Thin Air

“Open it, rub the pack, and put it in your shirt,” he said. “It’ll help keep your core temp up.”

I tore the package open and shook out what looked like a really big sachet, rubbed it between my palms, and was instantly rewarded with a burst of steady heat. I dropped it down my buttoned-up shirt, between shirt and undershirt, and gave Lewis a trembling good-to-go high sign. My fingernails were a little blue. I scrambled into my coat and gloves, and hefted my own backpack. It clunked with plastic water bottles.

“Enjoy your bath?” Lewis asked. His tone was about as neutral as you could get, so I couldn’t read anything into it. I just nodded. “Good. Let’s move out.”

“What about Kevin and Cherise? Do you think they’re still…?”

“David’s scouting,” he said. “He’ll warn us if they come anywhere close.”

He took off. I had no choice but to follow.

I’ll skip over the day from hell, which was spent scrambling through razor-edged brush, climbing steep hills of loose shale, falling, cursing, sweating, panting, and generally having the sort of outdoor experience most city girls dread. I had no affinity for this whole hiking thing, and while the outdoors looked pretty, as far as I was concerned it’d look even prettier seen from the window of a passing car.

When my road-show Daniel Boone finally called a permanent halt, it was because of the snow. Flakes had begun to drift silently out of the clouds just an hour after we’d started the trek, light and whispery and dry, brushing against my sweaty face like cool feathers. At first I’d been grateful for it, but that was before it started to stick to the cold ground. A few random flurries became a full-fledged blizzard within the next couple of hours, and what started out a nuisance became more of a hardship with every trudging step. Lewis held my hand, and sometimes the only thing real in the world seemed to be the pressure of his hold on me. I sometimes heard rumbles, as if miles up it was raining, and I supposed I ought to feel grateful that it wasn’t sleeting. Sleet would have been a step down, circles-of-hell-wise.

No cave this time, but Lewis put up the tent and we crawled inside, into our sleeping bags, too tired to do more than murmur a couple of words before sleep sucked us down. I wanted to ask Lewis where we were going, but I didn’t have the energy. I no longer cared all that much, frankly. Just kill me and get it over with, I thought. I ached all over, and I was still aching when, with the sudde

It didn’t even occur to me to wonder where David was, or why he hadn’t joined us. The ways of the Dji

I woke up alone. All alone. The tent was silent, not even a breeze rattling the fabric, and it was deeply dark. And very, very cold. The chemical pack I’d gone to sleep with was an inert, stiff, dead thing next to me in the bag, and my hands had taken on a waxy chill. I burrowed deeper in the sleeping bag, conserving warmth, and listened for some sign that Lewis was up and around and doing something useful, like making the weather balmy or at least making coffee.

It was quiet as a grave out there.

“Lewis?” I whispered it, because somehow it seemed like the time and place to whisper. No response. I contemplated staying where I was, but that didn’t seem practical in the long term. Lewis’s sleeping bag was neatly rolled up and attached to his pack, which was leaning where his body had been when I’d fallen asleep. I crept out, wrapped myself quickly in my coat, jammed gloves on my hands and a knit cap over my head, and ducked out of the tent into the night.

Only it wasn’t night. It was full daylight, and the reason it had been so dark in the tent was that the tent was covered at least four inches deep with snow. It looked like an igloo. My first step sank almost knee-deep in pristine white powder: great for skiing, terrible for hiking.

Lewis’s tracks went off in the direction of the tree line. One set, though midway through the unbroken snow another set of footprints joined him.

Had to be David, since the two of them had walked on without any obvious trouble.

So I was on my own, at least for a little while.

I swigged some water-on Lewis’s advice, I’d taken a couple of bottles into the sleeping bag with me, to keep it sloshy-and tried to ignore a dull, throbbing headache. Caffeine withdrawal, pressure, general stress…who knew? I had no idea if I liked caffeine, but it seemed likely. I felt a surge of interest at the idea of hot coffee.

And then I heard something. Not Lewis, I was pretty sure of that; Lewis had that woodsy thing going on, and this sounded too heavy-footed for him. Bear? Something worse, maybe? I swallowed the water in my mouth in a choking gulp, screwed the cap back on the bottle, and hastily stowed it in my pack as I surveyed the underbrush. The lead-gray light seemed to bleach color out of everything that wasn’t already piled with snow, and all of a sudden the tent was looking quite cozy.

“Lewis?” I didn’t say it loudly, because I felt stupid saying it at all. Obviously it wasn’t Lewis. There was another confused flurry of sound from the underbrush. Bear, I thought. Definitely a bear. I am so dead.

And then the underbrush parted, shedding snow, and a small woman pitched face-forward into the drift. Her skin was a sickly white, and her hair was matted and tangled with leaves and twigs and…was that blood? And she was definitely underdressed for the weather in a hot-pink sweater and blue jeans…

It was the girl who’d attacked us before. Cherise. She wasn’t looking so tough anymore. In fact, she wasn’t looking good at all, and as I hesitated, staring at her, she moaned and rolled over on her side and pulled her knees in toward her chest. Her half-frozen hair, now caked with snow, was covering her face, but I could see that her eyes were open.

She blinked slowly. “Jo?” she whispered. “Jo, help. Please help me.”

I wanted to. She looked pathetic, and she looked desperately in need…but I couldn’t forget how she’d been earlier, when not even bullets could stop her. She certainly didn’t look invulnerable anymore, though; she looked like she was in deep trouble.

The kind of trouble that kills you.

“Cherise,” I said, testing out the name. She was either nodding or shuddering with the cold. I didn’t come closer, but I slowly crouched down, at least indicating a willingness to hang around. “What happened?”

Lag time. A long, unresponsive second of it.

“D-d-d-d-don’t know.” Her teeth were chattering like castanets, and her lips were an eerie shade of blue in her pale, pale face. Her eyes were huge, and they were the color of her lips. “Kevin…I remember Kevin was…he was trying to…”

“Was trying to what?”

“Jo, I’m so cold, please!” She didn’t seem to have heard me at all. Her voice was faint. Her shuddering was lessening, and I wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. “Kevin was trying to show me how to fight the fire.”

“What fire?”

Another lag, as if she had to wait for the words to circle the globe a couple of times before comprehending. “The one…” Cherise seemed confused by the question. “You know the one. The one they sent him to fight.”

“They, who?”

She just stopped talking. Blinked at me, like she had no idea why I was being so cruel to her. And honestly, I was starting to wonder about that myself. She looked so helpless, so fragile, that I couldn’t just leave her there. Not like some little match girl in the snow.

I looked around for Lewis, but he was a no-show, the fickle bastard. I could have used his ruthless practicality right now. Granted, he probably would have filled the poor kid full of bullet holes, but at least then she wouldn’t have been my problem.