September's Dream (21 page)

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"That was a fine meal. Since you’ve taken over the cooking, I’ve been eating better than I ever have before."

September warmed to the unexpected compliment. It wasn’t like Jase to say nice things.

In the five days since they had left Jack and Nell’s cabin, they hadn’t seen a single human. It had snowed without a break for the past four days, and the temperature had dropped so low they had to bring the dogs inside each night.

Their tent of pelts was no longer adequate protection from the cold. Each night, Jase cut blocks of ice and formed them into a low circular shelter. Inside, the fur robes and the heat from the dogs’ bodies kept them warm.

Most days they were lucky to make ten or twelve miles. Today they had probably gone only a few miles when the blizzard closed in. Fortunately, they had found a cave among a pile of snow-covered boulders. After making certain there wasn’t a grizzly sharing their quarters, they carried their supplies inside and made the cave as comfortable as possible.

In this weather, it had been impossible to hunt. September studied their dwindling supplies, as Jase cut huge chunks of raw meat for the dogs.

When he picked up his rifle, she looked up sharply. "You’re not going hunting in this storm?"

"I won’t go far. But if I put it off much longer, we’ll be in trouble. These storms can last for weeks. The dogs will be impossible to handle without adequate meat. Besides," he gave her a teasing smile, "you’ve been working miracles with the food we have, but I’m dying for some fresh venison. You did promise me stew, didn’t you?"

She nodded and picked up her rifle. Seeing it, he held up a hand. "I’ll go. You stay here with the dogs."

"I’m going, Jase. We’re partners, remember?"

The wind howled outside the cave. He pulled the hood of his parka over his head. "I can go faster alone. You stay here."

Even before the words were out of his mouth he saw the flash of defiance in her eyes. "I’m going."

He swore and turned away. Let her tag along. Let her freeze. What did he care?

The storm had grown much worse since they’d stopped for the day. The wind swirled the snow, lashing it against them. Even with their faces covered, it was impossible to turn into the wind. A tree snapped under the force of the wind and snow, sounding like an explosion in the fading light.

In silence they trudged through a narrow ridge which opened onto a flat plain. Above them the spiny ridge of mountains spiked the darkening sky. The wind keened down the mountains, lashing them with the force of a frozen leather whip.

They both spotted the deer at the same time. It had apparently strayed from the herd and, buffeted by the storm, had sought shelter between tall boulders. Following Jase’s lead, September set the front trigger of her carbine. Moving quickly, Jase brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. The deer went down on its front knees. They both began running, ignoring the bite of the wind, the blinding snow.

Ahead of her, September saw Jase kneel and examine the fallen deer. Laying down his rifle, he grasped the forelegs and turned the animal on its back. Just above him, silhouetted against the rising moon, September saw two dark shapes scurry along the ridge of the boulder.

"Jase," she shouted. The words were whipped from her mouth by the wind and carried away. "Jase. Above you."

To her horror, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. At the sound of a wild snarl, Jase looked up in time to see the wolf, its eyes glazed with hunger, its fangs bared. Jase reached wildly for his rifle, but the animal sailed through the air and landed on him, pinning him to the ground. The second wolf hesitated on the ridge.

"Oh my God. Jase." September ran a few more steps, then stopped.

The wolf was mad with hunger. His snarling, writhing body was on top of Jase. Even from this distance, in the dim light of evening, she could see the crimson staining the snow beneath them. His teeth were ripping Jase’s flesh. Without a weapon, Jase didn’t stand a chance.

She dropped to one knee. The snow blinded her, making it impossible to see. Her hands trembled as she tried to aim the carbine. Jase. Jase was being killed. And if she was even inches off, she could be the one to end his life.

As she hesitated, the second wolf hurtled through the air. She saw the dark form, heard herself shouting a warning. Without thinking, she pulled the trigger. She was knocked backward against a rock. There was a terrible explosion of sound rocketing through the night sky. It seemed to go on and on in her brain, echoing through the mountains, rumbling over the plain. And then there was only her sobbing. Or was it the cry of the wind?

Tentatively September pushed herself from the snow. Plowing through waist-high drifts, she fell to her knees and continued crawling until she reached Jase’s side.

The bodies of the two wolves lay in a twisted heap. Blood and fur spattered the snow.

The sleeve of Jase’s parka had been torn away. Probing gently, she discovered to her horror that the flesh of his shoulder had been ripped away as well. Frantically she tore at the front of his flannel shirt, making a tourniquet to stem the flow of blood. The snow beneath him ran red. From his ashen face, she knew he was already in shock. She must stop the bleeding now, before he lost too much to be saved.

She had to get him out of this blizzard and into the safe shelter of the cave. But how?

One leg was twisted grotesquely beneath him. It might be broken. But even if it weren’t, he was too weak to stand.

Tightening the pressure on his arm, she watched the blood ooze through the flannel. He was twice her size and weight. There was no way she could drag him. The dog sled. It was her best hope.

Placing her parka over him to keep him from freezing, she stumbled through the drifts to the cave. Hastily unloading all their supplies, she whistled for Lucky to bully the team into attention. Fumbling badly, her fingers stiff from the cold, she managed to get the dogs into harness. Piling the fur pelts on the sled, she cracked the whip and ordered the team into the blinding snow. Within minutes they were at Jase’s side. Huddled inside her parka once more, she managed to roll him onto the sled, where she covered him with fur robes. Lashing him firmly in place, she again cracked the whip and the dogs lunged forward, eager for the protection of the cave.

Once inside, she ignored the dogs in their harness while she added logs to the fire. Making a bed of pelts, she rolled Jase from the sled and removed his parka and shirt. Drawing the tourniquet as tightly as possible, she rummaged through the supplies until she found a bottle of whiskey. Holding his lips open, she forced several swallows down his throat. Then she poured the liquor liberally on the raw flesh.

How to stem the bleeding? The tourniquet helped, but she needed something to get him through the night. She thought of the needle and thread in the little packet. Could she actually sew his flesh together? The wound would fester. But if she could hold the skin together until it began to heal, he wouldn’t lose any more blood.

She added more logs to the fire, until the blaze was bright enough to illuminate the place where he lay. Placing the needle in the fire, she warmed her frozen fingers, then, blotting the blood with a piece of flannel, she began to stitch the jagged pieces of flesh together. When she was finished she poured more whiskey over the wound, then wrapped his arm and shoulder in the remains of his flannel shirt.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Jase hadn’t moved. September touched his weak pulse and felt a band of terror tighten around her heart.

Removing his moccasins, she gently pulled off his fur leggings. The leg which had been twisted beneath him was bleeding profusely. Probing his leg, she determined that it wasn’t broken. She was grateful. She’d never set a broken bone before. Pouring whiskey on the wound, she mopped up the blood, bound it tightly to stem the bleeding, and dressed it. She smoothed the damp hair from his brow, then wrapped him in fur robes.
Don’t die, Jase
, she prayed.
Don’t you dare die. Live. Please live.

Restless from their long imprisonment in harness, the dogs pawed the floor and nipped each other, itching for a fight. Pulling on her parka, September whistled for their attention. Immediately their heads came up, eager to be off. With a crack of the whip she directed them to the place where the deer had fallen, afraid that she would find a pack of wolves feasting. She was relieved to find none. Only the two dead wolves that had attacked lay in a stiff heap. They must have been rogues, deserted by the pack. Crazed with hunger, they had challenged Jase for his kill.

Working quickly, September lashed the deer to the sled. Feeling braver, she bent to examine the bodies of the two wolves. They lay close together. The front body had a hole blown through its midsection. The second wolf was so spattered with blood it was impossible to tell where he had been hit by the bullet. September was puzzled. She had fired only once. Yet both wolves lay dead.

Leaving them in the snow, she led the team back to the cave, where she skinned and dressed the deer. The dogs, exhausted from their night’s work, settled down into the corners of the cave to sleep.

Cutting small chunks of venison, September placed them in a pot on the hot coals of the fire. By morning she would have a rich broth to nourish Jase. If he awoke. The thought thrust a cold blade of fear to her heart.

When she finished, she was so tired her head swam as she stood up. Touching a hand to Jase’s forehead, she felt the fire which raged through his body. Despite the fever, his teeth chattered violently.

Slipping off her moccasins and leggings and hanging her parka near the fire to dry, she lifted the fur robe which covered Jase. She would hold him in her arms all night and, if necessary, breathe her life into him. He would live. He had to live. If it took every ounce of her energy, she would see to it.

*  *  *

Before dawn, September was awakened roughly. A fist pounded her shoulder. A hand tangled in her hair, jerking her head back sharply. Jase thrashed about, his body burning, his skin wet with sheen. In his delirious state he fought the demons which tormented him. Fighting to keep him still, she lay crosswise over him, her breath coming in short, painful gasps.

Wetting a piece of flannel, she began to bathe his fevered skin. At first he fought her, his words mumbled, incoherent. But as her cooling touch soothed, he became quiet, allowing her to smooth his brow, to moisten his dry lips. Moving aside the fur, she removed the dressing from his arm and shoulder. The flesh was red and puckered, resisting the thread which held it together. She poured more whiskey on the wound and for the first time saw Jase flinch in his sleep. It was the first hopeful sign. At least he was capable of feeling pain.

Moistening a cloth, she began to wash the infected area. When she was finished, she wrapped a fresh dressing around the wound, then continued to bathe his burning skin.

As the cloth moved lower, she gasped as she touched a scar which ran from his rib cage, across his flat stomach, low to his hip. How could he have sustained such a wound and lived? She thought again of Nell’s words of caution. It was rumored that Jase was a hired gun. Had he sustained this wound in a fight to the death?

Pushing aside her fears, she continued to bathe his body, then removed the dressing from his leg. This wound, though it ran from knee to ankle, was not deep. It appeared to be superficial. Cleansing it with whiskey, she covered it with flannel, which was soon stained with his blood.

When she had done all she could, she lay beside him, drawing the fur robe over both of them. With one arm thrown protectively across his chest, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

*  *  *

There were wolves everywhere. Great black and gray specters, moving like mist across the boulders, watching him as he fumbled for his rifle. They were crouching, then soaring through space, landing with deadly accuracy on him. With a cry of pain he lunged at the creatures, calling on all his strength to overcome the snarling beasts.

With a sob of pain September fought back. "Jase. Jase, stop. You’re hurting yourself and me. Stop."

Even in his weakened condition, he fought her like a madman. He lunged. She fought back. He rolled her over and clamped his hands around her throat in a death grip. With a desperate burst of strength, she broke his grip and rolled him over, straddling him and pinning his hands above his head. The strenuous activity strained the delicate threads which held the flesh of his shoulder together. With a cry of pain, he lapsed into blessed unconsciousness.

September stared in dismay at the fresh blood which oozed from his wound. Removing the dressings, she discovered the jagged pieces of flesh torn loose.

Applying a tourniquet, she attempted a desperate measure. Placing her fish knife in the fire, she waited until the blade was red-hot. Laying the fiery blade flat on Jase’s bloody flesh, she pressed and held it, searing his skin. He gave a terrible piercing cry, then fell silent.

By the time September had managed to sew the wound and dress it, her hair was damp with sweat. Her heart pounded. She had never seen such an ugly wound. It was raw and infected, and the poison was racing through his system, killing him. He had to be strong enough to resist. She would make him strong if it killed her in the process.

Spooning broth to his lips, she massaged his throat to force him to swallow. He would need all the strength he could find.

Exhausted, she lay beside him, cradling him in her arms. Despite the fever which raged through his body, he trembled violently. She felt bruised and battered from Jase’s attack. For now, he lay quiet, his breathing labored. But there would be more, and she had to find the might to withstand his awesome strength.

She fell into an uneasy sleep.

Morning came. Outside the cave, the wind moaned and howled. Another foot of snow had fallen, leaving the world beyond their shelter a silent, frozen wasteland.

Separately and in pairs, the dogs ventured outside, then hurried back to the warmth of the cave. September filled a pan with snow and heated it on the fire, then proceeded to bathe Jase’s wounds. His body was so overheated it frightened her.

Throughout the long day and night, and into the next, she alternately applied cool cloths to his fevered body or lay beside him, warming him, when his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Though he fought like a madman whenever the demons took over his mind, she managed to restrain him enough to keep him from hurting himself further. Her own body took a battering.

At night she lay beside him, holding the furs around his body, pressing him close when he was racked with chills. Often she awoke bathed in his sweat.

He talked often, long, rambling conversations. But the words were mumbled and incoherent. Often he swore at her, and once, in a moment of great pain, he threw her against the wall of the cave. Dazed, she lay a moment, shaking her head to clear her mind. Then, hurling his curses back at him, she straddled his chest and continued dressing his wound.

By the third night, she felt as if she had been in a war. And her side had lost.