Girl from Nowhere - Tiffany Rosenhan Page 0,24

then he wipes my skin with the alcohol swab.

I eye the avalanche surrounding us like we’re a tiny village in a massive fjord.

“And this snowpack is stable?” I continue, keeping my breath steady.

“Precarious,” he surmises, “but stable. Yes.”

Tossing the swab into a small plastic bag, he takes the cream and squeezes a dollop onto his finger, spreading it on my temple. I find myself watching his lips more than his eyes.

“How long will we be here?” I ask. “Can we call someone—a tow truck? Your parents? My parents?”

Reaching into his pocket, Aksel pulls out an iPhone. “You can try, but there’s no coverage in this section of the canyon.”

I glance at it. Zero bars. Of course.

“The snowpack should hold as long as the wind doesn’t shift,” Aksel explains casually. “Our best option is to ride it out until the plow comes through in a few hours.”

“Hours?” I exclaim. “Won’t anyone else drive up here beforehand?”

Aksel averts his eyes, focusing on the medical kit.

“Unlikely,” he says under his breath.

“Don’t you live up here? It can’t be more than a few kilometers. Can’t we walk—”

“In a blizzard?” He looks at me incredulously.

I didn’t leave a note—my parents have no idea where I am.

I reach my arms to the sunroof and slide it open; loose snow falls onto the console.

“What are you doing?” Aksel’s emerald eyes spark.

“Leaving before the storm gets worse,” I answer. “I can hear it coming. I have twenty minutes. I’ll sprint—”

He pushes the sunroof closed with one hand. “You can’t just leave.”

“My parents don’t know where I am!” I protest. “I have to get home!”

I can’t do this to them …

They’ll think …

Rising to my knees, I move to open the sunroof a second time; however, two strong hands grip my waist, pull me down, and swiftly maneuver me into my seat. Aksel’s hand trails up my waist around my back—his touch sends an electric current up my spine.

He is leaning over the console with his arm in front of my stomach, blocking me.

Not threateningly—protectively.

“It’s a blizzard, Sophia,” he implores. “Frostbite. Disorientation—”

“I know!” I exhale angrily. “I know. But I can’t be stuck here all night!”

My heart thumps wildly in my chest.

Aksel is smart and skilled—confident—out here in the wilderness. So am I.

We’re in a precarious shelter, and my panic is concerning him. I have to calm down.

Aksel eyes me warily. “I know it may not seem like it, but we are safe here. We’ll wait out the storm. Then the plow will arrive and you can go home.”

Slumping into my seat, I cross my arms, irritated.

“Sophia, you’re still bleeding,” he says. “Can I finish?”

Embarrassed, I look over at him and nod.

Aksel tears off a piece of gauze, opens the bandage, and applies it to the wound. A few minutes later, he gathers the empty packages and soiled cloth and places them behind his seat.

I touch my forehead, clean and dry around the bandage.

Covered in snow on three sides, and with a rock wall on the fourth, I’m somehow not too cold. Despite the lack of heat, at least the frigid wind is blocked—igloo physics, my father would call it.

Aksel doesn’t stop moving. Tucking the radio into his pocket, he now opens the sunroof.

I sit upright. “I’m coming with you—”

“I’ll be right back,” Aksel says calmly. “I’m just checking things out.”

For a moment, his intense green eyes linger on mine, but then he looks away and hoists himself through the sunroof.

To my astonishment, he begins scaling the rock wall, using the tiny nooks and crevices in the stone to secure himself to the granite.

Within minutes, he’s free soloed to a triangular declivity halfway up Eagle Peak. Here he looks around, apparently trying to get a read on our predicament.

If someone drives up Eagle Pass how will they know we are here?

I step into the back seat. Rummaging around through the outdoor gear—a Pendleton blanket, a duffel bag with some clothes, swim fins—I spot a backcountry mountaineering probe and a hunting vest.

Reaching to the floor beneath the driver’s seat, I grab the PenBlade from the medical kit. I slice the bottom off the vest, creating one long strip of fluorescent orange. I hook the strip onto the probe and knot it.

I go up through the sunroof in time to see Aksel descend the wall lithely.

Soon enough, he is back on the roof.

Shaking snow from his tousled hair, he pulls the collar of his sweater taut around his neck and blows into his hands. His breath, heavier now, causes his defined

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