Emma
Fuck, that hat is gone. Who knows where it went? And I didn’t think to put on any goddamn gloves, either.
As freezing as it is in the great outdoors tonight, my body heat is melting the thin layer of snow on my head, soaking my hair before it’ll surely refreeze later.
How is it that all this shit is just occurring to me now, out here in the freezing cold?
I thought the sky looked light enough when I left, but the snow’s now falling so hard that it’s impossible to see very far—or at all, really—in any direction.
I have to give myself some leeway with the delayed realizations, like the dawning reality that I don’t even have gloves or a hat.
First of all, I’m on the…God, how many days is it now?
From the fire, to waking up in the middle of freaking nowhere with a transformed beast of a former colleague, to all these life-shattering revelations—it all makes it seem like my former life is somewhere in the distant past now.
However long it’s been, I’m in the thick of unprecedented craziness. I need to give myself a pinch of understanding for missing some admittedly crucial details.
There’s a faint pinkish tint to everything, the color of all the snow reflected in the night sky.
If it weren’t for that vaguely hellish light, I would be in total darkness. As of now, all I can see is a dimly-lit, rapidly descending ocean of snowflakes surrounding me on all sides.
I’m still moving, taking slow steps through the growing blanket of snow under my feet.
Okay, it’s not under my feet at this point. With my latest couple of steps, my feet are sinking into the fresh, powdery snow entirely, rising past my ankles and nearly over the tops of the giant loose-fitting boots I’m wearing.
Dylan’s boots.
I feel justified taking some of his things for the sake of survival. He has plenty of, well, everything in his little stronghold.
I just wish he had some footwear that fit me better, because some of this snow—or a whole lot of it—is bound to make its way into these boots if I keep going.
I’ll soon be freezing and soaked from literally head to fucking toe. Maybe I can forgive myself for not preparing better, but I’m feeling a growing, snowballing frustration at myself for trying to flee like this in the first goddamn place.
With my feet now wobbling with each step and my balance deteriorating, I’m going to have a real tough time finding it in my heart to forgive myself for this one.
Or not. I mean, it was a rash decision, but I’m not confronted with this kind of crap every day or, like, ever.
And how was I supposed to now it would be snowing this freaking hard out here? Or that it would be so damn frigid?
It’s not like this is Antarctica or the Yukon.
I don’t think it is, but then the facts about my current reality are getting murkier with each unsteady step.
A bitter, raw wind pierces through me, howling monstrously and nearly knocking me off balance.
I decide that this is as good a time as any to freeze—figuratively, I hope—in place and try to coalesce my thoughts before continuing.
What drove me here?
That’s my first thought—or rather, my first question to myself.
The short answer is Dylan.
Another fucking gust of wind attacks my train of thought.
“Shit! I get it, already! Just give me a minute, please!”
There, that ought to do it.
So, Dylan. Yes, that’s why I’m out here. Because of Dylan and his pointless veiling of the truth.
For years and fucking years. Why couldn’t he just tell me?
That answers it, and I’m satisfied. The pain and anger of the thought feels worse than the discomfort of this stupid blizzard.
I take another step, then another, feeling a little steadier now, maybe a little warmer even—although that part might be in my imagination.
For the first time since leaving the cabin, the snow looks like it’s slowing down, possibly.
Or it’s just the wind getting worse, blowing the snow sideways from its downward trajectory.
Either way, the wind’s definitely getting worse, and I wobble a bit when I realize that I’m on a slight slope.
“Oh, holy shit.”
All the other crap—going gloveless, losing my hat, running outside with boots that make me feel like I’m shrinking—all that I can excuse away, chalking it up to an insane, unforeseen course of events that I could never have predicted or prepared for.
But this…come on. This is the fucking mountains.
How did I not consider that little detail? How far did I think I could get?
I think about taking another step, but I feel my balance deteriorating just at the thought.
I don’t know how much of it’s in my head, but it’s so fucking cold right now I don’t even feel like considering that, or anything else.
I still can’t see what’s in front of me, but maybe if I go back in the other direction, I can get back on level ground.
It’s possible I haven’t traveled that far yet. The gusts of wind’s becoming nearly constant, and now the only thing I care about is finding my way back indoors.
Heat. That’s all that matters. Or at least some kind of shelter from this brutal wind and biting flecks of snow it’s blasting onto my exposed face.
If I could turn around, I would run, and I would not stop until I found a shelter—four walls, a door, and most importantly, a roof.
Dylan’s cabin fits the bill, and I got myself this far on my two feet—if only I could get myself back.
The way I’m standing is not sustainable. My left foot is planted a long stride in front of my right foot, which is pointed out diagonally.
And the ground below my feet is curved downwards from where I stand. Gravity is already tugging at me mildly, encouraging me to move forward.
I’m sorry, gravity, but I want to get the fuck away from whatever you have in mind for me in that direction. I need to turn around somehow.
If I move either foot, my balance is likely gone, and gravity will win for sure. That’s what it feels like now, but I might be able to center myself…
I shift my shoulders backwards, moving gradually, subtly, and then stopping quickly. Okay, I didn’t fall, and I don’t feel like gravity’s pulling me anymore, so I’m making progress.
I resolve to be a bit bolder with my next move as the urge to retreat indoors grows. I lean back some more, towards the direction I came from, which I believe to be the direction of the cabin. Again, I don’t fall—it’s time to lift my foot.
I probably need to start with my left foot, the foot that’s in front, to maintain my balance and not fall forward to an uncertain fate. Shit, here we go.
I angle my shoulders a touch more towards the ground behind me. If I’m going to fall, it’ll be better to fall a few feet backwards onto a soft blanket of snow than to fall forwards, yielding to whatever horrors lay in that direction.
Really, falling backwards might be my best choice. I probably can’t pivot on one foot right now, although maybe I can. I’m getting more determined by the second.
I lean back a hair more, preparing for a likely fall. It shouldn’t be so bad. I gradually start lifting my left foot up from the snow.
Once my left foot is unmoored, my right foot slips hurriedly, and by the time I can even begin to assess the situation, I’m already flat on my back. I’m not in pain, and now I can turn around. I almost want to say That’s not so bad out loud, but I realize that my teeth are chattering at about a million miles an hour.
That’s okay; I’ll be inside soon. I’m feeling numb in my extremities, and the numbness is slowly traveling up my hands and my feet—yet I know I’ll be able to walk back to warmth.
It’ll be the nicest warmth I’ve ever felt.
What I want to do is rotate myself so I’m face down and crawl carefully back to level ground before I push myself up onto my feet. I just need to make sure I stay traveling in that direction, since I’m pretty sure I went in a straight line all the way here.
I twist in the snow, or I try to, but my arms and my back are not cooperating.
Fuck, is there any part of me I can just fucking move at this point? I try kicking my leg into the air, and there it goes...
And there I go. Darn, gravity is winning this battle in overtime, pulling me feet first down the slope.
I start out sliding on my back, but gravity gets stronger before long, and I’m tumbling, rolling, as it gets steeper for a second, then levels off.
The fall doesn’t last long, and I end up on my back again, this time on level ground.
I start twisting, and this time, my body accommodates me. Now I push myself easily off the ground.
I don’t feel hurt at all, and the whole thing gave me a nice surge of adrenaline. The wind’s quieter now, but the snow is getting even heavier, falling straight down.
I still can’t see shit, but I have to find a way to get back to where I started. I may need to cli—
BANG!
I instinctively emit a shrill yell at the sudden, close noise, and I stumble over my feet, falling onto the snowy ground again.
I hear myself breathing fast, and, oh no, I notice a growing pain in my right ankle.
I can’t move, and my heart’s thumping like crazy. What the hell was that noise?
It sounded like a gun. Who was the crazy dead shit shooting in this storm? More importantly, what or who was their target?