“Tomorrow?” Jean-Pierre was indignant. “We need to get her out of here as quickly as possible.”
“Storm just begun,” Bhrigu said, pointing to the exit.
Jean-Pierre looked at the doctor and Yulia. They looked back tiredly. Jean-Pierre got up and walked toward the exit. He needed to see for himself what was going on outside.
Now he had a backup in the form of this cave, but he needed to assess the situation for a full plan.
“Cure I will make,” said Bhrigu. “Rest you must.”
The hermit went to the semblance of a rack near one of the walls and began to look there for something. He sang softly and seemed completely convinced that Debby had a cold rather than a closed leg fracture and painful shock. He pinched off parts of some dried plants and put them on the wooden plate. Occasionally he looked at Debby and nodded, continuing to purr something.
Jean-Pierre walked to the exit of the cave. The wind increased, and the snow flew parallel to the ground. Jean-Pierre felt how difficult it was for him to walk to the stairway. Fatigue and pain throughout his body made him stop. He walked to the top of the stairs and looked up at the sky. A blizzard was howling and beating desperately against the rocks. It seemed as if the weather was only getting worse. Jean-Pierre looked at his hands, which were shaking with exhaustion and exertion. The cold wind was blowing his breath away.
In his mind, options of what might happen swirled. He realized that with every hour of delay, Debby would lose her chances of survival. Jean-Pierre looked at his watch. The hands were not moving. He put it to his ear and didn’t hear the familiar ticking. The cold was creeping under his dirty and wet from sweat and snow shirt, pushing the Frenchman back into the cave.
“We won’t find the soldiers. The helicopter won’t take off, but maybe at least we can send a signal. We’ll have to put up some kind of sign here tomorrow. Debby. What if she doesn’t make it to morning? What if there’s internal bleeding or…” Images of what might happen to Debby began to flicker in his mind. He felt a burning sensation in his chest from the fact that there was nothing he could do.
Jean-Pierre picked up a stone the size of his fist and threw it as hard as he could into the fog.
“Don’t try to not calm down before morning!” he said angrily in French, and went back to the second cave.