Under the Northern Lights Read online

  Another wolf cried out in pain, but the rest of them weren’t stopping. Fur and teeth crashed into me. I blocked as best I could, but my strength was ebbing, and eventually the snarling, snapping ferocity would overwhelm me . . . especially once the wolf’s help arrived. I yelled, screamed, fought, but in my head, I was again saying goodbye to everyone I’d left behind. God, please . . . not like this.

  The animal was going for my neck—going for the kill. Its teeth were getting so close that I could feel its hot breath on my skin. Jesus. Would I still be alive when it started devouring me? Just the thought made me want to throw up. But if I did, I would die, so I fortified my stomach and kept fighting with everything inside me.

  Somehow, I pushed the beast away long enough to grab my rifle. It wasn’t made for close combat like this, but it was the most effective weapon I had within reach. I loaded the gun again and pulled the trigger in almost one movement. The creature I’d been fighting had been lunging for my throat when the bullet exploded through its chest. It fell in a heap just to my right; then two more beasts took its place.

  Even while I fought for my life, raising my gun like a shield, I felt like sobbing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Then more blasts rang out through the night, and the animals trying to kill me yelped in pain. One fell over and didn’t get back up. The other one limped off as quickly as it could. More shots echoed in the night, and the growls around me subsided into silence.

  My brain couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Had a bear learned to use a gun? Because right now, that was the only thing that made sense. I tried to sit up, to look around, but I didn’t have the energy; I fell back to the ground with a grunt. And that was when a man dropped to his knees at my side.

  “Are you hurt? Did they get you?” The voice was gruff and blunt, with an edge of annoyance.

  I was alone in these woods. Was I hallucinating? Had I died? “Who are you?” I choked out.

  “Are you hurt?” he repeated, definitely annoyed now.

  Slinging his gun over his shoulder, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a flashlight. Flicking it on, he ran it over my body. My vision was hazy like I’d been drinking all day, and the sudden brightness wasn’t helping anything. I tried to focus on his face, but all I was seeing was a frost-covered beard and a pair of startlingly blue eyes. “No,” I whispered.

  The ice-blue eyes narrowed as they locked on mine. “Your pants are torn and bloody, and there is a barely healed cut above your eye. Want to try that again?”

  Annoyed myself now, I shook my head. “The wolves didn’t do that. I was . . . in a plane crash.”

  His expression softened as he looked me over. “Oh . . . I see.” Pursing his lips, he looked around my makeshift campsite with his flashlight. “I can get you to my cabin, but it’s going to take a while, especially if you can’t walk well.” He returned his eyes to me. “We’ll stay here tonight, head out in the morning.”

  Either the pain was catching up to me, or the adrenaline was wearing off and leaving stupor in its place. He had a cabin here? “Who are you?” I asked again, baffled that I was in the middle of nowhere, talking to another human being. Who apparently lived here.

  “Name’s Michael. Michael Bradley.” He stuck his hand out, and I gingerly took it.

  “I’m . . . Mallory Reynolds.”

  He gave me a soft smile, full of compassion. “It’s nice to meet you, Mallory.”

  Our greeting was so oddly normal . . . but none of this was normal. I’d narrowly survived my plane going down; then I’d somehow managed to set up my shelter and make a fire, escaping freezing to death and bleeding to death; and now . . . now I’d barely made it through being something’s dinner. It was too much to take, and the last several minutes tumbled through my mind in an endless, terror-filled loop. I started shaking.

  “I think you . . . I think you just . . . saved my life.”

  I wasn’t alone in the woods. I wasn’t about to be eaten by wolves. I wasn’t going to die. Relief and lingering fear washed over me in waves, overwhelming me. Needing human contact, I reached out for him, drawing him into me. He smelled like pine and campfires and fresh snow. He smelled like life, and it was the best scent in the entire world. I had help now; things would be easier. I started sobbing as that realization struck me. I was going to be okay. “Thank you, thank you . . .”

  He made an awkward-sounding soothing noise as he rubbed my back. “It’s okay. You’re okay—everything is okay,” he murmured, sounding conflicted.

  When I finally calmed down, embarrassment flooded through me. “I’m sorry,” I said, letting go of my fierce grip on him. “I just . . . I thought for sure . . .”

  “It’s all right . . . I understand,” he said slowly. Clearing his throat, he indicated the pile of wood that I hadn’t been able to ignite in time. “Let’s get you warm.”

  Chapter Four

  My savior—Michael—had the fire going in no time. He helped me get up, then helped me move to the other side of the log so I could sit down. My leg hurt worse than ever. I could tell the wound was bleeding again, and now, to make matters worse, my ankle was throbbing. As I hissed in a strained breath, Michael propped my leg up on a rock. Removing my boot, he checked my ankle. I whimpered when he touched the tender spot.

  Looking up at me, he frowned. “It’s pretty swollen. I think you sprained it. Ideally, you should stay off it for a few days.”

  A small laugh escaped me. Right. Like that was possible out here. Michael seemed to understand my reaction, and he gave me a sympathetic smile. “Can I check that?” he asked, pointing at my bloodstained pants.

  I gave him a weak nod. “During the wreck, a branch . . . stuck in me. The cut is pretty deep. It was sort of healed, but I think it reopened when I fell.”

  Michael undid the straps, then flipped on his flashlight again. The gauze pad was soaked through, and when he gently pulled it off, I could see that I was right: it was flowing pretty well again. My stomach rose at seeing it, and my vision swam. Michael’s flashlight shifted to my face. “Hey, hang in there. It’s going to be okay. I can fix this.”

  I wasn’t sure how he was going to do that in the middle of nowhere, but his assurance was comforting. Slipping a pack off his back, he started rummaging through it. Moments later he had the one thing I hadn’t brought with me—needle and thread. I started hyperventilating as I looked at it. “No, no . . . just slap a bandage on it. It will close.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “It will close faster this way.” I begged him with my eyes, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I need to do this. And I know how much it hurts.” He patted his side. “I’ve done it to myself.”

  Panic made me shake my head. “It’s not sanitary. I’ll get infected.”

  He grabbed a small pot hanging off his pack, then filled it with snow. Putting the needle on the snow, he put the pot in the fire. “It will be sterile enough soon,” he said.

  My heart sank as I watched the snow begin to melt. “Okay,” I whispered. “I have some rubber gloves in my first aid kit.” I indicated my tent with my head, and Michael swung his eyes in that direction.

  Nodding, he returned the gauze pad and had me hold it in place while he went to retrieve the rest of what he needed to fix me. When he returned with my kit, he pulled out the scissors and cut my pants open even wider. I couldn’t believe I was about to have surgery in the middle of the woods. This wasn’t something I’d ever pictured happening out here. Maybe I should have.

  After the water had boiled for a while, Michael poured it out, put on the gloves, and retrieved the needle. Handing me the flashlight, he said, “I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I need light, so . . . hold it steady.”

  Somehow, I nodded at him. Oh God . . . I couldn’t do this. Just a few moments later, the needle was sliding through my skin, and I was doing it. My hand shook, and I had to bite my cheek to stop from crying out. The pain came in waves, retreating and exploding over and over. My stomach ros
e into my throat, threatening to spill out again. I swallowed it back as I felt warm tears slip down my cheeks, and I prayed over and over for the pain to be gone soon.

  Michael murmured encouragement the entire time he worked on me, and the sound was oddly soothing. Once he was finished, sitting back on his heels to examine his work, I blew out a staggering breath. “Oh my God . . . I don’t ever . . . want to do that again.”

  “Hopefully you won’t have to,” Michael said, smiling as he covered the stitches with ointment, then put a fresh gauze pad over it. He loosely replaced the straps, then looked up at my face. “Anywhere else hurt?” He brought the flashlight up to the cut above my eye.

  I immediately help up my hand. “It’s fine. No more stitches.”

  His smiled widened. “I think a bandage will do.” He tended that wound with a simple butterfly bandage, then looked me over again. “Anything else? I wouldn’t want to waste these,” he said, lifting his gloves.

  I shook my head. “Just my ribs, but I don’t have anything for that in my pack.”

  He frowned. “I don’t either . . . but I’ve got plenty of wrap at my cabin. That will help.” I nodded, relieved that the painful inspection was over for now. “Rest up,” Michael said, pulling off the gloves. “I’ll take care of the bodies.”

  I was so distracted by the fact that he had a cabin out here that I wasn’t sure what he meant by bodies. Seeing my confusion, he pointed at the wolves that we’d been forced to kill. I instantly felt bad that we’d had to take the lives of such beautiful creatures, but we really hadn’t had a choice; it had truly been life or death.

  While Michael disposed of the wolves, I scooted as close to the fire as I could. There was a deep frown on his face when he returned to the fire and sat a little way from me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. And who the hell are you? What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? How did you manage to save me, right in the nick of time? How did you know exactly how to patch me up? Politeness stopped me from bombarding him with those questions, but they were at the forefront of my mind. Feeling like I was right smack in the middle of a miracle, I fingered my necklace.

  His thick, frozen beard began to melt as he sat within range of the heat, and fat drops trickled down the strands to land on his heavy jacket. “I’d normally skin the wolves, take the meat and the pelts. I hate being wasteful, but just getting you back to my cabin is going to be a challenge. I hadn’t expected to find . . . survivors.” His frown deepened after he said that, and he looked guilty, like he’d done something wrong.

  “You knew about the plane?” I asked, wondering why he looked that way. What could he have done about a plane crashing?

  Nodding, he started pulling apart a thin twig. “I wasn’t entirely sure it was a plane, but I heard the crash, saw the smoke, and made an assumption. It was either a plane or a UFO. Either way, I thought I might find some supplies I could use,” he added with a shrug.

  A small laugh escaped me at his UFO comment, but it instantly faded. “It was my plane . . . the engine stalled on me. Couldn’t get it restarted.”

  “Oh,” he said quietly. “That must have been terrifying.” His eyes drifted up to the sky to where the stars were so bright they were like LEDs stuck in the darkness. I studied him while he was distracted with his inner thoughts. Dressed for warmth, his head was covered by a hearty hat with Sherpa earmuffs that hung down off the sides. Even though I couldn’t see it, I had to assume his hair was the same dark color as his beard. He was a little shaggy and unkempt, but even still, he was quite attractive. If I had to guess his age, I’d say he was in his mid- to late thirties, too young to be living in seclusion. What was he doing out here?

  “Yeah, it was . . . all of this has been,” I answered. His gaze drifted back to mine; his eyes were laced with pain. Why did he look that way? Not comfortable enough to ask him that, I instead asked, “How far is your cabin?” No matter how far it was, with how battered my body felt, it would be too far for me to walk there. Unless he wanted to carry me. Not that I’d let him.

  Sticking the twig into his mouth, he looked off to my right and pointed. “It’s about a day’s walk from here.” Looking back at me, his eyes shifted to my leg. “I set off this morning, stopping once to eat. I was moving pretty briskly, though. Getting you back there is going to take longer than that.”

  “Yeah . . . ,” I said, glancing down at my leg.

  Michael was studying me when I looked back at him. “We’ll make it there, Mallory. The hard part is over with.”

  His words settled inside me, as warm as the fire, and I truly believed he was right. While I was sure it wouldn’t be smooth sailing from here on out, the worst of the storm had passed us by.

  Michael had his own one-person tent, so we weren’t going to have to share my ridiculously small space. He set his up next to mine, the drab olive green a stark contrast to the brilliant-white ground. Settling into our makeshift beds, we attempted to get some sleep. The events of today kept running through my mind, making relaxing difficult. I loved animals, did everything in my power to show people how beautiful and fascinating they were, and today, I’d almost been killed by one. I knew it wasn’t the wolves’ fault—instinct was instinct—but I couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. That unreasonable emotion would pass with time, though, I was sure.

  I heard Michael beside me start to snore, and I momentarily cursed the ease with which he’d shut off the day. Of course, his hadn’t been quite as traumatic as mine. Putting a hand on my necklace, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for the image of yellow teeth and frosty breath to be eradicated from my memory. You made it. Let it go . . . let it go.

  The sound of a zipper opening woke me up. I felt like I’d just fallen asleep, but by the grayness in my tent, I could tell the sun was beginning to rise. Gingerly, I started sitting up. Everything was even more sore than yesterday; I’d really been hoping that I’d already climbed that crest so I could begin a speedy downhill trek to recovery. No such luck.

  My ankle hurt so badly I had to bite my lip to stop from crying out. A groan escaped me anyway.

  “Mallory? You all right?” Michael’s voice was just outside my tent; he sounded genuinely concerned.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” It was more of a stretch than an outright lie, but admitting I was in bad shape wouldn’t help either of us.

  Several minutes later, when I could hear the snapping crackle of a hungry fire, I unzipped my tent. The shocking cold once again slapped me in the face, but the true challenge was trying to get out of the microscopic tent. Michael was frowning as he watched me emerge from my cocoon into the frigid outdoors, and I could almost see his mental gears turning, trying to solve the problem of my limited mobility. As I hobbled to get my crutch, he finally said, “I’m going to check out the plane, see if there isn’t anything that can be salvaged. You should rest. Relax in front of the fire. It’s going to be a long day.”

  I couldn’t help but agree with that—just going to the bathroom was a challenge—so I shuffled to my sitting log after he took off in the direction of my mangled plane. From my vantage point, I could see the wreckage, and curious, I watched Michael pick his way through it. He pulled out sheets of metal, parts from the dash, a cushion from a seat. He seemed most interested in the engine area, though. I had no idea why. Scraps from the engine weren’t going to help us get back to his cabin any faster.

  After an eternity of watching him, my eyes started to feel heavy, and I let them close without a fight; I was already exhausted, and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I could hear Michael hacking away at something, but I was too tired to open my eyes and see what he was working on. What felt like seconds later, he was tapping me on the shoulder. Startled awake, I looked up at him.

  “We should go,” he said, his eyes scanning the forest. “We need to cover as much ground as we can while the sun is out.”

  I nodded, then started to stand. Michael helped, putting a hand under my arm to steady m
e. I’d need to pack up my tent and shove everything into my survival bag before we could go. Hopefully that wouldn’t take too long. Sunlight was a precious commodity here. But as I looked over to where I’d left everything set up, I could see that Michael had already packed everything, even his stuff. How long had I been out?

  “Thank you,” I murmured, indicating my pack.

  Scratching his beard, Michael nodded. “You looked like you were dozing pretty good. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

  Since I hadn’t slept well the night before, I was grateful for the nap. “Did you find anything useful from my plane?”

  He sighed like he was disappointed. “Not what I was hoping for . . . but I found something that might help our current situation.”

  He pointed over at something, and my eyes shifted to follow. I had no idea what he’d been hoping to find, but when I saw what he’d indicated, a burst of awe and surprise went through me. He’d crafted a travois out of wood, twine, and metal from the plane—I wouldn’t have to wobble in pain all the way to his cabin. He was quite resourceful. I supposed he had to be, living alone in the wilderness.

  Even more grateful now, I hopped over to the sled. “I feel bad that you have to drag this all the way home.”

  His expression completely serious, he said, “It’s self-preservation, really. The faster I can get you back to the cabin, the safer we’ll both be. You’re kind of a mess, and wolves aren’t the only thing in this forest.”