Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
He's bruised and bloody, with a two-inch gash across the right side of his forehead. Another head injury. And this time, it's one that knocked him unconscious.
I quickly assess him, but he doesn't have any broke bones. No other obvious signs of trauma, either. He needs more aid than I can give him out here, though. I use the flashlight on my phone to check his pupils. They're slower to respond than I'd like. He needs a hospital and doctors. His brain could be swelling or bleeding.
"Please, don't leave me," I plead, gently touching his face. "Please, Atlas. I need you to be okay." I just found him. I haven't even told him that I love him. He said it last night, but I didn't say it back. I was too caught up in the moment. Now, the moment has passed and I'm terrified I'll never get the chance to tell him that he has my whole heart.
No. That's not going to happen. I'm going to get him out of here. No matter what it takes, he's not dying in the woods because I got us lost.
I set to work making a litter of sturdy branches woven together with the clothes from my bag. It's the most pitiful looking thing I've ever seen in my life. But it doesn't have to hold up for long. Just long enough for me to get him inside to safety so I can hike out for help.
We had reception a few miles before the road split. If I can make it back there, I can call out and get help to him. Maybe by now, someone has even found his car, and they're looking for us.
It takes an hour to drag him around to the back of the cabin. I carefully test the tiny back porch, going so far as to jump up and down to make sure it'll hold. It's not nearly as far off the ground as the front porch and it seems sturdy. I wrap my hand in a towel and break the glass out of the door so I can unlock it.
Once it's open, I start the process of hauling him up the steps. Every time he bounces, I cry an apology. I don't know if he can hear me, but I hope he can. I hope he knows I'm trying to save his life.
My legs feel like rubber by the time I get him inside. There's no way I'm going to be able to get him in the bed, so I don't try. I don't relit the fire either. If he does have brain swelling, the only thing I can do for him right now is hope he gets cold enough without the fire while I'm gone to keep it to a minimum.
"I'm coming back for you," I promise, using his facial recognition to unlock his phone to tap out a note to him in case he wakes up. Please, God, let him wake up.
I lay the phone on his chest, press a kiss to his scruffy jaw, and scurry out. By the time my feet hit the ground, I'm running. I race as fast as I can down the overgrown driveway and out onto the narrow trail.
In the light of day, it's easy to see what we couldn't last night. This isn't a road at all, but a logging trail of some sort. One that clearly hasn't been used in a long time.
My lungs and my legs burn as I jog—stumble, really—down the trail, following our footprints from last night. I have to stop a few times to rest, but I make it back to the car in twenty-five minutes.
If anyone has been there, I can't tell. I quickly start it to charge my phone as much as possible while I search for paper and a pen to write a note. I find an old envelope in the glove compartment and a pen in the trunk.
I leave enough detail for anyone who finds the car to understand the urgency of the situation and where to find Atlas. I also leave my phone number and Jordan's number. If they aren't looking for us by now, hopefully they will be soon.
With my note written and my phone charged enough to allow me to call out when I get somewhere with reception, I lock up and head out, running again.
Chapter Eleven
Gabbi
The walk out takes far longer than the drive in. I follow the same path, sticking to the middle of the road to avoid anything in the woods. Branches snap and pop in the woods. Brushes and branches rustle.
I ignore them, chanting to myself that it's just normal forest sounds. I'm not entirely sure I believe it, but it makes me feel better. I spend the walk alternatively crying and praying, terrified that I made the wrong decision leaving him back there alone. Wracked with guilt that he's in this situation because of me.