes out another energy bar. “Eat this and let’s fucking go. I know you’re tougher than this.”

His harsh tone awakens something inside me. I grab the energy bar and shake it at him. “Is this going to heal my ankle? Will it make my feet dry? This is just a slow death and you know it.”

“Quit bitching. We’ve gotta work with what we have.”

He rewraps himself in the blankets and I rip open the protein bar, breaking it in half. Even without a coat, he’s still going and not complaining. I don’t know why I resent his determination.

I pass him half the bar and he shakes his head. “You eat it; you need it more than me.”

“Eat it and I’ll keep walking.”

He shakes his head and takes half of it, glaring at me as we both eat.

“I’ve got a lot more fourth-grade shit to tell you,” he says when he’s finished. “You gonna listen?”

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