Staggering forward, he found himself humming the lines to “Radar Love.” It was one of those old songs that could swim around in his mind for days without relief.
Finally, they reached the outcropping. John left Caitlin against the cliff side, as far from the rain as possible, and then collected enough dry wood to get a fire started and made a pile near Caitlin. After breaking the smaller pieces to get enough splinters to serve as kindling, John arranged them neatly beneath the larger sticks. Taking his old Zippo lighter from its pocket, he struck it with shivering fingers. His grandfather had carried the brass Zippo through Europe in World War II and had passed it on to him when John had convinced him to give up smoking. John carried it as a lucky charm.
The wood caught and burned well. When the fire burned steadily, John went out into the rain and dragged more sticks into the lee of the overhang.
When he thought he had enough he checked Caitlin, she was still unconscious. Her skin was cold, and she was shivering. Hypothermia was a more immediate threat than the concussion.
Each of them carried a small emergency kit clipped to their belts. Besides the bandages, antiseptics, and a couple of food bars, it held a metallic rescue blanket folded into something the size of a napkin.
His teeth chattered uncontrollably as he tore open the sealed packages and laid the blankets on the dry sand.
As gently as he could, John stripped off Caitlin’s clothing. The firelight revealed welts and bruises scattered about her slim body. He wrapped her in both blankets before jamming a few sticks into the ground near the fire. He hung her clothes over them and then stripped out of his own. It turned out to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. The pain in his chest became so severe he had to scream again. Somehow, he still managed to remove his shirt.
He coughed a deep rasping cough that burned like fire. His mouth had the flavor of old nails, and he spit blood onto the rocks.
He stared at the foamy red patch of his life.
Hell.
Blood.
He’d punctured a lung.
Dear God, what could he do for a punctured lung?
He didn’t know. Well, either it’d stop bleeding, or he’d die. Right now, he was too tired to care which. Rest, he must rest. He hung his clothes beside hers, threw a few of the larger sticks onto the fire, and crawled into the blankets with her.
They shivered together under the blankets, his arms wrapped around her for what little warmth they might add to each other. Her soft skin was clammy against his, but he didn’t mind. He was past the point of noticing or caring.
At some point, he slept.
He awoke feeling groggy. His backside had come uncovered and the night air was cold. Embers from the dying fire glowed in the dark. Caitlin was still cradled in his arms. Her shivering had stopped, and she now breathed easily.
He slid out from under the blankets and dragged a few more branches onto the coals. After rearranging the wood, he blew the fire alight. He knelt with his hands against the flames until it was too hot to bear. Then he slid back between the blankets and pulled Caitlin close. In a moment, he fell asleep.
The next thing John knew it was daylight, at least as close to it as it was likely to get that day. The rain still fell. Caitlin lay with her head on his right shoulder. Her breath was warm against his skin. Only embers remained of the fire, but he no longer felt cold. The fire had warmed the rock wall behind and above them enough to break the chill of the morning air.
For the first time, he was conscious of the curves in the body pressing against him. Yesterday, he’d been too worried about her dying to think of anything else as he’d stripped off her clothes and slid between the blankets with her.
That morning was another matter. They had already spent seven days together in the close proximity of the raft. He’d seen her swim in quiet crystal pools, shower under soft waterfalls, and heard her laugh at his feeble jokes. He’d eaten numerous meals with her and had slept just a few feet from her each night. He’d been attracted to her since the first day, had a crush on her by day three, and by day six was deeply in love.
Nevertheless, she was engaged to be married when they finished the trip if they finished the trip.
He wasn’t worried, yet. If Glen and the others didn’t spot them, Glen would use the radio to call in a rescue helicopter. It might take a day or two to find them, but they could survive that long without food. No, the only real worry was Caitlin’s condition.
As if on cue, she stirred. Her right hand slid up along his torso and stopped when it reached his thick chest hair.
Her head jerked up, and her eyes popped open.
“John?”
Her right hand moved again; lower this time until she understood that he was naked beneath the blanket. She jerked her hand away as though she’d been burned.
“Good morning,” he said with little humor.
“Where the hell are my clothes?”
John pointed with a tilt of his head.
Her head twisted around as she took in their location. Their clothes still hung next to the remains of the fire. When she turned back to face him, she was much calmer than he imagined she would be.
He had half-expected scorn or derision, but her
