I push up slowly, looking at my gloved hands. I see a small tear in the glove, and a piece of its grey fluff falls to the ground.
“Pappa.” I spit out the pieces of snow. Standing, I dust the snow off my body.
I press my hand against the trunk of the nearest tree.
“It can’t get any worse than this,” I mumble. God has a beautiful sense of humor because a heavy plop of snow from the branches above me falls heavily on my head, soaking my beanie. Small pieces of ice slip down my neck, racing down my back.
“Shiiit!” I scream, grabbing my beanie and dancing around, trying to get the snow out of my clothing.
Stopping, I try to catch my breath. I really need to get out of here. It’s beginning to get dark. Trudging through the snow, I sing softly to myself. “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me because the Bible told me so.”
The swirling winds and snow are making it difficult to see, but in the distance, I see a small brown structure. Is that a shed? Or a cabin?
Maybe someone is there, and they can call for help. A zing of hope moves through me as I hustle over to the small cabin.
The cabin settles deep into the treelined forest. It’s a small weathered box with a single window. As I walk closer, I see the steepled roof covered in snow and the small icicles hanging like sharp teeth at the end of the roof. I walk to the door. It’s made of pine, with large iron hinges and a small wooden bird carved from wood hanging on a nail. To the left of me, piled in a pyramid, is chopped wood and an empty tin bucket and a shovel. The wood looks dull and grey, like it’s been out here for a while. I tiptoe and peek inside. No one is here.
I still knock out of courtesy. “Hello? Anyone home?”
My hand touches the doorknob, and for a second, I pray that it opens because I don’t want to break a window.
The knob moves as I push the door open, only to reveal one room.
“Hello?” I step inside and sigh as I see no signs of life.
I close the door behind me, and leaning on it, I exhale. The air from my breath turns white. It’s cold in here too.
The room is narrow. Under the single window there is a small table with a can of what looks like sardines and an unopened box of saltines. An old lantern sits in the middle of the table, covered in ash and unlit. And finally, there’s a large matchbox. A chair sits under it. There is a wooden bed against the other side of the wall. It looks hand-carved. The thin mattress is covered by an old white sheet with a grey scratchy-looking blanket at the end. One lumpy flat pillow sits in the middle of it. At the foot of the bed sits an old trunk with a thick corded rope sitting on it.
“At least the place is clean,” I say, moving to the small cupboard. Opening it, I see bottles of water, more sardines and saltines, duct tape, a can of beans, a plate, a spoon, and a cup.
“I am 100% sure a man lives here, and he may be psycho,” I mumble, closing the cupboard.
Well, at least I won’t die of hunger. Finally, at the far right, I see a small cast-iron wood-burning fireplace, and to the side, a small stash of wood and a bucket with what looks like ash.
Okay. I have wood, food, and fire. I can live.
There is a soft tapping outside of the door. I open the door, only to see the small carved bird, moving in the wind. I look across to the shovel, and I decide that for safety, I should bring that inside with me. It’s not going to be so bad. The cabin is cold, dark, and silent, but I have food and shelter. I can live through this.
ROMAN
I make it back to the lodge in record time. Unease settles in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t have let her go out there on her own.
Grabbing a cocoa, I move closer to the main fireplace in the sitting area of the lodge. There is a group of old womenwatching The Golden Girls. I move closer to them, watching the red column that appears at the bottom of the screen. A pending blizzard was coming into the area.
Noelle is out there. Wait, why do I care? She walked away on her own. I rub my forehead.
Shit. I place the cocoa down and rush outside just in time to see Tillie and the two instructors walk off the lift.
“Where is she?” I ask, my eyes darting all over the grounds. All I see are people hustling to get inside.
“I don’t know; we went down another slope. I thought you would go after her,” Tillie says.
My throat goes dry. This was all my fault.
“Is she out there by her fucking self, Roman?” Tillie asks, pointing toward the slopes.
“Yes, there is no place for her to take shelter.” My eyes dart to a woman in pink, but it isn’t Noelle.
