He checks his waterlogged notes. “We can’t fall behind schedule. Perhaps she could rest at camp while we?—”
“No one’s splitting up,” I state. “And we’re not making the ridge today. Not in this weather, not with her injured.”
Elliott looks ready to argue, then sighs. “What do you suggest?”
I assess our surroundings, calculating. “There’s an old Forest Service cabin about two miles from here. Basic shelter, woodstove. We can reach it before dark if we go now.”
Lena looks down at her ankle, her expression full of doubt. “Two miles?”
“I’ll help you,” I say.
We fashion a quick compression wrap for her ankle using an elastic bandage from my first aid kit. Rain has plastered her hair to her face, water running in tracks down her cheeks. Despite everything, she manages a determined nod when I ask if she’s ready.
With her arm around my shoulders and mine supporting her waist, we begin the slow journey toward the cabin. The crew follows, equipment protected as best they can manage, spirits dampened by the weather and change of plans. Progress is painfully slow. Lena tries to hide her discomfort, but each step on uneven ground brings a sharp intake of breath. The rain shows no sign of letting up, the temperature dropping as afternoon progresses. What should have been a forty-minute hike stretches to two hours.
When we finally hit the clearing with the small log structure tucked in the pines, the tension in my gut eases a fraction. The cabin stands weathered but solid, its metal roof keeping out the rain.
“Not exactly the Ritz-Carlton,” Lena says as we approach.
“Better than a tent in this weather,” I say.
The door creaks open to reveal a simple one-room shelter—wooden floor, small window, cast iron woodstove in the corner. Dusty but dry. The crew files in behind us, equipment cases creating an obstacle course in the limited space.
“Home sweet home,” Elliott says, assessing our cramped accommodations. “Can we get a fire going?”
I ease Lena onto a bench along the wall, then check thewoodstove. “Wood’s here, but it’ll be damp. Might take time to catch.”
While the crew organizes their gear, I focus on creating a fire. The cabin grows crowded as we all shed wet outer layers, hanging them from every available projection. Soon a thin line of smoke curls from the stovepipe, promising warmth.
Lena sits with her injured leg propped up, her face pale beneath smudges of mud. Her entire body trembles.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” I say, digging through my pack for dry spares. “Your core temperature is dropping. Nothing to mess around with.”
“I’m fine,” she says, though her chattering teeth contradict her.
Elliott peers over. “We should capture this. The reality of wilderness survival.”
“Camera stays off.” My tone leaves no room for debate. “She changes in private.”
The small cabin offers little in the way of privacy, but the crew moves outside to retrieve the rest of our gear, giving Lena a chance to change. I hand her my dry thermal shirt and a pair of wool pants. “They’ll be too big, but they’re warm,” I say. “I’ll step outside.”
“Wait,” she says, gripping my arm with icy fingers. “I can’t ... my hands won’t work right.” Her fingers have turned white with cold, unable to grasp the zipper of her jacket. The cold’s hitting her hard.
“Let me help,” I say, keeping my voice calm.
She nods, embarrassment coloring her cheeks as I help her remove the soppy rain jacket. Beneath it, her clothes have soaked through despite the supposed waterproofing. I work with forced focus, unzipping, unbuttoning, helping her arms free of the clinging, cold fabric. When necessary, she leans against my shoulder for balance, her skin cold where it touches mine.
“I don’t need help with...” she gestures vaguely downward when we reach base layers.
“I’ll turn around,” I say. “But don’t try standing on that ankle alone.” I face the door, listening to the rustle of fabric, ready to catch her if she falls.
When the rustling stops, I wait until she speaks. “Okay.”
I turn to find her swimming in my clothes. The sleeves hang past her fingertips, the pants roll multiple times at the ankle, but color is returning to her face.
“Better?”
She nods. “Thank you.”
