I jerk awake to a bright, sunny morning and spend the first several seconds cursing myself for having fallen asleep.
When I sit up so I can check on Marshall, I find his face relaxed in sleep, no longer looking tight with pain. His breathing seems a little more normal, and his wounds, while not healed, are starting to close around the edges.
Since my eyes are gritty and I'm still feeling more tired than rested, I know I couldn't have slept long. I remember the sky darkening until it was fully night. All night I was awake, holding Marshall close, feeling myself breathing a little easier when he stopped shaking and his body no longer felt icy cold to the touch.
But then around dawn, just as the sun's rays were creeping across the cabin's dusty floor, I blinked, and that must've been when I fell asleep.
Before I rise, I listen to the sounds outside the cabin. The rain has stopped, and I hear birdsong, the wind blowing through trees, rustling its leaves, and the burrowing sounds of small creatures moving about in the brush.
I don't hear the two wolves, and I don't hear any of our pack. So, despite my terror that something would happen during the night, namely that the wolves would crash through the door and tear me and Marshall apart, they didn't. We survived.
But none of that means our situation has changed enough for me to sag with relief, because just because we survived one night, Marshall is still injured, the cabin still has nothing in it but dust, and the wolves could burst through the door at any moment.
Marshall is alive. That's reason enough to sag with relief. You didn't wake to find him dead in your arms.
"Yes," I murmur to myself, "that's the most important thing."
Now, I have to do the hard part: keeping him alive. No doubt it's the task that's going to take all my strength, all my courage, and all my resolve. Which means I have to find all the things that will help me do that. It will mean leaving him alone.
I bend over him and press a kiss on his brow. "I have to go out, but I'll be back soon, okay?"
He doesn't respond, which I wasn't expecting him to. I've lost count of all the movies I've watched where someone has been in a coma or unconscious, and later, when that person wakes up, they say they could hear a loved one speaking and found comfort in their voice.
I don't want Marshall to wake and not know where I am. I especially don't want him thinking something has happened to me and making his wounds even worse than they already are by coming after me.
After standing, I take in the sorry state of the cabin once again and realize it's even worse than I thought. It's not just dusty and old, but there are rat or mice droppings in the corner and there's a long-neglected look about the place that tells me it's been years since anyone's stepped foot in it instead of the months I initially thought.
Even though I'm afraid of what will happen to me out there and Marshall back here, I can't sit in this cabin and wait for someone to come and rescue us. Marshall could die before that happens.
But before I leave, I glance at the thin mattress. Luckily, it's not heavy, only a little awkward to drag outside and leave it propped up against the side of the cabin.
I figure if no one's been in the cabin for years, as I suspect, Marshall will appreciate the old thing being aired out a little before I help him onto it. Or maybe he won't care. But I will.
So, after taking a deep, steadying breath, I glance down at Marshall one more time before opening the cabin door and slipping out.
I'll be quick, and then when I come back, hopefully with bandages, I'll try to move him to the musty mattress.
The day is bright, fresh, and almost spring-like even though we're at the tail-end of summer. And the rain, I see, has washed away much of Marshall's blood, not all, but some.
I pull the cabin door firmly closed behind me and pick a direction at random before heading out at a jog. The goal is to find help, an old cabin, something that will help me help Marshall as quickly as I can and get back to him.