9. Sawyer

9

SAWYER

T he cold seeped deep into Sawyer’s bones, curling its icy fingers around every last reserve of strength she had left. Mirren had fallen and now struggled to follow close behind her. Then Sawyer had fallen not too long afterward, pushing herself back up to her feet, determined to move on. The storm had been relentless for what felt like days, and now here they were in the thick of it, moving on from the only shelter they had in hopes of finding another shelter that may not even be there. Sawyer knew the region like the back of her hand, but in this blinding snowstorm, it was impossible to tell which direction they were headed, let alone if they were headed toward the right one.

She shot a sideways glance to Mirren, concern etching lines in her forehead as she saw the younger women struggle. Her movements were slow and lethargic, just like Sawyer’s, her face red with a mixture of cold and pain. Just like Mirren, Sawyer’s limbs were heavy, weighed down by the cold and exhaustion, making it impossible to trek through the thick snow that only seemed to reach higher and higher up their legs by the minute.

Every perceptive nerve fired on all cylinders. Her body yearned—no, begged—for Sawyer to stop. To crumble into the mounds of snow and let the cold bite away at her body until she could feel nothing, not the ache of her muscles nor the frostbite dancing on her flesh.

But she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t. Not when their survival depended on every breath, every step.

Not when Mirren depended on her.

Sawyer’s breaths quickly became so strained that it was hard to breathe. Every intake of air was cold and unforgiving, drying her mouth and throat and making it impossible to catch her breath. She could hear Mirren’s breaths as well, loud and panting, soon to give out.

A sense of impending doom washed over Sawyer—this was it. It had to be it. Decades of training, missions, and yet nothing could prepare them for the brutality of this storm. A nasty concoction of anger and despair took over her shivering body at the realization that they might not make it. She wanted to think of her years, of her career, of her family, friends, and colleagues, but all she could do was think of Mirren.

Part of her was angry that she would likely die out here with Mirren, leaving whatever life they could have lived together remaining a mystery. The other part of her was almost glad that, if it were anyone out here with whom she would be stuck, it was Mirren.

Just when all hope felt lost, a small, breathy cry sounded out from behind her.

“Look!”

Instinctively, fear gripped Sawyer’s heart, and she jerked her head in Mirren’s direction to see if the woman was in danger. Instead, she was surprised to see hope written across her reddened face. It wasn’t until she noticed Mirren looking at something behind her and turned to find the faint outline of a structure in the distance did she, too, begin to feel that hope.

The second outpost…

“Oh my god,” Sawyer whispered under her breath, a newfound determination starting a small fire in the pit of her stomach that quickly grew into a raging flame. Sawyer turned to Mirren with no hesitation as she tucked her arm under the woman’s smaller one, latching onto her firmly but carefully and pulling her along. “Come on,” She urged, raising her voice over the whirl of the wind. “It’s right there. Let’s go!”

Together, Sawyer and Mirren picked up their pace as a fresh resolve took over. Their muscles and bones, weak and weary from what felt like hours of travel through the rough terrain, strengthened as they used the remaining drops of energy they had left to push themselves, push as hard as they could, as fast as they could. As the wind howled around them, and the shower of snow obstructed their vision, they continued on with a determination to prevail like never before.

“We’re almost there!” Sawyer shouted, and it wasn’t long before they crashed through the wooden doors of the second outpost. A wave of warmth, not quite heat, washed over them as they barreled inside and shut the door behind them. Sawyer, though weakened by their hard travels, didn’t hesitate to run over to the dresser to their right and push it in front of the door, just in case this outpost might give up like the last.

For a moment, neither of the women said anything as they collapsed to the ground in a series of raspy breaths. Mirren sat across from Sawyer, her face pale and gaunt beneath layers of frost-dusted clothing. Her eyes, though, remained sharp as ever, a beacon of calm amid the chaos.

For days, those eyes had been Sawyer’s anchor—focused, determined. It was because of her that they were still alive, that Sawyer had been able to push and remained resilient like never before.

“I can’t believe we made it,” Mirren said as shut her eyes tightly, while Sawyer glanced over and watched her carefully brushing frozen strands of hair from her face.

Sawyer tried to speak, but she was still too winded. She looked about the room, which was almost an exact replica of the previous outpost. She spotted a small measly pile of firewood in the corner next to the stove, and she didn’t hesitate to stand to her feet and get a fire going.

As the fire began to cackle, and Mirren and Sawyer both crawled closer, Sawyer glanced outside the small, frosted window. The storm was starting to break, which nearly angered her with it’s almost unfair timing.

About an hour or so passed before the subsiding of the storm became more visible. The swirling mass of white seemed less impenetrable, the wind no longer howling with such ferocity. It was a quiet shift, as if the storm was finally releasing them from its merciless grip.

“We need a signal,” Sawyer said, her voice hoarse from days of shouting above the wind. There hadn’t been much talking between the two of them, given they were both overwhelmed with exhaustion, having been on the verge of death just hours before. She looked down at Mirren, who slowly spooned canned beans into her mouth with still frozen fingers. “If the storm’s easing, they’ll be looking for us.”

Mirren nodded. “I can rig something,” she said. Her voice was noticeably weaker, but she still had those flecks of calm determination that Sawyer couldn’t help but admire. “Let me get my stuff,” she added a minute later, slowly moving to her feet and accepting Sawyer’s hand when she reached out an arm to help.

She moved quickly despite her fatigue, gathering what little materials they had left. By some miracle, Mirren’s laptop and other devices hadn’t frozen in the raging storm, perhaps due to the isolation the rest of the items in their bags provided.

Sawyer watched the woman as she sat down in front of the burning oven and began to spread out her belongings, opening her laptop and typing away as if doing so were a second nature to her. It was impossible not to admire her. Even after everything—the bitter cold, the constant danger—Mirren still carried that steady resolve. A fierce protectiveness rose in Sawyer at the sight, mingled with something warmer, deeper.

Mirren handled trying to get help, while Sawyer continued to tend to the fire. As they worked side by side, Sawyer found herself constantly stealing glances at her. She couldn’t help it. Her hands were numb, fumbling with the supplies, but every time her fingers brushed against hers, the brief contact sent a jolt of warmth through her.

The cold had finally receded, but it was replaced by something far more dangerous—the awareness that Sawyer didn’t want to lose her.

Not just to this storm—but ever.

Minutes later, Mirren suddenly gasped. Sawyer’s eyes jerked in the woman’s direction, trying to garner her attention, but Mirren ignored her as she pounded at her keyboard with her fingers, bringing her tablet to her face as well to switch back and forth between the two.

“I’ve got a signal!” Mirren exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement as she momentarily met Sawyer’s gaze, then returned her focus to her work. When she offered no further details, Sawyer couldn’t help but crawl toward her.

“Are you able to send a message?” Sawyer asked, desperate for more information. She looked to the laptop screen for clues, but the jumble of data mixed with numbers and messages she couldn’t comprehend offered no further hints.

“I’m doing it right now…” Mirren said, dragging her last word before she pressed her enter key. She inhaled a deep breath, then grinned widely as she looked back at Sawyer. “Sent. It should be only a matter of time before I get a response, and they send someone for us.”

Mirren lifted her gaze to meet Sawyer’s, the two women unable to say a word for what felt like minutes. They only held each other’s stares, eyes once filled with pain and exhaustion now glistening with hope and joy.

“We did it, Sawyer,” Mirren finally said, words coming out barely above a whisper. Her smile curled into a wide grin, followed by a short giggle that fogged the air. “We made it.”

“We made it,” Sawyer repeated, and felt taken aback when Mirren move forward to hug her. Sawyer, however, couldn’t help but immediately wrap her arms around the smaller woman. Even though the outpost barely warmed them, Saywer still felt warmth with Mirren in her arms, something that burned brighter and hotter than the fire inches away.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Mirren said as she pulled away, a speck of sadness hinting in her eyes.

Immediately, Sawyer shook her head. “Don’t?—”

“I wouldn’t have made it,” Mirren cut in. “Seriously. I…I can’t thank you enough.”

Sawyer lifted her hands to gently cup Mirren’s face, ducking her head and holding firm eye contact. “We did it together,” she said, firmly but gently. “I wouldn’t have been able to monitor the weather the way you did. I wouldn’t have been able to make contact for help. This is something we both did. We made it together , Mirren. You and I.”

A sweet look washed across Mirren’s face, giving her cheeks a light blush. “You and I…” She repeated, softly, as if she were tasting the words in her mouth. Tasting the idea of the two of them together being a more permanent thing, something that extended past this mission.

Within half an hour, the distant sound of rotor blades cut through the silence. Sawyer turned to Mirren, catching the glint of relief in her blue eyes.

“They’re coming,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a brief, stolen moment, they were still. The gravity of what they’d endured hung heavy in the air between them. Sawyer wanted to say something—to tell her everything she’d been holding back, but words felt inadequate. So instead, she reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly, but when she gripped hers, there was a strength that steadied them both.

The rescue team arrived in a flurry of activity—voices shouting orders, hands pulling them toward the helicopter, blankets draped over their shoulders. It all passed in a blur of noise and movement. The biting cold, the unforgiving wind, faded into the background as they were lifted into the air, soaring above the snow-covered wilderness.

Mirren slumped against Sawyer, her head resting on her shoulder, her exhaustion finally overtaking her. Sawyer smiled as she held her close, the rhythmic thrum of the helicopter blades a distant hum compared to the pounding of her heart.

The harsh lines between them—those of rank, duty, professionalism—seemed to blur, melting away like the snow beneath the afternoon sun.

For so long, Sawyer had fought to keep those lines intact. Her life had been one of discipline, of rigid control. It was all she’d ever known.

But now, as she held Mirren in her arms, it all felt futile. The storm hadn’t just torn through the landscape. It had torn through her, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable truth.

Sawyer didn’t want to be without her.

----

Sawyer woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of machines. The room was quiet save for the rhythmic pulse of the monitors. Her gaze immediately landed on the bed, where Mirren lay, still and pale under the harsh, fluorescent light.

Mirren looked so much smaller there, vulnerable in a way that felt wrong. Sawyer knew better. Mirren was anything but fragile.

Sawyer moved closer, pulling a chair beside the bed. She sat down, folding her hands in her lap, her eyes never leaving Mirren’s face. She hated the helplessness that gnawed at her. After everything they’d been through—the storm, the outpost, the freezing cold—it had come down to this. They had survived, but it felt as if the battle wasn’t over.

A faint stir came from the bed. Mirren’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused at first. When she shifted slightly, wincing from the soreness that still lingered, her eyes finally found Sawyer.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You’re here.”

Sawyer’s heart squeezed at the sound of her voice, raspy and weak. “Of course, I am.” She leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. “How do you feel?”

Mirren’s throat worked, but her voice barely came out. “Water,” she whispered.

Sawyer quickly poured her a cup from the bedside table, handing it to her carefully. Their fingers brushed as she passed it over, the warmth of Mirren’s touch sending a familiar surge through her chest. She watched as Mirren drank slowly, her movements deliberate, as if she was trying to piece together everything that had happened. The storm. The endless cold. The days of survival. And now, the quiet safety of the recovery room.

When Mirren set the cup down, her gaze found Sawyer’s, something unspoken flickering between them.

“Mirren—” Sawyer began, but her name was all she needed to say. The rest didn’t require words.

Mirren’s eyes softened, the guarded demeanor she always carried slipping away. “We could’ve died out there,” she whispered, her voice tight with the weight of what they’d faced. “We almost did.”

Sawyer reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “But we didn’t.”

The space between them filled with everything unsaid, the quiet now charged with emotions they could no longer push away. There was no storm now to hide behind, no cold wind to mask the reality of what had been building between them from the start.

Mirren’s hand trembled in Sawyer’s. “What happens now?”

Sawyer held her gaze, her voice steady but soft. “I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling the vulnerability in her own words. “But I don’t want to face it without you.”

The honesty hung between them, raw and exposed. For once, Sawyer didn’t feel the need to hide behind duty or responsibility. She needed Mirren to know—to understand that whatever came next, whether it was new missions, new dangers, or something completely unknown, she wanted her by her side.

Mirren’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly. Then, without hesitation, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Sawyer’s. The warmth of the contact melted the cold that had gripped Sawyer’s heart for so long.

“We’ll figure it out,” Mirren whispered, her voice steadier now.

Sawyer tilted her head, brushing her lips against Mirren’s in a gentle kiss. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate kind they’d shared in the outpost driven by fear and uncertainty. This was different—softer, full of promise. The kind of kiss that said they had time. Time to heal, to grow, to figure out the future together.

When they pulled away, Mirren smiled, the warmth in her eyes making Sawyer’s chest ache in the best way possible.

“Together,” Mirren said softly.

Sawyer nodded, squeezing her hand. “Together.”