Free Gray, Ginna by The Witness

the shadowy
shape, but Sam grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Not yet. Wait here while
I check it out."
    Dropping the duffle, he unhooked the rifle from his shoulder,
worked the bolt action to chamber a round and cautiously pushed open the plank
door. Instantly the leather hinges crumbled, and the door fell into the room
with a crash. Sam grimaced. If any creature had taken up residence inside, that
should have run it out. He paused and listened, but there was no scuttling or
rustling coming from inside.
    Sam stepped into the cabin in time to see a chipmunk scurry out
through a hole in the chinking. After a quick check turned up no other
critters, he went back outside and picked up his duffle bag and motioned to
Lauren. "All clear."
    "Is it safe?"
    "Yeah. It's been partially protected from the elements by the
cliff wall. For its age, it's in fair condition. There's a hole in the roof,
but I can throw some brush over that. Some chinking is missing and the door
fell in, and the inside looks like it's been a nest for chipmunks, but we can
manage."
    Once inside Lauren sank to the filthy puncheon floor. "Thank
heavens. I don't think I could have plowed through that snow one more
step."
    Sam shrugged off the backpack and dropped it, but he hooked the
gun back over his shoulder. "Don't go to sleep," he cautioned when
Lauren started to lay her head down on the duffle. "Not until I get a fire
going in here. I'll go gather some wood. While I'm gone, go through the pack
and see what kind of food supply we have. There should be a ground sheet in
there. Spread everything out on that so we can take stock of what we've got to
work with. While you're at it, you'd better clean up that cut. Knowing Bob, I'm
sure there's a first-aid kit in that pack. And stay awake, dammit, or you'll
freeze to death. At this temperature it wouldn't take long."
    "Okay, okay. You don't have to be such a grouch," Lauren
grumbled. Sitting up again, she dragged the backpack closer and unzipped it.
    There were plenty of trees around the cabin, and Sam was confident
that Bob's survival pack included a small hatchet, but for the moment he stuck
to gathering deadwood and brush. Once he had a fire going, he'd come back and
chop branches.
    He worked furiously, driven not only by the need, but to hold at
bay the anger and grief he'd been battling with ever since the crash.
    He brought in several armloads of deadwood and brush, and when he
was satisfied that he had enough to keep a fire going for a couple of hours, he
propped the door back in place and braced it with a three foot long chunk of
wood. Then he hunkered down in front of the stone fireplace.
    Poking his head inside the firebox, he looked up the chimney and
breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever had built the cabin all those years ago had
mortared in a metal grill at the top of the chimney to keep birds and other
animals out.
    Sam crumbled a small mound of deadwood for kindling, stacked brush
and the small twigs and limbs in a teepee shape over it, then looked over his
shoulder at Lauren, who was hugging her upper body and rocking back and forth,
struggling to stay awake. She had evidently found the first-aid kit, but her
attempt to clean the cut had merely smeared the dried blood over her forehead
and temple
    "Are there any matches in those supplies? Or a fire starter
of any kind?"
    She gave him a blank look and blinked. "Um, I think I
saw...yes, here they are." She picked up the box of matches and tossed
them to him.
    Within minutes a fire blazed in the hearth and Sam turned his
attention to the contents of the backpack.
    "Let's see what we have," he murmured. His gaze ran over
the items spread out on the ground sheet, and he gave silent thanks to his old
friend Bob's meticulous attention to safety and detail. "A pot and
skillet, packet of utensils, matches, compass, binoculars, strips of waxed lamp
wick."
    Sam paused and stared at the last, a sharp stab of grief spearing
through him. Bob never had been worth a damn