Page 4 of Stranded with the SEAL
Without missing a beat, he turned back, his mind no longer in the Colorado mountains. He was back in BUD/S training, in Hell Week, the question of whether or not he could carry on long since forgotten.
Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. As long as his heart was beating, he would go back for the woman.
What had she been doing up here all alone, in weather like this? Either she’d made a bad decision to drive in these conditions, or she’d been as desperate as he to get to her destination.
Minutes ticked by, his breath coming hard. He wasn’t used to the altitude and was grateful for his conditioning.
There.
There it was, the biting smell of smoke on the air. He was getting close now, and he sped up faster than he knew he could go. How long had it been since he’d left her side? Fifteen or twenty minutes, maybe more. He could only hope it was soon enough.
The snow was beginning to taper off and he could see her in the distance. She was so still he feared she had died while he was gone. “No,” he whispered. “You have to be all right. You have to be.”
Reaching the woman, he dropped down beside her and scooped her into his arms, fearing his body would rebel if he gave it any break. Lifting her with him, he stood up with a grunt, and his stare took in the empty road in front of them. The snow had all but stopped, and with the increased visibility he could see all the way to that first sharp turn that had caused the accident.
There was debris from the explosions, random pieces of God knows what, and charred marks on the asphalt where the fire had melted snow, but the cars themselves were gone. Only a blackened trail to a blown-out guardrail remained.
“Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath. Both vehicles had been blown over the edge by the second explosion. He looked to the woman. “Maybe I packed a little too much C4.”
She was white as a ghost, and he turned, beginning to move once more.
“I don’t wanna be no Green Beret,” he sang to the rhythm of his footfalls. “They only PT once a day.” It was beginning to snow again, fat flakes catching in the wind. “I don’t wanna be no airborne ranger.” His breath was coming hard, the lining of his lungs burning fiercely from the cold.
He chanted louder. “I wanna live a life of danger.” In his head, he could hear his teammates chanting alongside him. “I don’t wanna be Marine Recon. I wanna stay till the job is done.” Ralph was by his side, the memory of his friend’s voice as clear as day to Hawk’s ears. “I wanna be a SEAL team member.” His teeth began to chatter, but he knew the road to the cabin was not much farther. “I wanna swim the deep blue sea.” Icy bits of freezing rain mixed in with the snow, pelting his face. “I wanna live a life of danger. Pick up your swim fins and run with me.”
He’d just made it to the driveway when his knee gave out, making him stumble and fall. Somehow he managed to keep ahold of the woman, whose eyes opened slightly.
“Hey,” said Hawk quietly. They were clearly confused. They drifted closed again. “There’s a house back there,” he said. “It’s not too far. It’s going to be warm, and I’m going to take good care of you.” He sensed he needed to talk to her, to keep her with him. The alternative was to let her slip further away, and he knew she was fighting her injuries and the cold for her very life.
“Hey,” he said again, lightly shaking her shoulder. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes opened the slightest bit and closed without ever focusing on him. “Olivia Grayson.”
“Nice to meet you, Olivia. I’m Trevor Hawkins.” He gnashed his teeth together as he got up on one knee. “Some people call me Hawk.”
He could just see the cabin up ahead, though the light of day was beginning to wane. He had to make it there, had to get both of them there to keep them alive. He forced his leg to bear weight, clenching his teeth on a groan and pushing himself forward.
He carried her, the muscles of his arms on fire. A punishing gust of wind nearly blew him over, forcing him to stop walking and brace himself against it. His energy was nearly depleted, his determination battered. He snarled at the sky. “Do what you want to me,” he cried out, “but none of this is her fault. You take care of her, no matter how much you hate me.”
The wind slowed and he trudged the remaining distance to the door.
He had to put her down, needed to find a way inside or to break a window. Only when he rested her on the snow did he realize he’d left his jacket back at the accident scene. Looking around, he found a metal watering can to the side of the door and used it to smash one of the sidelights beside it. He reached in and unlocked the door, exhaling a quivering breath, then opened it.
He dragged her inside.
Every part of his body was begging for relief, but he had to see what her injuries were, had to get her warm, had to see if anything could be done to help her. Bending down once more, he picked her up and carried her to a couch, putting her down gently until his knee gave way in protest.
He kicked off his wet shoes and pulled off his socks, desperate to get out of the cold pieces, and knew she must be far colder than he. First things first. He had to call an ambulance. “I’m going to find the phone.” Turning around, he got his first good look at the cabin.
The room was dominated by a large stone fireplace. Snowshoes hung on the wall, along with a winter scene that made Warsaw Mountain look far better than Hawk’s current experience with it. He wandered into a small kitchen, an old-fashioned wall phone hanging there. It had no dial tone, and he swore mightily.
Turning down a dark hallway, he found the thermostat set to forty-five and bumped it up to seventy, then checked the bedrooms for a phone before grabbing two blankets and a pillow and returning to Olivia.
Her pants were wet on her thighs, ice crystals forming in places. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.” He started with her shoes — leather boots meant more for fashion than for snow—then he took off her socks and peeled her wet leggings down and off.
Her skin was blue and he cringed, covering her legs with the blanket.
You did this to her.