They had covered barely a kilometer when the storm's leading edge overtook their position. Though Kes had no trouble keeping up with Paris, she did not refuse the hand he reached back to her, was grateful for the firm clasp of his fingers around hers, pulling her forward, though she needed no encouragement to move faster. The wind driven rain lashed her bare arms like the needle spray of a cold shower, and despite the fact that they were running as fast as the undergrowth would permit, she felt the cold penetrating her clothing. A misty fog rose around them as the icy water struck the humid forest floor, but the fog soon gave way to torrents of rainfall that soaked her to the skin, trickling down her face and into her eyes, so she could barely see.
When they were still more than a kilometer from the shuttle landing site, the rain turned, with perverse suddenness, to a mixture of sleet and freezing rain, a rude and frightening contrast to the warmth that had encircled them just an hour before. She barely remembered passing the isolated glade where they had stopped to rest earlier in the day, or the woodland they had explored before that. With head down, she followed Paris blindly, trusting his sense of direction, knowing he would get them to the shuttle in time. So intent was she on keeping pace with him that she slammed into his back when he stopped abruptly.
Stepping to his side, she squinted into the icy torrent. They had reached the landing area. She recognized the trees and rocks she had so carefully used to memorize the position several hours ago. She felt Paris' arm around her shoulder drawing her closer, and she tried not to shiver as she realized they were too late. The shuttle was gone, and there was no sign it had ever been there.
"They left," she said through chattering teeth, then felt foolish for stating the painfully obvious. "The storm isn't that bad. They could have waited." Looking up she wasn't sure what she hoped Paris would say, but she was startled by the grimness of his expression.
When he returned her look, his face quickly softened, but his voice contained an unusual urgency. "I did tell Melchor to leave," he said simply. "I guess he was following orders."
"We were here in less than fifteen minutes. He could have waited. You would have waited for him."
"That doesn't matter." Paris pulled out the tricorder he had kept when they started running. "What matters is that we find shelter from this storm. A cave, or heavy growth of large trees or the bank of a stream."
"The rocks. Where we spotted the storm. Maybe there's a cave or crevasse in them." Kes had begun to shiver uncontrollably, her limbs shaking so violently she could barely stand. She was glad Paris had kept the tricorder. She doubted she could have held on to it.
Paris nodded. "We'll have to try. Are you up to another run."
Kes nodded, no longer able to control the quivering of her muscles or stop her chattering teeth long enough to answer. She was losing body heat rapidly. They had to find shelter soon.
She said nothing, but took Paris' proffered hand and allowed him to lead her back into the once friendly woods that in a brief breath of time had become a nightmare of wind and ice and bone numbing cold.
****
Paris paused to take yet another tricorder reading. Ahead lay at area dotted with rocky outcroppings, large enough, he hoped to provide shelter. Yes, his heart lifted with a slight glimmer of hope. That was it. Approximately half a kilometer to the north. It read like a small cave. He hoped it was.
He felt Kes sagging against him. Her fragile weight a frightening burden. He held her up with his free arm, suddenly aware that she was no longer shivering. Looking down, he expected to see her look back, but her eyes had closed, her lips were a deathly blue. Ice clung to the matted strands of her hair, to her clothing, and to the shriveled remains of a red flower still tangled behind her ear. His own hands had gone numb from exposure to the cold wetness of the storm. Lowering the Ocampa to the ground, he fumbled with the tricorder, switching to bioscan and passing the instrument over Kes' still form. Her core body temperature had dropped an alarming eight degrees since the storm erupted over them barely half an hour before. Paris knew now it was a race against time. He hoped there truly was a cave ahead, because without shelter, Kes would not survive.
****
Paris struggled up the slight incline, Kes's delicate weight a noticeable burden as his feet and hands grew numb with cold and maintaining his footing on the icy rocks became increasingly difficult. The cave he had detected was a few hundred feet higher on the slope. Wind driven sleet lashed his unprotected face, stung his eyes, and crunched as it built up underfoot.
If he didn't find the cave soon, he would have to take another tricorder reading. That would mean laying Kes down on the freezing ground, increasing her chances of succumbing to the hypothermia that had already robbed her of consciousness. But if he didn't find shelter soon that wouldn't matter, because he did not think she would survive the elements much longer. He cursed silently, damning his own lack of knowledge. How did Ocampa physiology cope with low temperatures. Accustomed to a rigidly controlled, temperate climate of the underground shelter the Caretaker had provided, they were slight of build, without the mass needed to tolerate excesses of cold. He knew how a human reacted, but what of Kes? She seemed so frail. She might already have suffered irreparable damage.
Lifting his head against the cutting ice, he squinted into the gloom. The world, that had been sunshine, warmth and blue sky mere hours ago, had become a demon made of gray sky, rain pelting and lifeless rock. But he thought he saw a darker blotch in the grayness, perhaps it was the mouth of the cave. Shifting his burden, he tried to increase his pace, took two steps forward, then found himself sliding downward, struggling to maintain his balance. He came to a jarring halt as his knee struck a protruding rock. Cursing silently, he rose gingerly to his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in his knee as he ignored the lack of sensation in his feet. Dragging himself forward, he inched up the slope toward the beckoning shadow. It had to be a cave, he repeated to himself. Had to be.
It was a cave of sorts, a depression in the rock barely six feet deep, and just high enough for him to stand in if he stooped, but it was shelter from the driving ice if the wind did not change direction. He lay Kes on the cold stone floor, alarmed by the bluish tint to her lips. He had to get her dry and warm and he had to do it fast. Glancing around the cave, he found the floor covered with a litter of twigs and dry leaves. Fire starter, he thought, fighting to keep his own chaotic thoughts in order. He just needed something else to keep it going once he got it started.
Taking a deep breath, he dashed out into the freezing rain one more
time. Raking gusts of wind pounded the ice against him with increasing
fury. He had seen a tree below. If he could find a few broken limbs dry
enough to ignite with the tinder on the cave floor, he might be able to
build a small fire. Crashing blindly down the slope he had just struggled
up, he worked with frantic speed, collecting as many pieces of wood as
he would carry. Urgency pushed him forward. He knew Kes would not survive
much longer. Dragging himself back up the rocky hill, he deposited his
armload inside the cave mouth, quickly checked Kes' pulse, then dashed
back out in search of anything he could use to block the mouth of the cave
and preserve their limited heat.
Most of the vegetation had been pounded flat and coated with ice, but
he was able to drag an second armload of the tall, distinctive grasses
that marked the lower slopes back to the cave. Encrusted with ice, the
weight might be enough to withstand the wind. He fell twice, unable to
keep his footing on the treacherous slope, striking his knee again the
second time he fell. He ignored the throbbing as he fought the final few
yards to the cave.
Dropping to his knees inside, he crawled to Kes' side. The Ocampa was till unconscious, her clothing soaked, her skin clammy. His own hands were stiff with cold.
"I've got to get you warm and dry," he said to his unresponsive companion.
Unfastening the front of his own uniform, he stripped off his gray turtleneck. It was still fairly dry, having been protected by the tough, slightly waterproof, material of his uniform jumpsuit. He shivered as the chill air struck his skin, and quickly pulled his jumpsuit back over his shoulders. It felt clammy against his bare skin.
"Neelix will kill me if he ever finds out about this," Paris muttered again, half to himself. With fumbling fingers, he began to unfasten Kes' tunic peeling the soaked garment off, along with the layers underneath. It was like undressing a rag doll, a rag doll that was wet to the skin. He rubbed her briskly with his dry shirt, stimulating the circulation in her limbs. Then he slipped the turtle neck over her head and arms, breathing a more relaxed breath once she was clothed in something dry again. Clothed, but not out of danger. "Yeah," he said aloud, "Neelix may kill me if he finds out I stripped his lady, but he'd definitely kill me if I let her die."
Working frantically, Paris scraped together a pile of dry leaves and tinder, placed a few smaller sticks on top, then the heavier wood. This has got to work, he thought. One thing he did remember from his father's survival course was how to start a fire. He remembered starting several, usually by unorthodox means, more to aggravate his father, than to please him, and to show him some things could be done better if you ignored the proper procedures. Now, he just needed a spark, and the circuitry in his tricorder would provide it. Within a few minutes, he had a small fire kindled, sputtering, and struggling for life, but a fire. When he was sure the fire would continue to burn, he turned once again to the cave mouth, pulling the grasses across the opening, cutting as much of the cold air and wind as he could.
Then he gently lay Kes as close to the fire as he dared. Her skin was still far too cold, her face white and frighteningly still. He quickly checked the chronograph on Kes' tricorder. Almost two hours had elapsed since the storm struck. They had been in the cave approximately thirty minutes. It seemed an eternity. He was exhausted, his knee ached where it had struck the icy rocks, his hands and feet had begun to warm and now tingled with returning life. Lowering himself to the ground, he lay between Kes and the cave opening giving in to the trembling of his own body as it fought against the cold. On her other side was the fire, its feeble warmth barely penetrating the cold. Paris' breath hung like a frozen cloud each time he exhaled. Wrapping his arms around the Ocampa, he drew her close, cradling her into his body, to shelter her from the wind and lend some of his body heat to her. She had to live.
Resting his cheek against the tousled top of her blonde head he whispered into her hair, willing her to respond. "Come on Kes, pull through. You have too."
****