“I don’t have a fever,” she said, irrationally insulted by the suggestion. “I’d have to be sick to have a fever, and I’m not sick. Sick sick, anyway. I have altitude sickness, and according to that handy-dandy first-aid booklet altitude sickness doesn’t cause fevers. It causes headache and dizziness, which I have. Had. I’m not dizzy now, but, hey, I’m not standing up either.”
She couldn’t be sick. She had things to do. She was on vacation. As soon as they were rescued from this stupid mountain, she was going white-water rafting with Logan and Peaches, and she refused to let a stupid bug derail her plans.
“Like I said, I think you have a fever.” Ignoring her rejection of the idea, he went on, “Have you been exposed to anything lately, that you know of?”
“No, and if I do have a bug, you’ll get it, too, because we’ve been drinking from the same bottle, so you’d better hope I don’t.” Irritated, she turned onto her right side so she no longer faced him. When she did, pain shot through her right arm. What the—?
“Crap,” she muttered, then, more loudly, “Crap!”
“Crap, what? Is something wrong?” He clicked on the book light and the bright little LED bulbs almost blinded her for a second.
“You lucked out. I don’t have a bug. I had a piece of metal stuck in my arm this morning…yesterday morning. I pulled it out and forgot about it. Now my arm’s hurting. I guess it’s infected,” she said glumly. Okay, so she had a fever. Damn it.
“So you took care of me and didn’t take care of yourself.” There was a grim note in his voice. “Which arm?”
“The right one.”
“Let’s see.”
“It can wait until daylight. We can’t even sit up in here, so—”
He began unbuttoning the outermost shirt she wore. Seeing he wasn’t going to listen to reason, she pushed his hands away and resumed the task herself. “All right, all right. I don’t see what difference a few hours will make, but if putting some antibiotic salve and a Band-Aid on my arm will make you feel better—”
“God, you’re grouchy. Are you always like this when you first wake up?”
“No, I’m always like this when I have a fever,” she snapped as she struggled out of the first shirt and went to work on the second. “Damn it. Crap! I don’t have time to get sick.” She pulled off the second shirt.
“Just curious,” he commented, watching the proceedings with interest. “How many shirts do you have on?”
“Three or four. I was cold, and I gave you my nice, warm down vest.”
“Which I deeply appreciated.”
“You’re full of it, Justice,” she muttered. “You were barely conscious and didn’t know what was going on.”
When she was down to the last shirt, she paused. She didn’t have on a bra, and she wasn’t about to strip off to the waist for him to enjoy the view. Feeling very put upon, she struggled to roll over onto her stomach. Considering the many layers covering them, the idea was much easier than the execution. Finally, feeling like a fish flopping around on a creek bank, she managed to get onto her stomach and pull her aching arm out of the shirtsleeve. “There,” she mumbled into the space blanket.
“Hell, Bailey, you didn’t even clean it up!” Annoyance was plain in his voice.
“No, I was preoccupied with other things, like keeping you from bleeding to death, then keeping us from freezing to death,” she said sarcastically, just as annoyed as he. “Next time, I’ll get my priorities straight.”
“Where did you stash those wipes?”
With her left hand she fumbled around the shelter, located the pack, and flipped it over her back. “Here you go.”
The wipe was cold, but it felt good on her arm. She winced as he swabbed at the puncture wound and pain stabbed the muscle. “Ouch!”
“No shit. Does it feel as if something’s sticking you?”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s because there is. You pulled out the biggest piece, I guess, but left this one in. It looks sort of like a needle…hold on…got it.”
She set her teeth against the burning ache. He was pinching hard on her triceps muscle now, making the wound bleed, and swabbing the blood up with his free hand. This wasn’t fun, but he’d kept quiet while she sewed up his head, so she could keep quiet while he tended her arm.
“The skin is hot and a little swollen,” he said. “So, yeah, I’d say this is what’s causing your fever. I don’t see any red streaks, though.” She felt the coolness of salve, then pressure as he slapped a couple of adhesive bandages over the wound—or wounds. She didn’t know if there was one puncture site, or two. “Let’s hope this is enough to keep the infection under control.”
She fought her way back into the shirt, keeping her back turned to him as she buttoned it up. She thought about taking ibuprophen, to hold the fever down so she’d feel more comfortable, but decided against it. The fever wasn’t a serious one; it was just high enough to make her ache, but the heat was one of her body’s weapons against the infection. She could stand a little discomfort while her immune system and the invading bacteria waged war.
“Drink the rest of the water,” he instructed, pulling out the mouthwash bottle. “No arguments. With a fever, you’ll get seriously dehydrated if you don’t drink.”
She didn’t argue, instead drinking the water without comment. Dawn was just a couple of hours away; they’d melt more snow then. For now, she wanted to rest, and maybe start feeling a little warmer.