CHAPTER 13
Phoebe
No, no, no. I can’t cry.
It’s not that I’m worried my eyeballs will freeze, because that’s not possible. As long as a body is producing heat, the eye’s vitreous fluid can’t ice up.
But crying isn’t going to help my already pitiful ability to see through this curtain of blowing snow.
Plus, if I start crying, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
Because the situation has gone from dangerous to dire.
I have no idea where I am or what direction I’m headed. I’m lost. I’ve been lost for a while now, and I’ll likely need to get out the spare gas container and refill the tank.
But why bother, when I have no destination?
I think I’ve been driving in circles.
I’m so cold. I’m shaking nonstop now. The narrow bits of exposed skin beneath my goggles and above my balaclava are painful. It feels like a thousand tiny needles are pricking at my flesh.
I hope I don’t have frostbite. That is a brutal condition. I’ve treated my share of frostbite patients, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
But I’ve heard that dying from hypothermia is one of the more peaceful ways to go. They say that in the end, exhaustion takes over, organs shut down, and the person simply slides into unconsciousness and is carried away to death.
I’ve never understood how they can be so sure about that. It’s not like those who’ve succumbed to hypothermia can rise from the dead and say, “You know what? That wasn’t half bad!” while filling out their study questionnaires.
Despite my thermal, water-wicking, and insulated layers, I am freezing cold. Will I get so cold that I won’t care? Maybe that’s where the peaceful part comes in.
I haven’t given up. I’m still hoping I’ll stumble on somewhere to take shelter.
An overhang would be fine, or a cave would be better.
I’d take a thick stand of trees at this point.
I brought matches and fire starters, so if I can get somewhere at least partially protected from the wind and snow, I could build a fire.
But visibility is so bad that all I see is white. I could be three feet from the perfect cave and I’d have no idea it’s there.
I do know this: I’ll have one opportunity to make the right choice. Because once I stop, that’s it. I can’t get back on this ATV and drive around again. My chances of survival will be far better if I at least attempt to make a shelter and stay put.
So that’s what I’ll—
I hear it.
My mind stops racing.
I look down.
All I see is snow. But whatever is underneath the snow is cracking apart under the weight of my ATV, making a sound loud enough to be heard over the running engine.
Am I on a ledge? Am I—
Am I on ice?
I slam on the brakes. I go sliding. Spinning.
A river. A lake. I didn’t realize I was anywhere near a body of water. But I’ve been so lost for so long that I could be anywhere.
The snap! is as loud as thunder.
It’s splintering under me. If I don’t jump off the ATV…
Right.
This.
Second.
I hurl myself off to the left, hands cycling in the emptiness as I prepare to cushion my fall. The ATV drops out from under me. It falls away. I feel the sucking nothingness it leaves behind.
I smack into the ice with a crack! I hear the cold surface popping and breaking beneath my body.
“Help! Help meeeeeee!”
One splash and the ATV disappears into the watery blackness, silencing the engine. It gets swallowed with a loud glug, glug, glug…
I wonder if that’s the last sound I’ll ever hear.
No.
I can’t give up.
Even as I take a big breath so that I can keep screaming, I realize how ridiculous I am. Who exactly do I think is going to save me? A wolf? A snow owl? A mountain lion?
“Heeeeeeeelllllp meeeeee!”
I scrabble, trying to gain traction on the ice so that I can stand.
I fail. All I manage to do is slide from spot to spot, face down, my nose nearly touching the slick, shattering ice.
I claw at the neck of my coveralls with my bulky gloves, searching for the cord that holds the avalanche whistle.
It’s stuck. I can’t get it out. I have to unzip—
The ice separates under me. I’m going in. Nothing will save me. I’m going to die. But I shove my hand into the neck of my coveralls and yank at the cord. The bright orange whistle flops onto the disintegrating ice in front of me.
I pick it up and blow.
The sound is piercing. I blow again. Again. Again.
I scream for help. I blow the whistle. Again.
The ice gives way. The water takes me. I will keep my head up for as long as I possibly can, for as long as I stay conscious. But my heavy snow boots are dragging me down. I’m trapped inside the weight of the outerwear I thought would keep me safe.
I will keep screaming for help and blowing this whistle until the peace finds me.