Disarranged (13 page)

"Forgive me if your wildlife logic doesn't ease my fear of a thousand tons of fat and claws running towards me."

I laugh. We walk to the other ridge, swiveling our heads for any sign of Morgan. The other group is calling her name, the echoes ringing between the mountains. We’ve still got a good chance of finding her, or so the ranger said. The first twenty-four hours are the most important, though, so we have to hurry and make sure every one of those hours count.

"If you're really scared about bears," I start. "Just make lots of noise. Shout for Morgan a lot. They'll run from loud noises like that if they can help it. Morgan!"

I inhale and shout in one long, loud note.

"MORGAN!"

"Morgan!" Grace yells. We wind around trees and step over huge, snow-dusted roots. The snow is deep but not impossible to walk through. It's like running on sand, though, and tires my legs out quickly. But I have to keep going. Morgan's probably tired out here, too. And she's probably cold. Shivering. I hear Grace behind me sit on a log to rest.

"C'mon, Rose. Let's take a break."

"No! She's gotta be around here somewhere."

"Rose," Grace groans.

"I'm just going over the ridge to get a better view," I say. "You stay here and rest. I'll be right back."

"We're not supposed to split up. Lee would kill me if -" Grace stands, but her legs tremble and give out under her. She sits back on the log.

"It's okay, really! I can see you just fine from the ridge, I won't lose sight of you. Just stay here, and I'll be back soon."

"Rose." She makes her voice low in a warning way.

"Grace," I imitate her, then hold up my radio. "You've got one too. You can talk to me while I'm going up there to keep tabs on me, okay?"

Before she can protest more and slow me down, I start up the hill. The snow sinks under my boots, filling them with tiny bits of wet flakes. I'm warm, and almost burning up from all the layers of wool and the constant hiking for the last half hour. Morgan has way more energy than me - she must've gone farther, and higher on the ridge. I pant, using tree roots to pull myself up the hill as it gets steeper and steeper. My boots slip, but I manage to keep my balance and push forward. Finally, after what feels like forever, I'm standing on the top of the ridge.

But there's no view.

I turn, but all I can see is white. It spreads as far as the horizon, or where the horizon would be. It's fog. But where did it come from? And why is it so cold? The air is so bitterly freezing it hurts to breathe in. This can't be just fog. It's too thick, too heavy, almost like it's got a weight of its own.

"Grace!" I shout. "Grace!"

No response. I fumble for my radio and press the transmit button.

"Grace! Are you there?"

"Yeah! What the hell is going on? That mist came from nowhere!"

"It's just gonna make it harder to find her," I muse.

"You need to come down from there, right now!"

"I'm fine! Let me just check this ridge."

"Now, Rose! Lee would kill me if I lost you in this."

"I can't leave if she's here!" I argue, pushing aside a tree branch as I move deeper into the ridge.

"Rose....swear.....down....after..."

I shake my radio to hopefully jolt the connection back into place.

"Grace? Hello? Grace!"

"....you....piece....storm..."

I keep yelling into the radio, but all that comes out is garbled static.

"C'mon you stupid thing!" I snap. I fumble with the dial to try and get a better signal. A gust of wind blasts into me and I nearly drop it. I scrabble to hold on to it and stow it away in my jacket. I start down the hill the way I came, the thick fog becoming impossible to ignore as the wind blasts louder and harder with each passing minute. The snow fall becomes less like flakes and more like shards of ice tearing at my exposed skin. I'm close to Grace, I know it.

"Grace! Grace, can you hear me?" I shout at the top of my lungs, but the wind blasts the sound back at me, muffles the words like they never escaped my lips to begin with. That's when the first seeds of panic start sprouting in my mind. I could get lost out here. Maybe I'm already lost. And the wind and snow is only getting worse. I'm trapped out here during a storm. But so is Morgan.

All the survival tips I'd learned growing up, like making a snow fort to keep warm and not wearing wet clothes against your skin and staying in one place until help can find you goes out the window. Morgan knows none of those. She's helpless out here, and if I don't find her, I'll never forgive myself.

I don't recognize any of these trees. I don't know which way is up, except that the hill tells me, but even then I don't know if I'm on the same spot of the ridge anymore. Sometimes I catch voices, shouts, but they're whipped away by the wind so quickly I can't tell which way they came from.

I shiver and hug myself.

I might die out here.

I might actually die.  

Maybe Morgan's already dead.

I shake my head and push onward. No dark thoughts. I'll find her. I've got water and enough rations for a day or two. She's a smart girl. If she came out here and got stuck in this same storm, she'd find a good place to hide and stay warm. A cave, maybe, or a rock outcropping, or under a large tree's roots. I look for places like that - places a little girl might go to keep dry. I walk for what feels like years, the storm growing angrier around me. The wind smacks my face, my wrists, every inch of exposed skin. Sometimes it's so fast it steals the breath out of my lungs before I can exhale. My shoes and socks are heavy with snow and water, blisters biting at my toes and ankles. I'm still warm, but my limbs are starting to get cold on the very edges. I pull my hood around my face tighter and press on.

Finally I stumble, and it's a hard stumble. The snow cushions me, but my foot is wedged between two rocks and I cry out as gravity pulls me down and tries to pull my bones the same way. I can barely hear it above the storm, but there's a split-second groan coming from my ankle, like a tree branch under great pressure just before it snaps. The pain is blinding. White spots dart across the back of my eyelids and I scream a soundless scream as the wind wipes the noise away. I try to pull my foot out but every tiny movement sends prongs of hot agony up my leg. When the wave of initial pain fades and I finally pull my foot slowly free, I can think well enough to realize I've sprained my ankle. Sprained? No, it hurts too much to just be sprained. Maybe I've fractured it. Whatever the case it hurts like a bitch, and as I pull myself up by a tree branch and take a step I realize I won't be able to walk very far. I need to find a place to rest, and fast, or the blizzard will overwhelm me with cold and I'll die of hypothermia now that I'm not moving.

I can crawl better than I can walk, so I drag myself over the snow in slow, tiny, steady bursts of movement. My ankle still screams with pain, but adrenaline and endorphins are flooding to it, so it's become more of a dull ache. I'm such a fucking idiot. I never should've gone off the path, away from Grace. She was right. Even so, I was so worried about Morgan. I still am.

But if I don't find a dry place to rest out of the wind soon, I'll be too dead to worry about her anymore.

Chapter Seven

In Which Rose Jensen Meets Her Grandfather

My vision’s getting blurry, and that’s always a bad sign.

Usually it means I’m crying. But right now it means I’m dying. And crying. After you fracture your ankle and drag it through a mile and a half of forest floor, you cry. It’s just what you do. And as you keep dragging yourself, you look around and realize there’s only white snow, and dark forest, and the horrible storm howling in your ears about how it’s going to kill you.

I burn up the last of my energy. I can actually physically feel it leaving me. I pull myself over a root and collapse there, the snow crunching against my cheek. If I don’t make it back, how will they find me? Will anyone find me at all? Am I gonna be dug up a thousand years later by humans or aliens or whatever lives here? Will they give me a pet name like all of the other frozen mummies they excavate in the name of science?

I don’t want to be a mummy! I push myself up and then immediately flop back down. I can’t even move. Everything hurts. I’m gonna be a frozen mummy and there’s nothing I can do about it except flop around and contemplate my life as my brain slowly falls asleep and dies.

I don’t want to be a mummy! I push myself up and then immediately flop back down. I can’t even move. Everything hurts. I’m gonna be a frozen mummy and there’s nothing I can do about it except flop around and contemplate my life as my brain slowly falls asleep and dies.

At least Lee will be alright. He'll marry Kiera. Or maybe he won't. He seemed really mad at her after that thing this morning. Figures. The only guy I've ever loved will break up with his fiancé after I'm dead. Sounds about right. Mom and Dad will cry a lot. Riley won't do so well - he and I are pretty close. But he'll learn to move on. Grace and Jen will be devastated. I hope Pierre forgives me, and finds a decent replacement for me at the shop.

I'll never get to see, or to make, my bakery. My dream.

I'll die, and the world will move on.

That's when I see it.

A swan.  

I blink, hard and rapidly. I must be seeing things - hallucinating now that my brain is slowly shutting down. I sit up, and tilt my head, and sure enough I see the swan etched in the bark of a tree. It's beautiful, with tiny feathery details and outstretched wings. It looks so familiar, somehow. Beyond the tree is a glow. Light! Bright warm, yellow light.

It could be the light at the end of the tunnel. I could be dead already, moving like a kind of ghost who doesn't know she's dead. Or I could still be alive, and it could be my salvation. Either way I don't have a choice - I have to follow it. I muster the last of my energy in my arms. My ankle cries out, I cry out, my muscles curse at me for using them beyond their limits, but I keep crawling. My knees protest every time they hit rock or hard roots. Just a little more. Just a little farther, and -

My hands meet a door. I reach up and turn the knob, and thank God when it opens. I pull myself into the entry way, and shut the door behind me. It's cold in here, but not as cold as outside.

"Rose?" A little voice pipes in. I look up and squint, trying to make out the blurry figure on the landing. I see a pink jacket, but before I can open my mouth and say anything, the world spins violently, and everything goes dark.

***

I open my eyes, and I'm in a white room.

It can't be the place I stumbled into in the middle of the woods - that place wasn't white. This place is all white. Not snowy, or anything, just pure white walls as far as I can see. It's not cold at all; in fact, it's really warm. Comfortingly warm, like a nice bath or stepping out of the airplane in someplace hot like Hawaii. I'm standing, too. Last I remember, I didn't have enough energy to stand. But here I am, my legs not shaking in the least.

A blur of color forms on the horizon, and draws closer. But I know who it is even before he becomes defined.

"Grandpa!"

He holds his arms open, and I run into them. He still smells like tobacco, and he's wearing his favorite flannel shirt. His hair is frizzy as ever, and his smile is the most happy I've ever seen it.

"You took your sweet time getting here," He laughs. "Always stubbornly keeping on, even past your limits. Very much a Jensen thing."

"Why are you -"

"Ah, ah," He holds up a finger. "No questions. Just listen to me, and listen to me well, Rose."

I nod, and pay close attention as he speaks.

"I love you very dearly. And I'm so proud of you. But you can't come here. Not yet."

"But -"

He gives me a warning look, and I sigh and close my mouth. He smiles and pats my cheek.

"You have people waiting for you. And besides, there are two of you, now. You have to look out for her, too."

"Morgan? She's fine. She's in the cabin, nice and warm."

Grandpa smiles brighter, and chuckles. "You'll find out soon enough. Now go. Turn around, and keep walking. Walk until it hurts again. That's when you know you're safe."

"Safe? But I -"

"Go, Rose."

He uses his authoritarian voice, and the kid in me who used to play at his house every summer knows there's no arguing with that voice. I give him one last hug, and turn around and start walking.

There's white everywhere. I look back, but Grandpa's gone. The white behind me is gone. It's just black. I keep walking, trying not to think about any of this, or how real it might be. I'll walk until it starts hurting, just like he said.

And then all at once, the pain comes back in my leg, and the white around me turns to a deep-sleep black.

***

For the second time in a row, the first thing I see when I wake up is Lee's face.

"Rose! You're awake!" He exhales, smiling, and he turns to someone and yells. "She's awake!"

My vision slowly becomes clear, the blur of sleep fading. Was I asleep? What was all that with Grandpa? Before I can think it over too much, Morgan comes bounding in, followed by the little old lady from the La Cigogne bakery. She smiles at me, and Morgan grabs my hand and bounces up and down.

"You're awake! You're awake!" She cries. The old woman says something in French behind her, and to my surprise Morgan replies in perfect French, and turns back to me.

"She says not to be too excited around you or it'll wear you out again."

"I'm f-fine. I think. Thank you," I say to the old woman. She nods, and Morgan stamps her foot and hits Lee on the shoulder.

"See? You were being dumb, with all that crying. She's fine!"

"I didn't cry, you little punk!" Lee snaps back at her. "Some snow got in my eye!"