Chapter 894
Caroline was shaking uncontrollably, a violent, full-body tremor. Her teeth were chattering so hard he could hear them clicking together. Her lips were already tinged with a faint, ominous blue.
He forced himself to his feet, his own muscles screaming in protest. He scanned their surroundings, his eyes piercing the darkness. The shoreline was a narrow strip of rock at the base of a sheer cliff face. But there, about fifty yards away, was a dark opening. A shallow cave, carved out by centuries of wind and water.
Shelter.
He didn’t hesitate. He bent down, managed to get her up and against his side, and started moving, half-dragging her limp body toward the cave. She was terrifyingly light.
Each step on the loose rock was a struggle. His legs felt like lead, his lungs burned, but he kept moving, driven by the primal, desperate need to keep her warm, to keep her alive.
He stumbled into the cave. It was damp and smelled of wet earth, but it was out of the wind. The difference was immediate and profound.
He gently lowered her to the ground, propping her against the driest part of the cave wall. Then he went to work.
His survival training took over, his mind pushing past the exhaustion, focusing on the checklist of survival. He found a small pile of dry leaves and twigs in a protected recess of the cave. He pulled a small, waterproof pouch from a pocket in his pants. Inside was a magnesium fire starter and a small striker.
His hands were numb, clumsy with cold, but he worked with a desperate, focused intensity. With his left hand, he scraped a small pile of magnesium shavings onto a piece of dry moss, pinning the striker awkwardly under his braced right forearm. He struck the flint with his left hand, a clumsy, unnatural motion.
Sparks flew. Once. Twice. The third attempt skidded off, scraping his knuckle raw.
On the fifth try, a tiny, miraculous flame flickered to life.
He nurtured it carefully, feeding it the smallest twigs, blowing on it gently until it grew strong enough to catch the larger pieces of wood. A warm, golden light pushed back the oppressive darkness, and a wave of radiant heat began to fill their small sanctuary.
He turned back to Caroline. She was still shaking, her condition no better. The fire wasn’t enough. He had to get her out of those wet clothes.
He knelt in front of her, his voice a low, rough rasp. “Caroline. Look at me. I have to get your clothes off. If I don’t, you’re going to die.”
Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused, but she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He started with her boots, his frozen fingers struggling with the wet laces. He used his left hand and his teeth, gripping the knots with his incisors and pulling them loose. Then he moved to the buttons on her uniform jacket, using his thumb and the side of his splinted finger to work each one free, a clumsy, painstaking process. His movements were methodical, professional, completely detached. He was a medic treating a patient, nothing more.