Watery Grave, Part Three

 Continued from Part Two

   Alexa shivered against the cold gust that rushed in behind him and struggled to reach the cup he'd set beside her on the floor. Each sip brought a burst of confusing memories. She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning then swallowed another bitter mouthful. In her mind she saw the man who had just left, but without the deep creases that now lined his face. He held a similar cup to her lips, in a similar small cabin but the thick, humid air of summer warmed her cheeks. Another sip, another memory, like flipping pages in a photo album. Now she saw his face as he carried her through the woods. His long, dark hair blew in the cool breeze and tears streaked his face as he stumbled along the narrow path between the trees. Jonathan. She had his name now and knew he had helped her countless times. A familiar ache gripped her heart at the knowledge that he would soon be replaced.

     She opened her eyes and struggled to stand. The room seemed to sway and her knees hit the worn, wooden floorboards sending a shock of pain up her spine and into her skull to vibrate like a tuning fork. She would be better in a few hours only if she kept drinking and the cup was empty. Her only choice was to crawl across the floor, cup clutched in one hand, until she reached the stove. Pushing herself up against the wall left her breathless and dizzy, and when she reached for the kettle her hand found the side of the stove instead. The sting of it helped clear her mind and on the second try she snatched the handle. She slid back down to the floor and poured a fresh cup, drinking and remembering, until she remembered it all.

     By the time the kettle was empty, Alexa could stand again. She walked across the room and grabbed the backpack Jonathan had left behind, taking it back with her to the cot. The fire in the stove was burning out and already she felt the cold seeping in from outside. She pulled the blankets up over her shoulders and dumped the backpack onto the bed. Jonathan had left her well-prepared. Layers of warm clothes tumbled out, along with a flashlight, a pocket-knife, and a compass. The last made her smile at what she always thought of as his Boy Scout ways. It was one of those things a person should have on a hike, but she had no need of a compass to navigate her mountains.

To be continued in Part Four