Page 65 of A Rebel's Shot

“It’s not the Ritz,” Tiikâan said, straightening up with a tarp and hatchet in his hands, “but it’ll keep us dry.”

He moved to the entrance, shaking out the tarp. “I’m going to stretch this across the top for a roof, then go search for some firewood. While I’m gone, you should change out of those wet clothes.”

Merritt’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving me?”

His expression softened. “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

She nodded, suddenly acutely aware of how her clothes clung to her skin and how far from anywhere they were.

“Good,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’ll announce myself before I come back in. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

With that, he ducked out, leaving Merritt alone in their makeshift shelter. The sound of the tarp snapping from above barely audible over her pounding heart.

She jumped when he appeared on the edge of the fissure and started shoving the tarp under the overhanging rock. His hands trembled as he worked, and he stopped every now and then to shake them out.

He was freezing, just like her, and if she didn’t snap out of it, he’d have to take care of her before he could take care of himself. Not that she’d expect it. That was just the type of man he was. She didn’t want to be any more of a burden than she already was.

With that thought firmly in mind, she plopped down near her pack, unclipped the sides, and unrolled the top, then pulled items out, carefully lining them up.

There was a gallon-sized ziplock bag with a map and compass in it, a small portable stove hidden inside a camp mug, another ziplock with twigs and what looked like little paper bag packets, six energy bars, and four freeze-dried meals, all vegetarian.

She swallowed the lump in her throat that he considered her preference, even in an emergency. Next came a small stuffed bag she assumed was a sleeping bag.

When all of that was out, she saw a long flat bag made out of the same ram head logo and waterproofrubberlike nylon material the backpack was made out of. Unzipping it revealed a warm hat, gloves, thermal underclothes, a pair of jeans, and a flannel shirt. Under that were wool socks.

Her cheeks and neck heated as her eyes blurred. He’d truly thought of everything.

“I’m going to look for firewood now. I won’t be long.” Tiikâan’s voice jerked her gaze to the bright-blue tarp stretched over the opening above.

How had he gotten a roof over their heads, and she hadn’t even unfolded her clothes?

“Okay,” she called back, rolling her eyes when her voice cracked.

So much for being strong.

She scrambled to unzip her jacket, her numb fingers fumbling with the zipper. The ache in her muscles as she pulled off her clothes felt like she’d been thrown into a meat grinder. Every movement sent shards of pain through her body, her bones replaced with broken glass.

Peeling off her shirt was like ripping off a layer of skin, the wet fabric clinging stubbornly to her body. She gasped at the purple and blue bruises mottling her skin.

Her fingers, stiff as icicles, fumbled with the buttons of her jeans. Each attempt to undo them sent jolts of pain up her arms, as if she were trying to bend frozen twigs.

As she struggled out of her pants, her legs trembled. The simple act of standing made her feel like Atlas, the weight of the world pressing her down into the ground. Her teeth chattered, a staccato rhythm that filled in the small space.

The cold air hit her damp skin, raisinggoosebumps that felt like a thousand tiny needles pricking her flesh. Merritt reached for the dry clothes with the desperation of a drowning person grasping for a lifeline.

Each piece she put on was a battle against her uncooperative body, but also a small victory against the cold that had seeped into her very bones. When she was fully dressed, she hugged herself.

She couldn’t just sit there waiting. If Tiikâan could push through the cold, not even stopping to change into dry clothes, she could, too.

Snatching up the sleeping bag, she yanked it out of the tiny holder, completely out of breath when she finished, and laid it out in the widest space beneath the tarp. Next, she dug through Tiikâan’s much larger pack, completely amazed at the meticulously chosen gear, until she found his sleeping bag and stretched it out beside hers.

She grabbed the little metal Bushbuddy stove, no bigger than a small paint can. With the cold frying her braincells, she cursed as she turned the two-piece stove this way and that, frustration mounting with each second.

Before she tossed the infuriating thing against the stone wall, she set it down, grabbed her sleeping bag, and unzipped it so she could sit on the bottom and wrap the top around her shoulders. Slightly warmer, she took a deep breath and figured out the way-too-simple setup for the stove.

“Okay. I’ve got this.”

She placed one of the paper bag packets in the bottom of the stove and loosely stacked some of the twigsaround the packet. Her hand shook so hard as she struck the first match against the metal container she found them in that it snapped in half.

---