01-20-2018, 11:52 AM
He walked with his head down and gloves buried in pockets. There were no more eyes out for coyotes. He had to hold to luck that no more would show up. Crossing paths with another pack wasn't going to go well.
He was shivering almost uncontrollably. Yep, definitely going to die out here. This was a bad idea. Bad idea. At least shivering was a good sign, he told himself. It was when you stopped shivering that things were serious.
His legs were tree trunks. His feet trudged through wet cement. Joints stiff, mouth parched, he would have stopped to cup a mouthful of snow to his lips, but it would only lower his body temp faster.
The wind howled mocking roar by then. Every snowflake cut like crystal knives into his face, blasting it raw. Teeth clenched, he had to find something to focus on. To shove all the pain and fear of slowly freezing to death into some compartment in his head and torch it. No Marine survived hell week of basic training without a coping mechanism. It helped. The flame was an old friend. He kept walking. All he had to do was keep walking. One step at a time. One step at a time.
A flicker of light tugged the corners of his eyes. He was afraid to stop and look at it, fearing he wouldn't start walking again. Two white beams of headlights. 100 yards ahead. He could have laughed if his cheeks could move. A car.
But then the car turned. No. No! He rushed forward, or tried to. He waved. He yelled. His hands fumbled with the rifle, but he was too slow. The car turned away. He dropped his hands to his sides. Shotgun dropped. He stood there in the silence of snow. The car was too far to even hear the engine.
When he fumbled for pockets again, his fingers grasped something he'd forgotten.
The flare.
Teeth grit, he willed his aching fingers into submission. He lit the sucker and held it high above his head, waving the burning red flame like a beacon with burning arms, and silently begged for the driver to notice.
The car stopped. His breath caught, his heart pounded. Did they see?
When the vehicle turned around, he dropped to his knees and thanked god, if he was listening.
---
Somehow, he made it almost half way home, he came to learn. The driver was one of the neighbors that Jay was too numb to even care to recognize. He was mostly just grateful for the warmth and ride. The house was dark. Dad's truck wasn't there. The back door was locked so Jay had to pound on it to get someone to let him in.
He was shivering almost uncontrollably. Yep, definitely going to die out here. This was a bad idea. Bad idea. At least shivering was a good sign, he told himself. It was when you stopped shivering that things were serious.
His legs were tree trunks. His feet trudged through wet cement. Joints stiff, mouth parched, he would have stopped to cup a mouthful of snow to his lips, but it would only lower his body temp faster.
The wind howled mocking roar by then. Every snowflake cut like crystal knives into his face, blasting it raw. Teeth clenched, he had to find something to focus on. To shove all the pain and fear of slowly freezing to death into some compartment in his head and torch it. No Marine survived hell week of basic training without a coping mechanism. It helped. The flame was an old friend. He kept walking. All he had to do was keep walking. One step at a time. One step at a time.
A flicker of light tugged the corners of his eyes. He was afraid to stop and look at it, fearing he wouldn't start walking again. Two white beams of headlights. 100 yards ahead. He could have laughed if his cheeks could move. A car.
But then the car turned. No. No! He rushed forward, or tried to. He waved. He yelled. His hands fumbled with the rifle, but he was too slow. The car turned away. He dropped his hands to his sides. Shotgun dropped. He stood there in the silence of snow. The car was too far to even hear the engine.
When he fumbled for pockets again, his fingers grasped something he'd forgotten.
The flare.
Teeth grit, he willed his aching fingers into submission. He lit the sucker and held it high above his head, waving the burning red flame like a beacon with burning arms, and silently begged for the driver to notice.
The car stopped. His breath caught, his heart pounded. Did they see?
When the vehicle turned around, he dropped to his knees and thanked god, if he was listening.
---
Somehow, he made it almost half way home, he came to learn. The driver was one of the neighbors that Jay was too numb to even care to recognize. He was mostly just grateful for the warmth and ride. The house was dark. Dad's truck wasn't there. The back door was locked so Jay had to pound on it to get someone to let him in.
Only darkness shows you the light.