Cabin Fever - An Erotic Novel

Chapter 40 - Harry needs a helping hand (FINAL EDIT)

They were lucky that I found them when I did.

They'd taken the snowmobile out for a little spin while I lay passed out. The same snowmobile I had claimed Greg and Bella had left on. I didn't think anyone had taken note. For all they knew, if they had even thought about it, there could have been two snowmobiles in the garage.

Innocent enough – snowmobiles are a lot of fun and don't require much skill to operate under normal circumstances.

Problem was this wasn't ordinary circumstances. Too much snow had fallen in too short a time. The end result was that everything was a uniform white. Nothing to tell you what lay hidden underneath the snow. In this case, they had hit some kind of depression, and Harry had lost control of the snowmobile. It had tipped forward and over, burying itself into the snow.

They were both cold and miserable, especially Harry, who had landed under the snowmobile. He was bruised and battered – and nearly choked to death in the snow by the time India pulled him free. By the time I got to them, he was suffering from hypothermia. Much longer, and he would have been in real danger of dying up here on the mountain.

Indiana – India – was in better shape, but she was too lightly dressed for this cold. She'd tried to walk back for help, but the deep snow made it very difficult, and she realized it would take too long, so she'd turned back. Despite decent winter clothing, she was rapidly becoming hypothermic as well.

Her loyalty to Harry, her friend, was admirable, a very human trait, but had nearly cost her life.

I got them on their feet and fitted them with the spare snowshoes I had brought. The snow was phenomenally deep, and, like India hard discovered, it was nearly impossible to move without proper equipment. I don't think I've ever seen snow conditions as difficult as we had that night.

It was hard going. But in our case, hard was good. Hard mean exertion. Exertion meant body heat. Body heat meant life.

Harry had problems moving, but I kept at him, made him put one foot in front of the other. He probably had bruised something, broken even. It was of little importance. He needed to get indoors, sooner rather than later.

India fared a little better, but she wasn't exactly built for this kind of work. Tall and slender, she was more at home on a catwalk than wading through a dark forest in deep snows.

Neither of them said much on the way back. They were too tired for that, too shocked. I wanted to tell them how incredibly stupid – and lucky they had been, but I didn't. They didn't need scolding right now. They needed support and guidance. They needed to get warmed back up. Warm and ready for what needed to come next.

Actually, I didn't feel too good myself. I was feverish, worse than before. Cabin fever I had called it. A joke. Now it wasn't so funny. Didn't take a genius to figure out that something was happening inside me. That 'something' I was inclined to believe was the dark spirit.

By the time we reached the little courtyard before the cabin, India was panting and sweating like a pig, completely exhausted. I sent the lady to her room, with orders to shower. Dinner in one hour, sharp. No collapsing on the bed. The look I gave her told her she didn't want to be late.

Harry was worse, shaking like a leaf, barely able to stand on his own two feet. But he was no longer frozen stiff, or in any danger of dying, so he had no reason to be complaining.

While I instructed India, Harry threatened to topple over. He would have, had I not caught him.

India looked worried, so I assured her everything would be all right. "Go on, dear," I told her. "You did good back there. Looking out for Harry. But I got him now. He's in good hands. I know all there is to know about being cold and getting warm again. Go to your room. I'll take him to his. I'll check if he's injured and help him shower. Then we'll meet up for dinner, all three of us. Don't be late."

"I won't," she said. I could see she was relieved. The burden was mine now.

I helped Harry get rid of the snowshoes. Supported him as we walked over to the entrance.

"Thanks, man," he muttered.

"You can thank me properly later," I told him. I don't think he understood what I meant.

I half carried the man back to his room. Got him undressed. Checked him for injuries.

Several broken ribs, more bruised. A little bit of internal bleeding, but nothing serious. A badly swollen ankle, not broken. Light head trauma. He had also nearly frozen to death, then been forced to walk almost to the point of exhaustion. Nothing life-threatening. He'd recover fully, given time.

But he was in no condition for what needed to happen – I didn't think India alone would suffice. I could give her a spin, I supposed, see if there was more to her than met the eye, but I doubted it.

What to do?

I was no doctor. The only drugs I had were some painkillers I had taken from Bella's well-stocked medicine locker, stuff you couldn't just buy without a prescription – and a bag of weed I had confiscated from Emma.

I don't approve of smoking. And I don't really do drugs. I mean, I get the general point, that it's supposed to be cool and chill and fun and whatever. But for some reason, we've never quite connected, me and drugs (not for lack of trying). I eventually figured out it just wasn't my thing and never looked back.

"You're good, Harry," you got a few cracked ribs – that's what hurting you the most – but the rest isn't too bad. Ankle looks worse than it is. It's not broken, just a lot of bruised tissue."

"I feel bad," was all he managed to say.

"Here, take these," I say and handed him three different painkillers. "It will lessen the pain." And give the man a nice little high.

"What are those," he asked.

"Just ordinary painkillers," I lied. "Here, have some water."

I put the pills in his hand, pushed the hand to his mouth, then fed him water to wash down the medicine.

"Swallow," I ordered. He did.

"Good boy," I said and patted him on the cheek.

"Pills will kick in soon. You'll feel a lot better then. Now sit."

He sat on the edge of a small desk. I got a towel, opened the window, wrapped some snow in it, shut the window after me, put it over his ankle, like an impromptu ice bag.

"Hold it in place," I told him. He did. It probably wouldn't help with the leg, too late for that, but he would have something to occupy his mind with while the 'ordinary' painkillers kicked in.

"Now, you also got a bump on the head. Nothing serious, but you may have a slight concussion. You also got very cold back there, and I had to push you pretty hard on that walk."

I started making a joint. "Which is why we are going to share this nice joint – courtesy of Emma – just to get you to relax a bit."

"Sure," he replied. His voice was a little distant.

I hoped my little cocktail of pills and weed would give him a little kick. It wasn't precisely a scientifically tested and approved mix. If not...

I lit it, had a taste, handed it over. We passed it back and forth for a while until it was done. I felt mildly nauseated, the smoke made my eyes sting – and the stench... but Harry seemed to like it, so I made an effort.

When we were done, I tossed the butt out the window. Damn, it was cold outside!