My know-how.
My sense of purpose.
I pull her tight into the front of my body, skin on skin, jolting at the touch of clammy, icy flesh against mine.I tuck her head into the crook of my shoulder, slip her arms into the sleeves of my snowsuit, and pull the hood of my shirt over her head.I then try to rouse her.
“Phoebe.Put your arms around me.You need to hold on tight.”
No response.
So I swaddle her in the space blanket, then pull it tight around both of us, shielding her from the wind while allowing me to drive.
Drive where, I’ve got no fucking idea.
But I have to get there.Now.
I take off.
“Phoebe!”No response.
I do feel her breathing.I think I feel an erratic pulse where her throat touches my skin.I hear her make a gasping sound.And she’s shivering so hard against me that my own teeth are rattling.
There’s no daylight.This storm is a black hole.I have no idea where I am or whose land I’m on.But that’s all beside the point because I can’t see a damn thing.
But I either find somewhere to hunker down or Phoebe dies.
I think of my mother.When we were boys, Dad would tell us that Mom hadn’t left us.She was always looking down on us from heaven, he said, and if things ever seem hopeless, all we have to do is ask her for a helping hand.
“All right, Ma,” I whisper.“Now’s the time.If you could ever help a boy out, this is the moment.Please don’t let Phoebe die.”
Not ten seconds later, I’m blinking furiously behind my goggles because…am I hallucinating?It’s almost as if I can make out the slope of a roofline, straight ahead.
No fucking way.
I laugh out loud.
“Phoebe!”
I don’t give a fuck what this thing is—shearing hut, lean-to, equipment building, outhouse—if it’s got any kind of roof and at least three walls, it’ll be far better than what we’re working with right now.
It’s coming into view.
“Phoebe!”
She stirs.I hear a squeak that might be a groan or a cry.She’s still alive.I cannot believe it, but she’s alive.
This girl is tough.
I pull closer.I see a door.Walls.Glass windows with only a few broken panes.This is an actual structure.I even see a river rock chimney.
To my eyes, it’s the Palace of Versailles.
I turn off the ignition and close my eyes for a half second.“Thanks, Mom,” I say.
And I’m back on automatic pilot.
I run to the door, Phoebe still clutched tight to my chest.I make a mental note of the wood I see stacked in an attached outhouse just left of the front door.
The door is locked, so I kick it in, careful to do as little damage as possible since it will need to function.
