'She's one hell of a girl.'
'But she abandoned her shelter,' said Rick, the con-cern clear in his voice.
'It's easy to tell why.'
'She may not have found another,' said Rick. 'We've got to find her tonight!' He took out his flashlight and began to scan the rain-washed slopes for footprints. He found numerous prints made by bare feet that seemed fresh, but they went in several different directions. He studied them carefully, knowing that his conclusions could be life-and- death ones. 'She went down to the river, but she came back,' he said, talking mostly to him-self. 'She went to the hilltop several times, but there's one set of prints going around the hill. Let's follow those.' Rick and Joe traced Con's journey around the hillside, but stopped when they encountered a set of prints leading down toward the next hill. They followed the trail until it disappeared halfway down the slope, washed away by runoff.
By the time they located where Con had scraped and washed the hide, it was absolutely black. The flashlights' beams were beginning to fail and Joe turned his off to save its battery. Rick's feeble yellow light illuminated the raindrops more brightly than the ground. 'I don't see any trail!' Rick said in frustration.
'Then let's head for the high ground,' Joe said.
They headed up the next hill, using the slope of the ground as much as the flashlight to guide them. When they reached its crest, Rick scanned about, 'Nothing,' he said, spitting out the word like a curse.
'Nothing but that rock.'
Joe turned on his light. It was brighter than Rick's. 'Since when does a rock have a foot?' CON WAS WANDERING in a cold, dark place when she heard the sound of waves washing upon a beach. Their sound was as regular as a heartbeat. She dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl toward the sound. The cold mud she was crawling through turned to warm sand. She looked around, and the darkness was gone. She could see snowcapped mountains towering over a bright green forest. Near the forest's edge was a wooden cabin, and Joe and Rick stepped out of it. Con waved to them, but she did not want to rise from the sand—it was too pleasantly warm to leave. Instead, she lay down and waited for them to come to her. Instantly, Rick was lying beside her. He was crying and whispering at the same time. Over and over he repeated the same word.
Con opened her eyes, but there was nothing to see. The warm sand became skin pressed against her bare back, her bare legs, and her bare chest. Arms wrapped around her and legs pressed against hers. Fabric was piled over her. Her head rested on something soft, and a stubbly cheek touched hers. Someone was breathing in her ear and softly whispering her name.
'Rick? Joe?'
Con heard Rick's quiet voice next to her ear. 'We're here. We found you.'
'What. . . what are you doing?'
'Sharing body heat,' he said. 'You're suffering from hypothermia.'
'I feel warmer now. I thought it was a dream.'
'It's no dream, thank God,' said Joe.
'So I'm not dead?'
'No ... no you're not,' said Rick.
Rick's voice sounded far away. Con felt warm wetness on her cheeks. She wondered,
WHEN CON AWOKE IN THE MEAGER LIGHT OF DAY, SHE
was confused. She was wearing clothes, and they were dry. There were socks on her feet, a sweatshirt warmed her torso, and long pants covered her legs. She lay beneath blankets and was covered by a poncho. She could also feel someone nestled against her back. She looked at the arm around her waist.
'Rick?'
'Yes.'
'I'm clothed. I thought I was ...'
'That was only to warm you up,' said Rick quickly and awkwardly.
