Chapter 29

I’m an asshole, but her fury will get her up the mountain faster than fear. Though, it hurts like hell to treat her so badly. I’m mad at her for lying, but I could never blame her for what happened today. That falling rock wasn’t her fault, and even if I haven’t expressed it, I’m so fucking thankful she’s alive.

At the moment, anger is the only thing shielding my concern. Scottie’s not in good shape, but good God, I need that woman to stop picking fights with me. I understand she’s scared, but she’s purposely plucking my nerves like a fucking banjo. We’re so close. I know she can do it.

She scared the shit out of me earlier when her weight came down on her shoulder as she scrambled through the roughest section of the climb, and the noises she made told me she was in pain. We had to drop to a crawl through the loose rock and snow. I think we were both holding our breath, afraid we’d trigger another rockfall.

My adrenal gland is permanently broken thanks to my career choice, so there’s not much that excites me, but playing Jenga with boulders the size of cars and strolling into a mountaintop blizzard are chipping away at my limits. I’m one more catastrophe away from a full-blown panic attack. Being up here reminds me of the time our crew was caught at the summit by a fast-approaching lightning storm.

The snow-swept trail in front of us fades away as I’m consumed by memories of that storm. Weather had been building in the distance, but we were stranded at spike camp. The ridge we were on was not the place to ride out a thunderstorm. We took shelter as best we could, but we were sitting ducks. It was a fucked-up situation. We crouched on the balls of our feet low to the ground while fire from the heavens struck the earth all around us. Every guy was waiting for the next bolt to take us out.

“Cal!” Scottie shouts over the wind, pulling me into the present.

“Huh?” Fuck.

“Is that it?”

Glancing up, I get eyes on the structure and nod. Nestled on the top of a rocky peak, the fire tower sits, bracing the winds that threaten to take us down. The 360-degree shutters are all closed, making it look like a solid box with a roof. It’s the most welcome sight. A single short flight of stairs rises from the ground to the catwalk that wraps around the perimeter. We did it.

It’s been a while since I’ve spent a night in a fire tower, and if this storm is as bad as the radar suggested, we might be here for a few days. During the season, hired lookouts live here. They’re responsible for maintaining the space, gathering and splitting wood, lugging water, planting gardens, caulking windows, and maintaining the outhouse. They are self-sufficient. Thankfully, based on the condition of the structure, the last ones did a good job.

I’m really counting on the tower having leftover provisions we can use to survive. We need heat, water, and food if we’re to have a fighting chance. All I care about is getting Scottie out of this fucking wind and making sure we’ve got shelter and warmth, because this storm won’t be short-lived .

A strong gust slams into us, so we widen our stances, leaning into it, and drop lower as it pushes us backward. We brace ourselves, anchoring into the snow as we wait for it to pass. When it eases, we plod forward with more eagerness than before. Winds must be blowing close to sixty miles an hour as we approach. Snow blankets the top in drifts, giving us a means to ground ourselves. It’s hard to imagine anything sticking to the ground the way the flakes are whipping up all around us.

As we approach the base of the stairs, I thrust Scottie in front of me, and the sound of our boots clomping are barely a whisper over the wind, but the break of something other than the constant blowing is a welcome one. When we reach the deck, I unclip the straps around my chest and take a knee, dropping my pack and unzipping the side pocket to locate my keys. My fingers are stiff as hell as I flip through them. I should have had another pair of backup gloves. Once I recognize it, I rise to my feet, insert the key, and turn hard to unlatch the door. When the lock pops, the door damn near flies off its hinges as the wind throws it open, and papers blow around the room.

Scottie scurries across the threshold as we’re chased inside by the icy air lashing at our backs. In the tower, I lean my shoulder into the door, cutting off the wind where it tries to follow us inside. It takes some force but finally clicks shut.

“Fuck!”

The remaining daylight is quickly obscured when I shut the door, so I fish out my phone, using the flashlight to find a lantern.

As soon as it lands on one, I snatch it off the shelf next to the door and turn it on. The warm glow dimly illuminates the space. Shadows dance around the room as I walk the lantern to the Osborne Fire Finder on the table in the center of the room. Darkness settles behind every object and corner, adding to the ominous undercurrent. I smile at the pile of chopped wood resting next to the black stove .

Sonnofabitch. We might not die after all.

Now sheltered, it’s quieter, but not by much. It’s also the first time I’ve felt my body heat in over an hour without the wind instantly ripping it away. Who knows how much energy I’ve burned trying to keep up with it. I dig a protein bar out of my bag, throwing one at Scottie too.

“Eat that.”

My icy fingers struggle to tear the wrapper, so I use my teeth. The bar is hard as a rock, like it’s been kept in a freezer, but I work my jaw to scarf it down.

She pulls off my gloves and carefully works to unwrap hers. She pauses before taking a bite. “What about rationing food? Should I save some of it?”

I chug a few gulps of water and take a deep breath, shaking my head. “Eat all of it.” Then I pass the water to her. Now it’s time to make a decision. I’m losing daylight fast, and if we’re to survive, we need more water. I can’t be sure this storm won’t get worse before it gets better.

Striding over to a small inlet of cabinets, I start throwing open doors and rummaging through the space. I grab a couple canteens, but it’s not what I really need: a cubie. My eye catches on the flattened clear plastic, and I snatch up the collapsed five-gallon reservoir. Bingo.

“Hand me my goggles,” I say. “I’m going to get water.”

She passes me back the water bottle. “No, sweetheart, we need water that’s actually going to last us more than the next twenty-four hours.” I shake an open palm, gesturing for her to give me the goggles.

“Now?” The panic in her voice is evident. She tugs the goggles off her head, leaving a red ring across her forehead and over the bridge of her nose, where her freckles are camouflaged by windburn. “You need to get it now?!”

“If we want to survive, yes. Toss me your water bottle. ”

She finds her pack and slides it out with shaky hands, still questioning me. “Can’t we just melt the snow?”

What? I cock my head to the side, then remember she’s from a region that likely never received more than an inch or two at a time, if any. To her, snow is likely a novelty, something to play pretend with, simple fun instead of something you learn to live with for months on end.

“Do you know how much snow it takes to make a cup of water?”

I adjust the strap on the snow goggles and secure them over my face.

“No…”

“A fucking lot. We’ll burn through all our fuel and wood trying to melt enough to drink. If we can start off with water, we’ll be in a lot better shape.” I take her water bottle and top it off without giving her everything I have left. That way if I don’t make it back, I won’t be leaving her helpless.

“Where are you going to find water?”

“There’s a stream not far from here, less than a mile. I have to get to it before it freezes.”

I kneel on the floor in front of my pack and toss out everything nonessential. The less weight, the better. Water is heavy enough as it is. After digging out my headlamp, I pull it over my hat, then tuck the empty canteens in the bag. I test the headlamp by turning it on. Scottie shields her eyes from the bright light, and I turn it off. If I move fast enough, I’ll get there before it’s dark, but I’ll need light to find my way back. For added measure, I steal a flashlight off the shelf and add it to my pack for backup, along with a pack of batteries sitting next to it. I’ll be blind out there without a light source. Scottie can keep the lantern.

“Will it be contaminated?”

“We’ll boil it.” I zip up my backpack and stand, hoisting it over my shoulder, then retrieve the gloves she borrowed and shove my hands inside. They are still toasty from the handwarmers; it’s marvelous. “I’ll be back in thirty. Do not leave.” I point a finger at the ground. “I swear to God, Scottie, if you step foot out of this tower, I will tan your ass. That’s a promise.”

Her eyes gape at me. Grabbing up the cubie, I head for the door.

“Wait, but?—”

“Prescott. I will be back in thirty.”

I open the door and fight the wind to close it behind me. There’s no time to argue.