Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Right.” Lincoln glances down at me. “Sorry about this.”
“Wh--”
He bends and sweeps me into his arms, my breath whooshing out as my feet leave the ground. My ankle bounces as he jogs and it feels like someone’s pounding on it with a sledgehammer.
“Put me down! Dammit, that hurts! I jumped out of the plane and I might have a broken ankle.”
He gently deposits me on the ground, giving me a puzzled look. “You jumped out of the plane?”
Before I can respond, he stands up and turns around. “I have to get the stuff. Don’t move.”
I shake my head because I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I close my eyes, reminding myself we’re going to be rescued. I don’t have any medication to calm my anxiety right now, but my therapist would tell me this anxiety is okay. This is my body’s natural response to what’s happening to me.
A minute later, Lincoln returns and drops the supplies on the ground. He gets down on one knee and looks me over. “Where are you hurt?”
I groan and mutter, “Everywhere.”
He creases his brow. “Is anything bleeding?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Lift your arms.”
I do, and he pats down my arms and sides, then does the same to my legs. “What hurts the most?”
“My ankle and my hip. That’s where I hit the ground.”
“Can I take a look?”
I balk at his suggestion. “It’s bitterly cold; I’m not taking my clothes and boots off. Help will be here within a few hours, we just need to stay near the plane and keep warm until then.”
A flare of aggravation passes over his face. “It’s going to be dark soon, and they probably don’t know exactly where we crashed. We need to plan for the worst.”
I scoff. “Then we should probably start digging a couple of graves.”
My dark joke doesn’t hit. He glares at me. “I’m doing everything I can to help you, don’t give me a shitty attitude.”
I hold my arms out to gesture at our surroundings. “Our plane just crashed in...are we still in Alaska?”
“Yes,” he snaps.
“Alaska in January. It’s fucking freezing, we have no food or water and I can’t walk.”
“You can’t walk because you jumped out of the plane.”
“You said to get out! That it could blow at any second!”
“That doesn’t mean jump and blow out your ankle.”
I scowl at him. “Well, this is my first plane crash. I didn’t know what to do.”
He sighs heavily and closes his eyes. “We’re not gonna fight. I’m sorry. It’s really important that we keep our cool and help each other through this.”
His apology deflates my anger. “I’m sorry, too. I know it was dumb of me to jump.”
“No, it wasn’t. I was yelling at you to get out. We’re not bringing up that subject again. It’s done. What matters is that neither of us is bleeding out. We’ll be okay until help arrives.”
I nod, rubbing my hands together. Now that the shock is wearing off, I’m really feeling the icy temperature.
Lincoln grabs the survival kit. “Let’s see if there’s anything in here we can use.”
“Maybe a flint to start a fire.”
He sets the case between us and we both scan the contents. It has a flint, three water purification straws, flares, emergency blankets, a flashlight, a knife, nonperishable food, rubbing alcohol and a few other small things.
Just looking at it makes my heart race. I check myself. We won’t need most of it. The flint will help us make a fire to keep warm and the flares will allow us to signal help when it’s close. We’re surrounded by snow, so we can’t run out of water. Everything will be fine.
“Do you know how to use a flint?” I ask Lincoln, grabbing it.
He meets my eyes, his expression grim. “I grew up in an apartment in Columbus. I don’t know shit about the outdoors.”
“That’s okay. I used to hunt and fish with my dad before he died. I know enough to get us by. We’ll need some dry wood. Look deep inside some of the bigger pine trees for dried branches we can use to get the fire going.”
He meets my gaze and nods. There’s a crashing sound in the direction of the plane, like a part of it falling to the ground, and I tamp down the rise of panic inside me.
We’re going to be okay. Help is on the way.
Eight hours later, I’m freezing despite all efforts to warm up. We have a fire going and Lincoln insisted I wear his parka. I have the hood tied so it covers as much of my face as possible, and I have an emergency blanket on my legs, but the cold is soaking into me from the ground.
Lincoln is wrapped in the emergency blanket, my pink-plaid cashmere scarf wrapped around his head and ears. We’re both huddled by the fire. He’s sitting and I’m curled up on my side.