Page 185 of Lavender Lake
Something about my tone must’ve eased the kit’s nerves because it wiggled onto its belly and crawled toward me.
I removed my button-down shirt, grimacing as my wrist protested. I wrapped the kit and cradled it against my chest. It snuggled against my tank top, seeking comfort.
“We got this,” I said, more so for my benefit than for the fox’s.
The scent of smoke teased my nostrils and I prayed the wind wouldn’t shift, bringing the fire closer to our land and the ranch.
I limped my way back to the side-by-side and got the door open. I settled the fox wrapped in my shirt onto my lap and reached for my cell phone resting on the passenger side seat.
But there was no cell service out here and I hadn’t brought a radio.
“Fuck.”
The kit whined.
“Sorry,” I said absently. I lifted my phone in the air and moved it around, but it was no use. Tucked between mountains, there was no chance of service.
I tossed my phone aside, and then cranked the key.
The engine turned over.
And over, and over.
I waited for the roar of the engine to come to life.
The side-by-side made a gurgling noise, and then sputtered to a silent death.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
My heart drummed in a heavy staccato as I hit the dashboard. I tried the engine again, but it refused to start.
“Okay, time for plan B.” I wrenched the door open, grabbed my phone and the kit, and climbed out.
I’d have to walk. Injured and without cell service, carrying a wild animal, with an impending forest fire that could move swiftly through the brush.
As long as the wind doesn’t change.
As long as the wind didn’t change, I would be fine.
I hadn’t taken two steps when the scent of fire grew stronger and thick and nearly blinding smoke engulfed me.
“I’m glad you’re with me,” I said, looking down at the fox wrapped in my shirt.
I put one foot in front of the other, but it was slow going. My wrist throbbed, my ankle twinged, and I could feel a deep, painful bruise forming on my knee.
The wind carried not just smoke, but a drastic shift in temperature, too. I felt the change from fresh air to warmth on my back as the smoke licked against my skin. It was a tease of what horror would ensue if I didn’t get clear of the forest soon. The wind had changed course and I was now in the direct path of the fire.
I looked at my phone again, hoping for a pocket of cell service. But no luck. And my battery was nearly dead because it kept searching for a cell tower.
My throat was dry and my lungs were beginning to sting from smoke inhalation. My energy waned and my pace slowed with every passing minute. My heart thundered in my chest as I was able to see less and less, and the smoke grew thicker and thicker.
I started to cry as fear overtook me. I held the fox kit in my arms and sobbed as I imagined me and my baby not making it out alive.
It all seemed so trivial. My reasons for not accepting Cas’s proposal. What was I afraid of?
A life with Cas was a blessing—and at the moment, not even a given. Because what if I didn’t make it out of this? What if this was the end of my story?
I can’t breathe.
