by E Cleveland
That bitch.
That pig.
Fuck them.
I make my way to the door and stumble inside. I look around the cabin frantically. I can’t stay here. I can’t be under the same roof as my cheating fiancé and the girl I’ve thought of as a sister for eight years. I can’t sleep here, like a fool, supposedly celebrating an engagement that’s a fucking lie.
I race across the floor, banging my hip into the dining room table. “Fuck!” I yell angrily. I grab my black fur coat and fuzzy winter hat and quickly button it up to my neck. “Fuck this! Fuck them!” The tears rain down my face in a downpour. I knew I wasn’t good enough for him.
For any of them.
My vision is blurry as I run back out into the snow, quickly making my way to the tree line on the side of the property. I don’t have a plan. Not that a plan would help. I planned my life in excruciating detail to get to this pinnacle. To this moment. And all it’s led to is my humiliation.
“Elsie! Wait!” Ben calls out behind me, but I don’t stop. I barrel forward down a trail and let myself get swallowed by the darkness.
I run until my lungs burn and my legs feel like Jell-O. I run until I can’t hear anything or see any signs of light besides the stars. Even then, I run farther. Time blurs and my limbs cry out for mercy. Begging me to stop. Still, I run farther. Faster. Trying to escape my shame. Trying to put distance between me and the betrayal I witnessed.
I look around. Somehow, I’ve managed to get off the trail I thought I was following. When did that happen? A shiver washes over me, taking over control of my muscles. I push through the underbrush, slogging forward in the crunchy snow. I don’t care. I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t even want to live if my entire life, if everything I’ve spent years building, is all a lie.
The image of Ben fucking Kate with his pencil dick attacks my mind and fresh tears fill my eyes. Fuck them.
“Arrgghh!” My boot catches on something under the snow and I fall face down into the cold, soft blanket of white. I roll over and try to sit back up, but don’t have the strength. My thoughts cloud over and the sky spins above me, blurring into a cascade of shooting stars from the tears in my eyes. I can feel myself letting go. My body sinks into the snow and my eyelids close.
I’m so tired. I need a nap. Maybe this is already a dream and I need to wake up. The thought is fleeting. As is my will to move. I close my eyes and feel myself fall off the edge as the world goes black.
7
Sawyer
The wind blasts me with punishing, arctic air. It’s so cold 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 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, 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 wildlife 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 wilder 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 go sign onto my nonexistent computer and get them delivered by Amazon. Not that I’d ever want to.
Instead, I make four trips a year into Anchorage 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 you’re 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 fourteen hours lugging a sled behind me. But Skidoos 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’s 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, but 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 its cries, for its 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 lying 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 for 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 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 lay 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. The question is: is it already too late?
8
Sawyer
My feet crack the sheet of crystal sparkling over the soft snow and I sink down until my knees are covered with every step. Giving the sled a huge tug, I pull the unconscious girl to the edge of the porch stairs before I bolt up them to the front door of the cabin.
Of course, it’s locked. I fight my instinct to run at the door like a bull at a matador’s red flag. It won’t help keep either of us warm if I knock this thing off the hinges.
I doubt an old, rickety shack like this has any kind of alarm system, but if it does, tearing the door off would definitely set it off. Not that alerting the authorities wouldn’t be a good thing.
At least in theory.
Clearly, any girl who would run into the snowy woods at night in a bikini and fur coat needs help. That’s a job for the police if I’ve ever heard of one.
Then the media would pounce on the story like a pack of ravenous wolves. A shiver that has nothing to do with the frosty air runs down my spine. I can see the headlines now. The online discussions. The distorted lies and twisted fantasies of man-children with no life experience turning my attempt to rescue this girl into something dark. Something sinister. Maybe they could even make a new meme for. If I’m really lucky, I could star in another viral video for my trouble.
My eyes scan the area for a telltale rock or sculpture hiding a key beneath it. However, this place isn’t a quaint little countryside cottage that a family lovingly comes to visit every summer. This is a rundown, likely abandoned, hunting camp that no amount of handiwork or flattering pictures could improve. I try to open the window to the left of the door, but it won’t budge. It’s either frozen shut or locked.
I remember when I was a kid, shopping with my mother at the grocery store for the few things she couldn’t pick up at her favorite markets, the magazines and news rags would always catch my eye at the checkout line. Weekly World News with its ridiculous headlines about “Bat Boy” or aliens would make me roll my eyes and ignite my imagination at the same time. I always knew that the supposed scoops were bullshit. Everyone did. Yet, it stayed in business. People bought it.
Now, you don’t have to go to your grocery store to find phony news. It’s on every Facebook page. It’s mixed in with your actual news, making it impossible to distinguish from the rest of the craziness in this world.
My eyes come back into focus and I let my death grip on the edge of the window relax. Let it go. I remind myself as I draw a deep breath into my lungs. Right now, the only thing I need to worry about is the young woman on my toboggan, who is going to freeze to death if I don’t help her. The rest of that shit, hell, the rest of the world, doesn’t matter right now.
I try the window on the other side of the door and it has some give in it. With a lot of pushing and maneuvering, I manage to slide it open and crawl inside. I don’t bother to look around. There will be time to take the grand tour later. From the size of this place, I’m guessing it will take all of two seconds to get acquainted. Instead, I unbolt the door, jump down the porch stairs, and lift the strange woman over my shoulder.
Kicking the door shut behind me, I lay her on the dirty floor and pull my gloves off with my teeth, spitting them to the side. I lift her hand and check her fingers. They’re waxy and white. Not a good sign.
I place my hand under her nose and feel her soft breath barely blow over my skin.
Opening her large fur coat, I scowl at her insane choice of clothes. The complex crystal coating of ice over her creamy breasts and bikini top tell me that the swimwear has to go. I pull the string tied up around the back of her neck and reach behind her back, freeing her from the other loose knot. I clutch the cloth in my hand and it crackles as the ice breaks under my grip.
I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone would leave dressed like this. She must have been in danger. I would guess she fled for her life, choosing a possible death in the woods over a certain death that she faced. There’s no other logical explanation.
I force myself to look away from her perky tits. Two little mountains begging to be claimed by the exploring lips of a man. Instead, I focus on her blue lips. Full, pouty, and smeared with some kind of shimmering gloss, but still blue.
Two fingers on the side of her neck tell me her pulse is as weak as her breathing. She’s hypothermic, there’s no doubt in my mind. The boozy smell escaping her pores tells me of her drinking. However, I have no way of knowing if she’s passed out from the alcohol or from the bitter cold. I’m no doctor but I did a hell of a lot of medical training in the infantry. All I can do is try to warm her up the way they taught us.
Skin to skin.
Standing up, I strip off my outer layers, shaking out of my parka and laying it over the unconscious girl. I kick my boots off, sending them across the dark room, and peel down my pants, stiff with ice, next. Soon, my clothes are a pile on the floor and I’m shivering, naked, standing over a beautiful and strange woman.
This isn’t how I wanted this trip to go. She might be stunning, but she can’t be too smart running off in the state she did. Besides, I’ve always preferred my companions to be conscious and enthusiastic about my nudity. Not in medical need of my warm skin for their survival.
Lying down on her open coat next to her, I make quick work of removing her bottoms, tossing them on the towering pile of fabric next to me. I dart my eyes away from her barely covered pussy, the dark hair between her legs hardly a shadow covering her mound.
Instead, I pull her into me, laying her head on my chest, and grab the edge of my parka, pulling it over us like a blanket. Once we’re both fully covered, I wrap my arms around her, tucking her freezing hands into my armpits and pressing the ice blocks she has for feet between my thighs.
I need to warm her slowly. If you thaw a person with hypothermia too quickly, it can stop their heart. This is the best way I know how to do that. Skin-to-skin contact will bring up her body
temperature at a safe rate.
Once she warms up, I’ll make a fire. Hopefully she wakes up and doesn’t have any permanent damage from this. I look over her shoulder and see there’s wood piled next to the crumbling fireplace. Thankfully, I won’t have to try to gather some out in the snow.
Pulling her in tight, I try to give her the warmth I haven’t shared with any woman in years. Trying to give her the warmth she desperately needs to stay alive.
In the meantime, I focus on her breathing. On her heart beating next to mine. I try not to think about how her hair smells like fresh strawberries in the summer sun. I push it from my mind. All I care about is getting her warm, getting her conscious, and getting her on her way.
Nothing else.
9
Elsie
I can hear the crackle of the fire as the flames fan heat on my face. I don’t need to open my eyes to know that Ben and I must have passed out beside the fireplace in our amazing chalet. The unforgiving wood floor and stiff muscles I have from sleeping on it confirm my thoughts.
I don’t hear Stacey or Kate stumbling around yet, trying to get their latte fix for the morning. It must still be early.
Kate! She and Ben! Didn’t I see them fucking like a couple of drunk rabbits? The memory is blurry, the details hard to remember. I thought I saw them. That I took off into the woods. It was cold and dark, and I got lost.
I can feel the heat of Ben’s body behind me, his arm casually draped over my belly. It must have been a dream. More like a nightmare.
I’m glad that’s all it was. I’m not ready to get up and face the day yet. I shimmy my hips backward and press my butt back against my fiancé. Lacing my fingers in with his, I’m surprised by how much larger they feel. How much rougher they are. Ben doesn’t have callouses on his hands. And his morning wood definitely doesn’t feel like the huge erection pressed snugly between my ass cheeks.
