by Ilsa J. Bick
Oh, shit! The cotton ball would burn for a while but not without help. Jolted from his lethargy, Hank brought his face down and blew a sputtering, shaking, ragged breath. Please ... he puffed out breath after breath, trying hard not to panic and blow too hard. If this died, he’d have to start all over again, and he was too tired, it would take too long. Come on, come on, please, don’t die, don’t die, please! He watched as the flames flowed and spread, and then he was carefully feeding in smaller twigs, grinning like a maniac when they caught, and the first real pulse of heat warmed his cheeks.
He could do this. He would survive. He had fire. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to hope. Make it through the night and maybe the next day and by then, they would realize he was missing. A search would be initiated. They would follow his tracks. If there wasn’t too much snow, they might find the snowbank and buckthorn in which he’d landed. From there, they could follow his worm’s trail through the snow. Better yet, they would send up helicopters. He’d hear those. He should think how to signal someone. If he had fire, he could ignite greener boughs, send up a pillar of smoke.
With fire, he could do anything.
Extracting his water bottle from his pack, he noticed he wasn’t shaking so much. See, there? Already better. He shouldn’t sleep, not for long, anyway. This fire was far too small and would need attention. That was all right. He could doze. As long as he didn’t move much, the pain was just this side of horrific, a knife slicing meat instead of a brand burning him to the bone. Uncapping his bottle, he took a long swallow. The water was cold and made his teeth hurt. When the water hit his stomach, it felt like a bomb, and he groaned against a cramp. Holding himself very still, he waited for that to subside then reached a gloved hand through the entrance to his cave to scoop up snow. He packed the bottle with as much snow as he could then capped and propped the bottle by the fire. Better that than to waste precious body heat.
Pulling his pack close, he lay on his left side and watched as the cave grew darker, the shadows denser. The air smelled of pine and spent powder, a not-unpleasant aroma. His stomach grumbled. Dipping a hand into a pocket, he pulled out the sandwich Sarah made him early that afternoon and a million years ago. The sandwich was a soggy mess with the consistency of papier-mâché. Unwrapping as carefully as he could, he sucked peanut-flavored pickle juice from the plastic and then used a finger to scoop up mush. The flavors exploded in his mouth. Saliva pooled under his tongue. He chewed fast, too fast, his treacherous finger going back for another scoop and then a third before his brain caught up and he thought, Stop, you have to stop. Chasing this last mouthful with another sip of water, he rewrapped what was left and slid that into his pack. Better to make it a little harder to get at the food, and he still had two power bars.
You’ll be okay. He settled down to feed his fire. The snow will stop. Sarah will raise the alarm. They’ll follow my tracks. Breaking twigs, he slid in the slender lengths and watched as the tips curled and smoked and sprouted orange. It will be all right. He found it, suddenly, very hard to keep his eyes open. He should shuck out of his wet shirt. Wet clothes would kill him. He should patch his parka, line it with duct tape for insulation; he needed to get on that. So much to do to stay alive. He needed to get on top of this right now ... soon ... in a few hours.
If he weren’t so cold or hadn’t lost so much blood, he might have fought sleep, but he was exhausted and, in his small den, almost cozy.
He slept.
#
Snow fell. The night closed down. There were no sounds except the rasp of wind swirling around trees and scurrying over fresh-fallen snow to spin icy dervishes that turned in mad pirouettes. Thin rivulets of icy air leaked through the nooks and crannies of Hank’s shelter and streamed past, pulling a scent of food and dried blood and the man in their wake.
A half-mile distant, something paused in its feeding—and tasted the wind.
About the Author
Ilsa J. Bick is a child psychiatrist, as well as a film scholar, surgeon wannabe, former Air Force major—and an award-winning, best-selling author of dozens of short stories and novels. Her work spans established universes such as Star Trek, Battletech, Battlecorps, Mechwarrior Dark Age, and Shadowrun. Her original novels include such critically acclaimed and award-winning books as The ASHES Trilogy, Drowning Instinct, The Sin-Eater’s Confession, and Draw the Dark. The first novel in her DARK PASSAGES series, White Space, was long-listed for the Stoker, and the concluding volume of the series, The Dickens Mirror, is now out in paperback.
Most recently, Ilsa joined New York Times best-selling author Elle James’s BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS with SOLDIER’S HEART, a four-part series featuring Kate McEvoy, a cybernetically-enhanced Afghan vet. Parts One and Two launched in 2017; Parts Three and Four are forthcoming in 2018.
Ilsa will also be debuting in New York Times best-selling author Susan Stoker’s SPECIAL FORCES: OPERATION ALPHA in 2018.
Currently a cheesehead-in-exile, Ilsa lives in Alabama with the husband and several furry creatures. On occasion, she even feeds them.
Drop by for a visit at www.ilsajbick.com or and check out her Friday’s Cocktails and Sunday’s Cakes and other assorted effluvia on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/ilsa.j.bick and https://www.facebook.com/ilsajbickauthor/ ), Twitter (@ilsajbick), and Instagram (@ilsajbick).
Other Books by Ilsa J. Bick
Coming Soon!
BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS Amazon Kindle World Series:
SOLDIER’S HEART: PART FOUR (October, 2018)
SPECIAL FORCES: OPERATION ALPHA Amazon Kindle World Series:
TBA (November, 2018)
Other Works
JASON SAUNDERS MYSTERIES
The Key
BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS Amazon Kindle World Series
SOLDIER’S HEART: PART ONE
SOLDIER’S HEART: PART TWO
THE ASHES TRILOGY
ASHES
SHADOWS
MONSTERS
THE DARK PASSAGES SERIES
WHITE SPACE
THE DICKENS MIRROR
THE SIN-EATER’S CONFESSION
DROWNING INSTINCT
DRAW THE DARK
Star Trek Novels and Stories
STAR TREK: THE LOST ERA: WELL OF SOULS
STAR TREK STARFLEET CORPS OF ENGINEERS WOUNDS, Part One and Two
GHOST
“A Ribbon for Rosie,” in STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS II
“Shadows, in the Dark,” in STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS IV
“Alice, on the Edge of Night,” in STAR TREK: NEW FRONTIER
“Bottomless,” in STAR TREK: DISTANT SHORES
Mechwarrior Dark Age Novels
BLOOD AVATAR