by Kim Baldwin
Chapter Sixteen
Karla couldn’t erase the image from her mind. A homeless man who refused to give his name had been admitted to the ER one bitterly cold February night, suffering from hypothermia and severe frostbite. Thousands of homeless lived in the city, many in the downtown area, and Grady Memorial got the bulk of them when they required care. So she had seen her share of cases like this, but they’d never been bad enough to warrant amputation.
When the man regained consciousness after the surgery and saw that both his feet and several of his fingers were gone, shock and horror, then tears, then anger crossed his face. “Why did you do this? Why not just let me die? I can’t survive like this!”
Karla had lost all feeling in her feet and couldn’t stand. And though she’d pulled her hands inside her sleeves to warm them beneath her armpits, she only felt colder. Worse, she yearned to close her eyes and sleep. But if she did, she would probably never wake up again.
*
Bryson gave herself another hour to find Karla. If she didn’t succeed by then, she would go home and call in reinforcements from Bettles to expand the search. The conditions couldn’t have been worse: full dark and sub-freezing temperatures. The strong winds and heavy snowfall were muting her whistles, and it would be even more difficult to hear shouts. Unless she was relatively close to Karla, they might miss each other.
She swept the flashlight back and forth, from the woods to the river, hoping Karla might spot the beacon. And she paused frequently to listen, but so far all she’d heard were wolves and the howl of the wind in the trees. She prayed that Karla was all right.
Of all the search-and-rescue operations she’d participated in, none but the search for her father had ever affected her so personally. And it wasn’t because of her sense of responsibility to Lars and Maggie. She’d come to care about Karla, too, more than she’d allowed herself to admit.
She blew her whistle long and loud, turned ninety degrees and did it again, then froze to listen.
Her heart raced when she thought she heard an answering call, too indistinct to be sure. Had it been just the wind? She blew the whistle again and followed up with a shout. “Kaaaaarlaaaaaaaa!”
She listened again and caught that same distant hint of reply. More certain now that she was not imagining it, she hurried in the direction she thought the sound had originated from as fast as possible, skirting trees and sweeping the ground in front of her with her flashlight to avoid logs and rocks. It seemed to come from deep in the woods. “I’m coming, Karla! Hang on,” she hollered as she crashed through a thicket of willows.
When she’d gone a few hundred yards, she paused to shout again and this time clearly heard the reply. “Bryson! Over here. To your left.”
She followed the voice and found Karla sitting on a downed tree, her expression in the glare of her flashlight a mixture of worry and relief.
“I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life,” Karla said as Bryson hunched down in front of her.
“Are you all right?”
“Freezing.” Her teeth chattered. “I crashed the boat and got my boots wet getting to shore. I think my feet are frostbitten, which means I can’t and shouldn’t walk.”
“Shit.” Bryson’s mind raced, trying to think of the best way to move Karla. There might be enough snow on the ground to use the snowmobile, but she’d waste a lot of time getting back home to retrieve it, and it would be difficult to negotiate the machine over the uneven, densely forested terrain.
“How far is it to your place?” Karla asked.
“Three or four miles.” Bryson took off her backpack and set her flashlight beside Karla so she could see what she was doing. “I have some disposable hand warmers with me, and a survival blanket. Let’s see if we can get you warmed up some.” She opened four of the packets, which began to heat up as soon as they were exposed to air.
She could see that Karla had her hands inside her clothing. “Gonna open your coat for a second to give these to you.” Bryson unzipped the jacket halfway. Karla wore a crew-neck navy sweater beneath it.
Karla reached one hand up shakily through the neck of the sweater to retrieve the packets. “Thanks.”
She zipped her jacket back up and shone the flashlight down Karla’s legs. Her feet were encased in the duffel bag. Beside the bag, covered with snow, were her boots and gloves.
“I guess you don’t want me to put any warmers on your feet? You want to wait for warm water?”
“Right. I might be bad enough that those would damage the tissue.” Karla wasn’t surprised Bryson knew a lot about frostbite. What Alaskan wouldn’t? Especially one with search-and-rescue experience. “Any idea how you might get me out of here? And how quickly?”
Bryson unfolded the thin reflective survival blanket and wrapped it around Karla like a cocoon. “Working on that. Is the skiff out of commission?”
“Not structurally, but I couldn’t get the engine to start, and it’s grounded on a gravel bar. It’s quite a way upstream. Hit a rock I didn’t see.”
“Easy to do, especially in these conditions. I shouldn’t have let you try it alone.”
“Don’t blame yourself. This is totally my doing,” Karla said. “These packs are really helping. My hands are tingling and burning like crazy. A good sign.”
“Okay, here’s the plan.” Bryson shook off Karla’s boots and put them in her backpack. “I’ll take you as far as I can, moving along the river.” She was strong, but four miles, especially in the dark in this terrain, was quite a distance. “A fireman’s carry is the best way to keep from jostling your feet. Ground’s too uneven and rocky to try to drag you out. If I can’t carry you any farther, I have a plan B ready.” She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but she could always hoof it back and retrieve her fishing raft. Built for one, it could hold them both and get them the rest of the way fairly quickly.
But she hated the time she’d eat up making the round trip on foot and the fifteen minutes wasted inflating the raft. And she didn’t want to leave Karla alone. In addition to the worry about being lost and getting frostbite, Karla had looked tremendously relieved when she found her. She must have been terribly afraid. Lost in the wilderness, all alone in the dark, unable to move, and freezing to death.
“You sure you can carry me?”
“You’re talking to a woman who chops enough firewood to keep her cabin nice and toasty all winter.” She used her most reassuring smile as she took off her belt. She threaded it through the top loop of her backpack and then put it back on, so the pack would hang from her left hip. “I’ll need one of your arms out in your sleeve, preferably your right. You warm enough for that yet?”
Karla nodded and slid her right arm into position. Bryson shook the snow from Karla’s gloves and inserted another warming pack inside the right one before she pulled it over her hand. She stuck the other glove in her pocket.
Then she crouched in front of Karla, facing away from her. She glanced back as she reached for Karla’s right arm to put it over her left shoulder. “I take it you know the fireman’s carry?”
“I do.”
“Good.” She bent sideways and inserted her right hand between Karla’s parted thighs. Karla helped position herself by raising her right thigh as high as she could so Bryson could wrap her arm around it. She draped Karla’s body over her upper back and shoulders, took the flashlight in her left hand, and slowly stood, taking the weight. “That’ll work. You don’t weigh a thing.” Bryson had guessed her weight at 115 or 120, at most; Karla was at least two or three inches shorter than she was, and slender. And she felt even lighter, probably because of all the adrenaline pumping through her system. “Hang on. Here we go.”
Sweeping the flashlight in front of her, Bryson angled north toward the river as fast as she could safely travel, keeping well away from trees on either side. She made good time, considering her burden and the uneven ground, and her back and legs and lungs didn’t begin to protest until after she covered the first
mile.
“How’re you doing?” Karla asked, when Bryson paused a moment to catch her breath.
“About to ask you the same,” she managed, between big gulps for air.
“Why don’t you set me down for a minute and rest, huh?”
“Will when I need to.” She set off again at a slightly slower pace, trying to push away the pain and find a second wind.
Karla kept quiet during their traverse back to her cabin. Bryson hoped it was out of consideration, not pain.
She struggled another mile. Her lungs were burning and her shoulders, back, and knees were in agony. “Rest,” she wheezed, as she eased Karla down into a sitting position on a fallen tree.
“You can’t go farther. You’re killing yourself. I don’t know how you’re doing this.”
She held up a hand to forestall further protest while she eased onto the log beside Karla and took in deep lungfuls of air. Moving slowly, she raised her arms above her head and stretched. Her muscles screamed in relief, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to move tomorrow. “Not much more,” she said, once her breathing had returned to normal. “Only another mile or so.”
“Think you can make it?”
“Might have to stop again. We’ll get there.” In truth, she wasn’t certain her body could endure much more of this punishment. But she wanted to keep Karla as calm and reassured as possible. She already had plenty to worry about.
After a few more minutes of rest they pushed on, Bryson’s body screaming in agony with every step. She made it only another quarter mile before her back and shoulders and legs gave way. Her arms were shaking and her calves were cramping painfully as she struggled to set Karla down on a large boulder. Even with rest, she couldn’t carry her any farther.
“Can’t.” She gasped as she collapsed beside the rock. Her heart was booming in her chest, and sweat soaked the inner layer of her clothing.
“Jesus, Bryson. I’m surprised you made it this far. I’m afraid you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
“Gotta…” A maddeningly short distance remained, less than a mile. “Gotta leave you here for a while,” she wheezed. “Sorry.”
“Leave me?”
“Not long.” She spoke in short bursts as she tried to catch her breath. “Back soon. Soon as I can.” Gripping the edge of the boulder, she hoisted herself to her feet. “Don’t fall asleep.”
“I won’t.”
Bryson took off her whistle and put it around Karla’s neck. “Wish I could leave this, too,” she said as she picked up the flashlight. “But I’ll need it to move fast.”
“I understand. I’ll be fine.”
Bryson tucked the survival blanket tight around Karla, then leaned over so their faces were close together. The flashlight cast deep shadows around their features. “You’ll be warm soon, I promise. Hang in there, and trust me.”
“I do, Bryson. Be careful.”
She ached at the worry and fear in Karla’s eyes, though she was putting on a brave front. Leaving her alone in the dark was one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do.
“See you soon.” She forced herself forward on rubbery legs, surveying the ground with a critical eye as she headed toward the cabin. Snowmobile or raft? They were her only options, and neither was ideal. The raft would take more time, and they risked getting wet, something neither of them could afford. Her sweat-soaked clothing was making her miserably cold, and Karla’s feet could be further damaged. But the snowmachine was an iffy bet as well. The snow wasn’t deep enough for it to glide smoothly over the rocky, log-littered shoreline. It could easily get hung up on something and founder.
When the path to her cabin appeared, her spirits lifted slightly. She turned on the generator and went inside to flick on lights, grab her keys and a pair of down booties, and throw a couple of logs into the woodstove to get the heat cranked up.
“Be nice,” she urged the snowmobile as she checked the kill switch and turned the key to on. The Polaris was an older model, and it usually balked at the first effort every season to get it going. Last year, she’d had to replace the spark plugs and oil to start it. The year before, it needed new valves. She’d always managed to get it running, but often only after hours of labor and a trip to Bettles or beyond for parts.
She pulled the start cord and heard a muffled pop, but the engine failed to turn over. She tried twice more, with the same result. “Start, damn you,” she said through gritted teeth as she pulled the choke out halfway and tried again. This time, the engine fired, but quickly died again. A bit more choke, then another pull on the cord, and the Polaris roared to life.
Breathing a little better, she gradually reduced the choke until the engine was warming smoothly. A glance at the gas tank and a brief diversion to stuff her raft into a large backpack—just in case—and she was ready to go. She checked her watch. Forty minutes had passed since they’d parted. The time had flown for her, but every second probably seemed an eternity for Karla.
Chapter Seventeen
Karla scarcely felt the bitter chill except when the wind gusted, blasting icy pellets of snow against her face and down her collar. She moved the heat packets around on her body, and they did a good job warming her torso. Unfortunately her feet weren’t bothering her because they were completely numb from the ankles down, like wood blocks attached to her legs. She was careful not to move around too much.
As the minutes ticked by, she tried not to think about how her headlong foray into an arctic wilderness she didn’t understand and was unprepared for might change her life forever. If she’d only taken matches, she could have built a fire. Or a second pair of boots, and she’d have made it to Bryson’s without assistance. How stupid she’d been.
She might forgive herself more readily if this had happened during her first night in Alaska, before Bryson and Lars and even Maggie had all found ways to tell or show her how important it was to be prepared for any eventuality. To never underestimate the awesome and unpredictable power of the weather here.
Instead, she was desperately fighting fear and despair. When the darkness had swallowed Bryson’s flashlight beam, she’d had to force herself not to call out for her to come back.
She wished she had even a fraction of Bryson’s courage. To live by herself out here, facing down every challenge. To take to the skies every day, knowing a storm or freak wind could arise out of nowhere and slap her to the ground. Bryson hadn’t hesitated to risk her own safety to search for her, a virtual stranger. Yet another example of her selflessness and strong character. Would Karla do the same?
When she heard the distant roar of the snowmobile and glimpsed its lights through the trees, the sense of calm that seemed to settle on her whenever Bryson was around returned.
The machine slowed to a stop a few feet away, and Bryson dismounted but kept the engine running. She crouched down in front of her so they were face-to-face, but she still had to speak loudly to be heard. “You all right?”
“Ready to get out of here.”
Bryson pulled two down booties from the pocket of her coat. “Better for the trip back.” She carefully lifted Karla’s feet from the duffel, unwrapped the sweaters that surrounded them, and eased on the booties. Then she put one arm beneath Karla’s legs, the other around her back, and lifted her, cradling her against her chest. “Careful of your feet,” she warned as she carried her to the snowmobile and slowly lowered her onto the seat. “And I need your arms out. You’ll have to hold on to me, it’s kind of rough going.” She helped Karla with her gloves, then slipped into the seat in front of her. She’d put her large backpack on her chest so Karla could snuggle up against her back.
Karla wrapped her arms around Bryson’s waist and bent her legs to keep her feet up.
“All set?” Bryson yelled over her shoulder.
“Yes,” she shouted back.
It was very slow going. The blowing snow reduced visibility to only a few feet, so Bryson frequently rose out of the seat to peer over the windscre
en for a better look at the trail they were backtracking. Now and then, the machine would slow to a crawl as she negotiated around a fallen log or stump. Finally, in the distance, Karla could see the lights of the cabin through the blowing streaks of snow.
Bryson pulled the snowmachine into her outbuilding and cut the engine, then tossed her backpack beside the sled. “Let’s get those feet warmed up.” Gently lifting her as she did before, Bryson carried Karla inside and lowered her onto the couch. The logs she’d tossed into the woodstove had done a fine job of heating up the cabin.
“I’ll get some water on and warm up my big tub,” she said as she helped Karla out of her gloves and coat.
“Great. I’d like to take some ibuprofen when you get done with that. My feet will hurt like a bitch when I start to get some feeling back.”
“You got it.” Bryson set water to boiling in several large pots and tipped her galvanized tub next to the woodstove. “You need something hot to drink. Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?”
“Cocoa, please.”
When the water was ready, Karla downed four ibuprofen from the bottle Bryson gave her and warmed her hands on the mug while Bryson filled the tub.
“The weather’s too bad to fly out right now,” Bryson said. “But I can try to raise the hospital in Fairbanks for you on the sat phone, if you want to talk to a doctor.”
“I’ll keep that option open.” Karla lifted her legs and glanced at the down booties on her feet. She couldn’t see them when Bryson had put them on, and she hadn’t noticed them until now. She couldn’t help smiling. The booties were brown, covered in short faux fur, and shaped like grizzly-bear feet. They reminded her of the whimsical orange tabby-paw slippers she’d bought Abby for Christmas one year. Abby had called them ridiculous and returned them the next day. What had she been thinking? Abby had no sense of humor. Karla wondered how it was possible to be with someone for years and never really see her clearly until they had some distance between them.
