His eyes cracked open.
“Please.” She ran her fingers across his forehead, pushing the drenched hair away from his face. He felt like ice. “I can’t carry you. You have to get up. The house is close.”
“I am sorry.” The words came out as a gasp through chattering teeth. “I am sorry. I tried. I… I am sorry.”
“Dorran?”
His eyes lost their focus. Terror hit Clare, thick enough to choke her. She grabbed Dorran’s collar and shook him hard, trying to keep him awake.
A hissing, clicking noise came from the lake behind them. One of the creatures had reached the shore. It clawed at the snow mindlessly, its fingers frozen stiff.
Clare’s throat closed with panic. Moisture stung her eyes.
Dorran was breathing thin gasps that sounded raw and painful, but he wasn’t moving. The water leaking from his clothes was turning to rivulets of ice among the snow.
“Dorran!” She screamed his name, her voice breaking. “Get up, get up, move!”
He took a ragged breath, and his eyes opened. They were dull, exhausted, and resigned. He didn’t want to fight anymore.
No. Don’t leave me here. She pulled on his shirt, trying to drag him towards the house. “Please. Please. Get up. I need you. Please.”
“Nh.” He pressed one hand into the snow and tried to rise but collapsed back down.
Clare wrapped her arms around him. He felt like winter. Her hands turned numb as she grasped fistfuls of his shirt and tried to lift. “Come on. Again.”
He lurched onto his knees. Clare tried not to gasp. Icy water drained from his clothes, seeping into her jacket and turning to frost on the zipper. She tightened her hold.
“A bit more. I won’t leave you. Just… just keep trying.”
A grunt of pain escaped him as he staggered onto his feet. Clare kept her arms wrapped tightly around him, carrying as much of his weight as she could. She dragged him towards the open window. One of his hands gripped her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. He didn’t know how tightly he was holding her, and Clare didn’t try to stop him. The ache lent her focus.
“Just a bit more.” Her voice cracked. She didn’t know how she was going to get Dorran through the window. The door was too far away. But she had to get him inside.
Think, Clare!
Dorran unexpectedly let go of her. He reached forwards and grasped the sill then pulled himself onto it.
He had no strength left to climb, so instead, he fell. He hit the floor of the dining room with a horrible thud. Clare followed him, clambering over the sill, shaking. She slammed the windowpane shut behind them. In the distance, the lake edge shimmered in the pale light, a sheet of ice already reforming. The sole surviving monster clung to the shore, its arms coated in ice and cemented to the ground. Its head continued to move, though, as its jaw twisted and gnashed.
“We did it. We’re okay.” Clare bent and touched Dorran’s face. He didn’t respond. Her smile faded, and she shook his shoulder to rouse him. “Dorran?”
He was still breathing, but he wasn’t moving. Her heart squeezed, the relief vanishing. He needed warmth. Clare looked towards the dining room door. The bedroom was heated, but they were separated from it by two flights of stairs.
The dining room had its own fireplace, but it was stone cold. Clare had no other options, though. She ran to the hearth and shovelled the kindling inside. Numb fingers struggled to light a match, and it took her three attempts to get the fire started. Mist rolled away from her lips with every breath.
It won’t be enough. Come on, Clare. How do you treat hypothermia? You know this.
She returned to Dorran. He lay beneath the window, his clothes dripping water across the tile floor. She rushed to pull his boots off then unbuttoned his jacket and shirt. She couldn’t lift him high enough to get the clothes off his arms.
The nearby serving table had a cupboard underneath. She crawled to it and wrenched the door open. Inside were utensils, including a carving knife. She flexed her grip on the handle as she moved back to Dorran.
Be careful. Your hands are shaking. Don’t cut him.
She pressed the blade against his throat, near the collar. He flinched. It was a small movement, but Clare took a shuddering breath. She began cutting.
The fabric was a thick weave, but the blade was sharp. Clare sawed through the shirt’s sleeves then turned to Dorran’s pants. She didn’t dare touch his underwear, but everything else came off.
“Okay. Okay.” Clare dropped the knife. The scraps of fabric lay underneath Dorran. His skin, still damp, was an unnatural white-grey colour, the same shade as a corpse.
Get him off the tiles. Clare dragged her fingers through her hair as she looked around. Her lips trembled as she fought to keep frightened tears inside. The fireplace had a rug in front of it. The mat was thick and covered in a twisting pattern of blues and golds. Clare grabbed it and dragged it back to the window to position it at Dorran’s side.
She got her arms around him again, fighting her impulse to recoil from his cold flesh. He was heavy, but Clare didn’t give up until he was fully off the tiles. He fit on the rug without much room left. Breathing heavily from the exertion, she let him go then tilted his head back, ensuring that his airways would be open.
What next? What does he need?
“Heat,” Clare whispered. The fire’s blaze was still young but growing. Clare gripped the rug’s edge above Dorran’s head, then leaned back, gasping and struggling as she pulled it across the tiles. She got him to the space in front of the fire, as close as she could manage, then dropped down beside him, exhausted.
Don’t stop. Find blankets.
She winced as she returned to her feet. Her fingers were burning as exertion forced hot blood into her cold hands. Her mind was scattered, pushed to breaking from fear and exhaustion, but she pressed it to work, to remember what she needed, as she crossed the foyer and climbed the stairs. She found blankets in the upstairs bedroom and towels in the bathroom. She filled a pot with water and snatched their dressing gowns off the bedroom door on the way out.
The water sloshed and threatened to spill, and Clare’s teeth began to ache where she was clenching them. She stumbled down the stairs, too frantic to be safe, and made it back to the dining room. As she closed the door behind her, she craned her neck to see Dorran by the fire.
He’s not breathing.
A metallic tang flooded her mouth as she bit her tongue. She staggered forward, the pot’s water dripping over her arms as it tipped. She left her burdens on the floor and knelt next to Dorran. Her fingers shook as they pressed against his chest. If there was any warmth left in him, she couldn’t feel it.
“No, no—”
He drew breath. It was shallow and weak but not yet gone. Clare rocked forward, gasping from relief.
Heat. Hurry.
The fire was gaining momentum as it consumed the kindling. Clare shoved small pieces of wood onto it and set the pot of water beside the flames to heat. Then she grabbed one of the towels from the pile beside her. She dug it into Dorran’s long black hair, squeezing to get the water out. He made a small noise in the back of his throat.