Dane's Storm

“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.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Audra

Dane and I were discharged on the same day. He had been up and walking around—albeit slowly—for days, but I think the hospital staff knew he wouldn’t leave without me, so they kept him until I was ready to go home too.

They’d finally moved another bed into the room when Dane had refused to leave mine, and Dane had pushed them together to create one big bed for the both of us. We still ended up huddled on one, sleeping in the familiar way we’d come to know, each other’s solace when life as we’d known it had ended. Perhaps it was just temporary, maybe we’d drift to our own sides of the bed as life moved forward. Or maybe we’d always come back together at the end of each day, into each other’s arms, sharing warmth, rekindling hope, meeting at that familiar place in the middle. I liked to believe the latter.

Jay came to visit every other day, hugging me tightly, the look on his face incredulous as I recounted the story. He’d kept himself from going crazy, he’d said—even when it was reported that our situation was hopeless—by keeping the business running as best as he could. His own wisp of smoke that I was still alive, that I’d return. He’d even contacted another florist who agreed to take over the events that would have been left without flowers had it not been for him. “You’ve been such a good friend to me,” I told him, tears in my eyes as I hugged him again. “The best.”

Dane’s mother, along with Luella, were the first ones at the hospital when we’d arrived. Dustin and Dalila had flown to Denver the moment they’d gotten word that we were found. They were at the hospital continually, and filled in the gaps about what had been going on since our plane went down.

The storm had kept rescue planes from going out in the first few days, and when they finally got clearance, they had searched the area where the signal from the black box was coming. It was as Dane had guessed, and though Dustin had worked tirelessly around the clock, hiring private helicopter companies, and experts who were familiar with the area to try and locate the plane, in the end, nature had just been too ruthless and the search area too vast.

And yet, somehow, Dane and I had done what no helicopter, no expert, no room full of a hundred volunteers could accomplish. We’d survived, and we’d gotten ourselves out of there. Alive . . . barely.

All told, Dane had pulled me through miles and miles of snowy, rugged terrain while in severe septic shock, his organs beginning to fail one by one. His body had given out just fifty feet from the prepper’s house. Yet even then, he’d rallied, dragging me those last precious inches.

Some would call it luck. I called it a miracle.

My legs would heal, and so would my arm. The experience had changed me forever, in ways I was still sorting through—mostly with Dane in whispered words during the dark of night as we held each other close, revealing our secrets and fears as we’d learned to do.

There was a short knock on my hospital room door, and Dalila peeked her head in, smiling. “You decent?”

I laughed. “Finally,” I said, glancing at the altered sweatpants and T-shirt I was wearing. If I never saw another hospital gown that opened in the back, it would be too soon.

“Great” She came in, glancing at my bag, packed and ready by the door. “What time are you getting sprung?”