The Dead of Winter (Seasons of Jefferson: Book 2) (2 page)

Mind over matter. Move it!
Convincing myself to push through the pain, I begin to search for another way up. Hobbling to the backside of the formation, I find a new foothold in a crevice where I begin to climb once again. When I finally reach the top of the towering rock, I carefully pull myself up and find my balance. Beneath me, the river rages, spitting white foam up the sides of my icy perch. The truck is nowhere in sight. I decide to scan upstream, where my view had previously been blocked by the thick brush. The wild water gushes downstream, rushing below the boulder.
One slip and I’m as good as gone
. Tracing the path of the water as it pushes away from the base of the formation, I watch as it flows toward the bend.

Just yards downstream, something peculiar catches my eye. An oddly shaped rock rests partially submerged in the rushing water. There’s something different about this rock. It’s a dark shade of brown and navy blue. Yellow moss flows from the top. I pause, fixing my sight on the interesting hue.
Where have I seen that flowing shade of color before? Wait a second
.
Yellow moss?
Climbing back toward the river, I work to get a closer look.
My God, it’s moving!
When I lie down on my belly to zero in on the object, the moving figure before me becomes quite clear. That’s when I realize, it’s not moss at all.
It’s Peyton’s hair!

I roll over onto my bottom and begin descending rapidly toward the river. Thankfully, the smooth face of the boulder works as a much needed slide. Rolling over onto my belly, I release my hold, and slip down on my stomach until my feet find a flat protrusion. Closer to the water now, only a couple yards separate me from the icy water. Glaring over my shoulder into the rushing current, I pause momentarily, planning my strategy.
I’ve got one shot at this. I need to get to her fast, and I need to hit that water at the right angle.

For a brief moment,
I study the direction of the current before deciding to take the plunge. “I’m coming, Peyton!” My voice is barely audible, small, and winded from exhaustion. Launching myself off the rock, I leap toward my target. Within seconds the freezing, cold water wraps itself around me, punching me in the stomach and seizing my entire body. When I break the surface, my frozen lungs gasp for air. It’s nearly impossible to fight the painful urge to curl up in a ball. But I’ve made the choice to fight for her, and with everything in me, I kick and claw toward my friend. She seems so far away. Too far. In my moment of panic, it becomes clear that if I can’t pull myself toward the middle of the river, I’m going to miss her altogether. Strengthening my kick, I reach toward the brown jacket that has just come into view.

Just about a yard away, my feet give one good dolphin kick, propelling me beneath the surface. As I thrust forward, my entire focus is on the oversized, thermal jacket. A sense of hope washes over me when my hand wraps itself around the thick, drenched fabric. Peyton clings to the rock as I desperately grasp onto her anchored body. The water has chosen to put up a fierce battle. Another wave crashes down on top of my head, trying to sweep me away from Peyton. My legs pull away from my body, trying to escape downstream. The force is strong, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give up without a fight.

Desperately, I continue to cling to my stationary friend, alternating hands each time my grip fails me. My hands are so cold now, that it’s only a matter of seconds before they lose their hold completely. “Peyton, I need you to let go. We have to get to the shore.” Her head bobbles slightly back and forth as she continues to cling to the rock. With panic setting in, the desperation in my voice increases, “Peyton, we’ll die in this water! It’s too cold! You’ve got to let go! Now!” There’s a sudden shift beneath me. Unexpectedly, I find myself submerged, carrying the weight of the two of us down river. Holding her head above water, I kick wildly, until my face breaks the surface.

Finally able to take in a much needed breath, I’m able to speak again. “We’re going to let the wwwater take us. Just head toward the shore. Can you pppull your arms for me?” I feel the slight shake of her head as Peyton’s arms begin to move. “Cccup your hands, okay?” She shakes her head
no
and slightly raises her left hand out of the water. Peeking over her shoulder, I spot an open pocket knife. She’s gripping it tightly and won’t let it go. “Drop it! We need both of your hands!” She shakes her head
no
again.

“Ssssaved mmmy llllife.” I can barely understand Peyton’s faint voice. “It’s Cccaden’s. Cccut the bbbelt.”

Realization hits me.
Holy Crap. She cut herself out of the truck with Caden’s knife?
This is no time for sentiment, but I’ve got to get her to work with me and there’s no way she’s letting go of that knife. “Okay, give it to me. I’ll hold it. We’ve got to stay up, and to do that, I need you to use your hands.” Slowly Peyton releases the knife into my hand and she begins to pull water. “Tttoward the bank, Pppey. That’s right. Don’t fffight the current. Let it work for us.”

This part of the river is narrow. “We’re not far now.” I continue talking her through the motions, not knowing if I’m trying to convince her or myself that we’re going to make it. Peyton gives a couple more good pulls before her arms come to a rest. She calms as we begin to move closer to the bank. She’s not fighting me at all, and it doesn’t take long before I feel the rocky bottom beneath my feet.

“Okkkay, Pppeyton, you can ssstep dddown nnnow.” I stutter in her ear. There’s no response. “Hhhelp me out, gggirl. Ssstep dddown,” I shiver. There is still no movement. She’s heavy. So heavy it feels as though I’m pulling dead weight. Trying not to cut her with the knife, I pull and tug. The task grows more difficult as we near the shore. Not strong enough to pull her all the way out, I collapse in the shallow water, holding Peyton’s head above the surface. She’s not helping and my strength is all but gone. Cradling her helplessly, I begin to shake and cry. “Pppeyton, ppplease, wwwake up. I cccan’t do this alllone. I’m not ssstrong enough.”

Despite my loud, gasping breaths and the strong clapping of my clattering teeth,
I hear water begin to splash wildly around me.
Suddenly, Peyton’s weight becomes lighter. Tipping my head back, I see Mason behind me. I watch as he lifts Peyton from my arms and drags her to the bank. He’s leaning over her, with his ear to her mouth. “Kaitlyn, get over here. Was she breathing when you found her?”

“Ssshe just hhhelped me get her to the ssside,” I cry.

Mason moves his hand from her wrist to her neck, shaking his head, “I’m not finding her pulse.”

Panic overwhelms me. Closing the knife and stuffing it in my pocket, I stumble to Peyton. Mason moves to the side allowing me to check for breathing. It’s hard to hear through my wheezing. I try to hold my breath long enough to listen for hers. There’s nothing there. I don’t hear it, and I don’t feel it. I tilt her head back, and check her airway. It seems to be clear. Gasping for air, I begin CPR. “One, two, three, four, five …” I whisper each compression, hoping to save enough oxygen to give her when the time comes. Shaking and shivering wildly, I desperately continue to perform the lifesaving operation. The cycle repeats until I can barely move. I have nothing left. I’m frozen. Depleted. Hypothermic.

Watching my struggle, Mason steps in. “I’ll do the breathing, Kait. I’ve never done this before, but I’ll try.”

I nod in relief and slide down to her chest, giving Mason room to take over the breathing. We continue to work, hoping against hope that we can re-start Peyton’s heart. When doubt begins to invade my mind, the tears come faster.
This isn’t working.
With every compression, I send up a prayer, begging for help. My arms have turned to noodles, and I struggle to deliver solid compressions. We’ve been going at it for an impossible amount of time. Even if we can get her back, I know in my heart, it’s been too long.

I’m shaking and ready to quit, when I hear a low rumbling sound off in the distance.
Give it another minute,
I convince myself when I’ve all but given up. Mid-compression, I wince, when a thunderous roar blasts overhead. As Mason breathes for me, I look up to see a helicopter descending upstream. I’m tempted to just give up and run to catch it, but I can’t do that to Peyton. She’s one of my best friends, and she means everything to my twin brother. I don’t know if he’s going to make it through this, but if he does and she doesn’t, he’ll never be the same. His world would fall apart without her. Mason and I continue to work on Peyton. Shaking wildly from fatigue, tears continue to stream down my face.

I don’t know how long we labor. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. But we don’t stop; not until we’re nearly blown off the ground by the force of the landing helicopter. The door of the Forest Service chopper flies open and two firemen with bags and blankets jump out and run toward us. They are followed by Marissa.
Thank you, God, for letting her find help!
At their approach, I collapse in exhaustion, wailing at their feet.

CADEN

MY BREATHING IS HEAVY. SWEAT
pools beneath my overheated body and trickles down my forehead, finding its way beyond my small tragus bump and into the opening of my ear. My eyes flutter beneath my lids, trying to escape the vision that unfolds before me. There is no relief from this haunting scene. My eyelids seem to be glued shut. Trapped, I kick at the heaviness weighing me down. The water won’t stop roaring around me. Screams. Water. Rolling. Twirling. Crunching. Flying. Dizziness invades my senses.

Wake up, Caden. Wake up
. I know I’m stuck in that place halfway between sleep and awake, but I need to convince myself to wake up and make it stop. The same haunting nightmare has been on a continuous loop for days. I kick my feet wildly, finally freeing myself from the suffocating mountain of covers. Finally free to move, I shift my weight so I can roll to the edge of the bed. The shock of the searing pain in my arm instantly pops my heavy, swollen lids wide open, reminding me of why I’m here, lying in a hospital bed. The light shining through the window pierces my sensitive eyes, blinding me momentarily. Looking away from the glare, I try to blink away the fresh black spot burning a hole in my vision.

As it begins to vanish and my vision clears, I notice I’m still here. Room 78B. I hear the rhythmic tick of the clock, mixed with the beeping and clicking of the machines behind me. Looking around the room, I find that I’ve been left alone. It’s still early. Otherwise, my parents would be right next to me, asking more questions and trying to get me to talk. I read the clock on the wall. It’s 6:30 a.m. My parents must still be home getting ready for another day of
Operation Hide Crap from Caden.
Focusing on the chart that hangs beyond the foot of my bed, I can just make out a few of the details. Caden Woodley. Dislocated Elbow. Liver Lacerations. Severe Hypothermia. The words are followed by a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo that I don’t understand. And then I zone in on the date. It’s December first.

It’s been three days since the firemen found us and flew us into Jefferson Medical Center, and I still don’t know anything about Peyton and her condition. The only question they’ve answered is how we were rescued. I guess the worst fire season on record was a blessing after all. Apparently, there were firemen doing a routine check on the fire damage in the Russians and Marbles. They spotted Marissa running down the snowy highway, frantically waving for help. She led them to the scene of the accident. If it wasn’t for our new friend and the first aid skills of the firemen, I would’ve probably bled out, and the rest of us would’ve died from hypothermia.

Aside from the vague details of our rescue, Mom and Dad don’t have any other answers they are willing to give me. Kaitlyn, Jenna, and Mason won’t talk to me about anything related to the accident. Even my best friend Brody hasn’t opened up. Nobody who was there with me will tell me anything.
Why won’t they tell me the truth about what’s going on with Peyton? How is she doing? How serious are her injuries? Is she going to make it? What are they keeping from me?

The only comfort I have right now is knowing that she came in alive. She was lying beside me when I woke up in the helicopter. When my fingers curled around her icy hand, I swear I felt a tiny squeeze.
There’s no way that was just a reflex.
We landed right afterward. They didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye. They rolled her off as soon as the door opened, and I haven’t been allowed to see her or hear from her since. No updates. No communication. Nothing.
What are they hiding from me?
I know one thing. I’d better start getting some answers soon, or I’m going to break out of here. I don’t care if they tie me down. I’ll gnaw through the damn straps with my teeth. I will get out of this place and find my girl.

My arm is killing me from my injury. The pain temporarily shifts my mind away from scheming on how to get to Peyton, and slams it back into my throbbing body. I want to hit the call button to get that sweet nurse, Sarah, in here for some medicine, but I can’t lift my arm. Thankfully she’s good at her job. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll be stopping by any minute.