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         “You hanging in there?” Jack asks, twisting his neck so he can sort of see me out of his peripheral vision as he continues trekking on, carrying me piggyback style once again. I nod and then remember that he can’t really see me.

         “I’m okay. Are you sure you don’t want a break?” I question warily, feeling guilty for being the source of his high reduction in energy.

         “I’m okay, don’t worry about me.”

         I rest my chin on his shoulder, the soft texture of his curly dark hair brushing against the side of my face. I study his profile closer and notice a faint hint of stubble that’s beginning to line his jaw, something I haven’t noticed before. It makes me wonder how many days we’ve been missing now. Three? Four?

         Who ever would have thought that I, Opal Finnegan, would last four days in the snow-infiltrated wilderness? The same Opal who previously thought that anything sixty degrees or lower was unbearable.

         I guess when you think about it that way, I’ve come a long way.

         A cough tickles at the back of my throat, causing me to have to turn my head away from Jack long enough to relieve the scratching sensation. My eyes still feel raw from crying so hard after killing that man earlier, and it occurs to me that I have no idea what his name is. I know virtually nothing about him. But he’s still dead.

         And it’s still my fault.

         I’ve had time to calm down now, and I’m much more at peace with the irrefutable fact that no amount of grief can bring that man back to life. Besides, he was going to kill us. It’s not like I did a bad thing.

         But it still feels wrong.

         A bone-chilling breeze flutters right through the fibers in my clothes and I shiver lethargically, tightening my grip around Jack’s neck. He’s still making me go without my coat, though now I’m allotted to wear my sweatshirt, which I guess is an improvement. But I’m still absolutely freezing.

         I close my eyes as he continues bumbling onward to remove the dizzying sensation that seems to enrapture my head with each movement, making my stomach feel queasy. Although I can’t deny that I’m beginning to relish my time with Jack, I want to get back so I can get better. I haven’t felt this sick in a long, long time, and the capricious nature of my intensifying illness is doing nothing to comfort me.

         “Jack? Do you think we’ll find our way back soon, or—”

         My mouth snaps shut when we all of a sudden topple over and collapse on the ground in a tangled heap, taking me completely off guard and making whatever I had previously been thinking about slip my mind.

         “Jack, what just happened?” I ask in shock, staring at him with wide eyes.

         A split second later, he hisses in pain, facing scrunching up into a look of sheer agony. I quickly push myself off of him and move back to survey the sight before me, throwing the backpack to the side. Everything seems normal, until I see it.

         His foot seems to be caught in some intricate-looking metal trap, no doubt meant to catch animals. It’s slightly rusted and I wonder how many years ago someone planted it there, only to be forgotten about.

         “Are you okay? What should I do?” I study him with concern as he continues to hold his foot, deep creases lining his forehead as he takes big, deep breaths. As much as I want to help him, I have no clue how to react. And he’s not giving me a lot of insight, which is worrying.

         “Agh! My foot!” he cries.

         “—is caught,” I finish for him. “Tell me what to do. I’ll help you get it out.”

         He continues yakking on, still frozen in place as his hands continue caressing his shoe, which is clamped tightly in the mouth of whatever kind of trap this is. “It’s broken. I can tell. I heard the snap.”

         I slump back, my head spinning, partially because of the current state of illness that I’m under, and partially because this is probably one of the worst things possible that could happen. Without our strong pair of legs in commission, how are we supposed to return home now?

         I pretend not to think about that and instead focus on his shoe. I bet I could slide his foot out of it if I tried.

         “I’m gonna get your foot out of there, okay? Don’t move,” I instruct, gingerly taking my hands and letting them linger in the air above his shoe, glancing at him for approval.

         He’s still taking long, deep gulps of air, his chest moving up and down with each breath. I wait a moment and realize that he’s not going to say anything and use that as an okay to get his foot unstuck from the trap. Lowering my hands, I first grab the trap and try to pull up on it, just to see if it’ll come loose. It opens about a millimeter or two and then refuses to budge.

         Gritting my teeth, I pull my gloves off and slowly let my bare hands rest on his lower calf, right above where his snow boot stops. I lift his snow pants up and fold them over so they’re out of the way and then try to start delicately prying his foot out of the shoe, the disgruntling sound of him hissing in pain making me feel guilty for hurting him. Slowly, his foot begins sliding out. I try my hardest to be gentle, but it’s difficult when I need to do a bit of pulling to get it to come free.

         I try to use a fractionally higher amount of pressure to remove the foot when Jack grabs my hand tightly is his, disallowing me to continue working at it.

         “Opal, stop! That hurts.”

         I yank my hand free and shake my head, narrowing my eyes at him hostilely. “Stop being a baby. Do you want to be caught in the trap like some kind of sitting duck, or do you want me to get your foot out? It’s starting to come free.”

         Before he gets a chance to protest further, I lightly grab ahold of his ankle in determination, this time making sure to be gentler. When I finally get his foot unsubmerged from the ankle up, I see the blood that seems to be leaking right through his sock and grit my teeth as I glance at my hands, which surely enough has Jack’s blood spread all over them.

         Don’t think about how gross this is. Help Jack.

          “I almost got it out,” I murmur, doing my best to ignore the churning sensation that makes my stomach feel like some kind of whirlpool. As I continue working, I try to take long, slow breaths. I can’t afford to puke up what little food I’ve been eating these past few days, even if the sight in front of me is slightly nauseating. I need to help Jack.

         When it comes time to slide his foot out, I can physically see the excruciating amount of pain that he’s enduring in his face. All I do is touch his foot and he sucks in a sharp intake of oxygen as if it was the most painful thing to ever happen. I’ve never broken a bone, so for all I know, it is.

         “Tell me if you want me to stop,” I say as my brows draw together in concentration. My left hand holds the shoe steady while my right hand slowly loops around the base of his ankle right above his foot, slowly pulling it up. A few times he cries out in pain, but he never tells me to stop, so I keep going.

         “This is probably going to hurt, but I just have to pull on it one more time and I’ll have it free.” I study his face to make sure he’s okay and he nods, sighing deeply. “Don’t think about it,” I instruct, mentally preparing myself to yank his foot free the rest of the way, which undoubtedly will hurt a tremendous amount. I hate inflicting any pain on him, but it has to be done.

         I look down at his bloody sock one last time and mentally count in my head, ready to get it over with.

         Three.

         Two.

         One.

         When I mentally reach one, I yank on his foot with as much strength as I can, which causes Jack to howl in pain. But his foot is finally free, which is good.

         I look over at him and see that he’s panting heavily and sigh. This is not good. Jack was supposed to be our ticket out of here; he was the one who had the strength between us. But with a broken foot . . . he probably won’t even be able to support himself, let alone the both of us.

         Glancing down at the blood on my hands, I take scoopfuls of snow and rub them on my hands, trying to ignore the numbing sensation. Luckily, most of the blood comes off with the snow until my hands feel so numb that I have to put the gloves back on, leaving the remaining streaks of blood to be washed some other time.

         Once Jack finally has himself composed, though he’s still caressing his foot in his hands like it’s his own personal newborn baby, he shoots me a look of dejection. “Opal,” his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You’re gonna have to keep going without me.”

         My stomach drops. “No.”

         He stares at me with a look of desperation. “You don’t have a choice. You need to get back so you can get the medical attention you need. And I can’t carry you anymore. I’m sorry, but you have to leave me. You have to.”

         I shake my head. “No! I can’t just leave you here, not after everything you’ve done. I can’t do that, Jack. Don’t ask me to do that, because I can’t.”

         Keeping his eyes trained on mine, he takes both of my hands in his and squeezes them. “I’m really, really sorry, Opal, but I can’t walk on my foot. You’re gonna have to go without me, okay? Take the backpack with you, and make sure you don’t work up a sweat while you’re walking, because wet plus cold equals hypothermia. Make sure you’re taking some layers off if you’re feeling feverish, and there are matches in—”

         My eyes well up with tears and I shake my head. “No. Stop. I’m not leaving without you. I’ll—I’ll carry you!”

         He shoots me a flat look. “Even if you were one hundred percent healthy, you wouldn’t be able to carry me. I need you to be listening to what I’m telling you, Opal, because you’re gonna have to find your way back on your own now.”

         I start coughing, a not-so-subtle reminder of my current frail state of being. “If I leave you out here alone without any supplies or any way of getting back, you’re gonna die,” my shrill voice exclaims, cracking. “I’m not letting that happen!”

         “Opal,” he whispers, pulling me into him for a hug. I inhale his scent, even if it is slightly unpleasant. I close my eyes as I breathe him in, blinking hard a few times to refrain from crying. “You have to let me go.” I swear I hear his voice crack.

         Pulling back, I shake my head stubbornly. I look desperately around the woods for something, anything. A few hundred feet to the right, my eyes land on a fallen log from a tree, which gives me an idea.

         “M-maybe I could tie you to that log and drag it along with me . . .”

         He shakes his head. “It’s too heavy, Opal. And besides, you barely have the energy to keep yourself going, let alone the both of us. Listen to me. Alaska has over three million lakes, and sometimes they freeze over and the snow covers them, so you need to be careful with that. If you need to make a fire, there are matches in the bag and you should make sure to grab wood that—”

         “I’m not leaving you,” I mumble obstinately.

         “—is dry and varies in size. Pieces of bark are good too. Make sure to use those matches sparingly, because once they run out, so does your chance at having fire. Don’t eat the snow, there’s a bottle in the bag that I filled up with water from last time, and there should also be some food in there still.”

         “Jack, stop. I’m not leaving you behind, okay? Get in the sleeping bag; I’ll tie some rope around it and drag you with me. You’ll slide right over top of the snow; it’ll be like a sled.”

         “Opal you’re not carrying—”

         “Get. In. The. Sleeping bag. I’m dragging you with me, and I don’t care what you say.”

         Before he has a chance to argue, I’m digging the sleeping bag, along with some rope out of the backpack, tossing the former over to Jack to climb inside of. He frowns but remains still, clearly thinking that he can change my mind. But I’ve already made up my mind, so any attempts to counter my decision are inadequate.

         I glare at him. “Get in. You’re wasting time.”

         He looks like he wants to protest but finally climbs carefully inside of the sleeping bag, being extra cautious about his foot situation, most likely coming to the realization that arguing with me is useless. Which, it is.

         “You’re not going to be able to pull me, Opal,” he says. “And as soon as you realize that, you have to promise you’ll leave me behind. I need you to promise me.”

         I wave my hand dismissively, already getting to work tying rope around the sleeping back in tight knots. “Yeah whatever, I promise,” I mumble, eyes narrowing in concentration as I secure him tightly inside. Once I’m satisfied with my handiwork, I stand up, grab the rope, and give it a little tug to make sure I tied it securely enough. There’s a bit of resistance and I sigh in pleasure, thankful that one thing seems to be going right for once.

         I strap the backpack on my back and start walking in the other direction, both hands clamped tightly around the threads that weave together to constitute the rope, which is no doubt making an imprint in my palms from clinging on to it so tightly. It takes a lot of strength, but after a while I slowly get him moving, which is good enough for me. I’d rather the both of us move sluggishly than have only one of us moving at a normal rate and the other person not moving at all.

         At this point, we are completely, one hundred percent in this together, whether we want to be or not. Even if Jack threatened to beat me over the head with a stick, I still couldn’t find it in me to leave him behind. After all he’s done for me, I can’t leave him. I’d sooner die.

         Although I really, really don’t want to die.

         I keep pushing forward, mustering every spare ounce of strength I’ve been stocking away to pull Jack with me. Every so often I’ll start coughing from the effort, which results in Jack demanding that I stop and untie him so I can continue without having to drag all of the excess weight, but I pretend to ignore him.

         It’s kind of ironic, really. A few days ago, I would have done anything to make Jack go away. But that was before I got to know him. It was before he saved me from a bear, and taught me how to stay alive, and did everything in his power to keep me safe. Considering the fact that he’s done so much to keep me alive, I owe him my life now. He’s been carrying me around, which I appreciate immensely, and now it’s my turn to carry him.

         I would be lying if I said I don’t feel completely winded, but I push forward because there is no other option. Jack needs to get his foot looked at by a doctor, and I need medicine.

         I am not going to rest until we find our way back. How far can it be, really?

         I’m able to get more momentum so we’re soon travelling at an almost-normal rate, though it’s still not as quick as Jack had us going back when it was him who carried me. But then again, Jack wasn’t weakened with the flu like I am.

         Finally, I clear my mind, focusing solely on plowing forward, not even allowing myself to react whenever Jack protests against me continuing on with him. I can’t waste any energy, not even for something simple like talking. It’s up to me to get us back.

         And I’m not going to stop until I find a way out of here. Both of our lives depend on it.