The wind blasts me with punishing, arctic air. It’s so cold that I stop in my tracks as the exposed skin on my cheeks burns. I wipe my gloved hand through my beard and little icicles, miniature versions of the ones back home clinging to my cabin roof, sheer off.

There’s a storm coming. No doubt about it. After three winters in the woods, it’s not hard to tell what weather is rolling in. I’ve learned how to pay attention to the changing clouds. I can tell when a sunny summer day is going to transform into a hot storm. I know when the frosty air is bringing snow squalls. Too bad I never learned to get my ass into town quicker when I need supplies.

I should’ve made this trip at least a week ago. Every morning I woke up telling myself that I’d head out, and every night I laid my head on my pillow with the dread of facing the world still eating at my gut. It took being down to the bare minimum, just like it always does, before I slung this toboggan rope over my shoulders, strapped these snowshoes to my feet and started the three-day journey out of the wilderness.

Wilderness.

I snort at the word and pull my glove off with my teeth. Why do they call it that, huh? Unzipping my parka, I reach inside until my fingers graze the cool metal hiding in my chest pocket. I suppose it’s because that’s where the wild life lives, I’m no scholar, but that’s my best guess. The silver metal flask is warm against my numb hand and I quickly unscrew the lid and take a long swig of my moonshine.

“Pffft,” I wipe the burning liquor from my lips and squirrel away my flask, “there isn’t an animal alive that’s more wild than the people out there.” I squint my eyes and can see the lights of the city off in the distance disrupting the stunning stars. “Fucking savages.”

Tugging my glove back on, I adjust my hat and scarf, preparing for the last leg of my hike into town. Supplies don’t just show up when you live out in the woods. It’s not like I can just sign onto my non-existent computer and get them delivered by Amazon. Not that I’d ever want to.

Instead, I make four trips a year into Mountain Village to pick up what I can’t grow or hunt myself. It’s not ideal, if I had it my way, I’d never go back. However, not going back because you’re happy and living off the land is not the same as not going back because your dead from being too stupid to get supplies.

I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid.

Reluctantly, I knock the layer of ice from the top of my beavertail snowshoes and grab my rope.

This would be a lot easier with a Skidoo. It’s a hell of a haul to trudge through the forest for three days lugging a sled behind me. But Skidoo’s need gas, maintenance, time, money. Not like this. All I need is two feet and a heartbeat to get where I’m going. That suits me just fine.

Enough standing around. Time is a wasting.

Snap! Thump!

What the hell? I drop my sled rope and turn around, peering through the darkness. That wasn’t a raccoon or skunk. It was too loud. Too heavy. My eyes are adjusted perfectly to the darkness, but I don’t see anything. Not that I would if a bobcat was stalking me. I crouch down and tilt my head, listening intently.

Crunch, crunch, thump, snap!

That’s no bobcat. Shit. I hop up and dart over to my toboggan and grab my rifle. In the distance, I can see a black bear trampling erratically on its hind legs. It’s crashing all over the place, flinging itself forward. Damn it! Why is it walking like that? Does it have rabies? Just what I need.

I raise my gun and stare down the barrel, locking the bear into my sight.

“Arrrghh!”

It’s gone. I didn’t drop it. I look around suspiciously, is there another hunter out here? I didn’t hear a shot.

With my gun still ready to shoot, I trek through the woods to where I watched the bear disappear. I listen for it’s cries, for it’s heavy breathing, for anything. Not a sound.

Another polar vortex rips through the evergreens and painfully attacks the little skin I have exposed. I turn my back into the gust, protecting my face from the threat of frostbite. Once it dies down, I lift my gun and slowly trudge over to the bear. It’s easy to see the outline now in the snow. I’m not sure what happened to it, but it’s not moving. It looks awfully small to be out on its own. From how lean it is, I’d expect it to have died of malnourishment. Just like I will if I don’t suck it up and get my ass into town for supplies.

I start to turn back, satisfied that I’m not going to be shredded alive by a bear, when something catches my eye.

Between the black furry body and paw, I see a creamy patch exposed. What is that? It takes longer than it should to realize that I’m not staring at a slumped over, malnourished bear, but a human. A woman. And her bare leg is carelessly laying exposed on the snow.

Fuck.

I don’t want anything to do with whatever this situation is. Yet, I can’t stop myself from closing the distance between us. The closer I get, the less sense it makes. Under her big, black hat I can see her features starting to come into focus.

She’s young.

I crunch through the crisp icy layer as I lumber closer.

She’s pretty.

I look around, straining my ears to listen for another person. Surely she’s not out here alone? There’s no noise. None except my own heartbeat rushing blood into my ears.

Finally, I’m standing over her. It’s easy to see she’s passed out. From the smell of her, I’d say she’s drunk. Probably a lightweight judging by how tiny she is.

Damn it! This isn’t my problem. This woman and whatever her issues are, aren’t mine to take on. But, I don’t budge. I don’t even blink. There’s no way I can just leave her here. It’s a death sentence. I might not want anything to do with her, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to freeze to death. Despite what people say, it’s not a great way to go.

I hunch over her and rip my glove off my hand, holding my fingers under her nose. Warm air puffs over my hand. She’s breathing. That makes her my problem. Replacing my glove, I slide my hands under her arms and lift her into a sitting position. Her fur coat flops open, exposing more flesh than I expected to see. What kind of idiot runs off into the woods dressed like a bear and wearing nothing else but a bra and underwear?

As I button her coat back up, I notice the jagged flecks of ice that have formed over her breasts. Wait, was her bra wet? Because now it’s frozen. Is she…is she wearing a bikini? A wet bikini?

Idiot feels like a totally inadequate word for this level of stupid.

I roll my eyes. There’s nothing I can do but try to keep the frost from damaging her milky skin. I easily lift her up and carry her over my shoulders like a dead deer and bring her back to my sled.

I’ve got to get her warmed up. Fast. I can make a shelter here or I can take her back ten minutes where I saw an old hunting cabin with a chimney and get her next to a fire.

Fire wins.

I gently lie her down on the toboggan and take off my parka, placing it over her. Why on earth is this woman out here? Why is she dressed like this? What is she running from? I stare at her face and try not to notice her beautiful features.

I’ll never find out anything if I don’t get her warm. I pry my eyes from her high cheekbones and full lips and yank the rope to my sled. I guess supplies will need to wait. Sighing, I plod back to my trail. Back to the empty cabin I passed. Back into the woods. There’s no question that if I don’t get this lady warmed up very soon she’s going to die of exposure.

That’s a guilt I could never shake from my conscience. Her death is something I could never outrun. Unlike the deaths I struggle to leave behind in the city. The ones I disappeared off the grid over, this one would be my fault.