The embankment was steep, the footing tenuous, and Clark yelled back to Graham to be careful, almost slipping a couple of times himself. He still hadn’t gotten used to the awkwardness of the snowshoes, feeling like he was walking in swim flippers. He stumbled, but remained upright. The snow was thick and soft and the snowshoes sank in several inches, making it hard to lift each foot up and move it forward to the next step.
Clark kept his eyes ahead, searching for the beacon of light through the woods. The mist and swirling snow obscured the way. He hoped once they reached the woods, the canopy of tree cover would offer some protection from the storm. The trees seemed to move closer together. He worried he would lose sight of the light. He could barely see it now, as if it were retreating from him. It still looked a long way off.
He turned to look back and saw Graham had fallen behind a bit and veered off course. Clark couldn’t slow down for him though, fearing he wouldn’t be able to continue if he did.
Why wasn’t Graham following in his tracks? His friend was about forty yards behind him and twenty yards to the right, where the ground sloped down before eventually leveling off by a frozen river that ran beneath the highway. It was as if Graham were following a different beacon.
Clark waved his flashlight over his head. It would be no use calling out, he figured, the wind would swallow his words.
Graham signaled back, acknowledging him, but kept on his course.
Damn, Clark thought. Maybe he saw an easier path through the woods.
Clark didn’t want to backtrack, too anxious to reach the tree line and whatever shelter it would provide. Once among the trees he could cut across to where Graham was heading.
The wind grew fiercer, shoving snow back into Clark’s face, stinging his eyes. He just had a short ways to go, but the storm seemed to fight him every step of the way. If it kept up like this, and he couldn’t find the house, there’d be no hope for him.
Or the others.
Remember, you’re doing this for everyone. And Shelby. And her kids.
He struggled to lift his feet as the snow clung to the top of his snowshoes, weighing them down. It felt like his feet were encased in concrete blocks. The edge of the woods was just a few feet away. His eyes zeroed in on one pine tree, setting it as his goal. Just reach that one, and then worry about what comes next.
He trudged ahead, his chest pounding, sucking in air through the knitted scarf that covered his mouth. Snot leaked out his nostrils, soaking into the fabric.
A few more feet.
If it took this much effort just to get to the woods, how the hell was he going to make it the rest of the way to the house? If he could even find it. Where was the light? He searched, squinting to protect his eyes from the onslaught of the snow and the stinging wind.
The pine tree was before him and he stumbled into it, reaching both hands around the stiff bark, holding tight to it as if the wind was trying to rip him from his spot. He rested, closing his eyes and trying to relax his breath. Ice crystals stuck to the end of his eyelashes, but he dared not let his hands free to wipe them away. He just wanted to hold the tree for a moment, just one little moment.
When his heart had resumed a normal beat, he opened his eyes and turned to the right to see where Graham ended up.
He could not see him.
Graham was gone.
No way he could have reached the woods yet, Clark thought. He had been farther away from it than Clark. Had he fallen?
Clark worked his way along the edge of the woods to his right, in the direction he last saw Graham, moving from tree to tree, using each of them to brace himself against. Despite the lousy visibility he scanned the snow surface with the flashlight beam between the highway and the woods. There was no trace of either of their tracks. The wind had wiped them away.
“Graham!” Clark yelled, knowing full well his friend wouldn’t be able to hear him. He didn’t know what else to do. “Graham!”
No response.
Clark edged farther along to the right, but detected no sign of him, or his tracks.
It was as if he’d vanished in the storm.
He looked back through the woods. The faint light and outline of a house was still visible. Had Graham somehow gotten farther ahead? Clark didn’t see how that was possible. But he’d already seen something impossible today. If he had any chance at all, he would have to continue to try for the house and hope Graham got there too. But he hated the thought of his friend lost out in the snow somewhere.
He felt helpless, but delaying wouldn’t do any of them any good.
Clark pushed on through the woods toward the light from the house.
Chapter Two
Graham had handed the flashlight off to Clark and let him lead the way, too stunned by the scene in the back seat of the hatchback to function properly, his thoughts swirling in circles like the snow. This had all come on the heels of the weird coincidence in the trailer with both Mason Drake and Lewis Felker having encounters with Leroy Sledge. God, when was the last time he had even thought about that schoolyard bully? The kid had dropped out sometime during high school, and Graham had never given him a thought until mentioning him tonight.
Or rather, this morning. Because indeed it was morning now, though it was still dark. Sunrise seemed so terribly far away. Graham wished he’d never brought up Leroy Sledge. It was the only story he could think of telling, because he didn’t want to tell the real tale of his worst winter. Even though Clark knew it, that was a story he wanted to keep to himself.
But a storm like this always brought that memory back. He had been ten when it happened. His younger brother Spencer was eight. The two of them had been building a snow fort at the end of their front yard where the banks were piled high at the edge of the road after the town plows cleared the streets.
They built a sort of parapet at the top where they could look down on any imaginary infidels approaching the fort. The two of them made an arsenal of snowballs to thwart an attack from invaders. But what they needed was a tunnel, so the two of them began to dig. Graham started at the top, and he instructed Spencer to begin digging out from the side below. If things worked according to plan, the two ends of their tunnels would intersect.
They shoveled out the snow with just their mitten-covered hands, Graham piling it up on top of the fort, while he imagined Spencer shoving the snow behind him as his smaller body burrowed beneath him. Every now and then he would call out to Spencer, trying to ascertain from his muffled voice where he was beneath him so he could work toward that direction.
When Graham heard Spencer’s voice nearby, he began kicking at the bottom of his hole, thinking his brother’s tunnel must be right beneath him. With one big stomp of his black rubber boot, the bottom of his tunnel gave way and Graham felt himself fall, crashing down into a cavity beneath, the snow from above collapsing on top of him.
He found himself wedged in snow, pushing chunks away from his face so he had space to breathe. “Spencer!” he hollered, not sure where his brother might be. “Spencer, I can’t move.” No response. “Hello?”
Had the younger boy gotten out and gone for help? Graham hoped so. Their mother had gone on some errands, so who knew how long it would be before she came home. Hopefully, Spencer had run to the nearest neighbor’s house.
“Spencer?” What if he hadn’t gotten out?
He listened quietly but heard only the crunching sound of the snow as he tried to shift his position. It was nearly impossible to move. “Are you here?” Graham breathed heavily, lucky he could breathe at all. He felt his own warm breath bounce back at him from within the pocket of space in the snow surrounding his face.
A whimpering sound seemed far away.
“Spencer!” Graham tried to move his arms, constrained by the tunnel wall. It had to be him, but where was he? It was hard to tell the exact direction of the sound. “Hold on, Spe
ncer, I’m coming.” He tugged an arm free, digging with his mitten just below him.
Or was it below? After falling, it was hard to tell what was up or down. Was his brother beneath him, or beside him, maybe just on the other side of the snow-packed wall? Frantically, he dug, his heart hammering in his chest. His mitten got stuck when the knitted fibers froze to the snow, and when he tried to pull his hand free, it came out. He tried to reach the mitten, but couldn’t, so he continued to dig with the bare fingers of his right hand, ignoring the bitter cold biting into the flesh. Soon the fingers became numb. It made it hard to dig, not being able to feel his hand, unable to control it.
But he did dig, because Spencer was down there somewhere, and his mother had left him in charge. The more he dug, the farther down he got, the harder the snow seemed to be. The skin on his fingers cracked and blood seeped out onto the snow from them, but still he dug.
A chunk of snow gave way, revealing a small hole. Through it he could see the red rubber of one of Spencer’s snow boots.
“Spencer!” he cried out. “I see you! I’m almost there!”
His brother didn’t respond. His little red boot didn’t move.
Graham couldn’t reach the hole. He tried to shift his body, to get a better angle, but he was stuck, his right arm now pinned against his body, everything numb below his wrist.
“Kick, Spencer,” he yelled. “Kick your feet!” If only his brother could widen the opening, help loosen some of the snow.
But the red boot lay still.
“Damn!” Graham yelled, frustrated at his brother just as much as himself. “Damn it all!”
That’s when Graham began screaming at the top of his lungs. Buried in the snow in his front yard, unable to move, not able to reach his brother, he screamed his head off, hoping on the off chance that someone would hear him and help them.
And someone did come. His screams were heard and neighbors came running, some bearing shovels, and he heard them digging through the snow, calling out to him. Soon, the sun was beating down from an opening above, blinding him, and hands reached down pulling him out. As he did, he glanced back down into the hole and saw his brother’s little red boot.
It was too late for Spencer. By the time they reached him and dragged his small, limp body from the bottom of the fort, he was no longer breathing. Maybe he hadn’t been the whole time Graham had been talking to him. One of the neighbors began mouth-to-mouth while waiting for the ambulance, as Graham stood there wrapped in a blanket someone had thrown around him. But his brother’s body did not respond, and he looked on helpless, thinking how disappointed in him his mother would be, because she had left him in charge.
Now, as he followed Clark’s tracks away from the highway, he was fine letting his friend lead the way. Let Clark be in charge. Graham had been the one who’d decided to gather the others from their vehicles and bring them to the RV, but he had been too late for that young couple in the hatchback, just like he’d been too late for his brother.
So he bent his head and followed the trail Clark blazed through the snow, over the side of the highway and up the embankment. With the wind spitting snow in his face, he kept his head down and plowed along, each step an exhausted effort, his slow pace unable to keep up with Clark.
Graham hoped this house would be the right decision. He could have easily stayed in the comfort of the RV with the others, but seeing Clark getting cozy with Shelby made him think of his own wife and how much he desperately wanted to get home to Natalie and his daughters. There had been too much discomfort tonight. He needed the warmth of their bed and his wife’s arms around him.
When Graham realized he could no longer see Clark’s tracks before him, he glanced up, using his right hand to shield his eyes from the snow. Clark was quite a distance ahead of him. How had he fallen so far behind? And why wasn’t his friend waiting for him?
Clark also was veering off to the left. Graham scanned the woods, seeking the light from the house. He spotted it. Clark wasn’t making a straight line for it. Could he no longer see it? It was difficult with the thick mist and snow.
Graham kept a direct line for the light, blazing his own trail toward the woods, dragging each step. He wanted to rest, needed to rest, but he didn’t want Clark to get too far ahead. Would his friend leave him? Maybe he wanted to be the hero all by himself, impress Shelby with his act of heroism. Wouldn’t that be a laugh? If only she had seen him when Graham practically had to drag him through the snow to get him to the RV. Clark would have died out there if it wasn’t for him. So who was the real hero here?
Let Clark go off course, Graham thought. I can see the light. I know which way to go. Let him end up catching up to me.
The ground sloped, dipping down by a small evergreen tree before a clearing to the right of the woods, over by the river. Graham stumbled as the ground seemed to fall out beneath him and he lost his balance, pitching forward and plowing headfirst into the snow.
The white fluff gave way easily as Graham’s body barreled through it. He knew immediately what had happened based on his experience skiing and the safety lessons he had learned. He had fallen into a snow well.
How deep down he had gone he had no idea. It felt like he was entirely buried in the snow. He knew he was upside down at a steep angle, because he felt the blood rushing to his head. The snow compressed against his chest, making it hard for his lungs to fully expand and breathe. Graham tried kicking his legs to no avail. It didn’t help having the snowshoes on as they were wedged in the snow.
When he fell, he had reached his arms out to brace the fall, and now they were impaled in the snow before him. He couldn’t even see his hands. He felt that his gloves were still on, which was good, and he tried to work his fingers, wondering how far down the ground was. His fingers could barely move, but he felt his body sink a little farther as he struggled, like being in white quicksand.
As Graham sank, the snow pushed up against his face, squashing his nose. He swiped his face back and forth, trying to keep an air pocket before him. He sucked in some air. How much would he have? How long? I need to get out of this, he thought, pulling back on his arms, trying to create space in front of him so he’d have enough air to breathe.
The pressure on his head felt like it was in a tightening vise. The pain made it hard to think. The crushing snow against his chest made breathing difficult. The more he struggled, the harder it was to move. He wanted to call out to Clark, but he couldn’t gather enough air in his lungs to holler. Had his friend seen him fall? Had he been looking behind to see what direction he went? Where was the hero now? He had to notice his tracks at least, see where they stopped. But with the snow still falling heavy and the wind blowing hard, would there be any trace left?
Help! Graham screamed inside his mind, jolting the pain already within his aching skull. I need help. I need someone to come get me. Where are the neighbors? Where the hell are the neighbors? Where the hell is everybody? Can’t they hear me? Wait! I’m not saying anything, that’s why. They can’t hear me because I can’t talk because there’s not enough air, I can’t get enough air. Why can’t they find me? Why can’t I breathe? Why doesn’t someone come for me? Why is this snow so heavy?
His body growing numb, the shivering stopped as feeling left his body. Graham blinked his eyes. The snow seemed to push down on them, trying to close them. Before they closed, he thought he saw, through a hole in the snow in front of him, a little red rubber boot.
Chapter Three
Clark was hesitant about continuing without knowing where Graham had gone. He constantly glanced back as he trudged through the woods, wondering if his friend was behind him or farther ahead. Or maybe he had turned around, daunted by the struggle through the storm, and gone back to the safety of the RV. Regardless, Clark felt he had to carry on, certainly while he could still see the light from the house. If that light went out, then he would be hopelessly lost in th
e woods.
At least the trees protected him from the worst of the snow and wind, providing a shield above and around him. The branches of the tall pines were weighted down with snow and bowed before him. The flashlight beam picked apart the shadows cast by the snow-covered trees. Branches of the trees laden with the heavy burden of snow groaned out, their creaks echoing in the silence of the woods like some hidden beast starting to stir. The sounds all around him caused him to periodically glance over his shoulder, always thinking something was sneaking up behind him.
Clark was desperate to get out of these woods. They had provided some protection from the storm, but little comfort. He kept on a straight course for the house that was beginning to take shape out of the mist on the outer edge of the woods.
One foot in front of the other, Clark thought, watching as he plopped each snowshoe before him. He kept a brisk pace, panting, the moist scarf over his mouth, knitted fibers clinging to his lips.
No matter what had befallen Graham, he was determined to continue. The others were counting on him. Shelby was counting on him. At the house where he grew up in Evergreen, his mother was anxiously waiting, wondering where her son was. He needed to get to her, so she would know he was all right. That made him determined, chugging along, forging his trail in the fresh snow through the woods. There were no other disturbances on the ground. No one else had come this way.
He kept his eyes on the light. Its brightness increased, signaling its closeness. Not much farther. He felt he could make it even as exhaustion sapped him of his strength. His legs and arms moved in rhythm, like he had no control over his body, as if his senses had gone numb from the cold. His body did what his mind told it to, even though he couldn’t feel a connection, as if his muscles were independent of his brain.
As the mist thinned, the house beyond the woods took shape, emerging from the darkness, and the white edges of rooflines and corners became defined. Clark reached the edge of the woods and leaned against the trunk of a tree as he stared out at the clearing before him.
Snowball Page 15
