He poured two pills into his hand and helped her sit up to take the medicine.
She swallowed the medicine with pinched lips. “Thank you.”
Trent pushed her hair behind her ears. “You’re hot.”
She smiled, licked her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself, Barefoot.”
How could she joke? “C’mon, Monica. I’m out of my element. What can I do?”
“Is it cold in here?”
“No.”
“Do I feel hot?”
He nodded. “Like hell on fire.”
Her eyes dropped closed before she reached down and slowly removed her shirt. Her pink bra sat on pasty skin in the dark cave. She handed him her shirt. “Soak it in water.” A tremor shook her as she spoke.
When he returned to her, soaked shirt in hand, she attempted to place it back over her chest. Her fingers fumbled in the task, her eyes sought his for help.
Trent slid the cool clothing over her hot skin, and tried not to wince each time she shivered. “I’ve got to stay cool.”
“What’s happened?” As if he didn’t know.
“I don’t think it-it’s Ebola,” she managed.
“That’s not funny, Monica.”
A smile met her lips, her glazed-over eyes found his. “Infection. Open fractures do that,” she said.
“We cleaned it out.”
She shrugged. “With dirty water at best.” A shiver raked her frame, making her teeth rattle.
The light from his phone turned off and he grabbed it to make it light up the room again. Crazy how such a small thing lit a room.
“What can I do?” He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
“Keep me cool. Even if I beg, keep me cool.”
Beg? Why would she beg? Then it dawned on him. Movies portrayed the sick as incoherent, unable to see reason. He’d never seen anyone lose it. Yet he sat there with a nurse who’d probably seen all that and more.
“I’m a sucker for a begging woman.”
She licked her already dry lips, sipped more water, and lay back down. He had no choice but to return to his post as her personal pillow.
“I always thought Mary Ann was prettier than G-Ginger,” Monica managed to say once the phone went dark.
Trent stared into the darkness and tried his level best to ignore the voice in his head that said they were both going to die in this goddamned cave.
“Homegrown. Midwestern girl.”
“Hey,” she managed to sound indignant through her fever. “I’m homegrown. California grown, but kinda small town.”
He stroked her fevered brow as much for her as for him. “You don’t seem the Ginger type. Did you want to be a movie star?”
“No. Too many people to depend on for that to happen. I need to take care of myself.”
How much it must hurt to have to depend on anyone. Then it dawned on him… she hadn’t needed to pee in hours.
Monica woke several hours later, her body full of heat and ready to explode. Unlike the last time she opened her eyes, this time the cave was filled with light. Almost blinding. “Trent?” she called out when she realized he wasn’t at her side.
“Monica?” He scrambled from the far side of the cave. “You’re awake.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon, I think.”
A tut tut of her head pounded against her temple. The pain in her leg felt like a dull throb attached to her knee.
“Here.” Trent brought her into a sitting position and helped tip the bottle of water to her lips.
The nasty taste trickled down her throat and threatened to come back up. She pushed his hand away when he tried to give her more. “I can’t,” she uttered.
“You have to drink more.”
She met his worried gaze. “Later,” she whispered. “Have you heard anything?”
Trent followed her eyes to the top of the cave. “A helicopter flew over hours ago.”
“They didn’t see your Jeep.” Would they fly over again? Look harder?
“They might have.” He rubbed at the three days of stubble on his chin and tried to smile. “We’re getting out of here, Monica. I promise you, we’ll get out of here.”
She nodded, holding on to his lie. Giving up without a fight wasn’t in her. Not yet anyway. “Well, when you put it like that,” she teased. “Maybe our next date can be a little shorter.”
The water dripping into the pool picked up its pace. They both focused on the hole in the cave. “It’s raining.”
“All these years I’ve been afraid of heights. When I get home, I’m going to sleep with the light on.”
“And I’m going to paint my Jeep yellow.”
“Good idea.”
“You must be hungry.” He jumped up, grabbed the bag with the food inside.
She agreed although she wasn’t. Not a good sign. While he dug into their dwindling supplies Monica peeked under the bandage on her leg. There had been many times she’d seen infected limbs, but never could she actually feel the pain associated with them. She wiggled her toes, thankful that at least her circulation wasn’t gone.
“Here.” Trent handed her a protein bar.
Her fingers didn’t cooperate with the wrapper. When Trent took the food from her, she tried to fist her hands and found it hard to do. The symptom struck her as odd, something that she should understand, but didn’t.
“Did you eat?” she asked when she took a bite.
“Earlier.”
The granular consistency of fake peanut butter and chocolate was hard to swallow. “I’ll never eat these again,” she said between bites.
Trent opened his mouth to comment when something from above caught their attention. Trent was on his feet standing next to the pool in a heartbeat. “Hello?” he yelled. “Hello?”
Monica strained to hear a reply, something.
Painful silence met the room.
Trent kept yelling. His voice growing more desperate each time he cried out.
Chapter Seventeen
Jessie clenched her phone in her hand, desperate to hear anything. Jack had left before dawn with the others. He called every hour, each time reporting the same thing. They’d not found the car Trent drove, or any sign at all.
The daunting task of updating her mother back in California, and Katie and Dean in Texas, weighed on her. Monica and Trent had been gone three nights and four days. Each passing hour chipped away at the hope of their survival.
Why couldn’t Monica be the type of woman to tell her responsibilities to blow off and run away with a guy? Having a flaky sister was better than having no sister at all.