Cut

Cold

Runner is trembling like a poplar leaf. I don't know what else I can do to help him. He wears my woollen hat on top of his own, and on top of all that is his sleeping bag's hood. Underneath his down sleeping bag, he wears his sweater and mine, his pants, long-johns, and two pairs of socks. He looks like a fat black caterpillar about to explode.

I clean the pot, stash away the burner, and rub my face with snow. The tips of my fingers are white with frostbite and I can't feel much when I try to unzip Runner's sleeping bag. Careful not to hurt him, I slip into his down cocoon, my back snug against his stomach, my sleeping bag spread over the two of us. He wraps an arm around me, tugs his feet in between my ankles, and tries to suck heat from my body. 'Runner?' I whisper.

'Yes?'

'How do you feel?'

'C...cold.'

I take his hand and slip it under my sweater. It feels like a limp fish against my stomach. 'Th...thanks,' he says and presses his wiry frame closer to mine. When hot breath blows through my hair, I know he's running a dangerously high fever.

Desperate, I blink saltwater from my eyes. The village must be close. I'll make it...maybe another day or two.

I know I should sleep to have enough energy to drag him across the snow tomorrow, but I don't dare. I'm afraid to wake up next to a corpse and there's nothing I can do to pump life back into him. The tent gives me a headache. For the lack of trees, I can't pitch it out of reach of the dogs. Not that I'd be able to throw Runner three metres high up in the air...

Exhausted, injured, and lying on the flat ground with only a thin sheet of fabric separating us from thirty hungry beasts, we are as vulnerable as it gets. I reach out and pull Runner's rifle close, flick on the torch, and check the chamber the hundredth time to make sure it's loaded. Then I move the box with the ammo next to me. I click off the light and prick my ears.

There's nothing but silence.

Slowly, Runner's shivering ceases.

———

I wake up to scraping noises. I must have twitched so hard from the shock that Runner wakes up, too. 'Shhh,' he whispers.

A tap tap tap through soft snow — small paws...a brushing against the skin of our tent.

Probably a stupid fox. I exhale and close my eyes.

———

An earthquake wakes me up. My stomach is hot. I'm sweating. After a moment I realise it's not the tent shaking, but Runner's trembling. His feverish hand is pressed against my belly.

'Runner?' I say and wriggle out of his grip. He cracks his eyes open. They are glassy. His cheeks are red, his jaws clenched. My first thought is rabies; Zula talked about it once and it sounded like a fairy tale gone bad.

I unwrap the bandage around Runner's neck and reveal a swollen, scarlet wound. Pus oozes from the suture. Hastily, I pull off the two pullovers he's wearing, undo the bandage covering his collar bone and the shirt-bandage on his chest. All injuries look awful and infected, but the bite-wound on his throat is the worst. I open the tent, scoop up a handful of snow, and place it on the neck wound. His body snaps to attention. He looks up at me for a moment, and slowly shakes his head no.

I slap more snow on him and snarl, 'One day. One day is all I'm asking!'

''kay...' he whispers and I can see he doesn't mean it.

'Fine! I'll drag your dead body then.'

''kay.' His breath rattles.

'Fuck you.' I'm scared shitless.