Chapter 8
The crack of the branch swallows Amelia’s scream. Oh my God! I claw through the mess of limbs and ice. Her fur-lined hat sticks out from a bank of snow and I plunge my hands into the freezing powder, digging doggy-style until my fingers brush her head. “Amelia! Are you okay? Say something!”
She lets out a low moan as I pull off my mitten and tap—okay, sort of slap—her cheek until her eyes flutter open.
Her voice is weak, but clearly snippy. “It’s not enough that I’m trapped under a giant branch, you have to smack me in the face too?”
“Sorry, you weren’t answering. Are you hurt?” I lean against the tree, pushing as hard as I possibly can, but it doesn’t budge; not even a little.
She moans again.
Sliding my mitten back on, I tug her hat down over her ears, pulling up her hood and tying it tight. “We’ve gotta keep you warm so you don’t go into shock.” Inside my pack is a foil blanket that I use to wrap around her shoulders and neck. I’m hoping it helps. “How’s that?” I ask, tucking her in like I’m about to read her a bedtime story.
“I’m just super cozy, thanks so much!” Her sarcasm is sharp as she gives the branch a shove, but it doesn’t budge. “Help me get this thing off!”
“Excuse me for trying to keep you alive!” I wrap both hands around the branch and try again. “On three, ready? One…Two…Three!” We push with everything we have, but the branch rocks forward only an inch, then rolls back.
Amelia’s lips tremble. “What are we gonna do? We’re gonna die out here, and nobody’s even going to know what happened to us.”
“Don’t say that! Our parents will be out here looking for us any minute. We just have to stay warm until they get here.” I rummage through my pack for flint and my pocket knife. “I’m gonna try to build a fire. I just need—”
“Darcie?” Amelia’s voice shrinks to almost nothing. “My parents won’t be out here searching for me.”
What is she even talking about? I stop what I’m doing and turn toward her. “What? Of course they will.”
She shakes her head. “My dad’s always working. He probably doesn’t even know I’m gone. My mom…doesn't live with us.” She sniffs, and for once there’s no attitude in her voice. “Grandmother doesn't check on me once I've gone to my room.”
That's...interesting. I duck my head as I work at clearing a spot for the fire pit. “Well, one good thing about that tree falling is that it made a pretty good windbreak. It’s a little calmer now.” I sound like my father.
“Oh, you’re so right! It is a good thing that tree fell! Aren’t we lucky?” She shoves the branch again.
“That’s not what I meant…I just don’t know what to say about your parents.” Dead twigs poke out from the fallen branch, and I snap them off. “I can’t imagine not having mine around.”
“Grandmother’s all about keeping up appearances. If the neighbors might see it, she cares about it.” She pauses, staring into the endless wall of white. “I’m her project.”
“What do you mean, her project?” I keep working, stacking pine needles and small branches into a teepee shape.
“Is that fire about ready?” Her teeth chatter, and the blanket has slipped from her shoulders.
“Yep. Almost done.” Leaning over, I tuck the foil around her again. “Keep talking. It helps keep me from freaking out.”
She watches me, probably amazed that such a loser can actually do something useful.
I face the pile of sticks, slip off my mittens, and gasp as the cold hits my hands. The flint intensifies the cold, making it hard to hold on to. “I can’t hold this. My fingers are too frozen and stiff, but my mittens are too bulky.”
“Here,” she says, pulling at her leather gloves. “Use these; give me yours.”
Amelia Davis offering her gloves? My frozen fingers slide into the fur lining. Ahhh. “Lucky for us I’m pretty good at building fires, but the mittens—thanks, these gloves help a lot.”
Holding the flint near the stick teepee, I scrape the back of my knife blade across it. Tiny sparks dance across the surface, but the wind steals them away before they can catch. I try again. Sparks fall, glow for an instant, then fizzle out. “Wait—I think my dad—” I unzip the front pocket, pulling out a small bag of dryer lint.
Amelia’s lip curls. “What is that? Rodent fur?”
“It’s just lint. It catches sparks really well.” I pull off some, laying it in front of the teepee. Another scrape of the knife sends sparks flying. This time, an orange glow blooms.
“Oh, my gosh! You did it, Darcie! You’re a genius!”
“It’s not a fire yet.” I say, “Hold on.” I tuck the glowing lint under the teepee, cupping my hands around the little pile to guard it from the wind. The twigs hiss, then flicker and finally burn.
Amelia snaps off more dead twigs from the fallen branch. “Here—use these.”
Heat warms my cheeks as I feed them into the flames and the fire roars to life. “Thanks for the gloves.” I hand them to her. “Sorry about the burn marks.”
She takes them from me. “I think you may have saved my life, Darcie Reynolds. That’s worth a few marks on my gloves.”
“So," I say after a few minutes of silence, "you didn’t answer my question. What did you mean when you said you were your grandmother’s project?” I find the metal cup in my pack, scoop up some newly fallen snow, and lay it on the fire. It isn’t long before the snow melts, and I add more, filling the cup with warm water.
She lets out a long sigh. "My mother wasn't exactly Grandmother's favorite person in the world. Believe me, I've spent my life trying to make up for it."
“Here, drink this.” I hold Amelia’s head while she sips the water, then I fill a cup for myself.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She runs her finger over her lips. “What else is in that magic bag of yours?” Shifting slightly, she turns even more pale. “Maybe a chain saw?” The branch shutters as she gives it another shove.
“I’ve got chapstick!” I rub some on my lips, then hand it over to Amelia. “Here’s this might help with the windburn.”
She snatches it from my fingers. “Thanks so much! You’re right, this is really helpful!”
I ignore the bite in her voice. “Want an energy bar?” Breaking it in half, I hand her a piece. “I was hoping I had emergency flares, but I guess not. The best we can do is hope the fire signals our location while it’s still dark. I did find a mirror; we can try that in the morning if it’s sunny.”
A faint snore escapes Amelia's lips and the half-eaten bar slips from her fingers. She'll be okay. I pluck it from the snow and pop it into my mouth. Then I add more sticks to the fire and slide in beside her to wait for morning.
The forest is quiet; even the wind has taken a break. An owl hoots in the distance, and every once in a while, there’s a scampering of some nocturnal animal nearby. My breathing slows to the rhythm of the forest.
“…Ozzie?”
I sit up, ears straining.
Amelia gasps. “I heard it too!”
“Andrew? Andrew! We’re over here!” I’m on my feet now, throwing sticks onto the fire until it blazes. Flames shoot towards the sky. “Look for the fire!” I yell.
For once, Amelia’s quiet. I lift my chin, watching as she goes still, eyes locked onto something behind me. “Ummm, Darcie? Shut up and don’t move.”
“What-?”
“I think I just saw a bear.”
My fingers fumble for the bear spray in my pocket and close around it. Just. Stay. Calm.
Something massive moves behind me, the weight of his footsteps thudding, and a smell fills the space: animal mixed with human. Someone who’s been out here way too long. Sweat, smoke, and in desperate need of a bath. I spin, yanking the bear spray from my pocket. Arms suddenly close around my neck—tiny and familiar.
“Ozzie! Where you were? We been looking for you!”
Relief flows through me like a waterfall. Andrew is alive! I haul him against me and bury my face in his jacket. A stupid, shuddery sob tears out of me. “Thank God,” is all I manage before I drop to my knees, rocking him like a newborn baby.
“S'okay, Ozzie. Don’t cry!” He presses his mittened hands to my cheeks, trying to wipe away tears I can’t stop. “Gro—ber’s gonna take us ta Mommy.”
I look up. Grover?
A gigantic man—easily the biggest human I’ve ever seen—stands a few feet away, looking like a living mountain.
Amelia whimpers behind me, folding herself tighter beneath the fallen tree. “Please don’t hurt us.”
The man turns, surprised, like he only just noticed her. Then with one hand, he picks up the branch and flicks it aside like a twig.
Amelia yelps and I scramble to her. Bone presses against the skin of her leg—worse than I’d hoped. “Don’t look,” I tell her. “I think it’s broken.”
The man kneels beside us, his face broad, rough—but soft too. Almost child-like. Not what you’d expect on such an enormous person. There’s an odd innocence to him. And his eyes are…kind. He stares at Amelia, then quickly looks away.
“We need to brace it.” I say, digging into my pack for the first-aid kit. “We need something stiff for a splint.”
He nods once, disappearing into the dark. A moment later, a loud, dry ripping sound echoes through the trees. He returns carrying two slabs of cottonwood bark, which he places carefully on either side of Amelia’s leg.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Firelight flickers in her eyes as she tracks his every move. She grips my arm, nails digging through my jacket. “Oh my God. I’m going to die out here… with a complete loser and this—” Her breath stutters. “It’s…unbearable.”
“Hang on, Amelia. The splint will help. I know it hurts.”
Her face twists in pain. And even though it’s freezing, sweat beads along her nose and lip.
I pull her pant leg taunt, then secure the bark with an elastic bandage.
Grover shrugs off the fox pelt he’s been wearing and settles it around her leg. Then, he scoops snow over it, packing it in place.
“Hold on, Amy. I gotcha.” He holds up one finger and strides off again.
Amy? I turn to Andrew. “Did he hurt you?”
Andrew tosses back his head and laughs. “No silly! Gro—ber’s my friend! He’s taking us ta Mommy!”
The giant reappears, thrusting a curled strip of bark at Amelia. “Chew.”
She stares at it. “Excuse me?”
“Is that willow bark?” I ask.
He nods.
“It’s okay.” I tell her. “He’s right. It’ll help. The snow too.” I touch my forehead; my pulse throbs hard beneath my skin. “Actually, could I have some of that?”
Handing me a piece, he crouches near the fire, scooping snow into our metal cup, he holds it over the flames until it melts, then offers it to Andrew—brushing the hair from his eyes with a tenderness that knocks the breath out of me. His eyes flick towards Amelia.
Fog floats through my vision, and the pounding in my head hammers harder, louder. The scene before me softens around the edges—more like a dream than reality. I glance at Amelia. She’s out cold.
The big man stands, gently lifting Andrew, who looks at him with complete trust as he deposits my brother into my lap. “I’ll be right back,” he says. And like before, there are sounds of ripping and breaking in the distance.
I hug Andrew tightly to my chest. “I was so scared I’d never see you again,” I whisper. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nods, smiling. “Gro-ber’s really nice.” He cups my face in his hands, squinting with me. “It’s okay, Ozzie. Don’t worry.”
I want to believe him--that everything will be fine, but why would this guy take Andrew? He doesn’t seem dangerous or scary, but still. My eyes grow heavy and I can barely hold them open. Grover comes and goes, arms full of sticks and bark. He’s building something, but I’m too tired to care.
“Wake up little girl.”
For a moment, nothing makes sense. But then his bright blue eyes pull me back to reality. I jerk upright, clutching Andrew to my chest. He snuggles in close.
“We need to go now. More snow is coming.” He lifts Andrew into a makeshift carrier strapped to his chest. “The girl goes on your back,” he says, holding out a sling made of rope and animal hides. “Then you climb on mine.”
I don’t argue. I step through like he shows me, fingers clumsy and numb. It takes everything I have to haul Amelia up. She’s dead weight in my arms. I hold my breath as I drag her onto my back and pull the sling tight across my chest.
“Good,” he murmurs.
But my knees buckle almost immediately. Before I hit the ground, his hands are there—steady, enormous—catching me. Lifting me.
He lets out a low grunt as he slides us onto his back. Ropes slip around us, locking everything in place—Amelia against me, me against him, and we start up the mountain; three kids strapped to his body like a mother bear with her cubs.
Is this guy even human? It’s the last thought I have before darkness takes me.