9. Mia
Chapter nine
Mia
T he snow starts with just a few flakes. And then a little more. Then it is like someone unzipped a bag of snowflakes and dumped them on us. We were in a snow globe a child had just violently shaken. The wind howls around us, whipping the snow into a blinding white fury. I can’t see two feet in front of me. Noah takes my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded in this storm.
“We have to be close,” he shouts over the wind, his voice barely audible.
I nod, even though I’m not sure if he can see me. We’ve been walking for hours, and the deep snow makes every step a struggle. My legs are heavy, and my body is numb. The fear gnaws at me: what if we’re lost? What if we don’t find the cabin? The danger is all too real, the cold seeping deeper with each passing minute. I try to push the panic down, but it’s there, just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm me.
“We’re not going to make it,” I shout .
Noah’s hand tightens around mine. “We’ll be okay,” he insists. There’s a certainty in his voice that cuts through my fear. “If we don’t find the cabin in the next twenty minutes, we’ll build a shelter. We’ll get a fire going.”
The thought of sleeping out here, surrounded by bears and wolves, sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My heart races, and I can feel the tears starting to freeze on my cheeks. “I don’t want to sleep out here,” I say, my voice trembling. “The bears, the wolves...”
Noah stops walking and pulls me close. He hugs me tightly, and despite the freezing temperatures, there’s warmth in his embrace. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, his breath warm against my ear. “I grew up in this area. I can survive a night in the forest.”
His words and his presence calm me a little. I take a deep breath and nod, feeling a flicker of hope. Maybe we can do this. Maybe we can survive.
“But the wind,” I say as we start walking again. “We can’t huddle under a tree. The wind will blow out any fire we start. ”
Noah sags a little as he acknowledges my point. “We’ll just have to find a spot out of the wind. Maybe even dig a hole in the snow. Snow can be a good insulator, you know. Alaskan Natives have survived out here for centuries. We can, too.”
“Are you going to build an igloo?” I quip.
“Yes.”
“No, you’re not,” I sigh.
“A debris shelter. But we’ll worry about that if it happens. For now, let’s move. Twenty minutes. We bust ass and move as quickly as we can. We don’t stop. We’re going to push ourselves.”
I blink at him, caught off guard by his optimism. It’s infectious, though, and I smile weakly back at him.
“Okay, twenty minutes,” I nod. “I can do that.”
We keep walking, pushing through the storm. The snow is relentless. The wind makes it hard to hear or see anything. But Noah doesn’t let go of my hand. His steady presence keeps me going. My thoughts drift to the warmth of the cabin, a fireplace, and hot food. I cling to that image, using it as a beacon to pull me forward. It’s like a mantra that runs through my mind on a loop. There is an end to this torture. I will get to be warm. I’ll get a bed, and my fingers won’t hurt.
After what feels like an eternity, Noah slows his steps.
“What’s wrong? Did you see something?”
He shakes his head. “I think we should stop. We’re not going to make it.”
It feels like a boulder has dropped out of the sky and landed on my shoulders. He is giving up. He can’t give up. Noah is the one driving this train.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” He looks stunned. “I need to find a place to shelter us. It’s our only chance.”
I look around and see nothing that looks like a shelter. “No,” I say again. “We keep going. It’s still daylight. We can go a little farther. We have to be close.”
“It’s going to be dark soon,” he says.
“But it’s not dark now.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “Alright, but if it gets dark, it’s going to be pretty damn hard to find anything to make a shelter with.”
“We’re not going to need it. We’re going to get to the cabin. ”
“I hope so.”
I feel a renewed sense of determination flooding through me. “We will,” I insist, squeezing his hand.
Failure isn’t an option. Noah doesn’t ask how I can be so certain. He just nods, gripping my hand in silent support. We keep moving, ignoring our aching limbs as we push our tired bodies onward. We have to keep our heads down to be able to see anything, which is dangerous. If we’re not looking around, we risk some wild animal getting the jump on us.
My heart sinks with every passing moment as the cabin fails to appear. It was a calculated risk, and I may have just screwed us. I might have gotten us killed. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about living with the guilt for long.
Suddenly, Noah jerks me to a halt. I freeze beside him, following his gaze. He squints into the distance, his hand shielding his eyes from the snow. “I think I see something,” he says, excitement creeping into his voice.
I strain my eyes, trying to see what he sees. At first, there’s nothing but white, but then I spot it too—a dark shape looming in the distance. Could it be the cabin? My heart leaps with hope, and we both quicken our pace, trudging through the drifts with renewed energy.
As we get closer, the shape becomes more apparent. It’s definitely the cabin, half-buried in snow but unmistakably there. Relief washes over me. I let out a cry of joy. We made it. We actually made it.
Noah doesn’t say anything, but I can see the relief in his eyes as well. The cabin is so close, but it feels like it is miles away. It takes every ounce of strength to push on. I have to dig deep.
“Don’t stop now!” Noah shouts.
When we get close, it’s clear no one is home. There’s no smoke pouring out of the chimney. No glow from a fire.
“He’s not here,” I say.
“I don’t care,” he replies. “I’m getting in that cabin.”
We climb onto the porch and knock on the door.
“Eric!” I shout. “Eric, it’s Mia!”
Noah doesn’t wait for the door to open. He tries the handle. “Dammit. It’s locked. Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“Did he know you were coming? ”
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
“We have to get in the cabin, Mia. One way or another.”
I understand what he is saying. “Do it.”
He tries to break through the door, but the heavy wood doesn’t give. It doesn’t help that Noah is freezing and clumsy from exposure. He looks around. “I’ll break a window.”
“But that’ll just let the cold air in.”
He gives me a dry look. I realize how stupid that sounded. I’m worried about a broken window or offending my friend by breaking into his cabin. We will die if he doesn’t get us inside.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
He walks around the cabin. There are only a couple of windows. “I can’t jump up there,” Noah said. “My body is not working correctly. I’ll break it and boost you in. Okay?”
I don’t have a better option. I nod. I watch him grab a tree branch and smack it against the window. I can see how weak he is. The cold is taking its toll.
Glass shatters. The wind drowns out the noise, but I still flinch. Noah’s face hardens as he discards the branch. “Quickly, Mia,” he urges .
I nod, swallowing my fear. Cold bites at my fingers as I grip the edge of the broken window, shards of glass biting into my gloves. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I hoist myself up with his hands on my ass, pushing me through the opening, doing my best to avoid getting cut by the remaining shards of glass.
Once inside, I land on the cabin floor with a grunt. Noah’s muffled voice comes from outside: “You okay?”
“I’m good. Hold on.”
I find my way to the door and unlock it. I pull it open, letting Noah inside. I grab my camera bag and quickly close the door.
The inside is cold and dark, but it’s shelter. It’s safety. We shake off the snow and look around. It’s not exactly the cozy image I had in mind.
“Let’s get a fire going,” Noah says, sliding his backpack off. I watch as he pulls out a flashlight. Thankfully, there is wood neatly stacked against the wall.
I watch him, feeling the cold air coming through the broken window. It doesn’t take him long to get a fire started .
“Take off your coat and gloves,” he says. “And your boots. You’ve got to get warm.”
I nod and do as he says.
“I’ll take care of that window.”
I know I should help, but my brain seems to be frozen. The adrenaline I felt minutes ago is gone. I am cold—and worn out.
The breeze is suddenly gone.
My gaze is focused on the flames that are now crackling merrily. The light from the fire dances on the walls, casting a comforting glow. I stand close to the woodstove, holding my hands out to the warmth, feeling the heat slowly thaw my frozen fingers. I haven’t moved to take off my boots. I know I should, but I can’t seem to make my body obey.
Noah comes back and stirs the fire, adding another log.
“We did it,” he says, a hint of amazement in his voice. “We actually made it.”
I nod, still in a bit of shock. “Thank you,” I say, looking at him. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He smiles, and the softness in his eyes makes me feel safe. “We’re a team,” he says simply. “And we’re going to be okay.”