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Sleep came before the song ended, not in the pleasant drift A
In an instant she was hideously awake, clawing at the air above in a vain attempt to rip away the suffocating to
A heavy hand closed on her shoulder, the weight of an arm was laid across her chest. "A
Whether it was the human contact or the fact her fingers closed around the shaft of the Maglite, she wasn't sure, but the panic ebbed slightly.
"The twilight zone?" she whispered back.
He must have smiled; she felt his beard tickle her cheek. "Do you have to go to the bathroom? Do you want a drink of water?"
Reassured by the childhood litany, A
"You're old enough to be my sister," he corrected her. "I always thought she was pretty hot stuff. If you let me watch you put on your makeup, I'll be your slave."
"Believe it or not, I've been known to wear it." Lipstick and perfume seemed far away, artifacts from a past life. Reflexively she raised her hand to touch her face, count the creases time had carved there. A furry brush stroked her cheek, and she realized she clutched a feathery rope-end in her fist, caught up, no doubt, in her scrabble from sleep. It took a second to figure out where she'd come by such an oddment. It was the end of one of Lisa's braids. Stealthily, though the darkness had masked her thievery, A
Rolling onto her shoulder, she groaned as the bruised flesh reminded her of her transgressions.
"If I let you use me as a pillow will you stop squirming and go back to sleep?" Curt whispered.
"I'll try," A
Schatz raised his arm so she could move onto her uninjured side and rest her head on his shoulder. A
Curt's breathing evened out, but sleep refused to return for A
Encased in perfect darkness the meager brilliance of her covered light showed everything clearly. Pressed between Lisa and Holden, Peter lay next to Zeddie. Like she and Curt, they'd found a degree of solace in each other's arms. Zeddie's head nestled in the crook of Peter's neck. His arm and one knee were thrown across her body. The embrace looked practiced; there was an ease of familiarity in the intimacy. Embarrassed, A
Homicide by avalanche struck A
The absurdity hit A
Holy smoke, A
In a perverse way, A
Fantasies of revenge did what counting sheep could not. When next A
The pure, unadulterated male warmth of Curt's expedient embrace had awakened dormant memories. A
Holden was already up. Flashlights were set butt-down on the cave floor, forming a makeshift campfire. The dark held few terrors for Tillman; he traded batteries for morale. A
We'll be out of here before then, she promised herself. Then she remembered she had a gift for Holden: Sondra McCarty. She would tell him of the suspicions Frieda had had, of her own. If she could prove his choice of anchors hadn't killed Frieda, she knew a weight the immensity of which she could only guess at would be lifted from him. Even if Sondra was i
Opportunity didn't knock for several hours. Tapping what had to be toxic doses of instant coffee crystals into his lower lip, Holden kept the team together and working. Camp was cleaned and the logistics of what had now become a body recovery were hammered out. The traverse was rerigged using the bridge as an anchor. Because of Holden's own decency and the sensibilities he granted those around him, Frieda's remains were handled as if they still housed her soul. Delicacy was the respect the living paid the dead and the respect Tillman showed the cavers who had known Frieda.