by Ashton Cade
The snow’s still coming down, it hasn’t stopped since this afternoon when the second round picked up. We’ve gotten almost fourteen inches in the last twenty-four hours. It’s not record-breaking by any means, but it’s more than enough to bury the town and send everything to a complete standstill.
Even though we did everything we could to get the word out and encourage everyone to stay home, I’ve watched three people slide out and get stuck today while I’ve been helping Nick secure his grocery store. At least one of those people was coming to his store, desperate for supplies they failed to stock up on ahead of time.
Most folks around here are smarter than that. We know not to underestimate a storm, to have more supplies than we could possibly need because there’s no telling how long we could be stranded.
Which of course means the shelves of the grocery store are nearly bare. I don’t think the customer was happy with their assortment of canned fruit, but they’re really lucky Nick’s here at all.
“Careful,” he calls up to me as I shove another pile of snow off the roof. I’m sweating and shivering, my nose hasn’t stopped running since I left the house, and my lungs are burning with the effort of sucking in freezing air.
“Last one, head’s up,” I call right before the heavy wet thud of snow on the sidewalk. That’s the next thing.
Besides the one customer that actually came in to buy things, the other cars that cruised by made my spidey senses tingle. There’s no proof that they would have done something differently if there wasn’t a cop car parked outside the grocery store, but I’m glad I could be here all the same. With the shelves nearly cleared out and the generator not working, Nick’s store is like a beacon to vandals and ne’er-do-wells. They’ll take what they can and smash up everything else. I’ve seen it before in storms like this, and I’d like for it not to happen under my watch.
We can’t have officers just stationed outside local businesses, though. Wish we could, but our resources are too thin for that. When I wasn’t on the roof, I flagged down anyone driving, told them to get home and stay home. The Mayor and I have issued a curfew and only emergency personnel—or civilians with an emergency—should be out here right now. By tomorrow I’ll be writing tickets if the snow keeps up. No one wants to learn that way, but I’d rather piss off a couple people than find them in pieces on the side of the road.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Nick says as I’m coming down the ladder. On solid ground I feel wobblier than I did on the roof. I need to get home and sleep off this cold before it gets worse, but there’s work to be done.
“Happy to help. I wish there was more I could do for your peace of mind.” Without any power, his security cameras aren’t going to be good for much longer. He told me they have some backup, but not days and days worth.
Nick huffs, breath puffing up around him as he nods, looking down the street at tire tracks left by people I scolded.
“If worse comes to worse, I’ve got insurance,” he says, picking up the shovel I left leaning against the building to start moving snow.
“I’ll do that, was just catching my breath,” I tell him, still panting, each breath giving me less air than the one before it.
Not now, I plead with my body, forcing a long, deep breath.
“You’ve done enough. Get out of here before it gets unpassable.”
I shake my head. “You need to go too. I can’t let you drive through this after giving everyone else hell for it. I’ll give you an escort.”
Nick frowns at the sidewalks, buried in fresh piles of snow from the roof.
“Guess a mountain of snow is as good a burglary deterrent as I’m going to get right now,” he mutters, dissatisfied. I can only begin to imagine the stress he’s feeling with his livelihood at stake. Insurance is great and all, but it only covers what needs replacing, it’s not going to fix the days of lost business, or employees not getting paid during the repairs. We’ll just have to hope for the best outcome. We’re already prepared for disaster.
The plows managed to clear the main streets through town during the lull in snowfall, but now those streets are solid white again, pristine until Nick’s tires crunch through.
He’s driving slow, letting the momentum of the ice carry him more than the accelerator. I follow at a safe distance, lights on so there’s no missing us through the precipitation.
Nick’s one of those old school guys that doesn’t like to live too far from where he works. He used to live above the grocery store until his surgery. Then he moved to a single-story house, but he couldn’t go too far. He’s very hands-on in his business, always the first one there, the last to leave, the one to work the holidays so his employees don’t have to.
There are some business owners in Gateway I wouldn’t bother going above and beyond for, but Nick deserves it. He’s good people.
The mile to his house takes us about twenty minutes at the pace we’re going. At one point it looks like he’s got his Buick stuck, but he manages to wiggle the wheels and give it gas at just the right time to free it. Old man knows how to handle himself in the snow. Guess that’s what happens when you spend your whole life in a place like this. I’ve got some time to catch up to him.
By the time he’s getting out of his car and waving to me while trudging up to the door, the wear of the day is really sinking in. The cold medicine I took this morning wore off hours ago, my fever is back, and my chest still feels tight. I’ve just got to get home, then I can sleep it all off.
I reach for my phone to call Hunter—it’s been a long day, and hearing his voice would be really nice right now, even if I will see him soon enough—but when I press the power button to wake it up, nothing happens. It’s plugged in, but the moment I move it, the cord falls out, too loose to make a connection. No matter how I fiddle with it, it’s not lighting up. Guess it’s time for a new cord.
A dead phone makes me frown, though. What if Hunter’s been trying to reach me? Cody knows I was helping at the grocery store, but in this weather, it’s good to let someone know you’re changing locations. Without a working phone, I reach for my radio to call in.
It crackles, static, then an error beep.
Shit.
I should’ve expected this.
Radios are a good answer to cell phones that struggle to stay online in weather like this, but Gateway is woefully behind on updating our radio system. Like all technology, the lifespan on these things isn’t terribly long—the system we have should’ve been replaced ten years ago, but there’s never any money in the budget. As it is, there’s one channel for all the emergency services, and when too many people are using it at once, that’s it. It hits capacity and won’t let anyone else in. Even better, the company that makes these radios stopped supporting them five years ago. We can’t buy replacements, we can’t get troubleshooting help, and all we get is problems.
It’s something I definitely want to address as chief, but I have to wait for the next annual budget meeting to present my proposal.
For now, we’re going to have to get through this winter with our old system.
I don’t like the idea that no one knows where I’m at, but it’s not hard to figure out. Cody knew I was helping at Nick’s, and the only place I’m going now is back to Hunter’s.
I try the radio again just to be sure.
Nothing.
I try to take a deep breath, but that doesn’t work either. My chest is tightening, the attack I thought I thwarted coming back with a vengeance.
Even though I’m the only person on the road right now, I pull over, digging out my rescue inhaler. I shake it up, already fighting for sips of air. I don’t know what’s brought this one on so fast, but I already feel lightheaded—maybe that’s the fever? I should’ve brought more cold medicine with me. The inhaler is almost empty. I might have two puffs left if I’m lucky. Gotta make this one count.
My vision fuzzes out around the edges and I don’t know if it’s asthma, the flu, pa
nic, or something else pulling on me. In my brain I’m not panicking, but my body is. My body is screaming about the lack of air, being trapped in the cold, more and more snow piling on, and it’s telling me I need to run.
I force myself to stay put, not even unbuckling the seatbelt. I wait for the medicine to hit, for my lungs to start opening. The elephant on my chest doesn’t leave, though. All I want is to get back to Hunter, but I can’t drive in this condition. I know there’s no way I’ll make it to his place without sliding off the road. I have to sit this out.
I have to stay warm.
I wish I could just talk to Hunter right now. That would warm me up better than anything else.
The car’s emergency kit has a crinkly space blanket. I carefully arrange it around myself, giving the car another few minutes to run the heat before I cut it off to conserve fuel.
I feel trapped in my own body. My brain is whirring, but exhaustion and the need to recover are too strong. I can’t keep my eyes open no matter how hard I fight. I clutch my inhaler, debating taking the last hit.
There’s no guarantee that it would put me in a better position to drive home and I’m not willing to take that risk. Driving when I feel like I could pass out any minute isn’t worth it.
“I’m sorry Hunter,” I mutter, curled against the driver’s seat. Nothing else matters as much to me as he does, and I know I’m letting him down. I promised him I’d be home for chili.
My chest is still tight, burning, and just the thought of seeing him makes my heart clench a little. I don’t know how it happened, but I think somewhere along the line, I fell in love with my best friend. I just hope I get to see him again.
I’ve given countless lectures to my men both in the Navy and in the Police to always be prepared, to have the proper supplies. I’ve warned townsfolk a million times to get everything they need from the grocery store, gas station, and pharmacy before big storms.
And now look at me. Can’t even take my own advice, paying the price for it.
I pull the space blanket tighter around me. The thin, crinkly metallic sheet is probably the most uncomfortable excuse for a blanket I’ve ever had wrapped around me, but it does the job of keeping my body heat in. The moment a part of me is uncovered, it’s freezing.
Against all hope, I try the phone, then the radio again. Nothing responds to me, so I do the only thing I can: I let the sickness pull me under.
Chapter 12
Hunter
“There, good as new,” Ryder says after lighting the last candle. There’s no telling how long we’ll be without power. Crews won’t be able to work on it until the snow stops, and who knows when that’ll be.
“For illumination, maybe,” I mutter, looking at my phone. The networks are completely down. It won’t even ring. How will I know if something’s happened to Jared? What if he needs me?
“You don’t have a land line out here?” he asks, frowning.
“I got rid of it last year, like a stupid fucking idiot. Seemed silly to keep paying for something I never used…”
Ryder makes a face. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just like everyone else under fifty who doesn’t have one.”
“Ugh. It’s fine,” I say, but I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.
Ryder’s clearly not buying it. I wish he would. I don’t want to get into the depths of my worry right now. As competent as he is, I’ve seen Mother Nature take out the best of the best. I know too many names that never made it home. I can’t stand the thought that he’ll be another entry to the list.
My stomach twists and I feel sick. I can’t lose him before I have a chance to tell him how I feel, how I’ve fallen in love with him, how he is becoming everything to me. Bef0re we have a chance to fully explore this thing we have. I can’t lose him, period.
“What about radios?” he offers, grabbing two beers from the fridge.
“Don’t open that,” I snap, slamming the door shut.
He makes a face. “If you’re worried about things going bad, stick ‘em outside.” He offers me one of the beers, I scrunch my nose and shake my head.
“I don’t really wanna—”
“You’re a wreck. Have a damn drink,” he says.
I guess I’m not going anywhere anyway. Other than to bed. Alcohol will help me fall asleep. I take the beer.
“What about radios?” I ask after a drink.
He shrugs. “Can’t you try to reach the station that way?”
“No telling if our system’s working with all this demand on it, but it’s worth a shot,” I answer. I’m desperate. I’ll try anything if it means I might get to hear Jared’s voice and know he’s okay.
I’ve got a radio in my truck, so once we’ve finished our beers, we both trudge out through the snow.
“Gonna need to come shovel again soon,” I mutter.
“I’ll get it,” Ryder answers.
The truck door is frozen shut, and we each give it a couple of tugs before it finally starts to crack. We’re just here for the radio, but I crank the engine and turn the heat to full blast so I’m not shivering while I’m trying to talk.
“He’s okay,” Ryder assures me.
“Yeah,” I answer. Maybe if I will it hard enough, it’ll be true.
I turn the radio on, and at first it’s just crackling, not picking anything up. The system we have here in Gateway is so outdated we’ve learned not to rely on it, but right now, it’s all I’ve got.
The only person I can think to address is Jared’s old partner, Cody. I don’t even know if he’s working, but if anyone in the station knows where Jared is, I think it’ll be him.
This is going to be weird, though. We don’t really talk to each other on the radio, firefighters and police; it’s like trying to speak French by only being fluent in Spanish.
“Hunter Saila here, firefighter, is Officer Sanchez there?”
I glance over to Ryder, expecting him to be laughing at me, but he’s not. He looks just as serious about this as I feel.
I’m glad I’m not alone right now.
“Sanchez,” comes the answer through the radio.
My heart leaps.
“Uh… Hey, Cody. Is the chief still there?”
“Chief should have been on his way home a few hours ago. You haven’t seen him?”
My chest tightens, all my worst fears coming to fruition.
“No,” I barely manage. “I haven’t heard from him all day.”
There’s silence from the radio for too long.
“I’ll put out an APB. You stay put, we’ll track him down.”
It’s not what I wanted from this conversation, but I’m glad Cody takes it seriously all the same.
“Thanks.”
“Sit tight, he’ll be home before you know it.”
“Let’s go get another drink,” Ryder says as I’m putting the radio back in its cradle.
“I don’t think drinking is going to take my mind off of things. Jared’s out there somewhere and no one knows where. He could be—”
I can’t bring myself to say it. Ryder wasn’t around for Jared’s asthma attack, so he doesn’t know the risk Jared’s at. I can’t tell him, because that would mean letting out the whole flood of all my worries onto his shoulders, and neither one of us can handle that.
“Come on,” Ryder insists. “I’ll make you a hot toddy over the fire.”
It’s pretty hard to resist that, even if I do just want to wallow in my own misery for a bit.
Trying to relax feels like a betrayal to Jared who could be scared for his life right now.
“I need to check on the chickens,” I say, cutting the truck off.
“Fine, it’ll be ready when you get back,” he says, not taking no for an answer.
Maybe that’s what I need right now. My little brother being a pain in my ass to make me forget the pain in my heart.
I keep thinking about telling Jared, but every time the words are on the tip of my tongue, I chicken out.
> What if I never get the chance now? What if he never knows I love him?
My throat is tight when I swallow, tears stinging in my eyes, face hot against the cold wind. At least the chickens won’t judge me for crying.
It’s too dark to go all the way out to the barn to check on the cats, but barn cats really don’t need much in terms of monitoring. They’re pretty self-sufficient and independent as animals go. The chickens are too for the most part, but I at least like to keep their coop from getting buried.
This snow is unrelenting. By daybreak we’re going to have two feet or more.
Not enough to hide a car, I tell myself. They’ll find him.
It smells warm when I head back inside. The smoke from the fire, the richness of honey, lemon, and whiskey mingling with it, the glow from three dozen candles—it wouldn’t be so bad being snowed in here if Jared weren’t missing.
Ryder’s sitting at the table, two steaming mugs and a handful of dice in front of him.
“I need to redeem myself after last time,” he says, grinning.
Our family’s always been big on Yahtzee. Every family get-together, every reunion, every vacation, Yahtzee’s been there. The last time Ryder and I played… I don’t even know how many years ago it was, but I beat him three games in a row. He was still trying to argue for best four out of seven when I rolled all the dice to shut him up and got five of a kind on a whim.
There was no topping that, so I walked away while I was ahead and left my brother to think I have magical dice powers all these years.
“Ryder, I—”
“Come on, I’ve lived with this shame long enough,” he pleads, before I can tell him I don’t feel like playing games or staying up late drinking, or anything else that’s not being curled up in a ball of anxiety until I see Jared again.
I sigh.
I know he’s trying to help. He’s got that goofy grin that makes it really hard to be annoyed with him, and he’s looking at me so hopefully. It’s like looking into the past, my little brother sitting at the table asking me to play a game with him. I half expect Mom to appear and tell me to humor him, that he just idolizes me.
