Chapter Eight: Sometimes They Win

The rumble from the thunder was low and deep, and Sara felt it in the ground. Leaning back down, she lifted each of Greg's eyelids and noted his pupils were dilated. They barely constricted when exposed to the light of the morning. He was definitely concussed, at the very least. She stroked his cheek while thinking. If medical attention wasn't an option at this time, what was the next best thing?

Then she recalled the walkie-talkie, and how Jerker should have an accompanying device. They were probably out of range of each other, but she had to try to send out an S.O.S. anyway. She grabbed it from the backpack and switched it on. The first channel it displayed was 17, and she hoped it was the right one because she didn't anyone mentioning a specific channel.

She held down the button that was supposed to alert the other devices. There was no response, and she tried a few more times before lifting it to her mouth. She wished she knew Norwegian, but the best she could do was ask for help and hope that someone in range could understand English. A large percentage of the Norwegian population had at least a rudimentary understanding of the language. In case they didn't, she recited their own names as well as Jerker's name, and repeated the message several times into several channels before letting up on the button and setting the device back in the bag. The volume was all the way up and she could now focus elsewhere while waiting to find out if someone out there heard her.

Sara turned back to Greg and spoke gently, encouraging him to awaken. More shadows filled the forest, and she looked up to find lumpy, charcoal-colored clouds had gathered and obscured the once blue sky. A flash briefly lit up the forest and again, thunder growled ominously. Seconds after the first sprinkle landed on Sara's nose the downpour started. The ground in this part of the forest was rocky and impermeable and it didn't take long until she was crouching in an inch of water. In a lightning storm.

"Greg!" Sara had to shout to hear herself over the hammering raindrops and rolling thunder.

She had hoped that the cool rain would have stirred him, but found him still unresponsive. Some of the murky liquid had already found the corner of his mouth. Judging by the rain's straight downward trajectory and the amount that had already accumulated, Sara needed to act fast, and made the decision to move him despite the possibility of a spinal injury.

Determined, she grabbed his shoulder and hip and turned him as smoothly as possible onto his side. The backpack was a sufficient size to elevate his head and keep his neck straight. Even through the deluge, she could make out the extent of the bruising on his chest. It spread from the front of his shoulders to his stomach.

The rain diluted and rinsed away the dried blood on his skin and in his hair, and now she could also see the inch-long gash on his forehead. The movement had disturbed the clot that had formed over the cut and it began to bleed again.

Sara reached blindly into the bag under his head and extracted the first-aid kit. Fumbling with it, she grabbed a package of gauze and pressed it onto the wound.

The jostling had roused Greg somewhat, but only the red-hot agony triggered by the pressure against his forehead could break through the fog. He returned to consciousness with a gasp, rising slightly off the ground. He tried to protest the touch but water entered his mouth and trickled to the back of his throat, causing him to choke and cough. The pressure on his head vanished and gentle hands found either side of his face, attempting to keep him still.

Someone spoke his name, and through the pain it took too long to realize it was Sara's voice, that she was there with him. Confusion, then panic began to envelope him. He couldn't remember where he was or why he was shirtless and laying in the rain. It poured down heavily, continually finding a way back into his nose and mouth. His head felt like it had taken several blows from a hammer, and he squinted at the blurry figure above him.

"Sara," he breathed gratefully when she rippled into existence. He reached and took hold of her, assuring himself she was real. He meant to ask for the answers he sought, but all he managed was a groan as pain filled his chest and flared yet again through his skull.

She shifted, leaning over him further and blocking some of the downpour.

"What were you doing out here? Where were you going, Greg?"

Exasperation, but also relief rang clearly as she shouted to be heard over the storm. Also evident however was the fear, which was betrayed by the trembling of her voice and her hands as she held his face. Even though she was just as soaked as he, she was warm, and her touch helped to recover his memory. He closed his eyes; remembered walking into the woods. He'd needed to relieve himself. But what happened after that?

"You can't be trusted."

At the whisper in his ear, his eyes popped open again and he tried to sit up.

Sara pressed a hand to his chest. "No, don't move."

The coughing continued. She could only partially shield him from the pouring rain and he felt like he was drowning.

Another bolt of lightning struck somewhere very close. They both jumped at the deafening crack of thunder. Sara looked around helplessly before catching his eyes again. She couldn't expect him to lay here while she went for help.

She squeezed each of his hands and made him wiggle his toes, testing for a spinal injury as best she could. He recognized vaguely what she was doing, but it was unnecessary because unfortunately, he could feel everything. He wished he was numb.

"I'm going to let you sit up. Just go slow, okay?"

With a short nod he raised himself up, grimacing as his chest and head protested. He leaned over, spitting out rainwater. Sara rubbed his shoulder lightly and waited. After a few moments he looked to her and nodded again. She stood, offering her hands.

Greg took her hands and pulled himself up, but the sudden change in altitude blackened his vision momentarily. He swayed but managed to remain standing with Sara's help. Also with the change in altitude and his view of the surrounding terrain came more pieces of the puzzle. He'd had another episode and wandered off, forcing her to come looking for him. He felt weight on his shoulders and realized she had draped his jacket over him. For this he was grateful, because the rain felt like needles on his bare skin.

"I-I don't know—" he began, trying to peer through the deluge and get an idea of which way they should head.

"This way," Sara indicated, donning the backpack and pulling him in the direction of the tent.

The pair made good time at first, clinging to each other with one arm and shielding their eyes from the rain with the other. They were getting close. Only a little further to shelter…

Sara's right shoe suddenly slipped and wedged between two rocks. As the weight from the pack threw off her balance and pulled her backward, her ankle torqued and twisted. It wasn't until she landed that she heard a crack and an immense pain coursed up her leg. She cried out and lay back against the ground, holding her leg with both hands and trying to ignore the way the joint bent at an odd angle.

Trying but unable to stop her fall, Greg went down with her. Her cry distracted from his own injuries. "Sara!" he shouted in worry.

When she was finally able to breathe through the pain, she opened her eyes and returned his scared gaze. "I think it's broken."

Thunder roared over her words. Greg's heart ached for the pain she was experiencing. This was his fault.

Frustrated and biting her lip against the sharp pain, Sara grasped his shoulder to focus him. "We need to get out of this rain and back to the tent. I'm going to need your help."

His instinct finally kicked in and he rose unsteadily to his feet. Simply breathing was a chore, but he grit his teeth and straightened stiffly. He pulled the pack from the ground and swung it onto his back. He reached for her and she latched onto his forearms. Pulling her upright sent waves of agony ripping through his torso and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. Sara needed him and he couldn't think about his own discomfort until she was safe.

He brought her arm over his shoulders and took the weight that her ankle couldn't, and the two set off again. What should have been a ten-minute walk became three times that. They fell twice more while trying to navigate the uneven, slippery ground, and she'd accidentally put weight on her bad leg multiple times, causing unbearable pain to permeate up the limb. They both breathed sighs of relief when the tent came into view.

They stumbled across the clearing and as she unzipped the door, Greg peered around them at the forest. He had the feeling they were being watched. They just about fell into the tent and she quickly secured it shut behind them to prevent more rain from entering. Puddles formed on the floor as water dripped from their drenched clothing. She turned, breathless, to find Greg already seated on the floor, watching her closely.

Accepting his help again, she lowered herself to sit next to him, stretching her right leg straight out in front of her. She swore when she tried to flex the joint as a test and only triggered immense pain.

"Sara?" he ventured uneasily. The gauze had fallen from his forehead and the cut trickled watery blood, but his eyes were full of concern for her.

She pulled the backpack from his shoulders and opened it. Fortunately its contents had stayed relatively dry but a brief glance confirmed that the cellphone still had no service. She pulled out the first-aid kit and from it a handful of dry gauze. She dabbed at the cut gently to verify that it was in fact still bleeding and wasn't just the rainwater running from his hair. She patted the area dry as much as she could, then taped a new bandage in place. Remaining obediently still, Greg barely reacted to her doctoring.

She felt another chill run though her body and looked down at their soaked clothing. "We have to dry up."

Sara made quick work of her own clothes—except for the right pant leg which she ended up simply tearing instead of pulling over her ankle. She reached to grab another of their bags and pulled out two towels and some dry clothes for both of them. She draped a towel over Greg's shoulders before drying herself and redressing.

"Come on, let's get you dry," she coaxed, moving closer. She began to work on unfastening his jeans, but he gently pushed her hands away, shaking his head.

"Your ankle. Let me see it."

With a sigh she moved her hands to his upper arms, as if to shake sense into him. He was bleeding and could have serious internal injuries, but only worried about her. Not that it surprised her. In fact, she figured she'd been lucky to at least re-bandage his cut.

"Can't you just—"

"Ankle," he insisted firmly.

"Fine," Sara rolled her eyes ruefully and repositioned herself to present her right ankle to him. "But I'm getting you out of those clothes sooner or later."

He looked up at her through his lashes, smirking slightly.

"Stop!" she scolded, but couldn't help but smile.

He hissed sympathetically when he rolled up her pantleg to reveal the bruising that had already developed at the joint, which itself was bent at an odd angle.

"Sara, this is bad."

"Thanks, Dr. Sanders. I had no idea."

Greg regarded her sternly before returning his attention to her leg, propping it carefully on his lap. He began to prod around with his fingers, seeing if he could locate where exactly the break had occurred.

"Ouch! Okay, enough already, it's definitely broken. Stop poking it."

"Seriously. We're going to need to set this—"

"You've got to be kidding me," she interrupted incredulously.

"—between two ice packs," Greg finished slowly, eyes somewhat mischievous as he gestured to the small cooler in the corner of the tent.

She rolled her eyes again. As relieved as she was that Greg was feeling well enough to joke around, she knew it was a defense mechanism. He was hurt and worried, so felt the need to lighten the mood and at least make Sara feel better.

"And, you need to stay off of it."

Sara nodded solemnly, glaring at the useless limb.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

She shook her head.

With one last caress of his thumb across Sara's knee, he gently moved her leg from his lap to the ground. He retrieved some ice packs from the cooler and used one of the towels to wrap around them and position them around her ankle.

"Somebody's going to have to go back to the car—or at least far enough for the phone to pick up a signal. I know we had one part of the way into the hike," he stated. They both knew what that meant, and particularly despised the thought of splitting up.

"No one is going anywhere in this." She pointed at the slope of the tent's roof, onto which the raindrops still pelted their off-rhythm beat. "Visibility isn't great, and you'd be soaked again in seconds."

Greg frowned thoughtfully.

"What about waiting out the storm?" she suggested. "Who knows, maybe the clouds are interfering with the cellular and radio signals and we'll be able to reach out once the sky is clear. If not, then…we'll consider other options."

"There's barely a breeze," he noted. "We might be in for a long wait, and all we have for pain is ibuprofen."

"And ice packs," she reminded him with a humorless smile.

"Right."

His gaze drifted to the air mattress, now less 'air' and 'mattress,' more a lumpy pile of blankets and pillows. His entire body ached and he just wanted to lay on something soft.

Sara watched him locate the leak in the mattress and fix it with the patch kit, working as intently as he would finding clues at a crime scene or running DNA in the lab. Finally he hooked up the battery-powered air pump, switched it on, and sat next to Sara again as they waited for the mattress to fill.

She touched his knee. "Now take off your pants and let me look at you."

Greg's energy was quickly dwindling; he didn't even try to joke with her this time. He couldn't hold back the pained groan as he shifted to comply. Once he was in dry boxers Sara looked him over, starting with his shoulders, chest, and stomach which were blotched with deep burgundy bruises. His breaths were strained and shallow even though they had been back at the tent for almost an hour, so she pressed lightly over his rib cage. In two different places there was a nauseating crunch that she recognized as shifting bone.

She looked to him. He had remained admirably stoic while she pressed the tender areas, but his eyes were clenched shut. Now he opened them to meet her worried expression.

"I think it's the old breaks," he told her. In fact, Greg didn't think, he knew—because there was no mistaking that pain. "I'm okay," he added seeing her frown, although he had repeated those words so many times that even he didn't know when they were truth or a lie.

Her frown only grew.

"As long as I don't go walking off more rock ledges, they'll stay where they are," he reassured her, lightly patting his chest. He hoped he was right because a punctured or collapsed lung was not something that he cared to experience a second time.

After sharing a small brunch and downing some ibuprofen with a bottle of water each, they lay under the covers on top of the newly repaired air mattress. Her ankle was cushioned with blankets that wrapped around the gradually melting ice packs. The throbbing was dulled slightly by the medication and the cold, but she longed for something stronger.

With her face tucked into the crook of his neck, she clutched Greg's hand between them with both of her own. It felt strange to lay like this, since normally she would have positioned an arm across his chest to feel it rise and fall. As gifted as he was at masking it, she could tell that his ribs were extremely painful from the shallow breaths he was taking and any weight on his chest would surely make it worse.

His skin was warm again and had returned to a healthy color. He seemed to be stabilizing—physically, at least—and she hoped that meant he didn't have any unseen, life-threatening injuries from his fall. He hadn't spoken for quite a while but was still awake.

Like Sara, the pain and worry kept Greg from drifting off. Unlike Sara, much of his attention was focused on tuning out the voices in his head.