Not Quite Enough(47)

She shivered again, a violent trembling movement that should have woken her, but didn’t.
Inside he started to panic. He ran a hand over her forehead, felt the heat radiating from her, the sweat.
“Monica? My angel?” His words were whispered at first and then became louder when she didn’t wake. “Monica!”
She woke saying, “I’m cold.”
Those two words let him know she was alive, coherent. “You’re burning up.”
He fumbled around in the dark for his phone. It took a few seconds to locate it and turn it on. The battery power showed half strength.
Her blonde locks were flush against her head, her face rosy with too much color.
Even in the dark, he noticed her eyes lose focus before finding him. “Motrin.”
The backpack holding her belongings was under her leg. He lifted her injured limb away and once again fumbled around until he found what she needed.
Motrin would take care of it. It’s just a fever. Everyone gets them from time to time.
Yet even as he thought the words deep inside he knew the larger danger. She’d been working with the sick, the injured for over a week. He’d seen her leg earlier in the day when she didn’t think he watched. The angry skin had turned red and swollen beyond any wound he’d ever seen. She’d hid it from him quickly when he’d turned and looked.
He poured two pills into his hand and helped her sit up to take the medicine.
She swallowed the medicine with pinched lips. “Thank you.”
Trent pushed her hair behind her ears. “You’re hot.”
She smiled, licked her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself, Barefoot.”
How could she joke? “C’mon, Monica. I’m out of my element. What can I do?”
“Is it cold in here?”
“No.”
“Do I feel hot?”
He nodded. “Like hell on fire.”
Her eyes dropped closed before she reached down and slowly removed her shirt. Her pink bra sat on pasty skin in the dark cave. She handed him her shirt. “Soak it in water.” A tremor shook her as she spoke.
When he returned to her, soaked shirt in hand, she attempted to place it back over her chest. Her fingers fumbled in the task, her eyes sought his for help.
Trent slid the cool clothing over her hot skin, and tried not to wince each time she shivered. “I’ve got to stay cool.”
“What’s happened?” As if he didn’t know.
“I don’t think it-it’s Ebola,” she managed.
“That’s not funny, Monica.”
A smile met her lips, her glazed-over eyes found his. “Infection. Open fractures do that,” she said.
“We cleaned it out.”
She shrugged. “With dirty water at best.” A shiver raked her frame, making her teeth rattle.
The light from his phone turned off and he grabbed it to make it light up the room again. Crazy how such a small thing lit a room.
“What can I do?” He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
“Keep me cool. Even if I beg, keep me cool.”
Beg? Why would she beg? Then it dawned on him. Movies portrayed the sick as incoherent, unable to see reason. He’d never seen anyone lose it. Yet he sat there with a nurse who’d probably seen all that and more.
“I’m a sucker for a begging woman.”
She licked her already dry lips, sipped more water, and lay back down. He had no choice but to return to his post as her personal pillow.
“I always thought Mary Ann was prettier than G-Ginger,” Monica managed to say once the phone went dark.
Trent stared into the darkness and tried his level best to ignore the voice in his head that said they were both going to die in this goddamned cave.
“Homegrown. Midwestern girl.”
“Hey,” she managed to sound indignant through her fever. “I’m homegrown. California grown, but kinda small town.”
He stroked her fevered brow as much for her as for him. “You don’t seem the Ginger type. Did you want to be a movie star?”
“No. Too many people to depend on for that to happen. I need to take care of myself.”
How much it must hurt to have to depend on anyone. Then it dawned on him… she hadn’t needed to pee in hours.


Monica woke several hours later, her body full of heat and ready to explode. Unlike the last time she opened her eyes, this time the cave was filled with light. Almost blinding. “Trent?” she called out when she realized he wasn’t at her side.
“Monica?” He scrambled from the far side of the cave. “You’re awake.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon, I think.”
A tut tut of her head pounded against her temple. The pain in her leg felt like a dull throb attached to her knee.
“Here.” Trent brought her into a sitting position and helped tip the bottle of water to her lips.
The nasty taste trickled down her throat and threatened to come back up. She pushed his hand away when he tried to give her more. “I can’t,” she uttered.
“You have to drink more.”
She met his worried gaze. “Later,” she whispered. “Have you heard anything?”
Trent followed her eyes to the top of the cave. “A helicopter flew over hours ago.”
“They didn’t see your Jeep.” Would they fly over again? Look harder?
“They might have.” He rubbed at the three days of stubble on his chin and tried to smile. “We’re getting out of here, Monica. I promise you, we’ll get out of here.”
She nodded, holding on to his lie. Giving up without a fight wasn’t in her. Not yet anyway. “Well, when you put it like that,” she teased. “Maybe our next date can be a little shorter.”