Mara Wrench's Arc

Chapter 7 of 8

Mara found the hiker slumped at the base of a weathered sign that read WALK NO FURTHER. The boots were wrong for the weather. The lips were blue. She dropped to her knees and pressed two fingers to the cold throat. A pulse, faint and slow, ticked under her glove. She yanked open her field bag. Gauze. Tape. A thin foil blanket. Nothing for a body this far gone. She cursed under her breath and wrapped the foil around the hiker anyway. It was not enough. It would never be enough out here. Then a shape moved at the edge of the trees. A mountain lion stepped into the open, calm, its yellow eyes steady on her. Mara froze, hand tight on her staff. The cat did not crouch. It turned its head, took three slow steps uphill, and looked back at her. She followed its line of sight. Through the falling snow, a faint warm glow flickered between dark pines. A small cabin, half-buried in drifts, smoke curling from its chimney. She had not known it was there. Mara hauled the hiker onto her back. Her knees shook. She pushed up the slope one pace at a time, foil crinkling, breath ragged. The lion watched until she reached the steps. She kicked the door open and fell inside with the hiker still breathing. Barely. But breathing.