Crossing the Deep (21 page)

Once he was satisfied that she’d gotten all the water out, he carefully scooted her back toward a pile of rocks farther away from the creek. The rocks provided protection from the wind, which blew the snowflakes around wildly.

Asher leaned back against them with Rachel in the crook of his arm. His breath was ragged, pained. For the first time, he realized that those rocks, the cold water, and the wind had done a number on him as well. He was freezing.

It hit him that he had thrown his backpack before he jumped in after Rachel about a quarter of a mile away. It had everything in it. Well, everything he had. A change of clothes for both of them, a flashlight, two blankets, her Bible.

His body argued for him to just stay there and rest, to curl up and get warm. The girl wouldn’t let him.

Examining her, he saw how her teeth chattered and how pale she still was. She needed dry clothes and a blanket quick. Forcing his legs to move, he stood and stooped over to pick her up. His arms fought his every movement, but he made them work. He cradled her and stood.

The way his arms buckled under her made him realize that there was no way he could carry her like that. There was no time to fight with his arms. Instead, he kissed her cheek and stumbled up the creek bank to get his pack.

The quarter of a mile seemed as if it was the length of a marathon, and by the time Asher found his backpack, his body couldn’t take moving any more. He dropped to his knees and took deep, ragged breaths. Forcing himself and praying for strength, he got the pack and ran back to Rachel.

When he got back to her, snowflakes covered her hair, and her eyes had closed again. Asher fell down beside her and checked to see if she was breathing. She was. He let out a shaky breath and started to work by opening the backpack and tossing its contents on the ground.

Sorting through the mess next to him, he found Rachel’s clothes: a black long sleeved sweater and matching fleece pants. He crawled back over to her and pulled off her green coat. It must have weighed ten pounds heavier than when it was dry.

His fingers shook, and he hesitated as he examined her broken leg. Knowing what he had to do, he put his hands around the unnaturally angled leg, drew in some deep breaths, closed his eyes, and turned her broken leg out straight, hearing a pop. If he’d had any food in his stomach, he would have thrown it up at the horrible sound.

With no time to waste, he pulled off her boots and socks. The black color of her injured foot worried him. If they made it off the mountain, he had no idea what would happen to her foot. He’d heard of frostbite before, but had no idea what it looked like. If he had to take a guess, it looked like her foot. What had he been thinking, making her jump those rocks like that? He could forgive God, but he didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for what he’d done to her — intentional or not.

Forcing his guilt way down inside, he put Sid’s dry socks on her and unbuttoned her pants. Setting his jaw, he pulled them down, exposing dark pink panties and skin the palest blue he’d ever seen. He had to hurry.

Asher wished he had an extra pair of underwear for her, but knew he had to make do with what he had. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes to leave her some dignity and pulled the fabric down her legs. When he got to her broken knee, he opened his eyes and eased her underwear over it. Pulling them off her legs, he tossed them aside and grabbed her warm, fleece pants. He put the pants on her legs, careful at her knee and pulled them over her hips.

There — at least her bottom half was dry. He tucked her purple blanket around her legs to give extra warmth and made his way to her upper body.

Asher used the same plan as he had used with her pants: get her clothes off quickly and try not to look. First, he pulled her soaked gloves off and then her shirt over her head, watching out for the gash in her temple. He didn’t want to hurt it more than it already was.

She didn’t have an extra bra, so he had to decide which would be best: a soaked bra or none at all. As with her underwear, he figured dry beat modest any day, so he pulled her pink sports bra over her head. Not wanting to keep her exposed to the elements longer than necessary, he threw her dry, black shirt over her head and pulled it down.

Dressing an unconscious woman wasn’t easy, but he did his best to hurry. Finally, he spread her blanket out like a sleeping bag, placed her into it, and rolled her up like a burrito. He got Sid’s blanket and put it on top of her, too. It was the best he could do, and he prayed it was enough.

Once he was satisfied he’d done all he could for her, he went back to the pile of clothes searching for something he didn’t want to wear, but had no choice. Sid’s extra clothes were warm and dry, and he was grateful to have them. He hated having to use his friend’s clothes though; they still smelled like him. But like a lot of things he’d done the past few minutes, he didn’t have a choice.

He changed his clothes, leaving his heavy, useless jacket on the ground next to Rachel’s. It was so soaked Asher wondered if wearing it would do more harm than good.

She hadn’t moved when he got back to her. He looked around, trying to find the warmest place to put her. There weren’t many options. Up on a small rock cliff, he saw a decent-sized concave. Deciding it was better than nothing, Asher dragged her over.

Out of breath, he fell down beside her. He pulled Sid’s blanket over his legs and rested against the rock. Freezing, he crossed his arms over his chest and shivered violently.

This was it.

This was where he was going to die.

Asher wasn’t stupid. He knew how things worked. They were out of food. No one seemed to be coming to rescue them. They had been out in the elements for five days. Rachel had at least a head injury and a broken leg — at most multiple internal injuries and a gangrened foot. His only coat was ruined and useless. Long sleeves wouldn’t keep him warm in the cold.

And it was snowing.

In times past, he would have been so ticked at God for putting him in a situation such as he found himself in. Truth be told, he still was. Asher didn’t want to die. But strangely, it gave him comfort to know where he was going when he did. He’d be with Rachel and Sid. That made him feel better.

Rachel’s shallow breathing lulled him, soothed him. Even though he knew the way her breath labored wasn’t good, he couldn’t help the trance it left him in. He slid farther down the rock and wrapped his arms around her.

In… out… in… out.

Such slow, calming breaths.

“God, why didn’t You save us?” His body fought every time he tried to make it move. The urge to sleep was too powerful, and all he wanted to do was curl up with Rachel.

The part of his brain that still worked was angry that he had given up, that he had resigned to dying there in the woods. But sleep sounded too appealing. Sleep and hugging Rachel until the end of time.

No! No!
The angry part screamed.
You can’t give up. Not now. Not after you’ve gone all this way.

“My arms won’t move,” he mumbled at the annoying voice. “I’m freezing. I can’t.”

You can! Do you really want
to die?
Do you want her to die? You love her!

Asher’s eyes rolled open, and he looked down at the sleeping girl in the crook of his arms. Her breathing became shallower, and her pulse was faint. She wouldn’t last much longer if he didn’t get her help.

“I gotta get you out of here,” he said, the angry part of his brain growing bigger. His body shook when he removed the blanket, but he had to do it. She needed him. In only Sid’s long-sleeved blue shirt, the frigid mountain air froze him. Part of him wished he had gotten Sid’s coat when he had the chance, but he knew he couldn’t have done that even if he had thought about it.

Asher shook his hands to try to wake them up. The numbness seemed to have settled in permanently. Crawling, he made it the few feet to his backpack, tossed everything he’d thrown out back in, pausing to hold Rachel’s purple Bible in his hands. He took time to flip through it and stopped at a page she had dog-eared: “I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me. Philippians 4:13.”

Shutting his eyes, he closed the little book and hugged it to his chest. Rachel had prayed for strength. It must have worked, because she was the strongest person he knew.

“God, give me as much strength as Rachel had. Help me get her home.” With that, he put the Bible in the backpack and tossed it on his back. For the first time, he noticed how low the sun was in the cloudy sky. Night was coming again.

He wiped the snow from Rachel’s hair and picked her up, draping the blanket over her body and his shoulder as much as he could. The fleece felt good and warmed the nerve endings in his arm. They began to sting, letting him know feeling was coming back to his fingers. By the way it felt, he wasn’t sure he was happy about it.

She was lead in his arms, but he didn’t let that stop him. With a new determination, he took off with her through the woods.

Asher wanted to talk to make the time pass quicker. Anything to keep his mind off of the predicament he was in, but he couldn’t find the words or the ability to speak.

A dusting of snow blanketed the forest floor, but he had a good pace going. He couldn’t stop.

As time passed, the snow turned back to flurries and eventually to nothing. Not the huge blizzard he was expecting. Maybe his luck was changing. Muted rays of sun filtered through the trees, encouraging him on. He had no idea how long he’d been walking, and he didn’t care. He knew he wouldn’t stop until he got home — one way or another.

The sun sank fast, and he was met with the reality of walking in the dark. Asher took the opportunity to rest, just for a moment. He laid Rachel on the ground, checking her over. Blood crusted in her hair and down her cheek, but the wound appeared to be clotting. He thanked God for a small miracle then had to laugh at himself. When had he become such a religious guy?

His hands fumbled with the zipper of the backpack, reminding him of how weak he really was. Remembering the verse on strength, he worked with the zipper until it opened and rummaged around until he found the little yellow flashlight.

The light didn’t come on when he pushed the button, causing him to curse. He wondered if he should feel bad about saying things like that now, then decided what did it matter? God knew who he was and what he was like. He’d forgive him.

Asher beat the butt of the flashlight, working with it until it lit up. “Thank you,” he whispered. His shoulders slumped from relief.

Asher closed the pack and was met with big green eyes.

“Hey, baby,” He crawled over to her, his jeans ripping on the rocks.

She didn’t say anything at first, just smiled at him. He didn’t even think she knew where she was.

“Are you okay?” Stupid question. “What hurts? What can I do?”

Her head lulled to the side, but she never took her eyes off him. “Rachel?”

His heart stopped.

“Can you hear me?”

“Am I dead?” The words were so soft Asher had to lean closer to hear her.

“No. No, you’re not dead. You’re just fine. Come here,” he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. Her head settled under his chin, and he rocked them both.

“I thought — it was dark.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that.”

“What?”

“You fell in the creek, and the water dragged you away. You hit your head pretty hard on a rock. You have a nice goose egg to prove it.”

“Hmmm.”

“And you broke your leg. Kinda nasty.”

“Yay.”

Everything felt peaceful with her awake. It meant he wasn’t alone. “Rachel, where are you hurting?”

“Nowhere.” Her eyes rolled around, not able to focus on anything.

“Don’t play martyr for me. Tell me what hurts, so I can help you.”

“Can’t… feel a thing.”

Bile slid up his esophagus, and he forced it down. He couldn’t let her know though. She’d panic. From the way her eyes rolled around, he figured she was still too out of it to notice.

“Rest time’s over. Time to go,” he said, standing up. When he did, his legs wobbled, and his vision danced in blurry circles. The trees swirled around him like a fair ride, and he fell back beside her. This couldn’t be happening.

“Rest,” she told him, her groggy eyes pleading with him.

“Sorry, not all of us have our own personal chauffer to carry us.” He forced a smile.

Again, he tried to stand, willing the dizziness to go away. His exhausted legs gave out, and he fell on his knees. Beyond frustrated, he slammed his fist into the ground and yelled into the air. “God, You have to help us! Please!”

For the third time, he tried to get up, but he collapsed to the ground and fought to keep his eyes open. As the flashlight shone out in front of him, he felt like a failure. The last thing he saw was Rachel slumped motionless a few feet away.

They had been so close.

Chapter Eighteen

The light hurt her eyes, and she knew this was it. At long last. The light toward Heaven. She wanted to go toward it, but she couldn’t move. Something kept holding her back.

The light became brighter, and the world began rushing in again like the feeling of coming up through the water after a dive. Jumbled pieces that might have made sense if they weren’t so fragmented overflowed in her mind. A rock. Running water. The boy.

Her head pounded, and she wanted some relief. Why would her head hurt so bad if she were dead? And why couldn’t she go toward the light?

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Calm down.”

Mama?

Rachel panicked. Was her mama dead too? Had she killed herself over her only daughter’s death in the woods? Part of her wanted to be with her mama more than anything, but the other part grieved that her mom’s time on Earth had been cut short just like hers.

Rachel felt a thumping in her chest, fast like a tightly-wound clock. Maybe she wasn’t dead after all? But if not, where in the world was she?

“Sweetie, calm down. Okay? You can’t stress out like this. It’s not good for you. You’re all right. You’re in the hospital.”