Maybe I’m hallucinating from hypothermia, but I swear I see a pale orange light near the ridge. The plateau ends against a jagged mountain wall, and just in the corner of that, there’s the sickly orange light through the howling snow.

I consider putting the axe away and grabbing the rifle, but by the time I actually see Brody, he’ll be in range of my axe. The rifle could just be a liability at this point.

I walk closer, ready to swing. I don’t know if he sees me coming or not. It should be easier for me to spot his fire than for him to see outside of it.

As I get closer, I see a dark shape on the ground. My feet move faster.

“Noah?”

“Dad?”

I get closer. Noah is wrapped up in a thick blanket. Only his head is poking out. He’s close to the fire. The fire is almost dead.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Did he--?”

“It’s cold,” Noah says. “But Uncle Brody is getting more wood.”

Uncle Brody. That fucker.

“He’s not your uncle,” I say. “He--”

“I don’t like him,” Noah says. “He yelled at me, and his friends were mean, too.”

“When did he leave?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Noah says.

Noah’s too young to have a good sense of time. Even if he knows, he can’t express it in a way that is too helpful to me.

“Did he leave just now, or a while ago?”

“Maybe a while ago,” Noah says.

“Okay,” I say, crouching down next to him. “Do you know if he has a gun?”

“Yeah,” Noah says. “A black one.”

“Like this?” I ask, showing him the rifle.

“No,” Noah says. “It’s small.”

Black. Small. A pistol.

For this kind of visibility, a pistol is better than a rifle. I should have the element of surprise on my side, which is better than a pistol.

I need to figure out a plan. I’ve already decided one thing: I’m taking Brody down. Grabbing Noah and trying to circle back, knowing that Brody is still out there, is not an option. Besides, I don’t think Noah and I could make it back to civilization through this storm. I need this shelter against the ridge--and the fire--to get us through the night.

“Alright, buddy,” I say. “Brody’s a bad guy. I don’t know if you can understand this, but I used to be a soldier. I fought in a war, and in wars, you have to kill bad guys sometimes. It’s not good to kill--you never should do it unless you absolutely have to--but sometimes...there’s no choice.”

“I thought he was a bad guy, maybe, but why does Jane like him?”

“He hurt Jane,” I say. “Remember?”

Noah nods.

“He’s going to hurt me if he finds me,” I say. “I’d get you out of here, where he couldn’t find you, but it’s too cold away from the fire. I’m going to hide, and when Brody comes back, can you pretend like I was never here at all?”

“Lie?” Noah asks.

“No,” I whisper. “Pretend. Just pretend I wasn’t here. You got it?”

Noah nods.

Once Brody is back, I can wait until he’s not paying attention. I should be able to sneak up on his back and take him out. If I’m lucky, I can pull his body away before Noah really even sees what happens.

“You know, buddy,” I say, “when I am done hiding, and you see me coming back, I want you to close your eyes, okay?”

“That’s not how you play. I close my eyes when you hide, and I open them--”

“I know,” I say. “This is a different game. Close your eyes when you see me again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Which direction did Brody leave in?” I ask.

Noah points.

“I’m gonna go this way,” I point in the opposite direction. “And don’t tell Brody you saw me, got it?”

“I know,” Noah says.

I hug him tight. “I’m going to go hide now. I’ll be back soon. I love you, Noah.”

I kiss him on the forehead, and disappear into the cold storm.

The fire warmed me up just long enough to realize what kind of shape I’m in. My shoulder feels like it’s going to rot off, and my toes hurt with each step I take. But it’s almost over, I’ve almost won.

Noah is safe, alive, and unhurt. And Brody has just minutes left to live.

I follow the ridge, which shields me from the worst of the wind.

I crouch down into the snow, lying flat. I’m just far enough away that I can make out the fire and the vague, shadowy shape of Noah beside it. When Brody comes back, I should be able to see him clearly. Since I’m crouched down low and flush against the ridge, he shouldn’t be able to see me at all.

I wait a few minutes. I don’t know how much time passes, as I have to use all of my energy to stay awake. The cold is trying to take me away.

Finally, I see Brody walk up toward the fire. He’s holding a bunch of twigs and logs, and he throws them down beside the fire. I watch as he feeds the flames, and the light glows brighter.

Now I can see his face clearly.

I start to crawl across the snow, not wanting to risk standing up and cutting a visible profile. As I get closer, I can hear his voice bouncing off the ridge.

“Nice and toasty,” he says. “Seattle will be warm, kid. It’s known as the city of sunshine. Your new dad is like a king there. A king who’s going to give me a shitload of money when I bring you to him.”

“My new dad?” Noah asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Brody says. “You don’t really believe that Jack is your dad, do you? He just showed up a few days ago. Your real dad lives in a huge tower, and he rules the city. Way cooler than a lumberjack.”

That fucking bastard.

“My dad wasn’t here,” Noah says.

Brody is holding a log, ready to drop it into the flame, but he freezes.

“What do you mean?” Brody asks, dropping the log.

“Dad wasn’t here. I didn’t see him at all.”

“He was here?” Brody asks, leaning in toward Noah, clutching his shoulders.

Shit. This is what I get for asking a three-year-old to lie for me.

I have to strike. Now. I jump to my feet, and I spring toward Brody. Just as I think I’m going to get a clean hit, he spins around.

I hear the gun go off right as my axe cuts into his side. I feel the bullet lancing through my arm even as I try to pull the axe back out. It feels like a red-hot cut straight through me, burning with pain.

I see the gun moving up toward me, and I swat it out of his hand. It hits the ground just next to the fire.

I hear Noah crying.

“Close your eyes,” I shout, my voice coming out in a gruff husk.

I grab Brody, shove my leg into his gut, and--holding tight to the handle of the axe dug into Brody’s side--I shove him back.

His body flies backward, and the axe rips out of him. I see blood stain the snow, but I don’t stop.

I let out a roar, and I charge him. I grab hold of him and drag him away from my son. I don’t want to risk Noah seeing me do what I have to do.

When I’ve dragged him--using my left arm--10 or 20 feet into the darkness, he looks up at me and laughs wildly.

His side is a bleeding mess.

“You’re going to beg for your life now?” I ask. “Tell me why you had to do it?”

“No,” Brody says. “I’m already dead.” His voice is a gurgling mess. Blood is leaking out of his mouth. “Take that rifle on your back, and finish me.”

His body is starting to convulse. “I’ve done this for one of my brothers in war...but not for you.”

I kick him in the side, which sends him into convulsions, and I walk away, not looking back. The snow will cover him. Bury him.

When I get back to the fire, Noah is still there, covering his eyes with his hands.

“I didn’t open my eyes,” he says.

“Not even at first?” I ask, crouching down to his side.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t. Where’s Brody?”

“He’s gone,” I say. “You’re safe now.”

It’s a good thing that Noah’s not hurt, because I’m a mess. My best bet at this point is to weather the storm. I feed some of the extra twigs and branches that Brody gathered into the fire.

“You warm enough, buddy?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Noah says, nodding.

I’m worried that this whole thing has him scared shitless, but he seems to be taking it quite well, all things considered.

“It was scary in the car,” Noah says, looking up at me. “It was really loud. Then it was like a rollercoaster.”

“It’s over now,” I say. “Nothing to be scared of anymore. We’re just going to camp here for the night. I’ll go chop some more wood, then we’ll get real warm and toasty by the fire. We’ll both get some nice rest, and once the sun is up we’ll go home. Sound good?”

“Where’s Mom?” he asks.

“She’s at home, she’ll be there when we go back.”

As I talk to Noah, I reach to my arm. I touch where the bullet entered, and I reach around to the other side, probing for an exit wound. I find it, but the bullet went through fat and muscle. Moving it sends so much pain right up to my head that I nearly pass out.

“Where did the bad guys go?” Noah asks.

The other men with Brody. “They’re gone, too, it’s just you and me now.”

I look down at the fire. We’ll need more wood than this to stay warm through the night. Especially if the wind keeps up like this. I can see the outline of a fairly large tree just on the cusp of visibility. It must have been too big for Brody to use, but with my axe, it’s as good as kindling.

“You want to help me take down this tree?” I ask Noah, pointing over to the tree. “Do some lumberjacking?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Alright, make sure you’re good and bundled up, we don’t want to be away from the fire for too long. If you feel cold, let me know and we’ll go right back. We don’t have to chop the whole thing down at once.”

“Okay.”

I help him wrap up in the blanket. “Keep this held tight around your body. If you open it up, all the cold will get in.”

I trudge with Noah toward the tree. It’s a bit wispy and jagged due to the higher elevation and rocky soil. It will be easier to chop, though, and provide more than enough wood for the rest of the night.

“This looks like a good tree, huh?”

“It’s not so big,” Noah says, sizing it up.

“That’s okay,” I say. “Never take more than you need from nature. You know what I mean?”

“Like how I gotta eat all my gross vegetables?”

I nod. “Sort of like that. You kill a tree when you cut it down, so there’s no need to take more than we need.”

My left arm is hanging at my side, and I clutch the axe in my right. The shoulder cut from the glass doesn’t seem nearly as bad as the fresh gunshot wound. Once I swing the axe, though, both wounds flare up, stabbing me with pain all over.

I get a good swing in, cutting partially into the wound, but I stagger back, shocked at just how messed up the wounds have made me.

“What’s wrong?” Noah asks, shouting over the wind. “Your arm hurts?”

I smile at him “Just some scrapes. I’ll be fine.”

I swing again, bracing for the pain. It comes, but it doesn't catch me so off guard this time. The axe sinks deeper into the wood. A smaller tree like this, with two good arms, I’d probably only need six or seven swings to bring it down. I’m going to need at least 10 at this rate.

“Brody has some medicine,” Noah says. “Over there.”

He points to the fire.

Medicine?

“You wanna go get it for me?” I ask.

He nods.

The fire is in clear view, and I can see him the whole time. There should be no real risk. I watch as Noah’s figure shrinks toward the fire, and I take two more swings while he’s gone. I use his absence as an opportunity to grunt and swear with each labored swing.

Noah comes back holding a metal flask. Just the kind of medicine I was expecting. He holds the flask up to me.

“Thanks, buddy,” I say, smiling.

I open the flask and take a whiff. It’s strong, that’s for sure. I take a big swig of it, letting it burn in my stomach and numb my pain. I take another small swig, and then I start to take off my coat.

“The cold will get in!” Noah shouts.

“I know, buddy,” I say, “but I gotta get some of this medicine on my arm.”

Getting the coat off fucking kills my wounded left arm, so once I get my right arm free, I get Noah to hold on while I gently back myself out of the coat. The warmth seeps away almost instantly, and I regret not doing this by the fire. But I need to get this tree down fast, or the fire will be gone soon. I can’t risk the fire going out entirely. So long as the fire keeps going, if I was to pass out from the pain, I could at least tell Noah to just keep adding more wood to it if he gets cold. Getting that wood ready is priority number one; I can warm up later.

The sleeve of my shirt has a big hole in it, and the fabric all over the sleeve is stained and stiff with partially frozen blood.

I use the corner of my axe to cut a hole in the sleeve right near the shoulder, and I tear the entire sleeve off and hand it to Noah to hold. “Band-aid.”

“Big band-aid,” he says.

I take the flask into my right hand, and I carefully pour some of the liquor onto my arm. It stings, and I wince a bit, but the pain is nothing compared to what I feel swinging the axe. The alcohol I drank has hit my head already, and it’s insulating me a bit from the worst of the cold and pain.

I move the bottle to the exit wound and pour some more liquor onto it.

Finally, I pour most of the remaining liquor onto the bloodied cloth, and then I hand Noah part of the cloth.

“I know you don’t know how to tie your shoes yet, buddy,” I say, “but hold this, and I’ll walk you through it.”

He holds the cloth loosely in his hand and nods.

“Hold it really tight, okay? I need to get it tied nice and snug.”

I wrap the free end of the cloth around my arm. Each tiny movement of the cloth against my skin hurts like fuck, but I try to hide that from Noah. I see the cloth slide a bit in his hand.

“Hold tighter,” I say. “Like you’re holding onto me and we’re sledding down a cliff from the Road Runner.”

He squeezes tighter, and I pull against him, getting the cloth tight around my arm. I’m hoping it will apply enough pressure to keep the wound mostly covered and stem any bleeding that may still be happening.

“Keep holding,” I tell Noah.

I stick my end underneath and form the first part of the knot. I get Noah to move his arm around as needed, and finally I secure a tight knot that will hopefully not get loose over time. It’s not like I’ll be moving the damn arm at all anyway.

Noah helps me to get my coat back on. I zip it up, but still feel like I’m freezing. I gotta get this tree down, fuck the pain.

I swing. Again and again. It feels like a new bullet is hitting me with each swing, but I get a rhythm going. I imagine it’s some new fucked up competitive event: “Competitive one-handed bullet wound speed chopping.”

If it was an event, I’m setting the record.

“Stay next to me,” I tell Noah. “The tree is going to go down soon.”

I’m not exactly going for insane precision on this cut, so I want to make sure Noah is nearby if he was to be in its path as it began to fall.

I swing one last time, and the tree starts to tip. It falls away from Noah and me, and crashes into the snow.

“Yeah!” Noah says.

I smile. “Alright, buddy, your first lumberjack job is to go break off any small branches that you can. Gather them up into a bundle, and bring as many as you can back to the fire.

Noah walks over toward what was once the high part of the tree, but it’s not been brought to the ground. He snaps off some small twigs.

“Here’s a trick,” I say, stepping on a slightly thicker branch. I reach down and pull up on it as I dig my boot into the branch. It snaps off in my hand. “This helps you break thicker branches.”

Noah starts to use the trick, tearing off small branches from the tree.

I swing my axe down into the thicker ones, freeing them from the tree. Once we each have an armload of lumber, we head back to the fire.

I show Noah how to lay extra wood into the flames, carefully so that he doesn’t risk burning himself.

We load some smaller branches and a few thick ones into the flame, and I feel the warmth wash over me. My wounds are killing me, but at least I’m feeling my toes and fingers again.

“You did a really great job, Noah,” I say, smiling.

“Is your arm okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “It will be good.”

* * *

We awake to the silence of fresh, white snow. The storm is over, and the sun is starting to show over the horizon. The fire is still letting off some weak heat--not entirely dead.

I see that Noah is still asleep, but I wake him up. We have to make the most of daylight, getting down to lower elevations and hopefully to civilization.

My worst fear is put to rest: the arm feels bad, but not worse. I worried that I’d wake up with a fever, or that my arm would start to feel as if it was rotting off my body. But no, it’s just the regular pain. It’s not infected yet, and so long as Noah and I make steady progress, we should be able to reach the road before sundown.