20
Brock
The storm went from white-out to gray skies and back again for three long days. I managed to get some bear bone broth and water down Jessie’s throat, but she still hadn’t stirred other than to swallow on reflex. Even her body relieved itself without effort on her part. Thank f**k for the extra towels I kept in a bin beneath my bed.
I forced so many damn liquids down her throat, all but one hung on the line I strung inside the cabin to dry clothes.
My sat phone wouldn’t put through calls during the quiet moments I powered it up, so Cort’s updates would wait same as I did for her rescue.
How could I watch her be spirited away?
How could I stay on the homestead alone, wondering what the f**k was happening? How she fared? If she woke or stayed in a coma?
A million other questio
