“Let’s hope we don’t have to. That upper wall is ten meters of ice.”
“But it’s a climbing wall, right?” I point at the anchors drilled deep into the granite.
He looks at me, perplexed. “In summer.”
“You just climbed it,” I counter.
“The bottom half. And I’ve been climbing Eagle Peak since I was ten.”
“I climb,” I scoff. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s a vicious storm; there isn’t another shelter even if you can climb out. Actually, I’m more worried about the plow driving straight into us.”
I switch the probe to my right hand and double-check the knot.
“Me too,” I say. Then I launch the probe as high as I can—up and over the snowpack—like a javelin. I imagine that if it landed properly on the other side, it resembles a gravestone.
And if it didn’t? At least I tried.
When I look back at Aksel, his mouth curls upward in a way that makes me feel slightly dizzy.
“Do you have any spare clothes?” I ask, knowing the answer. “I need to change.”
Aksel looks startled. “Sorry?”
Standing on the roof, I am very aware of how cold I am. The snow clinging to my clothes has melted, and although my shorts are still dry, my jacket is not. My feet are numb inside my frozen shoes, and even with my mittens, my fingers resemble purple icicles.
“Hypothermia,” I explain. “I need dry—”
“You’re wet?” Aksel looks at my damp jacket, then scans my bare, goose-bump-covered legs from my thighs to my ankles. “Why didn’t you ask earlier?”
We swing down through the roof and drop onto our seats.
Without waiting for an answer, Aksel climbs into the back seat and hands me the thick wool blanket. It is a red tartan pattern and smells of cedar and campfire smoke. After rifling through his duffel, he assembles a pile of clothes. Then he pulls off his sweater.
He is wearing a waffle knit Henley underneath it, and I see a T-shirt underneath that.
As he hands over the pile, his fingers graze mine, igniting flames across my skin.
“I’ll wait up top,” he says brusquely, avoiding eye contact.
Alone in the Defender I unzip my jacket with stiff fingers and shimmy out of it. I pull on the undershirt Aksel gave me, and his sweater. It is warm from his body heat and soothing to my skin. Plus, it smells like him: pine and leather and sandalwood.
Above me, Aksel paces the roof. I ease my numb feet out of my shoes, peel off my wet socks, and slide my feet into his thick wool ski socks.
I flip the rearview mirror down. Attempting to fix my hair, I run my fingers through my braid, but it’s so tangled I simply brush it back from my face and readjust my headband over my ears.
Opening the sunroof, I say, “I’m done.” My voice comes out squeaky and high-pitched. I sit back and wait for Aksel to hop down.
“Warmer now?” Aksel asks, checking out my new attire.
My skin burns under his gaze. “Much,” I answer. “Thank you.”
Aksel drums the steering wheel with his fingers, pausing intermittently to check the old radio. Still nothing but static. Scowling, he throws it back onto the dashboard.
A gauzy shaft of light filters down on us from above, suffusing a dim glow over this temporary cavern.
Trying to keep my eyes from darting back to Aksel every few seconds, I unfold my hands from behind my knees and stretch them out, pretending to be interested in the shape of my knuckles.
“In the forest …,” Aksel says abruptly, propping his knee against the wheel. He leans against the window. “With that grizzly, you seemed to”—he pauses, as if deliberating—“know quite a bit about guns. Why?”
I tug on the sleeves of the sweater. His sweater.
“I know a little.” Focusing on his eyes, I shrug. “I have a Belgian FN 5-7. It saved my life.”
“You’ve been attacked by a grizzly before?” Aksel’s voice catches between caution and concern.
I drag my forefinger along the seam of my shorts. Allow them to come, I hear my mother’s voice in my head. But I still fight it—If you let one in, you let them all.
“We were living in Kenya.” I exhale. “On the border, near Sudan. A perk of school in East Africa—you go on game rides for field trips. This one time, we were pretty far into the reserve. I was watching an antelope herd through my binoculars when I saw an army truck