by Joel Arnold
Quinn eyed it. “Plain ham and cheese?” He took the sandwich and bit into it. He chewed slowly at first, as if testing it, then seemed to relax and savor the food. “Thanks,” he said, his mouth full. “Tastes good.”
He stared into the fire as he wolfed it down.
“What were you doing out there?” I asked.
Quinn seemed to think a moment. He belched. “Just out hiking,” he said. “I was going camping like you guys, but I guess the blizzard caught me off guard.”
“Where’s you equipment?” Vince asked.
Quinn rubbed the gray stubble on his chin. “Beats me. It’s out there somewhere.”
“At least we found you,” I said. “I don’t think you would’ve lasted much longer.”
Quinn nodded.
“First thing in the morning, we’ll get you out of here,” Vince said. “We’ll build a travois, like the Indians used, and pull you out.”
Quinn waved the thought away. “I can walk.”
“Did you have skis?” I asked.
Quinn paused mid-bite. “Huh?”
“Skis. Did you ski in?”
“Oh. Nope. Just hiked.”
“It’ll be a bitch to hike back out,” Vince said. He pointed at Quinn’s shoes -- tennis shoes, caked with snow and ice. “Especially in those. The snow could be up past our knees by morning. Your feet will freeze.”
Quinn chuckled. “Wasn’t very prepared, was I?”
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Michigan.”
“Where in Michigan?”
He squinted. “Battle Creek. Where they make Frosted Flakes.”
“I’ve been there,” Vince said. “Toured the General Mills plant and everything. Did you work there?”
Quinn nodded. “I put in my time. Then I moved on to bigger and better things.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Just bigger and better things,” Quinn said. He turned onto his back, grimacing with pain. “This is quite a place you have here.”
“Thanks,” Vince said. “Our home away from home.”
“You got any aspirin?”
“Nope,” Vince said. He raised his eyebrows. “But I have something else that might ease the pain.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the bottle of brandy. He looked at me. “See, Tommy. Good for something, huh?”
Quinn propped himself up on an elbow. “What is that? Whiskey?”
“Brandy,” Vince said.
“It’s crap,” I said. “Gasoline tastes better.”
Quinn unscrewed the cap. He lifted the bottle to his lips and closed his eyes as the amber liquid poured down his throat. Vince and I watched in amazement. Apparently he liked the stuff a lot more than we did. He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his jacket. The level of the brandy had descended a good two inches.
Quinn’s eyelids fluttered. “I haven’t tasted anything that good in a long time.”
“You must not get out much,” I said, regretting it the moment the words left my mouth. I turned my eyes to the fire.
I felt Quinn’s eyes on me, just for a moment before he tilted the bottle back up and let half the amber contents flow into his throat.
Chapter 18
Vince reached out for the bottle. “I’ll take a swig.”
I shot him a dirty look. Had he already forgotten? The orange fabric? The tattoos?
Vince shrugged. “Why not celebrate? We just saved this man’s life.”
“Damn right,” Quinn said, handing the bottle back to Vince.
Vince tried taking as big a swig as Quinn had, but he gagged and coughed. Some of the liquid sprayed from his mouth and hit the fire, causing it to flare up briefly. “Wrong pipe,” he gasped.
Quinn took the bottle again and took another huge swig.
“Helping any?” I asked.
“Oooh, yeah,” Quinn said.
I took the bottle from him and set it next to Vince. The smell of it made me nauseous. “Maybe we should get some sleep,” I said, knowing full well there was no way in hell I’d be able to sleep. Not now. Not with this stranger here.
“How about another drink?” Quinn said.
But Vince said, “Tommy’s right. The condition you’re in – you don’t want too much alcohol in your system when hypothermia’s involved.”
Vince had once spent an hour telling me all about hypothermia. Seemed like an hour, anyway. It was after we watched that Kurt Russell movie, The Thing, about this alien that crashes in Antarctica and takes over the people who discover it. Anyway, I totally remembered the movie; the way the alien took over the bodies one by one, mimicking their shapes and movement – there was this one scene where a dog got totally turned inside out, and another where this guy’s head falls off of a table and sprouts spider-like legs, but…
But the hell if I could remember a thing about what Vince had told me about hypothermia.
Quinn blinked at the bottle of brandy. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Didn’t think it’d hurt anybody, but okay.”
Vince slid it back into his pack.
Quinn lay down and stared at the ceiling, his eyes traveling back and forth across it in starts and stops.
I lay down, too, and took a deep breath. What had once seemed like a nice, cozy shelter now seemed way too small. The glow of the fire flickered on the walls. The ventilation hole shrunk little by little as the falling snow stuck to its edge. Vince must’ve noticed, too. He stood and cleared the snow away with his bare hand.
“It’s really coming down,” he said.
That was an understatement. All we could see was the white, madly dancing snow. The wind whipped it back and forth. Not much of it actually fell into the igloo, but the few flakes that did melted as they neared the fire.
Quinn turned his gaze to us, his eyes traveling slowly from Vince to me and back to Vince, like he was studying us. Whenever I caught him staring at me, he smiled and nodded and looked back at the fire.
He sat up suddenly, looking nervously at the ventilation hole. “What was that?”
“What?” I asked, listening. I couldn’t hear anything above the crackle of the fire and the blowing of the wind.
“Probably just Tommy,” Vince said. “Farting.”
Quinn scowled. “I’m serious.”
“If there’s something out there,” Vince said, “it’s no big deal. There aren’t any bears out here, or anything that could hurt us. If anything, it’s probably a deer, or a goose blown out of the sky.”
Quinn didn’t look convinced.
Vince said, “Seriously, dude. You’re safe in here.”
“Maybe someone should go look,” Quinn said.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’m not going back out there. Not in this weather.”
Vince laughed. “What could it be? This is southern Minnesota. No bears, no wolves, no mad cows.” He shrugged. “But I’ll take a look if it’ll make you feel better.”
He slipped on his winter gear and crawled over Quinn to get to the entrance.
I thought again of the orange jumpsuit, the black numbers.
The tattoos.
“Make it quick,” I shouted as Vince disappeared from view.
Chapter 19
Maybe it was because Quinn seemed like one of those wiry tough guys – the guys who are always starting fights in movies, the kind of guys who live in trailer parks, smoke three packs a day and abuse their wives.
But he’d been nice enough so far. Might have a drinking problem, the way he sucked that brandy down, but maybe if I’d been that close to death, I’d have taken a few swigs, too, no matter how crappy it tasted.
Quinn stared at the fire, his eyes watery-soft.
And those tattoos – well, people can change, but it’s awfully hard to get rid of a tattoo, I figured. My uncle Sean had his first wife’s name tattooed on his shoulder and his second wife made him have it removed. Cost a lot and hurt like hell, too.
People change, I told myself. People change.
&
nbsp; I was suddenly curious. “Did you have one of those near death experiences?” I asked. “I mean just a little while ago when you were out there? Did you see a light at the end of the tunnel or anything like that?”
Quinn looked up, like I’d yanked him out of a daydream. “Not this time.”
“What do you mean? You’ve had one before?”
“In Desert Storm.” He shifted position, rolling onto his back. He grimaced. “I’d show you the scars, but it’s too damn cold to pull up my shirt.”
Probably didn’t want to show me his tattoos, either. But I asked, “What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”
“I don’t mind talking about it,” Quinn said. He cleared his throat and spit into the fire. “Nothing spectacular. Drove over a land mine. Blew up our truck. Killed the driver. Almost killed me. I don’t remember much, other than just staring up at the damn sun and wondering why I couldn’t feel anything. And I remember this loud ringing in my ears.” He smiled. “I blacked out. Saw my mom and dad, grandma and grandpa waiting for me at a bus station. But they’d all been dead awhile, see? It seemed so real.” He shook his head. “I woke up in a military hospital. So either I had one hell of a dream, or I caught a tiny glimpse of heaven.”
I swallowed. The igloo walls glimmered in the firelight. I felt Quinn studying me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. What would it be like to have someone die right next to you? Talking to him one moment, then suddenly you’re on your back being smothered by the hot desert sun? It was not something I ever wanted to experience.
Vince poked his head back in. I was relieved to see him.
“Wind’s so crazy out there, blowing this way and that, I think I got pee on myself.”
“You pee a lot,” I said.
Vince crawled over Quinn. “I didn’t see anything out there. But then again, I could hardly see my own dick.”
Quinn rubbed his neck with the back of his hand. “Don’t suppose either of you guys smoke?”
“Nope,” Vince said. He nodded at the fire. “Just breathe in the wood smoke. You play cards?”
Quinn chuckled. “Not much else to do in the poke but play cards.”
“The poke?” Vince asked.
Quinn’s smile disappeared.
“What do you mean?” Vince asked. He glanced at me, giving me a look that said just play along, even though we’d seen the orange uniform.
“You got cards?” Quinn asked. An icy coldness crept into his face. “Then let’s play. What are we playing for?” He patted down his pockets. “Don’t have any money.”
“Why were you in jail?” Vince asked quietly.
Quinn sucked a deep breath in through his nose. He looked as if he’d swallowed a fly. “Are we going to play cards or what? Now get out the cards and let’s play.”
Vince stared at Quinn for a moment, then grabbed his backpack, dug around and pulled out a deck of cards. There were pictures of speedboats on the back. He snapped off the rubber band and shot it at me. I shot it back across the flames of the small fire.
“What are we playing for?” Quinn asked again, not looking at either of us.
Vince shuffled the cards. “We’re playing for fun,” he said. “Just for fun.”
Quinn forced a smile. “Never heard of such a thing.”
Chapter 20
We played Texas Hold ‘Em for an hour. To give the illusion of betting, Vince dug out a spiral-bound notebook and kept track of our bets. It started to get extravagant when Vince bet a million dollars, and I raised him two million.
Quinn tossed his cards on the snow packed floor in frustration. “This doesn’t work for me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Keeping track of pretend bets in a notebook? Where’s the fun in that?”
Vince said, “Next time we go winter camping, we’ll be sure to bring the poker chips. Maybe hire a Blackjack dealer, too. What do you think, Tommy? Maybe haul along a couple slot machines while we’re at it?”
I held back my smile, because I didn’t think it was a good time for Vince to turn into a smart-ass. I thought the best thing to do was play ignorant about Quinn until morning, until we could ski out of this place, get in the van and drive home. I realize that not everyone who’s been in jail is on the verge of murdering dweebs like Vince and me. My cousin Bill had been in jail a number of times for passing bad checks, and he’s as nice a guy as they come. But something about Quinn – was he on the run? What else could explain the uniform? A tacky sense of fashion?
Quinn said, “Look guys, I appreciate what you did for me. I appreciate the shelter. It’s just that I’ve had a rough day.”
“We all have rough days,” Vince said. He shuffled the cards together and snapped the rubber band back around them. Then he looked up at Quinn and said, “We saw the uniform. We know you’re a convict.”
Chapter 21
The icy walls spun. I felt hot. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I’d been packed into a sandwich bag and tossed into a microwave. Why couldn’t Vince keep his mouth shut for once?
Quinn’s glare moved from Vince to me, and back to Vince. “What are you planning on doing about it?”
“What do you suggest we do?” Vince asked.
Quinn cleared his throat. “Let me go.”
Breathe, I told myself. Breathe.
“You wouldn’t get very far,” Vince said. “Not in this weather. Not in your condition.”
“Let me go in the morning. When the weather’s better,” Quinn’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Pretend I was never here.”
“What if the cops figure out we helped you?” Vince asked. “Then we’d be accessories to your escape.”
Shut up, Vince! Just play along. Remember?
“Tell them you didn’t know I was a fugitive,” Quinn said.
I nodded vigorously. “Yes! We can play dumb.”
Vince scowled. “Easy for you to do.”
I wanted to snatch a burning log out of the fire and fling it at Vince. Why was he doing this?
“I don’t think you understand my situation,” Quinn said. “If I’m caught again, I’ll go back for a long time.”
“You didn’t think of that before?” Vince asked. “You didn’t realize there was a risk involved in making a jail break?”
“Vince!” I glared at him.
“What?”
“Leave it alone,” I urged.
Vince’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you, of all people, would understand.”
Quinn’s face grew dark. “I didn’t come from the suburbs like you boys did. I didn’t have Mommy and Daddy to come kiss my boo-boos. In fact, you know what my dad did when I was – oh, about six, seven years old, and I came home with a black eye and a bloody nose from getting in a fight?” He stared hard at me.
“What?” I asked.
“He gave me another black eye. Said I was too old to be whining. Said I’d embarrassed him. He had to talk to the school principal. Said that if I ever got in another fight and I got caught like that, he’d do worse.”
“Did you get in any more fights?” I asked quietly.
Quinn shrugged. “Of course. I wasn’t going to let that bastard tell me what to do.”
See, here’s the thing. I’m a soft suburban kid. My parents never beat me, never spanked me, hardly ever even gave me a time out. I watch too much TV. I still eat Peanut Butter Crunch for breakfast. I’ll pretend I’m sick at least three days a quarter just so I can stay in my pajamas all day long and read the newest Stephen King novel or watch movies on TCM.
I am soft. I’ve always been soft.
And it’s true I’d never been camping or canoeing or skiing until Vince came along. The biggest adventure I’d had until then was breaking a snare drum while marching in the annual homecoming parade; eighty-five degrees in our wool uniforms, sweating like I’ve never sweat before, and we were behind horses, for God’s sake, horses who’d seemed to have gorged on a ton of bad hay, because with every oth
er step I felt the squish of horse shit mold around my black shoes and white spats.
So maybe I wasn’t hard and tough and adventurous, but damn it, whoever said I had to be? What’s so great about proving yourself over and over again? And just why in the hell did Quinn seem to think that he was somehow better than me just because his father was an abusive asshole?
Jerking off was enough of an adventure at this point, and damn it, I just wanted to be home and warm and soft, damn it, soft…
Vince kicked at the edge of the small fire with the heel of his boot, sending up a shower of sparks to die against the roof. “So basically you blame your parents for your life of crime?”
“Never said that. I’m just saying that you two boys have life easy.”
“And that pisses you off?” Vince said. “Since you had a tough life, then everyone should have a tough life?”
Quinn’s eyes grew hard. He leaned forward, his stubbled face crimson in the flickering light. “If someone talked to me like that in a bar, the next thing they’d see was the floor rushing up to meet their face.” He paused a moment. Sat back and sighed. “But you boys saved my life. I owe you.”
Vince was not so easily intimidated. “You don’t owe us a thing,” he said. “I helped you out because you were down, and that’s what us soft suburban kids sometimes do.”
I thought they were done for a while, but then Vince took a deep breath and began shaking his head. He stared at the fire. A small smile passed across his lips like the shadow of a fleeing bird. He kept his eyes on the fire.
“See, I’m betting my parents had it a lot worse than your parents did,” Vince said.
Oh-oh. Here comes the Escape from Cambodia speech, I thought.
“They had family shot and killed right in front of them,” Vince said. “They had friends suffocated with plastic bags just because they wore glasses – because they were perceived as educated. When they left Cambodia, they hid in the jungle for months, eating bugs and snakes. I have a brother who’d be older than me, but I never got to meet him, because he drowned in my mother’s arms while they crossed a river.”
