Until Spring Read Free

grasping motion at the edge of her coat and pulled away from him, but she was so feeble that she only slid down the wall and lay coughing on the floor of the mine.
    He didn't care about her sensibilities or her protests; he only knew that she might die if hypothermia got the better of her. She already showed the signs of this dread reaction to cold. She seemed to have no judgment, no reasoning power, and had little control over her hands. She was barely surviving in a half-conscious stupor, and after collapse, the next stage of hypothermia was death. He was sure that she had no idea of the dangers.
    Despite her weak cries, he stripped the coat from her body. The coat, although old, had once been a good one, and it was made of pure wool. It was soaked clear through, and so were the clothes she wore underneath it: an inappropriately thin cotton shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He stripped those off, too, working methodically and scarcely paying attention to the fact that this was no girl but a full-grown woman.
    He pulled off his own coat and wrapped it around her, covering it with a thin Mylar survival blanket, which took up only a few inches of space in his saddlebag but served admirably to conserve body heat when unrolled and wrapped around a victim. Then he found a couple of heat tablets, lighted them, and melted snow in his tin cup. By the light of one of the candles in his survival kit, he dropped a bouillon cube into the hot water, keeping an eye on the girl all the while. She lay on her back on the rock floor, her chest rising and falling regularly. He was afraid that she might suddenly stop breathing or experience heart failure. Both were possibilities.
    "Do you think you could drink this?" he asked gently as he held the cup to her lips. She managed a few sips, then turned her head away. He understood. She was offended that he had so unceremoniously stripped off her clothes. Didn't she understand that he'd only been acting out of kindness?
    He found a few oily rags in the cubbyholes near the mine entrance, and lacking anything more suitable, fashioned them into a cushion against the rocky floor.
    A particularly strong gust of wind delivered a surge of snow deep into the interior of the mine, and Duncan hurried to the entrance to see if the storm was worsening. Visibility was zero, and he felt sure that the outside temperature had dropped. It would be foolish to try to make it home in this storm. He knew the old mine well enough to know that the temperature inside ranged in the low sixties no matter what the weather outside, but he also knew he'd better repair the door if they were going to be there all night. He dragged it across the opening and wedged it shut with a rotting two-by-four.
    When he returned to the girl, he found that she had rolled over on her side into a fetal position. Despite his coat and the survival blanket, she was still shivering.
    "We have to get you warmer," he said, and he knew she understood his words because she curled herself into an even tighter ball as though to shut him out entirely.
    He started to unwrap the Mylar, but she held it fast. Losing patience, he rolled her over and dragged her out of it. The look she gave him was one of pure resentment. She must be feeling miserable, and yet she cared more about proprieties than saving her own neck. Still, her lips were blue.
    As carefully as he could, he pulled her arms out of the coat, and then, looking at her naked body as briefly as possible, he wrapped his coat around the two of them and rolled them both in the survival blanket. Her body was so tiny that she reminded him of a bird, and he felt her heart beating wildly against his. Shivers wracked her body for a long time, but finally, gradually, they stopped.
    Her head rested against his shoulder; her legs warmed between his. At last she slept.
    Flapjack whinnied, and Duncan spoke to him calmly. The girl didn't wake up. Outside the wind keened and whistled, and after the candle flame