Dane's Storm(76)

Thank God. Thank God. I shuddered with deep relief, nodding at Gail, choking out, “Thank you.”

She nodded again, smiling. “You saved her life.”

No, she’d saved mine, I thought. Gail pushed the door open and wheeled me inside.

Audra’s room was dim and quiet, the steady beat of her heart reassuring mine that she was alive. She was alive. Oh, thank God. Thank God.

I wheeled closer. Both legs were in casts, the right one only going as high as her knee, and her arm was wrapped in thick bandages. Her face was gaunt but perfect, her dark lashes fanned over her cheeks, and her lips opened slightly in sleep. As I stared at her in thankful wonder, I heard the door behind me open and close. Glancing back to find the room empty, I stood shakily from the chair, walking the two steps to Audra’s bed and sitting next to her, taking her hand in mine, unable to bear not touching her for another second.

I felt a hot tear run down my cheek, but I felt like laughing and shouting with happiness, the reality of the situation hitting me full force.

We’d made it. Survived. I had no clue how, but we emerged from that dark forest, not unscathed, but whole. Together.

I laughed, a strangled sound, bending over and putting my face next to hers, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, and the top of her head as I muttered unintelligible words of love and gratitude.

I felt her move under me, so I leaned back as her large, dark eyes blinked up at me. “Dane?” she whisper-croaked.

I nodded. “Yeah, honey. I’m here.” I smoothed my hand over her hair, down her cheek. “I’m here.”

“Dane,” she said again, her voice breaking, her eyes moving over my features, as if accounting for every detail of my face. Assessing whether I was okay, or perhaps whether I was real. Her fingers followed her eyes, touching my cheekbones, my nose, running over my lips as I smiled and kissed her fingertips. “You shaved,” she choked out.

I laughed, taking her hand in my own and kissing her fingers again. “Someone else did. It must’ve taken hours.”

She laughed too, a small sound filled with wonder, with joy, with heartache.

I pulled away for a second, lifting her very, very gently and scooting her over so I could climb in bed beside her, turning on my good side. She turned her head toward me and for a brief moment it was as if we were back in our intimate shelter on the mountain. Only this time, we were safe, we were warm, and there was easily accessible and nutritious food. “You owe me a burrito,” I murmured and Audra laughed again, pressing her lips to mine, so I could drink down her happiness.

She nodded, still smiling. “The biggest burrito you’ve ever eaten.” She paused. “Have you eaten?”

“I must have. I don’t feel hungry.” I was sure they’d been pumping me full of glucose or whatever all the tubes attached to my body were for. All I knew was that the burning ache of hunger was gone.

I adjusted my arm, wincing slightly as the bandages shifted—the ones I’d investigated as Gail wheeled me down the hall. They started at each side of my neck and went under each arm and around the back of my shoulders. Audra frowned, pushing back the collar of my hospital gown and peered inside at the bandages, her face still confused for a moment.

“It’s nothing, just some skin irritation,” I said, downplaying the deep abrasions that cut into my skin on both sides of my body, the places where the strap I’d used to drag her had dug into me.

Audra’s eyes moved to mine, understanding dawning as tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, Dane.” She leaned her head down and kissed the spot at the side of my neck where the bandage started. For a second she lingered there, her warm breath on my skin.

I kissed the top of her head. “It’s nothing,” I repeated.

“You saved me. You saved us. How . . .”

“A house. There was a house. And a man.”

“A man?” she whispered.

I nodded, the hazy picture of coming through the break in the trees returning. There’d been a man, a pile of wood in his arms. He’d turned toward us just as I’d collapsed again. “A prepper,” I murmured, moving my eyes to the wall behind her, trying my best to grasp the memories, the few words I recalled him saying.

“A prepper? What’s a prepper?”

I moved my gaze back to Audra. “Someone who’s preparing for a catastrophic disaster. Moves off the grid and stockpiles food and supplies.”

“You don’t say,” Audra breathed out.

I smiled. “That small wisp of smoke.”

“It was real.”

“Yeah. It was very real.” I furrowed my brow. “I think I remember him using some sort of radio to call for help. And then . . . there was a helicopter . . . the sound of one anyway, and that’s all I remember.”

We stared at each other, the moment full with the miracle of our survival, all we’d been through, and all we’d endured. I wanted to tell her more. And I wanted to hear her voice, speaking to me, reassuring me she was all right, but my eyes were so heavy, my body so languid, lying beside her on a soft mattress, a pile of blankets keeping us warm. And her eyes were closing too, her lips still curved into a soft smile.

Outside the window, I could see soft snowflakes hitting the glass. I drifted back to sleep, only woken momentarily by whispered words from the doorway. “No, don’t move them. Let them stay together. Let them sleep.”