Irish Variation of Louis: Lughaidh

➸ Glitch ★

Sniffing outside the tent wakes me. Despite the dark skies, my watch reads nine. I hear the animal sniffing again and reach into my nearby pack to secure one of my pistols.

Next to me, Clove is nearly completely hidden in her sleeping bag. I caress her cheek to wake her and show her my gun. She stares confused at me, still half-asleep.

“Something’s outside,” I whisper. “Stay put.”

Clove barely acknowledges my words. I leave her to stare dazed so I can investigate the noise outside.

My attempt to climb stealthily out of the tent is a complete failure. I get my foot caught in the bag and knock into Clove’s leg, causing her to cry out before she covers her mouth to muffle the sound. I finally topple out of the entrance and find the tent wedged between two trees.

Turning abruptly toward the sniffing, I’m ready to face off with a pack of hungry wolves. Or even a pissed fox or a rabid raccoon. Instead, I find a Labrador mix. He growls at me while I glance around for his friends. Wild dogs are pretty common in the rural areas. Not seeing the dog’s backup, I throw a handful of snow at it. Yelping as if seriously injured, the little whiner runs off.

“Wimp,” I mutter and crawl the rest of the way out of the tent.

After scanning the area for signs of trouble, I stretch until I’ve worked out the crick in my neck and the tight muscles in my back.

The tent shivers from the passing wind, and I don’t look forward to prying Clove out of both her sleeping bag and the tent. I study the orange fabric for a few minutes, turn away to piss, and then study it more. Based on how much time passes, I assume Clove returned to sleep since she never really woke up.

Devising a plan, I reach inside to grab my backpack. I use my blade to cut open the top of the tent, revealing Clove bundled up in her sleeping bag. Her eyes flutter open when the tent begins to move.

“What’s happening?” she asks, trying to sit up.

“I’m pulling you to the snowmobiles. Relax as much as you can.”

“I’m too heavy.”

“No, you’re not. Now settle down. The more you move, the more likely the tent will tear.”

“What if you hurt your back?”

“Clove,” I say, stopping long enough to look back at her, “I’m trying to concentrate. We need to get off this fucking hill and to a hospital to check on your leg. I can’t carry you, and you can’t walk fast enough for us to make it down by dark. So, will you please, shut the fuck up so I can do this shit?”

Laughing, Clove nods and rests back. I nearly ask if she has to piss, but remember she’s an adult and will speak up if necessary.

For the next hour, I keep moving. I also chew on bread followed by beef jerky. My stomach wants hot food but settles for what I offer. My throat reacts less welcoming to water, burning when I down half a bottle.

Occasionally, I peek back at Clove who holds onto the tent fabric to ensure her sleeping bag doesn’t fall out. I hear her messing with her bag too at one point and assume she’s eating. Hell, I even hear her laughing, but I don’t stop or look back. If I take my eyes off the path for more than a few seconds, I might trip on a large rock or branch. I also avoid objects that might hurt Clove when the tent slides over them. Plus, I pray there are no more bear traps around to fuck up my plan.

“When I was little,” Clove says when I stop to piss later, “I wanted a dog. I looked on the computer for what dogs were best, but I could never decide. Now I know I want a Siberian husky.”

Smirking at her teasing, I help her unzip the sleeping bag so she can stand up and wobble over to piss. Clove puts on a brave face, but she isn’t fooling me. I know she’s in a world of fucking pain.

“Another hour and we’ll reach the snowmobiles. You can leave your stuff behind and ride bitch. We’ll send someone up to get the other snowmobile and the rest of our supplies.”

Clove stares into my eyes and exhales unsteadily. “I might start crying during my pee. Don’t take it too seriously.”

With great effort, we shove down her pants, and she pisses between two barren trees. Clove doesn’t cry, but she does nearly break my arm when her foot slips on the ice.

“Fuck,” she growls, leaning against the tree. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You worry too much.”

Clove gives me a half smile. “I’m a huge fan of yours right now.”

“If I fucked up big-time in the future, try to remember how great I was today.”

“Will do,” she says and pulls up her pants. Shivering, she looks at the tent with the dread of someone who knows every flexed muscle will bring more pain. “I would die for you.”

“What?” I ask and help her to the tent.

“You heard me.”

“I don’t want you to die for me.”

“I know, but I would. You mean that much to me.”

Before I lower her to the tent, I cup her face in my gloved hands and kiss her gently.

“Did you kiss me like that because you think I need tenderness or because you’re afraid of my breath?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“That’s the smartass I need right now. No more talking about death. Not until I get you to the hospital and check your leg.”

Clove smiles softly and silently grimaces as she crawls back into the sleeping bag. I wait until she’s comfortable and hydrated. A bottle of water later, Clove smiles again and says, “mush” before laughing at my job as her sled dog. Proving my obedience, I grab the tent fabric and return to our trek.