Be one with the shrub, I think, remembering a yoga course I once took.

A few minutes tick by. Pretty soon my leg muscles are screaming at me for being in such a tight, tense position without moving. I ignore them and keep covered by the bush for long time. I have no idea how much time passes before I hear footsteps again, more cautious than the previous pair.

I pray to God that whoever it is won’t walk into my bush and trip over my head. That could be detrimental to my “avoid being killed” strategy. The footsteps come closer, but by this time the storm is whipping the wind so wild that I can’t tell which direction they’re coming from. It also hurts to open my eyes, because when I do, I’m hit with a million tiny snowflakes. It’s like being cut on the eyeball.

Gross and painful. A double whammy.

“Cassidy…?”

His voice is a faint whisper, but I hear it. I scramble to my feet, knocking branches and snow out of my way as I stumble around in the dark. “Chris! Where are you? I can’t see.”

“Here. Shhh. Don’t yell.” Chris’s voice is much closer. I whirl around, smacking into his chest nose-first.

“Ouch!” I hold my nose between my hands. “That was unnecessarily painful.”

“Take my hand,” Chris says, feeling for my arm. “Are you hurt?”

“No. How long have I been hiding under that stupid shrub?”

“You hid under a shrub?” An unusually powerful gust of wind howls through the trees. “Never mind. Just follow me.”

I hang onto his hand, but because we’re both wearing thick gloves, it’s easy to lose a grip. I decide to take no chances. Instead, I basically stick my hand through his belt so it’s almost impossible to let go of him. Of course, if he takes a step off a cliff, then we’re both pretty much doomed.

We hike along, uphill, before I finally yell,

“Where are we going? We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“No!” Chris sounds disturbed.

“Then where are we going? Because we’re going to freeze to death!”

We practically have to scream at each other to be heard.

“Look, I don’t know!” Chris finally shouts. “If you have any ideas, I’m game!”

“We need to find shelter! Like, right now!”

I notice that Chris is bent over like he’s going to faint. I kneel next to him and put my head close to his face so he can hear me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you alright?”

“Just got nicked,” he replies, his voice breaking off.

Oh, great. He’s hurt. Looks like I’m going to have to save the day. I slide my arm under his shoulders, realizing that he’s not fighting me. He’s actually letting me take the brunt of his weight.

It’s a good thing I’m in shape, because he weighs about ten tons.

“Trust me on this,” I mutter.

My entire body is completely numb with cold. My face is frozen, my mouth is dry from the cold wind, and it hurts to blink. Chris’s breath is warm on my cheek — and that’s the only warmth I’ve got. If we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll both freeze to death. And I seriously don’t want to turn into some kind of preserved wooly mammoth parallel. With my luck I’d end up in a museum a hundred years from now on display as a prehistoric Neanderthal.

Not happening.

I slough through the snow, taking the whole thinking warm thoughts thing Chris is always nagging me about seriously. If I think warm, I will become warm. Right? Tell that to the snow. Eventually I drop to my knees, bringing Chris down with me. His breathing is labored, and I can feel his body tight under my hands.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask.

“Stomach. I think. Got…stabbed.”

He’s been stabbed? God, what am I supposed to do? What’s going to happen to us? We’re going to die, that’s what.

Shut up, Cassidy, I snap. Chris is always the one who takes control of the situation. Now it’s your turn. Man up and save both of your butts before you turn into snow sculptures.

I can’t really explain what happens, but all of the sudden I feel angry about our situation, and that gives me the energy to press on. We keep walking until we literally walk headfirst into some kind of giant boulder. I slam my fist against it and cuss it out before I realize something: It’s blocking the wind.

I drop, trembling from head to toe like a Chihuahua, and zip open my backpack. I find my flashlight and flick it on, shedding some light on the subject. It’s almost impossible to make out anything, but I set the flashlight on the ground and start digging with my hands. I dig and dig and dig until I have a trench about five feet wide and seven feet long. By that point it’s been about thirty minutes and Chris is still breathing hard.

I pull out our portable blankets and a couple of those cheap hand warmer packages you can get from dollar stores. I snap them on and shove a few of them down my shirt and Chris’s. I shine the flashlight over his coat, but I don’t see any wound. I can’t move my fingers enough to unbutton his coat, so I just roll it up. There is a bloody spot on the right of his stomach.

Feeling nauseated, I manage to see enough of it to realize that although it might be painful, the cut isn’t that deep. I look at Chris’s face. He’s pale, and his eyes aren’t focusing.

What he’s really suffering from is a concussion.

“Chris…come on,” I pant, easing him into the trench. He lies down on his back and I curl up beside him. He slips his arm underneath me and holds me close.

“You know more about survival than you let on,” he breathes, his lips curving upward.

I would grin if I could move my facial muscles.

I take the blankets and spread them out over us, snuggling into the miniature snow trench I’ve created. That, combined with the giant boulder or whatever it is, keeps the biting wind from killing us.

We should conserve just enough heat to make it through the night.

I hope.

Freezing to death was never on my list of top ten ways to die. No, my number one way to die was being wrapped in an electric blanket with Food Network on in the background.

This is so not as comforting.

The good news is, it’s morning. I can actually see the trees and the snow. I can still feel my limbs, and Chris seems to be recovering from being smacked in the head by those crazed thugs from Tasha’s. The snow is falling softly now. The wind let off during the night, and now I’m lying on my side, propped up on one arm.

Chris is smiling at me, which means he’s got to be feeling better. And while it may not be anywhere near sunbathing temperature, I don’t feel as cold as I did last night.

“You scared me,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were dying.”

“I probably was.” He grins. “But you knew that.”

“Shut up.”

He lifts himself up, wincing a little bit. Other than that, he looks as sexy as ever. “You perform well under pressure,” he remarks. “The trench was smart. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I felt like I was immobilized.”

“You got your bell rung,” I say dryly, echoing my dad.

One time I’d fallen off a playground slide and slammed my head against the cement. My dad had told me I’d gotten my “bell rung,” and I had no idea where I was or who I was for a couple of hours.

I take a good look around. A few snowflakes fall on my nose, reminding me that the cute little pieces of fluff can turn vicious in just a few minutes.

“I know where we are,” I say, shocked. “My dad and I hiked here from our cabin last year.”

I stand up, stiff, and Chris follows my lead. There’s no logical reason for me to recognize one grove of trees from the other, but I know this place. Because the big rock that saved our lives is the same one I took my picture on last year.

“It’s Lizard Rock,” I say, awed.

“Excuse me. Lizard Rock?” Chris repeats, giving me a weird look.

“During the summertime it’s crawling with little lizards,” I reply. “You know. Miniature Godzillas.”