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THERE. THANK GOD.
Buried beneath several cans of spam and layers of debris was the radio. Kennedy couldn’t believe it was still intact. By the time she pried it out of the wreckage, the tops of both her hands were bleeding. She wasn’t sure if that was from splinters in the wood or if her skin was just cracking away from the cold.
It didn’t matter. They had their radio, their lifeline to rescue.
After finding their coats, she gave a little half-hearted hunt for spare batteries but soon gave up. Her hands hurt so much she realized she couldn’t hold anything else in them anyway.
A bag. That’s what she needed. Or some kind of blanket to use as a knapsack she could sling over her shoulder.
How cold was it out here? Negative what? And how long could she survive in this kind of temperature?
No, she couldn’t be that pessimistic. She just had to keep moving. Keep moving and make it back to the little shed before her nose turned black and her fingers got frostbite. What if she needed her toes amputated?
Leave it to her overactive imagination to induce a major panic.
She wouldn’t think this way. Her anxiety was behind her now. It was ...
She dropped to her knees at the sound of the first roar. She heard it before she felt any movement beneath her. Not again ...
It’s just an aftershock, she told herself. Just an aftershock ...
She glanced up, hoping that if any trees decided to land here she’d be quick enough to move out of the way. Her limbs were rigid, nearly stiff with cold. She didn’t try to stand up or run when the earth began to shake. She would have to ride it out.
Just an aftershock ...
There. It was over. That wasn’t so bad. A person could get used to just about anything. Kennedy would get used to this too if she had to. But of course, this was only temporary. Just for the night. Maybe not even that long. Now that she had the radio, help was guaranteed.
Ok. She had her coat on. Before long, it’d start warming her up instead of stealing her body heat. She had the radio and some food. There was no way to carry everything, not with her hands balled up in her sleeves like they were. She shoved a few of the smaller cans into her pockets and figured she could come back for more if she really needed to.
Which she wouldn’t because first thing in the morning — or sooner — they were getting rescued.
As much as she loved her roommate, she vowed to never visit Alaska again.
She was mustering the energy to start the cold journey back to Willow and Brandy when the second aftershock hit. This one was more intense. The ground didn’t roll like it had in the initial quake, but it shook violently, like a dog thrashing its head from side to side while annihilating a chew toy.
The radio fell out of Kennedy’s hands into a pile of rubble. She fell to her knees, praying it hadn’t broken. The light caught on something. She screamed when she realized she was inches from Buster’s fat, blotchy face. She scrambled back as the aftershock died down. Catching her breath, she kept her distance but shined the light toward him, looking for any signs of breath or life.
Nothing.
She wouldn’t think about it. If she stopped to let reality sink in, she’d be too scared, too frozen to make it back to Willow and Brandy, who needed her. Brandy most of all. What had that poor thing lived through? And she was pregnant now. Kennedy didn’t know much about childbirth, but she certainly could tell the difference between a baby bump and a swollen abdomen the size of a beach ball.
She had to get up. Had to forget about what she was leaving behind and return to Brandy with the food and the radio.
One step at a time. That’s how she would get back. One faulty, unsteady step thanks to the uneven ground and Willow’s ridiculous heel. She just had to ignore the fact that her feet were as cold as Buster’s body beneath the rubble. Forget about the trauma she’d already endured. Survival meant pressing onward. There was no other way.
She just had to keep moving.
Couldn’t stop ...
Why did it feel like the walk back to the cabin was taking so much longer? It’s not like the radio was that heavy. The skin on the tops of her hands stung with cold and pain, but she wasn’t so much of a wimp that a few cuts and scratches could slow her down.
Why was she so sluggish?
She wanted to rest, but knew she had to go on. It was too hard to hold Willow’s cell phone while stumbling without exposing her hands to further cold, so she was relying on the light of the moon and nothing else. Maybe that’s why it felt even creepier now.
Spookier.
Like the calm before a storm.
The only problem was Kennedy didn’t know what disaster she was waiting for. Another aftershock? As long as they weren’t any worse than the previous two, she’d be fine. They were terrifying reminders of the trauma of that first quake, but nothing that would put her in serious physical danger.
So why was she so nervous? Because she’d been attacked earlier? Because of what might have happened if she and Willow hadn’t escaped those two drunk men? If that tree hadn’t toppled down on Roger’s cabin and freed them?
Wait a minute. That was it. Kennedy stopped.
Looked behind her.
Strained her ears in the nighttime silence.
She’d dug thoroughly around the wreckage hunting for that radio. She’d found Buster’s body, but that was all.
So where was Roger?