Winter Nightmares discussion

We march slowly, on and on and on, for what seems like forever. Let me tell you that hiking in snow boots is not something I would do ever again if I got the chance. If I could still feel my feet, I would say that they are killing me. But they aren't, because I can't feel them at all. It's like when you get shocked by an electric fence while leaning in to pet a horse, accidentally touch the fence, get shocked and then your hand goes numb. That's what my feet feel like. Honestly it's not worse than sports practice on a Monday at 6am. That, I know from experience.
In my brain I keep hearing Dori saying, just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep walking. For those of you who have no idea what I am referencing, watch
“Finding Nemo” and you will understand. I used to babysit for a kid who’s favorite movie was “Finding Nemo” and he watched it sooooooo many times that I could probably quote the whole movie, which is not something I'm proud of.
I am an Ashley flavored popsicle, and I don't know at the point if I will ever thaw out.
Dylan and I are walking glove in glove through this frozen wonderland, hoping we can make it to the out cropping before the sun goes down, or before that thing comes back to kill us.
I keep wondering when the phantom will show its grotesque, mutilated face again. I can't get that empty, bloody eye socket out of my head or that… No, I tell myself. Stop thinking about it. The more you think about the more you’re gonna worry, the more you worry the more you will start to freak out. The long claws dripping with blood, reaching out for you. Oh my gosh I'm freaking out!
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, not that it's working. I look over my shoulder to see if the thing is behind us but, there is nothing but ice, snow, trees, and… a dead deer carcass? Well, it's more of a pile of blood, guts, and bones than an actual carcass. I point to the mess on the snowy ground and ask
“Do you think our new friend did that?”
“Maybe, or maybe it was wolves.”
“Maybe.”
Looking at that pile of crap makes me want to throw up. It's worse than the time I went hunting with my dad. He made me hold the deer's legs so he could gut it. I didn't look at the guts, but it smelled dis-gust-ing.
It made me think of that scene from Star Wars where Han Solo is trying to keep Luke warm so he stuffs him inside some llama thing and says
“And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.”
If you have never smelled deer guts, trust me you don't want to. Unless of course, you are a benign masochist and enjoy those sorts of things. Seeing the pile of guts, makes me want to rethink my meat loving lifestyle, and spend the rest of my days as a reclusive vegan. (If I get to live the rest of my days, no thanks to our murderous follower.) No more bacon for me I guess.
As we approach the outcropping, I become more and more aware of the cold that's nipping at my ears and whispering across my face. I can already see little chilblains appearing on Dylan's face. i

“We will need to dry out wood to make a fire when we get there.” Dylan says, breaking the ever surrounding, imminent, silence, that I thought I would never, ever make my escape from.
“Yeah,” is my simple response “probably.”
Then a thought hit me like a ton of bricks, making me feel incredibly stupid for not having thought of it before. We have our phones.
“Dylan! Does your phone work!”
“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot I had it with me. I feel like a complete idiot.” He says, his words perfectly describing EXACTLY how I feel right now.
“ Let me see if mine works.” He says pulling out his phone simultaneously with me. His facial expression drops from hopeful to hopeless within just a few seconds.
“Crap” he says, but with a little stronger language “ My phone shut off from the cold. Does yours work?”
“ I don't know. It hasn't turned on yet, so probably not.”
He chucks his phone across the forest, wincing at the movement, and it slams into a tree and falls into a snowbank. I give him a quizzical look and he, obviously noticing my look, and says matter of factly, with a shrug of his shoulders,
“No point in keeping it.”
“Good point. Wanna throw mine?” I say, handing my phone to him.
He takes it and launches it into another tree. We cheer loudly as it hits it directly in the middle of the trunk, shatters into oblivion (If oblivion was only four different pieces and a bunch of glass) and falls to the ground in a sharp electronic pile of useless shards of glass.
It's very sad that we are resorting to primitive acts of “anger” to keep ourselves occupied. We both burst out laughing, which is an amazing feeling after the horror, fear, and thrill we experienced earlier today. (Maybe not for Dylan because of his ribs.) But I know it won't stay like this. Our very own floating fiend will find us and end this beautiful moment. After our breath returns to us we get up and continue on our way. After what feels like forever, I can finally see the outcropping getting closer and closer.
Yes I think Only a little bit further. Seeing that, for me, is a relief after this long, seemingly relentless un-ending trek. What can I say? I’m a city girl, born and raised. I was not made for a ten mile hike in the freezing cold. My toes are used to being in uggs, all cosy and warm, not being so cold that I don't even know if they are still attached to my body. If I had to guess, I'd say that I left them five miles back, next to a pine tree or in a snowbank. If I still had energy left I would have run the remaining distance, but I feel like a pile of spaghetti so I keep on walking.
When we finally reach the outcropping, I collapse into a heap, and I would be perfectly happy to never have to move from this spot. I muster just enough energy to stand up and help Dylan sit down, before plopping myself down again beside him.
Right now I am regretting that I never did track. The only sport I ever did was taekwondo, which is only helpful in your daily life if you are a part of the CIA or MIB. It's not even a real sport as my parents so often like to point out to me. One of my dads favorite things to say is, and I quote “Do you want to end up like your Uncle Roger?” the Uncle Roger in this case being a middle aged, midlife crisis, Walmart worker. I don't think sports matter that much Dad. I’m sure that everyone has their own version of an Uncle Roger, in some way or form, and I am quite sure that most of them did football. (And got brain damage in the process, hence the interesting career choices.)
If only more people did fake sports such as taekwondo, gymnastics, speed walking, or dance, we would have a much, much more intelligent community. If only, if only, I think. I feel like sighing and shaking my head. Not to mention, we’d have a way less gay community. I mean gay in the best way possible. Football is about one of the gayest sports I know about, next to wrestling and boxing, because it is all just a bunch of guys who like to touch each other. I mean in wrestling you put your hands on places you probably wouldn't put them unless you were in the bedroom, and even then maybe not. I’m not wrong though.
Dylan scooches closer to me.
“We should get a fire started. Do you see any sticks or something to use?” He asks.
“If I did see anything, they’d probably be too wet to use. Do you have anything to start a fire with?”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a lighter.
“Should I be worried why my boyfriend is carrying a lighter around with him? Do you smoke or are you lighting buildings full of people on fire?”
“You never know when you would need to start a fire. Always be prepared. Anyways, I can't start a fire without something to ignite sooo…..”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go find something.”
I get up, my legs screaming at me to sit down again, and leave the cave to find something to use for a fire. I walk around outside, picking up twigs, pinecones, sticks, and anything I think we could use. I bring my assortment of treasures back to the cave and drop them in front of Dylan.
“Is this good?” I ask.
“For now. We will need more later to keep the fire going.”
He starts arranging the sticks and the other things I brought into a weird tee-pee looking thing.
He pulls out his lighter again and makes a flame appear on the top. He puts it into the center of the tee-pee and waits until the flame travels to the sticks. It takes a while, probably because the sticks were just sitting in snow, but slowly, the flames travel across the branches and BOOM! FIRE! I don't think I've ever been this excited about fire. I feel like one of the cavemen when they first discovered fire. I get as close as I can to fire, and already I can feel the warmth. It embraces me like an old friend, and I welcome it happily. I sigh with relief. I almost forgot what it was like to be warm, what it is like to be warm. Dylan must be having similar thoughts because he also moves closer to our small fire and to me. I cuddle up against him, only vaguely aware of him flinching. I rest my head against his shoulder and he rests his head on top of mine.
I reach out to grasp his hand, but I can't find it. I turn my head to look, and I see it wrapped around his side. I almost forgot about his injuries.
“How are you feeling?” I ask with concern.
“I’m ok, don’t worry. Just a little sore.” he responds though I know he’s lying. I’ve been dating him long enough to know.
“Sure you are.” I say “Take your shirt off and prove it to me.”
“I’m fine.” He says, firmer now.
“No. No you're not. Stop lying. Just take your shirt off and let me look.” I say matching his firm tone. He reluctantly unzips his coat, and pulls his hoodie up for me to examine his ribs, and not to my surprise, there is a nasty bruise stretching across his side. I brush my gloved finger across it, very gently, and he flinches.
“You’re fine? Doesn't seem like it to me.” I say.
“It's really not that bad.” he responds through clenched teeth, which is ironic.
“Dylan, I’m your girlfriend,” I say, over-enunciating the word girlfriend, to help get my point across. “You don't have to pretend to be tough for me. It's ok to hurt. Everybody hurts. It hurts less if you have someone to help, hold, and comfort you. Let me do that for you, Dylan. I love you. ” And I lean in and kiss him, passionately. (But not too passionately because I don't want it to hurt him.)
Never in a million years would I have ever thought that I would be making out with my injured boyfriend, lost, in a cave, after being chased by some sort of demon. Let me tell you, if this situation somehow happens to you, don't be afraid. Just make out. It solves every problem.

I’m so invested in this story right now! I’m not going to give any critiques because I also commented on your others and it’s basically the same critiques. Seriously, though, keep writing, I could see you getting published!!💕