I’m lost.
I’ve been out here ten minutes, and I’m completely fucking lost.
The most dangerous thing about a snowstorm isn’t necessarily the cold, or the wind. Humans can survive that, as long as they get back inside fast enough. It’s the disorientation. When everything around you is white and moving, you can barely tell up from down, or left from right. You could leave your house to put the bins out, then die ten feet from your door, because you can’t remember which direction you came from.
When I first stepped outside, the visibility was near zero. I’d hoped that she’d have left some sort of trail; but of course, her footprints were long covered. All I could do was plough forward through the wind, trying to navigate from memory.
By my guess, she would have made it almost to the road before she realised that she wouldn’t be able to get any further. I try to hold a map of the land in my head as I forge through the whirling snow, praying that I’m heading in the right direction. Strong wind buffets me back, and icy snowflakes sting the tiny amount of skin left uncovered by my goggles and scarf. I’m losing hope. For all I know, I could be going in circles. I could arrive right back at the front door at any second. I could—
I almost fall over as I slam right into some bushes. They’re completely covered in white, and I’m so snow-blind I can barely see them, but I recognise them as the bushes lining the end of the road. I have been going in the right direction. A thought occurs to me. Daisy’s smart. If she got this far, she would’ve hid under the bush for cover.
And if she hasn’t made it to the bush, then she’s dead. So I don’t have a choice.
I start walking alongside the hedge, looking for lumps in the ground. I barely make it ten steps before I trip over something soft. I drop to my knees, scooping frantically at the snow. A smear of pink appears under my hands. Her coat. It’s her. She’s covered in snow, but the shelter from the bush has stopped her from becoming buried in it. I wipe her face clean. There’s snow in her hair, falling down her coat, sticking to her eyelashes. Her eyes are closed. She’s as still as a corpse in my lap.
“Daisy,” I breathe, stroking her face. “Daisy. Daisy, please. Come on, baby. You’re not dead.”
After a few terrifying seconds, her eyes flicker open. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. I could fucking cry with relief.
I look her over, cataloguing her blue lips and skin. She’s not shivering, which is a very, very bad sign. She’s hypothermic. I need to warm her up, now. The fastest way would be through my own body heat, but for that to work, we’d need to strip off, and we can’t do that until we’re somewhere dry.
I give her a little shake. She lolls in my arms, blinking sleepily. “Daisy. Can you stay awake? Can you talk to me?”
Her blue, chapped lips move. I bend, putting my ear right by her mouth.
“Teddy,” she mumbles. My heart clenches.
“Yeah. I’m here. I’m here, you’re going to be okay.”
“Sorry.” Her eyes flutter, but she doesn’t say anything else. She’s fading. Trying to balance my pack on my back, I wrap my hands under her armpits and pull her upright, swinging her into my arms. She barely weighs anything. My pack is heavier than her, for God’s sake. As soon as I get her back to the cabin, I’m locking her inside and feeding her up. Maybe then she’ll stop getting blown over by the wind.
“Hold on to my neck,” I bellow. I feel her arms loop weakly around my neck, and turn, looking around. Everything is a white blur. Which way was the house? Hell, I can’t remember. My tracks through the snow are already completely covered. I feel fear squeezing my throat shut. Forcing myself to stay calm, I take a second to reorient myself, then turn ninety degrees to the left. This should—should—be the way back to the house. I plough forward, stumbling through the snow. My shoulder burns as Daisy’s weight tugs at the wound, but I ignore it. I have to get her back inside. I have to get her safe.
I grunt as something slaps into my hip. It’s thin and taut, almost like a handrail or a clothesline. I frown, feeling along it, brushing off the snow. It’s some kind of cord. The rope that Daisy set up to guide us towards the house when visibility is bad. My heart lurches.
I don’t have a spare hand, so I lean on it with my hip, following it forward. I barely make it five steps before I fall, tripping over a rock covered by the snow.
It takes me almost thirty seconds to get back up. I pat down Daisy, checking that she’s uninjured, then rearrange her in my arms and keep moving. The next time I fall, it takes a full minute to get my feet under me again. All the time, the snow is getting thicker and heavier. Every time we go down, it starts to cover us, threatening to bury us completely until I force myself back up again.
It happens again, and again, and again. We move at a snail’s pace. It feels like with every step I take, I get weaker. My limbs are going numb. My body temp is dropping.
The next time I trip, I don’t even fall over anything; I just trip over my own damn boot. I drop onto my knees again, doubling over. Daisy almost rolls out of my arms, but I grab at her, panting. My shoulder is burning like fire.
We’re not going to make it. I know how far I walked from the house. It was this distance four or five times over. Even if I picked the right direction, we’re not going to make it.
I’ve had a few near-death experiences before. I’ve been caught in storms, and beaten up in fighting rings, and attacked by wild animals. Each time, the second I realised I might actually die, a strange sense of calm came over me. I felt almost peaceful. When all choice has been taken away from you, there’s nothing left to worry about.
But right now, I’m not peaceful. I don’t give a shit if I die, but this isn’t about me. It’s about her.
There’s no way I’m letting her die. Not while I have breath in my body. I’ll fight to the very last second.
I roar into the wild wind as I force myself up again, heaving her into my arms. With first one step, and then another, I keep moving forward.
Slowly, through the snow, something grey looms in front of me. I squint, wiping my goggles clumsily on my shoulder. A few staggering steps closer, and it comes into focus.
It’s the shack. The ramshackle, broken-down stone cave we abandoned when we first moved into the cabin. The stunning, kind, genius girl put the shack on the rescue route. Even though I told her not to bother.
Well, today, her own kindness is going to save her life. I stagger the last few steps through the snow, practically falling into the shelter. Instantly, the deafening noise of the wind outside gets muffled by the stone walls. It’s still freezing in here, but at least we’re protected from the wet and the wind.
I lay Daisy down on the floor. The ground has iced over, and I swear. I can’t leave her on this.
“We need to get you off the ground,” I tell her, stroking her cheek. Her eyes have closed again. I’m too scared to take her pulse. Of course she’s alive. There’s no alternative. “You’re losing too much heat,” I say. “Just hang on a second.”
She doesn’t respond.
I head back outside and hack some leaf-covered branches off a nearby bush. I can barely see what I’m doing, and I almost slice my damn thumb off, but eventually my arms are full of twigs. I carry them back inside. Daisy hasn’t moved.
“I’m going to make you a bed,” I tell her. “One minute.”
I lay the switches down on the ground, covering the frozen stone floor, then lift her carefully onto them. Then I turn to my bag. I keep a hypothermia first aid kit in the bottom of all of my survival packs. I unpack a space blanket, a chemical heating blanket, and a blizzard sleeping bag, unfolding them all. Even though each one is big enough to completely cocoon her, they’re all folded and packaged in tiny little packets the size of envelopes, which are hard as fuck to open when you’re shivering convulsively. I grit my teeth, swearing, as my hands slip on the plastic wrapping for the fifth time. Eventually, I get them all rolled out. I turn back to Daisy.
Her clothes are wet with snow, so they have to come off. I start peeling off her coat, then her trousers and sweater. Even her underwear is damp. She must have gotten snow down her clothes when she fell. I pull off her little pink bra and pants, setting them aside, then wrap her naked body up in the blankets. When she’s tucked in tight, I bundle her up in the sleeping bag, taping it shut so none of the heat can escape. She looks like a little orange burrito in my lap, only her white face peeking out.
I sit back on my haunches, panting, and close my eyes. I’m exhausted. My energy was already rock bottom by the time I found her. Now I feel completely drained. I just want to hold her and go to sleep, but I know if I stop moving, I’ll end up as bad as her. I can’t stop moving. I can’t stop moving until she’s okay.
I force myself to turn back to my bag, and pull out the small, two-person nylon tent, shaking it open. I use a rock to drive the stakes into the frozen ground. I’m getting really weak; I need to lean against the walls of the shack a couple of times, but eventually, I have the tent up. I lift Daisy carefully, laying her inside, then pull out a can of chafing gel and light it with a waterproof match. It won’t do much to heat the tent, but it’s better than nothing. Wrangling a couple metal cans out of the pack, I head to the doorway of the shack and scoop up some of the fluffy white snow that’s blown inside. She needs water.
When I crawl back into the tent, her eyes are half-open. I could cry with relief. I zip up the tent, then stroke her forehead. “Daisy. Sit up. You need to stay awake.” I peel off my gloves to touch her face. I think she’s warming up. The heating blanket must be doing its job. Her eyes flutter.
“Say something,” I order, setting the can of snow on the heater to melt.
She groans.
I pat her face again. “Daisy. Say something. Or I’ll pour snow in your face.”
“S-s-s-say what?”
“I don’t care. Anything. Tell me how you feel. Sing me a song. Just keep fucking talking.”
She obediently starts mumbling under her breath. I don’t understand, and I don’t care. “Good girl.” I leave the can of snow on the heater until it melts and warms, then pour in a sachet of dried hot chocolate, mixing it up for her. “Here. Sit up and drink.”
She looks down at herself. “Got no hands,” she mumbles.
I realise her hands are trapped in the sleeping bag. I pull her upright to lean on me, holding the can up to her lips for her. She drinks slowly, choking a bit on the warm liquid. I give it to her in sips until the can is empty. She relaxes against my chest.
“You feel better?”
She nods, tucking her face in my neck. “Tired. But. Okay.”
“How’s your heart?”
Her lips turn down. “Sore,” she whispers.
Shit. I slip my hand down her sleeping bag, peeling back the layers of heated blanket, and press between her naked breasts, feeling her heartbeat. She sighs, rubbing into my hand. At any other time, the feeling of her soft, warm tits against my palm would have my cock rock hard in seconds; but right now, I think my balls are frozen. Anyway, I’m not exactly in the mood. Her heart feels strong and steady. “What do you mean?”
“‘S a bit broken,” she slurs.
“I meant physically. Is it—clapping?” Shit. Hjärtklappning. What the Hell is it English? “Is it missing beats?” I try.
She yawns. “No.” She wriggles against my hand, and I stroke her chest as comfortingly as I can.
“Do you know what you did?” I ask. “Riven and Eli are going fucking crazy. They think you’re dead.”
“Sorry.” Her face crumples. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I c-c-couldn’t br-breathe in there. I just—”
“Ran.” I can hardly judge her for that. Hell, when I got my heart broken, I left civilisation completely. “They think it was their fault.”
Her eyes widen. “God. They’re not out here l-looking for me, are they?”
I shake my head. “They’re safe inside. Climbing the walls.”
She frowns. “Why did you come get me? You could’ve died.”
“Not all of us are one-hundred-and-fifty-centimetre weaklings who can’t walk in snow.”
She looks down, her eyes shaded. She looks unbelievably sad. “I f-feel like I missed you all my life,” she whispers.
“We just met,” I say stupidly.
She sighs. “I know. I mean, I feel like something inside me was missing, but I didn’t know what. And it’s you. It’s a-all of you.” Her mouth turns down. “And now I’ve ruined it all.”
My chest is burning. I have to swallow thickly. “No. No. You’ve not ruined anything, sweetheart. You’ve not done anything wrong.”
Her eyes shimmer. She’s quiet for a long, long time. I can practically see the wheels in her brain spinning.
I give her a gentle shake. “Keep talking.”
“Did you speak to Riven?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She presses her lips together. “Did—you see the video?”
“The first few seconds,” I admit.
She squeezes her eyes shut. Tears roll down her cheeks. Her breath hitches as she starts to cry. “I d-didn’t take it. I didn’t know I was being filmed.”
Fuck. I rock her gently. “Shh. Shh. I know. I could tell.” I don’t know what to say. This isn’t my job. Eli is the one who cuddles and coddles. Riven can calm people down when they’re in pain. I’m usually the one who hurt them in the first place.
But I’m the only one here right now. So I have to do something. I pull her closer into me, and she snugs into my chest. “I f-f-feel disgusting,” she sputters.
“You’re not.”
“I know I’m not. But I feel it. I feel… used. Like a used tissue. A bit of trash.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head, sniffling. “Thanks. For turning it off.”
I frown. “Sweetheart. Of course.” What kind of guy does she think I am?
She shivers delicately. “I love when you call me that.” She yawns again. “I think I’m drunk. But I didn’t drink anything.”
“Stay awake. I’m going to make you some food.” She’s not sleeping until her skin turns a normal colour. I root back into my rucksack. Eli thinks that I’m paranoid about the survival packs. Thank God I am. We have enough food to last us a few days. A week, if we really stretch it out. I seriously doubt we’ll be here that long, though. The storms in this area tend to be short and sudden. A couple days at most.
I spread out the foil packages of dehydrated food. “Minced beef chilli or minced beef stew?”
“What’s the difference?”
“One has beans in.”
That gets a tiny smile out of her. “Whatever.”
I melt some more snow, then pour a pack of stew into the can. This shit is pretty disgusting, but as the salty, savoury scent fills the tent, my stomach rumbles. I suddenly realise how hungry I am.
“Talk,” I order, as I mix the brown saucy mush around with a fork. “Tell me about the video.”
“Really?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You have something better to do?”
She hesitates, thinking, then sighs. “It was my ex-boyfriend. Sam. He recorded it secretly, back when we were still together. Must have set his phone up on the bookshelf, or something.”
Anger roars up in me. What is this guy’s problem? The internet’s full of porn, of women willingly taking their clothes off, and he had to fucking trick Daisy into making him a sex tape against her will? It’s disgusting.
“When I tried to break up with him,” she continues. “He sent me the file. Said if I didn’t stay with him, he’d put it online. I called his bluff. I didn’t think he’d really do it. I didn’t think someone I once loved could be that evil.” She shivers. “He held it over my head for a few months, but when he realised that I wasn’t going to come around, he did it. Put it on the internet, on a bunch of porn sites, and titled it with my real name.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “It’s Jennifer Adams.”
“Riven told me,” I say. Her shoulders slump. “Where did you get Daisy from?”
“It’s my middle name. And Whittaker is my mum’s maiden name.” She coughs. “Sam said he’d only take the video down if I got back together with him. Obviously, I wouldn’t, so… I guess I’d logged into my social media a few times on his computer. He had my passwords saved. He sent links to the video to everyone. All my Facebook friends. My family. Every single person in my work email list. All the parents of the kids that I taught. E-everyone.” Her bottom lip trembles, and she looks down. “Sorry. I can’t.”
“Come here,” I say roughly, pulling her into my chest. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
As soon as I say those words, she just falls apart against me. She starts sobbing into my chest like somebody’s died. I rub her back, feeling completely helpless.
“My mum and dad won’t talk to me,” she whispers. “They won’t believe me, that I didn’t film it on purpose. They think I did it for some easy money. M-most of my friends were other teachers at the school. They all blamed me. Said it was inappropriate for a teacher to be seen doing stuff like that. I had messages from pretty much every parent whose child I taught, calling me a whore, and a slut, and a ‘danger to society’. I lost my job. My income. I was in the news, so many stations covered the story. The Pornstar Teacher, they called me. And every time someone looks up my name, they see a video of me getting f-fucked from behind. I just—I don’t know what to do.”
I have nothing to say, so I don’t say anything. I just hold her tighter, clenching my free fist so hard my fingernails bite into my palm.
When all of this is over, when Daisy’s safe and warm and back in the cabin, I’m going to find her ex-boyfriend. I don’t care where the fuck he is. If he’s in Sweden, or England, or the fucking Amazon rainforest. I’m going to find him, and he’s going to pay for hurting her this much.
Daisy makes a little noise against me, and I realise I’m squeezing her too hard. I force myself to relax my grip. The stew starts to bubble in the can, so I pick up the fork and feed it to her. She eats slowly, sniffling, then turns her face into my chest. “Can I please sleep now,” she whispers.
I lay her down gently and wrap myself around her. With her all bundled up like this, it’s like spooning a caterpillar. She falls asleep almost immediately, her breath still trembling with little sobs.
