Page 61 of Fight

I shut my eyes and fall asleep to the sound of her setting more logs next to the fire.

I’m back to that day. Seeing Garrett Macomb crushed and lifeless. Then Xander’s expression when I had to tell him his father was dead.

Protocol is to alert authorities so they can contact next of kin, but Xander needed to hear it from someone who knew and loved his dad. Garrett was our supe, and he became like a father to me after my own dad passed.

I choke as I attempt to comfort my best friend, but he’s like a statue. He doesn’t react. His face is coated with dirt and soot, and clear eyes search mine for hope. Hope that I’m wrong, that I’m mistaken, that his dad is still alive. I have nothing to offer him except hurt and the worst day of his life.

Xander fades away, and the vision of Garrett takes his place.

My eyes brim with tears, and my throat tightens. The utter panic and dread threaten to drown me. I inhale, but the air doesn’t reach my lungs. It tastes like ash. I’m held hostage, forced to relive the incident like it’s happening for the first time. Guilt, fear, and fury battle inside me. I’m powerless, unable to breathe as I’m crushed by the overwhelming weight of utter misery. My heart thrashes in my chest, and the pounding fills my ears until it’s the only sound I hear.

I’m sleeping.

Another nightmare I can’t wake from. No matter how much I try to move, my arms and legs have been filled with lead, holding me down while I’m doomed to experience every second in excruciating detail. I’m trapped. Paralyzed by my broken mind.

Warmth rushes over my body, and I jerk awake. I thrust my eyes open, replacing the images of his charred flesh with the interior of the lookout. Scottie’s arm is draped over my side, and she threads her fingers with mine. For the first time, I’m able to come up for air, gasping like I’m breaking the water’s surface after being held under. My chest heaves, and I sense the sweat across my forehead.Fuck.“It’s not real,” she says.

I swallow, gulping in more oxygen. I wish she was right, but itisreal. It already happened. Her cheek presses to my back, and for the second time, she helps me through a panic attack, giving me a safe space to release the tension in my muscles. Her gentle touch is soothing, keeping me in the present.

“Concentrate on your breathing. I’m still with you.”

I squeeze her hand in mine, thankful to not be alone.

After about an hour of listening to Callahan’s regulated breaths, I’m convinced he’s asleep again. I sneak out from behind his body and tuck the warm covers around him so he doesn’t wake. He stayed up most of the night adding more logs on the fire so we didn’t freeze, so he needs the rest.

This isn’t the first time he’s locked up like that. It happened after our night in the ambulance when a loud clap of thunder shook the entire rig. It was startling, sure, but Callahan’s reaction was more concerning, it was as if he dissociated completely.

As quietly as I can, I stoke the fire and pile on two more logs. The door on the stove creaks when I close it, but thankfully, Callahan doesn’t rouse. It’s nice seeing his face relaxed as he sleeps, instead of the usual scowl he reserves for me. I don’t understand the contempt he holds. When he ended things with us, it was his decision, so what did I do to make him look at me with so much disgust?

Shaking my head, I come to the conclusion he’s an enigma. I crouch next to the small nightstand that serves as a mini bookshelf with atake a book, leave a booksystem. My fingers skate over the spines. A few have man versus nature themes—survivalfiction—I’m not in the mood to read any version of the actual predicament I’m in, so I opt for a spy novel instead.

Pulling out the wooden chair under the desk, I take a seat and stow my legs up on the edge to keep them off the cold floor, wedging my shins against the desk. There’s a knot hole in one of the wood shutters outside, enough to provide ample reading light. After a few pages, my surroundings drift away and the howling winds fall silent as I’m sucked into the story. It’s a nice reprieve from reality.

I’m unsure how much time passes, but eventually, the light from the hole in the shutter dims, and I’m made painfully aware of how unforgiving this chair is on my numb ass. I’m sixty pages into the book, which is probably more reading than I should have done after the hit I took yesterday. I’m supposed to be resting my brain, but sitting with my thoughts seemed worse.

The logs in the stove have mostly burned through, and there’s a small flame dancing on top of the red embers. My stomach growls. Since leaving The Fold, my body has adapted to eating less food. Callahan’s probably going to be hungry when he wakes up.

I close my book and place it softly on the desk. Crossing the room, I open the cabinet with the propane camp stove and set it up, paying extra attention to ensure it makes little noise. The wind battering the side of the tower covers most of the sound. Next, I locate a pot and add water from the five-gallon cubie, cringing at the way I flipped out on him yesterday after we got back. I add a little extra for drinking and washing, then place the pot on a burner and light the stove with the lighter. We need to boil the water so it’s potable anyway. When it’s partially warmed, I pour some into a cup, then return the pot to the stove so it can finish heating.

I turn around to make sure Callahan is still sleeping before I strip out of my base layer and wash up using some soap and a towel I found in a cupboard containing washcloths and rags. Myphone clatters to the floor. I forgot I slid it into my bra last night. I snatch it up and duck behind the table in the center of the room. Peering through the passthrough slot, I observe Callahan sighing, but, thankfully, he sleeps through the interruption.

I desperately crave a shower after yesterday, and simply scrubbing warm water over my skin is enough to feel refreshed. Once I finish the world’s fastest sponge bath, I tug on my hiking pants and sweater.

While waiting, I select a soup mix from the food storage container—chicken wild rice—and measure a satisfying serving we can share between us. I let the water come to a rolling boil for a bit, setting aside a portion to fill our water bottles later. Then I gradually add the premeasured soup mix and stir toward the center, preventing the spoon from clanging on the sides of the metal pot.

Once it’s mostly dissolved, I cover and lower the flame on the camp stove, leaving it to continue cooking. While I wait, I try to turn on my phone with no success. I extract the battery and replace it again, then slump forward. No luck. What did I expect? I bought the cheapest prepaid phone I could find. I just needed something that could give me shitty internet and a phone number to put down on job applications. Looks like we’re left relying on his phone.

I do some more snooping, taking inventory of our provisions. There are wash bins for dishes, a couple of board games, cleaning supplies, more linens, and some tools.

I stir the soup for a while, then remove two mugs from a cabinet on the left. After carefully closing the door, I’m startled by Callahan awake and studying me—I freeze.How long has he been watching?We stare at one another long enough for me to wonder what he’s thinking. His eyes are pained when he gazes at me.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Soup is almost done.”

Callahan sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and rests his elbows on his knees. His head hangs between his shoulders, but he doesn't move. Yeah… I would give my last dollar to know what thoughts were running through his mind.