Page 105 of One Last Shot

“Look for the dead branches under the canopy of the pine trees, above the snow line. Those should be dry and burn well. “

“Got it. I’ll be back.”

“I believe you.”

He disappeared again. In the glow of her headlamp, she spotted the PLB, snapped onto the backpack.

At least, maybe, after the storm, somebody would find them. She turned it on. Then she flicked off the headlamp.

“Are you okay?” Hannah said.

“Yeah. I think so.” She pulled Hannah against her, her arm around her.

“What is his name? Your friend?”

“His name is Oaken.”

“LikeThorin Oakenshield.”

“Who?” She looked down at the girl.

“He was inThe Hobbit. A warrior. A hero.”

Boo wanted to smile, but it came out in tears. “Yeah, like that.” Then she closed her eyes, sinking into the pain, and didn’t even hear him until he returned with wood and set it just outside the ledge.

“I’m not a survivalist, Boo, so?—”

She looked at the pile. “How many trips did you take?”

“Three.”

“That should last us a while. Okay. Here’s what you do.” She groaned as she sat up, but the ice was helping. “We’re going to make a safety fire.”

She instructed him how to lay the wood at an angle so that the smoke tunneled out the back, the heat toward them, and then how to fill the pocket underneath with kindling to protect it from the wind.

He was a regular Boy Scout with his fire-construction skills. Badge-worthy.

Then per her instructions, he built, with logs and stone, a windbreak to protect the flames.

It took a couple tries, but he got the fire lit from the survival matches in the pack, holding his hands over the flame until it grabbed on, biting into the kindling, then the wood. A blaze crackled, and heat bloomed in their tiny enclave.

Then he climbed inside and settled himself between the girls, leaning against the wall of the cave and pulling them to himself, his strong arms warm, safe.

“I tried Moose,” he said softly to Boo. “No answer, and I don’t think he could get out in this wind anyway.” He flicked the light of his lamp off. “My batteries are dying.”

“You can use mine. I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t laugh at her pitiful attempt at a joke.Instead, his arm tightened around her. “We’ll make it, Boo. Now, who wants to hear a cowboy story?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead, she closed her eyes and just held on.

CHAPTER 12

He’d probably killed them all.

Oaken sat in the wan light of the dour morning, a trickle of gray denting the darkness in the cave. The fire glowed, just embers, and he should probably leave their nest and find more kindling, but he didn’t want to move.