by Kirbi Fagan
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
CHAPTER 1: BOXED UP
CHAPTER 2: WHITE OUT
CHAPTER 3: COLD ESCAPE
CHAPTER 4: GET LOST
CHAPTER 5: NO HELP
CHAPTER 6: BREAKTHROUGH
CHAPTER 7: SOAKED
CHAPTER 8: BRIGHT LIGHT
CHAPTER 9: WARMTH
WINTER SURVIVAL NEEDS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
GLOSSARY
WRITING PROMPTS
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
COPYRIGHT
BACK COVER
CHAPTER 1
BOXED UP
Most of the people Jeff Ramis knew hated winter. They complained about the cold, the driving conditions, and shoveling their driveways. They hated wearing thicker clothes, warm hats, and puffy gloves. All winter long, people wished for spring and warmer temperatures.
Jeff, however, happened to love winter. And while he wasn’t much of a skier and had long ago outgrown his red plastic sled, Jeff found something he loved even more: ice fishing.
The funny thing was, Jeff didn’t fish much in the summer. It just didn’t interest him. But he did like being out in the middle of a frozen lake with a friend or two, huddled over a hole in the ice, waiting for the familiar twitch on his fishing line.
Ice fishing was just more fun for Jeff. A challenge. A way to make the long winter more enjoyable.
So, on a Saturday night in early February, Jeff was sitting in his dad’s old ice shack in the middle of Big Lake with his best friend Keith Willis. A few hours in, he hadn’t gotten any bites — but Jeff refused to go home empty-handed. Keith wasn’t a big fan of fishing, but he’d come along anyway claiming he had nothing else to do. He’d yet to bait his hook.
“You should decorate this shack,” Keith said, looking around. “Hang up some posters or something.”
Jeff glanced around the shack. Old pictures of his dad and his buddies were tacked to the walls. They held their catches high in the winter sun, smiling through ice-encrusted beards. He didn’t think he could take his dad’s pictures down. They were sacred in a way.
“Nah,” Jeff said with a smirk. “But if you ever catch something, I’ll take your picture and put it next to the other photos.”
Keith grunted. “Yeah, right,” he said. “Like that’ll happen.”
But it worked: Keith actually baited his line and dropped it into the dark hole next to Jeff’s. They each jigged their lines in silence for a while.
After a few minutes, Jeff grabbed a large spoon and scooped the slush out of the hole to keep it from freezing over.
“Check out that old radio,” Keith said. “We should find some music to listen to.”
“Sure,” Jeff said. “Let’s scare away the fish.”
Keith stood up and picked up the radio. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “I don’t think fish have ears anyway. Let’s see if this old thing works.”
Jeff shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Give it here.”
As Keith handed the radio over, a knock came from the shack’s door. Jeff reached over and pushed the door open. His dad poked his head in.
“How’s it going, men?” Jeff’s dad asked.
“Slow night,” Jeff said.
He stepped in, pulling the door closed behind him. A few flakes of snow speckled his dad’s reddish beard. His wool hat was pulled down over his ears.
“Catch anything?” Dad asked, nodding at the hole.
“Maybe a cold,” Keith said with a smile.
Jeff shook his head. It was plenty warm in the shack, but Keith could never resist a chance to crack a joke.
“We’re not catching anything in our shack, either,” Dad said. “Hey, that old radio still work?”
“Not sure,” Jeff said. He flicked the power button and adjusted the volume.
The light at the top of the old radio didn’t light up. He popped the back compartment open. The batteries inside were faded with age.
“Batteries are probably dead,” Keith said.
Jeff rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”
“What’re those, ‘C’ batteries?” Dad asked, reaching for the radio.
Jeff handed it over. He jigged his line while Dad examined the radio. The fish needed something exciting to chase, after all.
Dad set down the radio. “I’m taking the truck into town real quick for some burgers,” he said. It’s not even six yet, and Randy and Skip are already whining about being hungry. Amateurs.”
Jeff smiled. His dad had fished with the same two friends pretty much forever. They usually flipped a coin to see who had to run into town when they got hungry. His dad’s friends didn’t seem to enjoy fishing all that much, but they sure seemed to enjoy hanging around together — and eating burgers.
“You must’ve lost the coin toss,” Jeff said.
“Smart kid,” Dad said. “Anyway, I’ll grab some food for you two fish-heads — and some batteries.”
“That works,” Jeff said. “Thanks.”
“But keep it down, would you?” Dad said as he closed the door. “No singing or air-guitaring or whatever you kids do these days. You’ll scare all the fish away.”
Jeff gave Keith a look. They both smiled.
“You can’t scare fish in an empty lake, Mr. Ramis,” Keith said.
“You just gotta be smarter than the fish, Keith,” Jeff’s dad said.
“Oooh,” Keith groaned. “Ouch.”
“See you soon, guys.”
With a smile and a nod, Dad was gone.
CHAPTER 2
WHITE OUT
The wind whistled across Big Lake, making the little ice shack creak. The gusts made ghost-like noises in the cracks and seams.
“Dad’s new shack isn’t this noisy,” Jeff said. It felt a little colder in the shack, so he turned the heater up a little. The generator outside chugged along, struggling to power the lights and heat.
“That wind better not pull a big bad wolf on us,” Keith muttered. He fidgeted around with a flashlight he’d found in the backpack they’d brought.
“What do you mean?” Jeff asked.
“You know,” Keith said. “That one story about the wolf and the three little bears eating pudding. How he blew their house down?”
Jeff chuckled. “Dude, you’re mixed up. It’s about three pigs, and they weren’t eating pudding.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Keith said, laughing. “It’s so cold, I think my brain is numb.”
Jeff laughed. He pulled his line up from the hole. “I wonder what’s taking my dad so long,” he said.
“No kidding,” Keith said. “We need that radio. Want me to rap or something?”
“Please don’t,” Jeff said. He stood up. “Maybe Randy and Skip have heard from him.”
Jeff pushed on the warped wooden door. It didn’t budge. Something was blocking it from the other side. He pushed again. The door moved a little.
“What’s going on?” Keith asked.
“The door,” Jeff said.
He pushed again.
Jeff’s foot slipped on the ice and he fell, slamming most of his weight against the door in the process. It opened a few inches and snow sifted in from the darkness outside.
Keith set his rod down and crawled over. Once Jeff was back on his feet, they both pushed. Together they managed to open the door enough to see the winter wonderland outside.
The snow was much higher than it had been even forty minutes ago when Jeff’s dad left. It whipped around the giant lake. Jeff couldn’t see far. Snow dunes had formed from the wind. The sky was filled with white flakes.
“This is nuts,” Keith said. “It’s a full-on blizzard!”
The lake was so dark an
d full of snow that Jeff couldn’t even see his dad’s nicer, newer ice shack through the storm. They weren’t going to be able to see anything — not until it stopped snowing.
“Think your dad got caught in this storm?” Keith asked.
“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “His truck can drive through just about anything, but no one knew we were getting this much snow.”
“Yeah,” Keith said. “It’s too bad it didn’t work — the radio would’ve warned us.”
Jeff nodded and kicked out as much snow as he could before trying to close the door. Keith crawled on his knees and shoved out some snow as well.
“We’ll end up buried at this rate,” Jeff said.
“As much as I hate to say it,” Keith said. “It’s probably best to just stay here for now.”
Jeff knew Keith was right. They’d be foolish to try to find their way back. Besides, Jeff didn’t even know if his dad was back or not. With his luck, they’d get to the edge of the lake where the truck had been parked only to discover it was still gone.
“Yeah, let’s wait it out,” Jeff said. He sat back down on the small bench. The hole in the middle of the floor was already icing over again.
A moment later, the lights went out.
CHAPTER 3
COLD ESCAPE
“What happened?” Keith asked in the darkness.
“The generator died,” Jeff said softly.
Jeff couldn’t see a thing in the complete darkness. As he felt his way over to the other side of the shack, his boot caught on something and he fell hard on his arms.
“What’re you doing?” Keith asked.
“Trying to find that flashlight,” Jeff said. He picked himself up, rubbing his elbow.
A moment later, there came a click!
Keith’s illuminated face stared back at Jeff. Then Keith made his eyes cross and he frowned like a monster from an old movie.
“Quit messing around,” Jeff said. “If that generator doesn’t start, we’re in big trouble.”
“What? Why?” Keith asked.
“No generator, no power,” Jeff said. He scanned the small enclosure with his flashlight. He spotted the backpack and a small shovel against the wall. “And no power means no heat.”
“No heat, no good,” Keith said with a sigh. “Yeah, let’s get that generator going.”
Jeff grabbed the shovel and pulled Keith’s line out of the water.
“That should be good,” Jeff said. “We can leave everything else in here for now.”
The two of them forced the door open again. Even more snow had fallen since they’d last had it open. Jeff was no meteorologist, but they’d gotten at least three feet of snow so far. Maybe more.
“This is nuts,” Jeff said. “Look at all of it.”
Keith pulled his zipper up higher so that the collar surrounded his neck. “I hate winter,” he said.
The two of them trudged through the snow. To Jeff it felt like they were wading through cold, white sand. It took a surprising amount of energy to move even twenty steps. Thirty-two slow steps later, they were behind the icehouse.
Keith shoved some of the snow off the generator. “It’s buried,” he said. “No wonder it conked out.”
Jeff whistled. He handed the flashlight to Keith. He dropped down to his knees and started clearing away the snow with the shovel.
Keith trained the light over Jeff to help. “Can you find it?”
“Yeah,” Jeff said after a few more shovelfuls. “Getting close now.”
Afraid he’d damage the old generator, Jeff set the shovel aside and used his hands to remove the remaining snow.
After a few armfuls of snow, he felt the ridges on the top of the machine. It was completely cold after getting buried in the blizzard’s onslaught.
Jeff cleared the remaining snow from around the generator until he found the ripcord.
“Start it up,” Keith said, shivering. “Hurry, it’s freezing out here.”
Jeff pulled the cord and heard the generator sputter uselessly. He pulled it again. And again. The engine refused to turn over.
“It’s not happening,” Jeff said. “Time for plan B.”
CHAPTER 4
GET LOST
Jeff knew he needed to move fast. It was cold, they had no power, and the snow was continuing to fall. At the rate it was coming, they’d end up buried like the generator in thirty minutes, tops. And, eerily, one word kept popping into Jeff’s mind . . .
. . . Frostbite.
Jeff’s dad had lectured him once on not wearing a hat while ice fishing. When Jeff got home, he looked up “frostbite” on the Internet. He immediately wished he hadn’t.
The photos of people who’d suffered severe frostbite had purple and blue skin. Sometimes their fingers had turned coal-black. In the worst cases, the victims had to have toes or fingers removed. Or noses.
It was the stuff of horror movies. Jeff loved the winter, but he also knew that severe cold and wind combined were nothing to mess with.
Jeff pulled his hat down over his ears a little more. “Let’s get over to the other fishing shack,” he said. “Maybe Randy or Skip can call my dad. Either way, at least we’ll keep warm.”
“Makes sense,” Keith said with a nod. “Lead the way, man.”
Jeff grabbed the shovel. Using his ice shack as a landmark, he headed in the direction he thought was south. His dad and his buddies liked to try out different spots on the lake, so it wasn’t always in the same place. But when they’d arrived earlier that evening, their shack was set up about one hundred yards south from Jeff and Keith’s.
It would be easy enough to see during the day, but it was almost impossible in a blizzard at night.
Keith raised the flashlight. The beam of light was littered with giant white flakes, scurrying to find their places in the growing pile.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Keith asked.
“It’s this way, we can’t miss it,” Jeff said. “We’ll hear those guys telling dumb jokes any second now.”
“Good,” Keith said. “I can’t see anything.”
After trudging forward for a few minutes, Jeff glanced behind them. He saw their footsteps trail off into a wall of white, but he couldn’t see where they began. There was no sign of their abandoned ice shack, either.
Do you honestly know if you’re heading in the right direction? Jeff thought.
When they’d walked another ten minutes, a sinking feeling crept into Jeff’s stomach. “We should have found them by now,” he said. “Maybe we went the wrong way.”
Keith swung the flashlight back and forth, as if searching for the shack on his own. “No way!” he shouted. “That’s impossible!”
Jeff knew his friend was likely as worried as he was. They were completely lost in a blizzard in the middle of a giant, frozen lake. At least Keith is nice enough not to point out this was my idea, Jeff thought.
Keith’s snow pants swished as he forged ahead through the waist-high snow.
“Wait,” Jeff shouted. “Let’s trace our steps back to the ice house. Maybe my dad is back.”
He heard Keith stop. The beam of the flashlight aimed back at him. A moment later, he saw his friend through the white flakes. “Okay,” Keith said.
They turned and followed their footsteps back toward the shack — only to stop after a short distance.
Their tracks were gone.
CHAPTER 5
NO HELP
Icy gusts blew across the lake, stinging the skin on their exposed faces. Jeff put his snowy gloves to his face, covered his cheeks and eyes, and exhaled hot air to make a mini face furnace.
“Does that help?” Keith asked.
“A little,” Jeff said behind his gloves. “For a few seconds, anyway. If we keep moving in a straight line, we’ll eventually reach the edge of the lake. From there, hopefully we can find a house or a car, or something.”
Keith sighed. “Sounds good.”
They trudged along in silence. Jeff s
ecretly hoped they weren’t traversing the diameter of the lake, which would make the journey nearly three miles.
In other words, Jeff thought, dead meat.
“Hello!” Keith shouted, nearly making Jeff jump out of his snow pants. “Can anyone hear me?!”
It was hard to hear anything over the blowing wind, but Jeff heard Keith’s voice echo. It wasn’t a bad idea. It’d keep them occupied and active, at least. So they both shouted into the white-specked darkness, hoping for any sort of response.
After ten minutes of yelling, no response came.
Jeff was starting to lose his sense of time — and more importantly, his sense of direction. He wondered if Randy, Skip, and his dad were out looking for them. Using his gloved hand to shield some of the snow from his eyes, he scanned the horizon. He couldn’t see any flashlight beams other than Keith’s.
“Jeff!” Keith shouted. For a moment, Jeff let himself hope that the two of them were saved.
He followed Keith’s light. At the end of the beam was the corner of an ice fishing house.
“Is that it?” Keith asked. “Is that your dad’s icehouse?!”
Jeff didn’t have to look at it long to determine that it wasn’t. The ice house they’d found was a prefabricated store-bought shed made of metal. Jeff’s dad liked to build his sheds by hand, “the way real fishermen did.”
Even so, the two of them moved closer. There were no lights or signs of life near the shack. Jeff reached the door in the hopes they could use it as a temporary shelter — only to discover the door was padlocked.
“Can we break in?” Keith suggested.
“No tools,” Jeff said with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t see a generator. We’d still freeze our faces off.”
Keith went silent, and Jeff understood why: If they didn’t find some help or shelter real soon, they wouldn’t survive.
“We have to keep moving,” Jeff said. “And find some place warm. Or a way to call for help.”
Keith didn’t say anything, but trudged onward. Jeff followed.
After what seemed like another hundred yards, Keith cried out again. “Hey, I see something. It’s a sign, I think!”
