Love chasers

Putting out fires

*Zac*

The storm rages, a tempest more ferocious than I had anticipated, the snow cascading down like a relentless curtain. It envelops everything in a thick white shroud, turning the world outside into a swirling chaos of wind and ice.

“Maybe I should throw a bit more wood on the fire,” Lena suggests, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield against the encroaching chill. Her breath hangs in the air like a ghost, visible and fleeting. “It looks like it's about to die out, and the cold feels like it's creeping in.”

I nod, it is actually getting cold in here. I watch her get up and my heart sinks at the thought of what that jerk of an ex put her through. Nobody deserves that kind of treatment. If you ask me, Mr. Perfect Hair should have been unceremoniously dropped into an active volcano.

As she crouches before the fireplace, a sudden funny cough escapes her lips, and I almost make a joke to lighten the mood. But then a realization hits me like a ton of bricks. “Stop, Lena! We need to kill the fire… now.”

“Kill the…” She turns halfway to look at me, confusion etched across her face. “But we’ll freeze without it.”

“And we’ll die with it,” I counter, urgency propelling me to my feet. “The chimney is blocked with snow. There’s too much for the heat to melt. Carbon dioxide is seeping back into the cabin.”

Panic flickers in her eyes, and she leaps up as if the flames have suddenly scorched her. “How? How do we stop it? Should I grab some cold water to pour on it?”

“No, the fireplace could c***k,” I hurry over, my voice steady but firm. “Let me handle this.”

She steps aside, giving me the space I need. I reach for the poker, quickly dismantling the dwindling fire, grateful that it's already losing its fight. “Check the kitchen for any baking soda or salt.”

Lena darts into the kitchen, her movements frantic, while I scoop the cold ashes from the sides, pouring them over the still-warm embers to suffocate the last flames.

“No baking soda, but I found a big bag of salt! I think it’s for the steps outside,” she calls out, holding the bag aloft like a lifeline.

“Perfect,” I reply, snatching the bag and ripping it open with urgency. “This will do the trick.”

She watches me with curiosity. “I had no idea salt worked to put out fires.”

“Salt doesn’t burn,” I explain as I work quickly, “so it’s effective for smothering flames if you have enough of it.”

I manage to extinguish the last of the embers with the salt, and then I head to the kitchen sink to wash my hands. “It should be safe now.”

“Thank you,” she says, a nervous smile breaking through her initial fear. “I guess you kinda saved my life there.”

“Oh, you’re giving me a bit too much credit,” I reply, offering her a small, reassuring smile, though I feel unworthy of her gratitude.

She shakes her head, her expression earnest. “Had I been alone, I would have just piled wood on that thing and probably gone to bed, never to wake again… I had no idea.”

I'm not sure what to say. I've never been comfortable with being treated like a hero.

*Lena*

I can see he is slightly uncomfortable, something I hadn’t expected. I would have thought someone like him would relish being seen as a hero, but apparently, he doesn’t.

Looking out the window, I notice the faint light from one of the other cabins flickering like a lighthouse in the storm. “What about the other cabins? Do you think they have the same problem?”

“Dammit, yes, they no doubt will,” he says, shaking his head, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. “I need to go and warn them.”

“We,” I correct him. “We need to go warn them.”

He’s on his feet, looking out the window, his brow furrowed with concern. “You should not be out there… it is dangerous.”

“But you should?” I challenge, crossing my arms defiantly.

“Nah,” he gives a small shrug, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “But at least I am used to risking my life in foolish endeavors like this.”

I bite my lip, torn between my desire to keep him safe and the gnawing guilt of sending him out there alone. What if something happens to him?

“Listen, I would like someone here to pull me back to safety in case I should fall or loose my way or something,” he says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “If we both go out, we risk getting lost out there.”

“Pull you back in?” I ask, genuinely confused.

He walks over to his bag, opening it with purpose. “I happen to have a long rope here. I’ll hook one end to me and the other one to this cabin, just in case I can’t find my way back in the storm.”

“To be honest, I’m not exactly sure I can drag you back here,” I admit, eyeing his large frame.

“You’d be surprised what the human body can do when it has to,” he grins. “But mostly, it’s for me to find my way back. I need you to make sure the line doesn’t snap or something.”

He pulls on his beat-up boots and jacket, rummaging through his bag for a beanie and gloves. Then he loops the rope onto the belt loop of his jeans before heading toward the door. I quickly pull on my own jacket, the fabric feeling like a thin barrier against the icy chill that seeps into the cabin.

“Luckily, the wind is blowing from the opposite direction,” he says, opening the door. “Which makes this a lot easier.”

I can instantly see he is right; had the wind blown against the door, it would probably have been covered in snow and impossible to open. The small porch is fairly clear, though cold, and it’s possible to stand there without being immediately engulfed by the storm.

He loops the rope around one of the sturdy beams. “You should go inside; it’s cold out here.”

“I can’t really watch the rope from behind a closed door,” I point out, my resolve firm.

He nods, his voice slightly teasing. “At least close the door, so we have a bit of heat when I come back.”

“Oh, sorry,” I mumble, and quickly close the door, feeling just a little bit stupid..

As the door clicks shut, the warmth of the cabin seems to vanish, leaving me shivering on the porch. The wind howls, a furious beast that swirls snowflakes into a blinding flurry. I watch him snap the rope securely to the beam, pulling it slightly to test.

“Be careful out there,” I call, my voice barely rising above the storm.

He turns back, giving me a cheeky smile that momentarily pierces through my anxiety. “I’ll be quick. Just keep an eye on the rope. And if it goes slack, pull at it. I might be needing a bit of help.”

I nod, “Just don’t wander too far!” I shout, though I know he can barely hear me.

With a final nod, he steps into the storm, his figure swallowed almost immediately by the swirling white. I strain my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but the snow obscures everything. The wind bites at my cheeks, and I pull my jacket tighter around me, anxiety gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

Had anyone else expected this storm? Shouldn’t weater service have predictable it? I certainly hadn’t come if I had known. By now, I can’t see the other cabins at all.

I focus on the rope. Each time it slacks a little, my heart leaps. What if he gets lost? What if he falls? I can't shake the thought of him disappearing into the storm, and I clench my teeth against the rising panic. But every time it almost instantly tightens again.

“Just a quick check,” I whisper to myself, the words feeling hollow in the howling darkness. I glance toward the darkened expanse of the storm, the wind almost mocking in its ferocity.

Then suddenly, the rope goes slack. I watch it, breath held, waiting for it to pull tight again, but nothing happens.

My heart races as the realization hits: maybe he’s coming back, and that’s why it’s slackening.

I grab the rope and pull, but it feels too light. If he’s walking toward me, shouldn’t there be more resistance?

Several agonizing moments pass before I realize why. The rope slides up on the porch, empty, leaving me frozen in place, dread curling around my heart like the storm itself.