Page 28 of Aviator
The relief that washes over me is so immense it takes me to my knees. We did it. Maybe we’ll make it off this mountain after all.
Using the scissors I grabbed from the first aid kit, I score an X into several trees along the way back, marking my path so we don’t get lost. After everything that’s happened so far, that would be my luck.
After a short but arduous trip back up the mountain, I find Dean where I left him. His jacket is pulled tight around his shoulders, and his large frame shivers against the battering force of the wind. His eyes are tight with strain, but his voice is steady when he sees me and nods in the direction I came from.
“Tell me you found the damn place.” A wicked shiver wracks his giant body, looking hard enough to break bones.
I nod, my words coming out with thick puffs of air. “Not a minute too soon. We need to get you off your feet and somewhere warm. It’s ahead, maybe half a mile. Can you make it that far, or do you need to rest some more?”
“Stop babying me. I’m fine.” And then, with one large inhale and a bearish grunt, he pushes back to his feet and begins lumbering into the woods, using my footsteps as a guide.
I gaze after him for a minute, frozen. But not because of his biting remark. Because he’s still standing. Seriously, what the hell is he made of? How is he still on his feet, let alone hiking? And thank God for that because I don’t know if I could drag him the rest of the way, despite saying otherwise.
I don’t know how long it takes to get to the ranger’s station, but every second feels like an hour. Dean’s progress is slow but steady. Me, however? I feel like I’m about to faint any second. Oh, how the turns have tabled.
Finally, we make it to the dilapidated ranger’s station. At this point, I’m completely exhausted, and my whole body feels numb. I don’t even care that it doesn’t look much better than Jamie’s cabin. Even our cave shelter would look like the Ritz-Carlton at this point.
I trip over my feet and land hard against the rickety door. It’s taking all of Dean’s strength to remain upright. It’s up to me to get us inside. Thankfully the door is unlocked, so I push it open. I don’t know what I hoped to find, but it certainly isn’t an empty, abandoned, musty-smelling cabin. How many of these could there possibly be on one mountain?
I take one step inside and blink rapidly, trying to make sure the scene before my eyes isn’t my imagination or exhaustion playing tricks on me. But it’s not. Pressing a hand to my face, I hold the other out to cut through the cobwebs. If I weren’t already shivering from the cold, the thought of being covered in spiders would have sent fresh chills down my spine. As it is, I’m too tired to pay it more than a passing thought.
There’s no salvation to be found inside. The small structure is empty and desolate. There’s a naked fireplace, a battered table and desk, and a single cot. Dust and debris cover pretty much every surface, and a cursory look through the two doors reveals a closet and a small bathroom. I guess there’s that?
But it’s better than nothing.
It’s better than being dead.
That’s good enough for now.
It’s better than we were this morning.
We have shelter and a bed. That damn cot may as well have Egyptian cotton sheets and a down mattress.
Dean follows me inside and shuts the door behind us. It isn’t much, but the small barrier between us and the wind provides a welcome warmth.
“I haven’t been this warm in days,” I breathe.
Dean collapses on the cot, which lets out a groan. “We need to get a fire going. See what you can find in here that’ll burn. Anything will work.”
I send him a frustrated glare, which he ignores because, of course, he’s thinking about all the things we should do instead of crumpling in an exhausted pile on the floor and sleeping for a few days like I want to. But, damn him, I know he’s right. I stumble over to the desk, find a pile of unidentifiable papers in a drawer, and throw them in the empty fireplace.
While I do that, I hear a loud crash and find Dean shattering the chair on the floor to use for wood. I gather it up and add it to the paper. Using my new skills as an expert fire starter, I have a small flame in the fireplace within a few minutes. Soon, the dry wood catches, and warmth fills the cabin.
“Pretty good at that for a city girl,” Dean grunts from where he’s collapsed on the cot.
“Shocking, right?” I say with an impish grin in his direction. Is it my imagination or the lack of sleep and food—really, so many reasons—but is Dean actually. . . smiling? I blink a few times. When my vision clears, either he’s stopped, or he never was in the first place.
I choke back a hysterical giggle. Seriously. Dean smiling at a joke. Clearly, I’m losing it. God, I need some fucking sleep. I’d kill for a nap. But I know things need to be done first.
The next steps are food and water, so I head outside, fill our lone water bottle with fresh snow, and set it by the fire. There’s no food in the cabin, but we have some left from the wreckage. We split it between us, too tired to say much more. At the end of all this, I’m exhausted and can barely keep my eyes open. Dean doesn’t look much better.
“Scoot over,” I tell him as I stumble to the cot. It’s barely big enough to fit him, let alone the two of us, but there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping on the floor. I’m also not going to make him do that either.
Ah, the age-old, one-bed dilemma. If I weren’t so damn tired, I’d find it humorous. And maybe in another lifetime, I would have been giddy at the thought of sharing a bed with Dean. Hell, I’m only human, and he’s the definition of a tall drink of water. But right now, all I want is to sleep. . . and maybe to steal a little bit of warmth from his big, powerful frame.
He raises his eyebrows at me, and for the first time, I think he’s stunned. Or confused. I can’t quite tell in my weariness. Seriously, I’m about to collapse and don’t care where.
“Don’t argue,” I say, gesturing for him to lie down. He must be shocked or tired like me because he doesn’t protest. He stretches out over the cot, and I climb over him to wedge myself between his body and the wall, careful to not bump any of his injuries. The feeling of being held, even if only superficially, is a comfort, and my eyelids grow steadily heavier without any prompting.
