"JOCELYN! COVER YOUR NECK! I'M COMING!"

CHAPTER 10

It was still snowing intermittently, more “on” than “off”. Alan re-shoveled the front door, but the piles of snow all around the cabin were getting higher. The lower floor windows were becoming mostly covered. The sky remained overcast with grey haze.

Alan rested when done, puffing deeply. He pointed to the clouds. “Go ahead! Do your worst! It won’t matter — come hell or high drifts, we will live, and we will get out!

He walked to the pine tree he had verbally abused yesterday and shoveled powder away from the base; he eventually found the fishing supplies he had thrown there in disgust.

I was talking to the clouds, God, not you, he prayed. He didn’t want to offend his only other source of help. We sure could use a rescue. Until it comes, we sure could use a fish. You know, I gave up on you — on everything — yesterday. And then, you sent an angel into my life. She had to come from you, from heaven, because she gave me a spiritual healing like I never had. I now want to live — and I want her to live — more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Thank you for her. Thank you for giving me a reason to live.

Oh, and thanks for this bait too. May the force be with you. Amen.

He waded through the deepening snow towards the lake.

~o~O~o~

After a few hours of fishing, Alan was getting chilled more than usual. The lack of food not only kept him from producing heat from digestion, but he was chewing up body fat. Any other time in his life he would have welcomed that, but now he needed the insulation.

“Hey there!” chirped a familiar voice.

Alan turned. “Jocelyn?! What are you doing out here? It’s cold even for me, so you must be freezing!”

“Not as much as you’d think. Open your coat.”

He did so, still confused as to what was going on. She came up to him, bumping her chest against his. Then she unbuttoned her creamy chiffon coat, and transferred a plastic garbage bag filled with — something? — to him.

“Now button your coat around that.”

As he did so, he felt warmth come from the lump against his torso. “Wow — what…?”

“A big towel, dipped in hot water, inside a tied garbage bag. Poor college student’s hot water bottle. Now I’ve got to run back before I get shivery.”

He watched in thankful amazement as she hopped away. Yep. An angel. My snow angel.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn ran through the cabin door and shut it quickly. “BRRRrrrrr!” She clicked on the camping stove and warmed her hands, then melted some snow for some hot water to sip. Finally warming up some, she explored the cabin. She felt she had more motivation to survive now too, and if she could find a way to help, then that would improve their chances.

Most of the search was futile. Alan had already combed the cabin the first morning there. Climbing up to the loft, she looked in some boxes, and a closet. Nothing useful. Then she saw a large box shoved to the back of the top closet shelf. Once opened, it revealed over two hundred tea light candles. They were small aluminum cups of wax with wicks, probably no more than four to five hours worth of tiny flame apiece. Not really a heat source, but good for a nightlight.

An hour later she had found nothing more, so she was a little discouraged. She flounced on the bed. She decided to do something she rarely did. She prayed.

God, I know that I have ignored you for the longest time. I’ve never been an atheist like Alan is — or was — but I guess I’ve been hurt by too many people who claim that they are your followers. I do believe that you’re there, and I never thought that you were as spiteful as many of your “people” have been. And Alan says you’ve been helping him. So I’m asking you. Please help us. Please get us out of here, healthy and intact. Please keep Alan warm and give him good luck fishing. And show me what I can do to help him, to support him. I feel like I’m useless, sitting here, but I don’t know what else to do. Thank you for listening. Love, Jocelyn.

As she ended her plea, a thought popped in Jocelyn’s mind: Look under the bed. She did. There was nothing there — except, one of the floorboards was obviously not sitting flush with the rest.

She pushed the bed away enough to access the board. Sure enough, it was loose — and she pulled it away. Deep down in a hole, going into the dirt underneath the cabin, was a medium size lockbox. It was too deep for her to reach; but using the fireplace poker, she was able to snag the handle on the box and pull it out.

She was thrilled. Could it be food? A radio? So her disappointment was understandable when all it held were two small wine bottles, one a quarter full, one empty.

More useless stuff, she sighed. Then an idea took hold in her mind. A way to be of service to Alan. She got up, replaced the board and bed. There was a lot to get done.

~o~O~o~

“SUCCESS!” Alan came in the door with two 3 pounders. He didn’t see Jocelyn in the big room.

“Hallelujah!” she said, sticking her head out the bedroom door. “I’m busy with something in here. Why don’t you clean those and start frying them up?” She pulled her head back in and closed the door.

Alan had hoped for a hug and a kiss. Then he remembered his odorous coat, now more fishy than ever. She might be avoiding this smelly thing. Trout is good food, but it’s taking a toll on my love life. He pulled out a knife, fired up the stove, and got cooking.

The sun was going down when he put the fish on the skillet. Jocelyn came up beside him in her coat, hat, and scarves to where only her eyes were visible. “Why don’t you go clean up for supper and I’ll finish your frying for you.”

Alan smiled while looking sideways at her. “Clean up?”

“Go in the bathroom and take off your clothes. I’ve got a pot of warm water and a washcloth in there for you to bathe with, and I laid out a set of clean clothes from your suitcase. You’ve been wearing these for-”

“For the last 2 days, yeah. It’s bound to be cold in there, though. Remember, I used the stove to heat it up when you last bathed on Christmas day.”

“Actually, I last bathed an hour ago. And I did fine. Go. You’ll see.”

Alan walked into the bedroom, and gasped. There were scores of little candles lit. They were mostly gathered on the plastic end tables brought in from the big room, kept away from the walls and any fabrics. He went into the bathroom and there was the promised pot of warm water, vapor arising from it. In the bathtub, there were multiple lit tea light candles, almost filling the whole floor of the tub. With all of these little flames, it definitely felt less chilly.

He undressed and bathed with the washcloth and soap in front of the sink. His razor and toothbrush with paste had been placed on the sink, so he had a quick shave and cleaned his mouth. He then used the balance of the water to wash his hair. After towel drying and cleaning the wet floor, he picked up the folded clothes she had laid out for him on the toilet. On top of the clothes lay his deodorant and cologne from his shave kit.

He emerged from the bathroom dressed, dapper, and smelling good. “Man… I feel great.” Even the bedroom was noticeably less frigid with all the candles burning.

Before he could walk out of the bedroom, Jocelyn came walking in with two plates of cooked fish. She had taken her coat, hat, and scarves off. Her face was freshly and fully made up, with soft eyelids, long eyelashes and liner; light blush on her cheeks with shimmering cherry lips. Large red and black polished stone earrings framed her face, with matching necklace draping across her sweater. The bright red Merino turtleneck had an interlacing diamond knit patterning, and matched the bright red polish that made her nails a brilliant contrast to her pale hands. A hint of leggings at the knees peeked between her black satin colored business length skirt and black leather go-go boots. Alan gazed at her, mouth agape. He could smell her perfume. Her hair was clean and straight, and her smile and sparkling eyes lit up his soul.

“Ready for dinner?” she crooned.

“Yes — but I think I’ll want some dessert,” he growled mischievously.

“Down, boy!” she laughed.

Alan, for once, was at a loss for words. He ate the fish hungrily, but could not take his eyes off the pretty vision sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. As he finished, Jocelyn reached under the pillow and produced the wine bottle with a little left in it, and two wine glasses.

“I found these while searching this place today.”

There was just enough wine for a few sips worth in each glass.

“Sorry, it’s red. I don’t think that goes with fish,” she said.

“But I do think it goes with hot fox,” said he.

“And beefcake,” she whispered back.

Suddenly Alan lifted his head, as if having an epiphany. He put his plate and glass down on the ground near the wall, and stood up. He walked over to the closet where he had folded his dirty clothes earlier. Reaching into the pants pocket, he pulled out a tiny mp3 player and a pair of ear buds.

“I’d forgotten about this. I’m still not in the habit of using this little thing,” he said as he pulled up “70’s mix” and scrolled to a song. He then slipped the mp3 into his shirt pocket and extended his arm to Jocelyn.

“May I have this dance, Madame?”

Jocelyn took his hand and stood, not sure where this was going. Then Alan put one of the ear buds in his right ear, and the other in her left ear. “This song is me speaking to you,” he whispered to her as he pressed a button on the player.

She heard a piano playing, followed by Joe Cocker’s voice.

“You are so beautiful… to me…”

She looked into his eyes as her own got waterlogged. As she lay her head on his shoulder, he grasped one of her hands and put his other arm around her waist. They swayed slowly in the light of a hundred little flickering flames.

When they stopped, they kissed sweet and long.

“Come to bed with me, Eagle Scout. Let’s make some fire.”

She then disrobed. How I wish I could do this slowly and seductively, but it’s still a little too chilly to be exposed too long. In less than a minute, she was down to a red lace teddy. Alan drooled.

“Sweet ever-lovin’ heaven! You’re hot! …but you’re gonna be freezing in seconds, even under the covers. You should-”

As if in anticipation, Jocelyn lifted the bedcovers to expose some ‘poor college student hot water bottles’. Pulling them onto the floor, she hopped under the blankets. “Mm-mm-mm, toasty. Needs more meat, though.”

Alan had his clothes off in twenty seconds.

As he pulled in beside her, she whispered “Let me take care of you down there. I’m not comfortable yet doing anything below my waist until SRS.”

“Jocelyn, I love you. But I might not be able to do this.”

Her face fell. “I-I’m sorry. This is too much too fast, isn’t it? And with me still having my… this was a bad idea. Forget-”

“Jocelyn! No! I’m… I’m impotent.”

She had her mouth agape now. “But… this morning… I felt you.”

“Look, - God, this is embarrassing — I can very occasionally get an erection. But for the last four years, they’ve been lasting shorter, and sometimes won’t come at all. This is one of the many things that Lacy said I was a failure at.”

He looked away. “What you really need is some younger guy who can satisfy you, not an old has been like me.”

“Be quiet, Lacy’s voice. Alan, have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes. He saw no medical issue. No disease, testosterone level fine. Even the pills didn’t help much. He said it might be mental or emotional. But I wasn’t ready to see a shrink.”

“Have you… been with a woman since Lacy?”

“After my last two marriages? Remember, I was gonna be a monk for the rest of my life. Until you came along.”

Jocelyn kissed him. “Alan, do you remember that old show ‘Married With Children’?”

“Yeah. Al Bundy?”

“That’s the one. Did you think that Al’s wife, Peggy, was physically attractive?”

“Absolutely.”

“Yet Al was always avoiding having sex with her. Why do you think that was?”

“Probably because she was a ditzy lady who took all his money and continually ridiculed him.”

“Sound familiar?”

Alan thought. “Huh. And my name’s even Al. Are you saying that my problems getting it up might have something to do with Lacy cutting me down all the time?”

“Maybe. I’m no doctor. And I love you whether you can or can’t ‘get there’. But I wonder what would happen if we tried some positive reinforcement.”

“Positive…?”

“Shhhhh. Just listen to me. Alan is a great provider. He’s a sexy man who knows just the right song to pick to slow dance to. He’s so romantic. He is a hard worker, and brave enough to get out on the ice that I fell through to get us food. I love his big broad shoulders. They make me feel so safe. Alan’s a good man, a type of good man that’s hard to find…”

He pulled her close and she felt a familiar bulge pressing into her hip.

“…and it’s good to find that he’s still a hard man.”

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 11

They lay entwined.

Alan after the best sexual level he’d performed at in at least eight years. Jocelyn after her first intimate experience as a woman.

“You were great,” she kissed into his ear. “And twice!”

“My God, woman, you turn me on so much. First a hand job, then the best blow job ever. I never thought I’d experience that level of intensity ever again. I wish you could have felt the same.”

“Oh, I did. Did I ever. I arrived.”

“What? How? I didn’t really touch you down there.”

“Those vacuum treatments you performed on my breasts? They did the trick. God! That was heavenly.”

“Huh. I’m saying ‘God’ — and talking TO God — more than I have in decades, lately.”

“I know. I even prayed today, for the first time in a long time.”

“I think God’s okay with what just happened. I’ve heard God is love.”

“Yes. That’s what I think too.”

“You know, I’d love to make you orgasm when you get your vagina. When do you go to get that?”

“I’ll need about a year of living as a woman before they’ll approve it. Unless I go to Thailand. But either way, it’ll take money, and that may take the longest to build up.”

“I’m a patient man. I can wait.”

Jocelyn pulled back some so she could see his face. “Alan — I know that you told me you love me — but are you implying that you want a long term relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Like… permanent?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Are you sure? You know what they say about relationships begun under intense, life-and-death circumstances.”

“That the sex rocks?”

“Well… I’ll bet they do say that. But they also say that those relationships tend to fail over time.”

“Jos, yes, I’ve heard that. By the way, do you mind me calling you Jos?”

“Ah… no, actually. Jos is cute.”

“Anyway, I’ve heard about Christie Brinkley and the guy she met at that helicopter crash. Their marriage plopped in under a year. And then there’s Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reaves. They were so great together in ‘Speed’, but broke up before ‘Speed 2’.”

“I never saw ‘Speed 2’.”

“Yeah, like most of America.”

“Alan — they weren’t dating in real life.”

“Exactly. It was just a movie.”

“So… what point are you trying to make, again?”

“Listen, I know the odds are a romance that starts like this will tank. That doesn’t mean that it always happens, and it doesn’t mean it would happen to us. I just know that I have never met a woman who has loved me with her words the way you do. When you say that stuff, it’s like concentrated life force to me. Not to mention that I love your face, your breasts, your shape, your voice, your smarts, your heart… I know that we still barely know each other; I just don’t want you to slip through my fingers.”

Jocelyn looked at him with an intense glare. She was afraid to breathe too loudly. “Alan…what exactly are you saying?” Oh God. I don’t believe this. It’s too good to be true… that’s why I can’t trust it to be real.

“Just this. I want to have you as my wife. If you’ll have a guy almost old enough to be your father. Jocelyn O’Donnell… will you marry me?”

She covered her face with her hands and began to sniffle.

“Yes.”

He pulled her to himself. There are the happy tears again, he thought.

He was wrong.

~o~O~o~

They both had started to get cold, so they changed into layers of clothing again and got back in bed together. Pretty soon, sleep overtook Alan. Jocelyn remained awake, in deep contemplation. She had Alan’s head against her breasts. He was lightly snoring every third breath or so. She looked down, and kissed his forehead.

“Alan?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

She received no reply, just the occasional snore. She asked again, a little louder. Still no response.

She relaxed and began to talk, still under her breath.

“Alan, these last four days have been the most horrible and most wonderful of my life. I gladly accept the horrors that have occurred, since without them I would never have come to know you and your love the way I do now. You are so special. Did you know that? I really don’t think you do. God, what that woman did to your soul, to your head.

“I would love to be your wife. Even knowing the odds of a relationship starting out this way. I know that I could treat you better than Dana and Lacy did. See, there are very few men — good quality men, that is — that would be interested in a transgirl like me. I would never take that for granted. A man like you — you really are a dream.

“And that’s the problem. This love we share, I’m afraid it’s just that. A dream. A pipe dream. A man of your quality — your caliber — really deserves more than what I can give you. See, I knew — at least in part — what trouble I was getting into when I decided to transition. I knew that was part of the deal. You, on the other hand, kind of fell into this relationship when we got stranded here. If you are with me, you will suffer. With your family, work, any other acquaintances. Marrying me would make you a social outcast, which is the kiss of death in your profession. I can’t let you do that to yourself. It would destroy me to know that I had ruined your life. That’s why we really cannot be a couple.

“It may be a moot point anyway. The chances of both of us making it out of here alive get slimmer every day. And while you might could survive a long walk back down to highway 12, I absolutely wouldn’t. I’m weighing you down.

“I actually kind of hope I don’t make it out of here. I don’t think I’ll ever match this kind of bliss — the heaven of loving you — again. The rest of life would be a disappointment. Best to “go out on top”, as they say. And it would crush me to see you with someone else. Although I’d know that you would be happier with a good quality genetic girl than someone like me; that would be the only consolation. You’d be better off with some five-foot-two blond blue-eyed D cup girl than a former male who will not pass perfectly ever.

“I know you would fight me if I said all this while you’re awake. So I’m speaking to your subconscious, and I hope it will make your conscious self see my reasoning. At the very least, I’m getting some practice in for when I do have to tell your awakened self.

“But know this, Alan: I love you. Just like you said, truly, madly, deeply. I will always love you, more than anything else in my life. And you have blessed this life of mine these last four days, these days of paradise. You’ve stolen my heart, and you may gladly keep it. I love you, Alan…
…Goodbye.”

She worked to stifle her sobs so she wouldn’t wake him, as Alan continued to softly snore.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn awoke. It was dark. The candles had all burnt out. And she was alone in the bed. Alan… no! Don’t go away yet, I’m not ready! Just one more kiss…

She jumped out, and ran to the bathroom. He wasn’t there. Running to the big main room, she saw it was empty too.

The room… didn’t look right. It looked like daytime, but night too. What was happening?

“ALAN!” she screamed, shaking with dread.

The front door opened, with Alan coming through, snow shovel in hand. “Jocelyn? What the… what’s wrong, baby?”

She virtually tackled him, wailing. “I… I thought you’d already left me!”

He held her tight and kissed her over and over. “I’m right here. Right here. All I did was go to shovel the doorway. Hang onto me. I’m never going to leave you.”

She still shook. “Wh-why does the light look so weird in here?”

“It’s the snow. It’s slowed, but still coming down. It has all the ground floor windows totally covered now. But light still is coming in through the loft windows.”

“We’re almost snowed in completely. We’re not going to make it.”

“HEY! Hey, none of that talk now! We will make it out of here. We WILL. You just see. I — and God — are not gonna let either of us die out here.”

He held her and rocked her until her shaking stopped.

~o~O~o~

“Well, wish me luck. I’m off to catch trout.”

“Why are you taking the fireplace poker with you?”

“I need a tool. Yesterday, I hooked a huge one — I’m guessing twelve, fifteen pounds? — but he fought so hard, the line snapped once I had him halfway out of the hole. If I get him today, as soon as his gills are out, I’m gonna spear him. And then, my dear, maybe we’ll finally have enough fish for a couple of meals.”

Jocelyn looked concerned. “I… I feel like the cabin’s going to cave in… it’s claustrophobic, not being able to see out the windows.”

“Hm. Follow me.” Alan climbed the ladder to the loft. She did the same. “See, you still have a great view out of the loft windows. In fact, you can kind of see where I’ll be fishing, through those trees, down at the lake.” He pulled out the mp3 player and buds. “Listen to some good music. And they have a few paperbacks up here… a Louis L’amour, a Tom Clancy, and — oh, here we go. Romance novels!”

“Thank you. It does feel better up here,” Jocelyn agreed. At least not like I’m suffocating.

She stayed in the loft while Alan went out to fish. Looking at the books, she tossed away the romance novels. The last thing I want to do is read about ‘true love’ when mine is doomed. She read through the mp3 playlist. Forget it; too many love songs. Lying on her back on the floor of the loft, her eyes started to leak. She couldn’t remember another five-day span where she had wept so much.

Her tears stopped eventually, not so much from achieving relief, but because further crying seemed futile. She felt dull and lifeless, except for the acute ache in her chest, the cramp in her throat, and her old friends queasy belly and pounding skull. It all sucks. Everything sucks. Love. Life. Why did I have to fall for him?

She got to her knees and dusted her full length creamy chiffon coat off with disappointment. I’ve had to live in this day and night, and it’s getting ruined. Standing, she walked to the window to see if she could see Alan out at the lake from there. He wasn’t readily visible in the area where he told her he’d be.

Then, she saw him. He was only about a hundred feet away from the cabin! He wasn’t at the lake yet, but still heading towards it - crawling on his hands and knees. What had happened?

Suddenly extremely alarmed, Jocelyn quickly unlatched one of the loft windows and pulled it open part way.

“Alan! What’s wrong?” she yelled, cupping her gloved hands around the outline of her mouth.

He stopped and looked back at her just for a second before going on.

Jocelyn’s blood froze with panic. She’d been mistaken.

That wasn’t Alan.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 12

Jocelyn was frantic. Alan was in deep trouble, dead if they decided to attack him. She didn’t know what to do.

“God, help!” she choked out, fear stemming her speech. “There’s no hope, I’m helpless and useless to him, my God it can’t end this way, he can’t die he CAN’T DIE-“

“Stop it.”

She halted, and went quiet in her mouth and head. She’d heard that voice before internally, although this time it came so loudly she could have sworn it was spoken out loud. It was her strong inner dilemma-solving persona, used in her information technology job. It spoke again:

“This is just a problem. All problems have solutions. A solution exists for you. Think. What’s the problem?”

“Alan’s about to be dead meat!” she yelled impatiently.

“No. Focus. That’s not the problem; it’s the outcome, if the problem is not addressed. What do you need to change the outcome?”

“I… I need a gun.”

“None available. Restate the problem.”

“I need a weapon. A big one.”

“THAT’S the problem. Look around the room. Find a solution.”

She scanned the room quickly, analytically. Couch, 2 wood chairs, fireplace shovel/broom, 2 wine bottles, pots, pans, long nose lighter, dishrags, camping stove, 2 hurricane lamps, lamp oil, funnel for stove fuel, liquid stove fuel-

And she had her solution.

~o~O~o~

Alan finally caught the monster. The biggest trout he’d ever seen or even heard of. When it hit, it pulled so hard that he was sure it was the same whopper that he’d lost yesterday. It fought like a demon, but when he finally coaxed it out of the hole it received the big poker through the gills, just like Alan had planned. It was still flapping more than an F. Scott Fitzgerald socialite until he speared it through the brain.

He caught his breath; that had been quite a struggle. Then he whooped. “WAA-HOO! A fanny-slapping blue ribbon pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming trophy fish! Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a camera!”

He stopped, and then added, “-accompanied by a quick warm ride for us out of here.”

Pausing again with a smirk, “And, as long as I’m wishing - Jos, naked, in a tub of hot chocolate.” Don't blame me, God. She's the one who wanted that.

He picked up his gear and his catch, and began the trek back to the cabin. He’d walked it enough this week that he knew the distance, roughly: 140 yards, more or less. An hour or so of daylight left. I could fish a little more, but I’d best not push my luck. Don’t want anything to jinx this day-

As if on cue, his concern materialized into reality. There, trotting towards him from the trees into the tiny clearing he was in.

A wolf. A huge wolf.

It slowed down and began to show its teeth as its eyes locked with Alan’s. Alan immediately looked slightly away. His scout survival manual was shouting at him.

“Avoid direct eye contact with the wolf as it will be interpreted as a challenge.”

He quickly stuffed the trout down the front neck of his coat. I’ve got the poker. I can keep him at bay. Dammit, one wild pooch is NOT gonna get Jocelyn’s food.

“A lone wolf will not threaten a full grown human, unless rabid. Packs of wolves will do so, rarely. Wolves hunt in packs of four to seven.”

That’s when he noticed the others trickling out of the trees. Four more, all between him and the cabin.

They began to spread out slowly, and then with more speed began to encircle him. The first wolf was the biggest, and was the chief aggressor, approaching him with fangs bared and beginning to snarl. Alan responded by slowly backing away, poker drawn, arms and shoulders spread out to increase his size to them. He had no other instruction about how to deal with five wolves.

As they flanked him, he darted his head back and forth in a desperate effort to keep track of each. Retreating, he noticed a tree to his right, about ten feet away. Maybe I should dart to the tree and climb it — if for nothing else than to buy time. He glanced to his left and then prepared to break for the pine. But as he looked back right, he saw the big one — he must be the leader, the alpha wolf — had seemingly anticipated his thoughts. It was standing right next to the trunk, effectively blocking his plan. What now — what do I — God help me —

Suddenly there was a small crash of glass on the tree trunk. A fireball exploded above the wolf as liquid fire rained down on it. It’s coat was now aflame, and it yelped/screamed as it jumped forward, rightward, then in a circle and then helter-skelter in a zigzag off through the woods, howling in pain and fright. The others now looked a little tenuous, almost spooked, yet they held their ground. Alan thought for a second, fire from heaven?

He was nearly correct. Jocelyn, his angel, stepped out into the clearing. She had no gloves on as she pulled the second small wine bottle from her coat. Using the lighter, she flared up the rag stuffed in the opening, secured with the bottle cork. Alan’s resolve sparked back to life along with it. With her in his corner, he felt he could fight off a pride of lions. He glanced back at his rear quadrant to see where the wolves now stood-

They were gone. Had they all tucked tail and left?

Then turning to the front, he saw the horrifying answer. They were doing what wolves do, attacking the smallest and weakest available prey. Jocelyn.

She backed up, quickly realizing how the tables had turned; she’d hoped the others would have run with the first explosion. Throwing her last firebomb at the closest wolf, she saw it sink into the snow unexploded as the carnivore nimbly dodged the missile. It jumped for her neck and she blocked it with her forearm, nearly being knocked off balance. But it now had ahold of the sleeve of her creamy chiffon coat, as a second wolf clamped down on the lower hem in a futile attempt to bite her leg. She saw the other two wolves closing fast. They jumped towards her torso, and confusingly only got mouthfuls of polyester.

Jocelyn had ducked down and slid out of the bottom of her coat. In her sweater and sweats, she broke in a run for the cabin.

The pack quickly recovered and took off towards her. As they did, the second wine bottle, fuse still burning, hit a tree in front of the last two trailing wolves. A line of flame four feet across suddenly blocked their path. The face of one of them was now on fire, and it screeched as it ran away. The wolf next to it was startled enough that it ran too. Alan ran up to and over the fire line as fast as his legs would pump.

Jocelyn screamed as the remaining two creatures caught up to her.

“JOS! COVER YOUR NECK! I’M COMING,” yelled Alan.

As the wolves jumped her back, she fell forward into the deep snow, now guarding the back of her neck with her arms as instructed. One bit deep into her right forearm and attempted to pull it away. The other dug its teeth into her left leg just above her knee. They now attempted to tug in opposite directions, as if trying to split her like a wishbone.

Poker in his left hand, Alan ran towards the closest beast. It kept pulling on Jocelyn’s arm but had her rescuer in the corner of its eye. Alan pulled the huge trout out of his coat and launched it just to the right of the animal, causing it to instinctively jump to it’s left. Which sealed its doom.

Alan had already left his feet, jumping towards his target’s anticipated arrival spot. He landed on the wolf like a pole-vaulter, impaling it through the chest with the poker. It’s ribs cracked and snapped as the steel spike with the big man behind it bisected its heart.

Alan jumped back up as his victim took its rapid, agonal last breaths. The last one still had ahold of Jocelyn’s leg. Her blood was staining the snow red in two spots. The wolf was hungry, and with the taste of hemoglobin it was not willing to give in, despite the fate of its friends.

“HYEAAAH” yelled Alan, waving his arms threateningly as he bounded towards the remaining canine. It released Jos’ leg but would not run, snarling and growling at the impatient man approaching it. Dammit, run off. I don’t have time to fight you. I’ve got to stop her from bleeding to death.

“If you have food, throw it to the wolf. It may be distracted enough to leave you alone.”

Alan sidestepped to grab the trout. It was bloody from the head wound he’d given it. Throwing it just over the head of the wolf, it landed three feet behind the furry tail.

The red-mouthed animal glanced back at the fish, then back at Jocelyn, with Alan standing over her in a protective pose. It stared at Alan for a few seconds, and then lowered its head in a deferential motion. The huge catch was in its jaws seconds later as it trotted out of sight.

Alan ran like a man possessed to the cabin, with his limp lover in his arms.

~o~O~o~

He burst through the door of the cabin, already honed in on his next task. He had to be successful. Failure would assuredly mean death for her.

He entered the bedroom and laid her gently but quickly on the bed. He grabbed one of the few unworn shirts from his suitcase — his white long sleeved dress shirt he’d packed for the interview — and with his hands assisted by his teeth, tore a few wide strips of cloth from it. He stripped off her sweats down to her t-shirt and underwear and rapidly scanned her body for other wounds. Only finding the two on her arm and leg, he looked quickly. Her leg was oozing blood fairly steadily, but not with a pulsing motion. Her forearm was also just oozing, and not as severely; combined, however, she’d likely lost a lot, Alan figured. Using thick strips of shirt cloth and some butter knives from the kitchen, he fashioned tourniquets and applied them on both limbs, placing them between the wounds and her heart. Then quickly covered her with blankets.

“Alan… that hurts…”

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’ve got to stop your bleeding, if it works I’ll release them in just a little bit,” he blurted out rapidly. He wasn’t near done. He folded up what little clean fabric he had left and stuffed them into the wounds, then wrapped them tightly with more strips, making modified “pressure dressings”. He then elevated the wounds, packed snow around them to help stop the bleeding, and pressed hard on the leg wound to try to help it coagulate. I’ve never heard of using all of these techniques together, but hey, I’m trying to save a life, here.

Unable to think of anything more to do, he stayed beside her and held pressure on her leg. He looked at her face. Jocelyn’s eyes were shut, and she was grimacing from pain constantly, although the expression was more intense some moments than others. She was so pale. And she was taking deep heaving breaths, like she couldn’t get enough air.

“Baby, are you having any trouble breathing? Do you feel weak?”

“Yes… to both… nnngh,” she grunted through clenched teeth. “And… it hurts.”

He checked his watch. Twenty minutes since the tourniquets were applied. If they stayed on too long, she could have limb loss; he wasn’t sure how long “too long” was. He let the arm one loose, then the leg. Now the trick was to wait and watch to see if blood oozed into or around the dressings. Waiting. I hate this part. I need to be DOING something for her, not just sitting here.

“Alan…”

“Yeah, honey? Don’t be moving yet. Just be still. You can’t start bleeding again.”

“I feel… so cold… “

He got rid of the snow packing. That was probably a stupid thing to do. Stupid, stupid…

“Alan… you are not stupid…”

Oh God — I said that out loud?

“You saved my life… again. My hero, my Eagle Scout. You were… so awesome out there… I’m so proud of you…”

“No.” He was crying now. “Baby, I don’t deserve that. God, if I had just stayed here instead of trying to catch a rotten fish… you actually saved my life. I’d be shredded to bits if you hadn’t come along. You’re a life saver.”

“A… pineapple lifesaver?” She curled her right lip into a mild grin.

“Nope. Not today. Lime,” he smiled through his tears. “With those light green sweats you had on.”

“They’re… ‘Sweet Chartreuse’…”

“I swear I’ll never understand girl colors.”

“It’s part… of the feminine mystique…”

“So where did you learn to make Molotov cocktails? Don’t tell me Webelos.”

“Got my… anarchy badge,” she grinned, eyes closed.

Alan laughed while his heart broke. She was in trouble. And it was dark now. God. I’ve done all I know to do. She’s in your hands right now. Please don’t let us down.

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TO BE CONCLUDED ON 12/05
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of these characters to any actual person living or dead is coincidental

Thanks to Sephrena Lynn Miller for a quick first read!

Thanks to the "BCTS Closeteers" - especially Jana - for help with the pic!

Thanks to Tels for special help!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! (Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!)

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**