by Joel Arnold
Stop it, I told myself. Think.
Focus.
Think.
Chapter 30
I took long, deep drinks from the water jug, feeling the cool liquid travel down my throat into my guts.
“No wonder you guys have to pee all the time,” Quinn said.
I ignored him. Took another long drink. I wiped more sweat, more blood from Vince’s face. His eyes grew more intense as the time slowly passed. The fright had left his eyes, but he still couldn’t speak. And unfortunately, I couldn’t read his mind.
I took another deep, long drink and put a hunk of wood on the fire. It was still damp and smoked as the burning coals beneath it tickled its belly. The smoke irritated my eyes, and I realized how much the smoke filled the igloo. I glanced at the ventilation hole. It had nearly closed up with fresh snow.
“I need to clear this out,” I said.
Quinn looked up at the hole. “Suit yourself.”
I stood and reached up over the fire to brush the accumulated snow away. I reached out of the hole to clear an even wider path, hoping it would delay another near-closing. I didn’t want our problems solved by suffocating to death.
But as I reached out to clear a circle on top of the igloo, I felt something hard up there. At first I thought it was a chunk of ice. But then I realized it was too smooth for that. My heart skipped.
Of course! That’s why we never found the cell phone out in the snow.
It never made it that far!
It had landed on the side of the igloo and stuck there, just out of the hole, and had gotten covered with snow so quickly that it had been invisible when we went out looking for it. Neither Vince nor I had bothered to reach up and feel for it.
Feelings of relief and stupidity nearly overcame me. I had to hold back a joyous whoop! I felt Quinn’s eyes on me, felt my face turn bright red and hot.
I couldn’t let him see the phone. I couldn’t let him know.
I pretended to brush more snow from the hole and knocked the phone away, down the outside of the igloo. I’d tell Quinn I had to go to the bathroom again and retrieve it while I was outside. If the thing still worked, I could call 9-1-1.
If the thing still worked…
“I need to pee,” I said.
“Again?” Quinn shook his head. “Hold it.”
“What do you mean, ‘hold it’? I have to go.”
“Go in here. We could use a little color.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” I asked, exasperated. “Run away? How far do you think I’d get?”
Quinn squinted. “Okay, but leave your coat in here. And your hat and gloves.”
“I’ll freeze.”
“Not if you’re quick about it.”
I stared at him. Was he insane?
“Are you going or what? Hurry up before I change my mind.”
“Okay,” I said. I had no choice. I crawled over him, feeling him tense beneath me. I crawled into the tunnel, my bare hands pressed into the snow-packed ground, my palms and fingers feeling the sting of cold.
The wind groaned. It whistled. Fool, it screamed.
I had to find that phone quickly. See if it worked. Call 9-1-1.
I took one deep breath. Then another. I began to shiver as I looked at the hypnotic white mayhem at the tunnel’s end.
It was time to go.
Chapter 31
My dad never took me fishing. He never took me camping. He never taught me how to water-ski or throw a curveball or sink a hook shot. When it came to the birds and the bees, my mom was the one to tell me about the girls’ side of things, and I learned about the rest in health class and through friends.
But my dad?
Nothing.
Never gave me advice on dating, the right things to say, to do…I was still a klutz around girls.
There were lots of things he didn’t do.
But now, it didn’t matter. Because at least he was always there for me. Even if it was just watching TV or listening to a Twins game on the radio or eating a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
There was that.
At least there was that.
And right now I would’ve traded anything in the world for just a little more of that.
As I stuck my head out into that deadly winter night, as the wind bit into my unprotected face and ears, as the snow flew over my neck and down the front of my shirt like hundreds of tiny needles, I missed him more than anything.
I shut my eyes against the cold. I blinked and quickly crawled out of the shelter and stumbled forward, forcing myself to stand. The wind blew through my clothing. I might as well have been naked. It blew through my skin. How fast would it take my bones to freeze and shatter?
Okay, hurry.
I walked around the igloo, remembering the direction I had pushed the cell phone off the roof. It was most likely already buried in snow. With a pained cry, I fell to my hands and knees next to the igloo and shoved aside the fresh snow, feeling for the hard plastic object. The insides of my nostrils froze together, and I opened my mouth to breathe. The cold reached into my throat, into my lungs.
Where was it? How could it be anywhere but here?
I wanted to shout, to curse the cold and snow, curse Vince and Quinn and the goddamn cell phone, but I had no energy to spare. Snow covered my hands. My fingers stiffened. I could hardly move them. But my right hand bumped something. I scooped it up. Something black. I brushed off the snow. Here it was. The cell phone!
My hands had become claws, but somehow I managed to pry it open. My frozen fingers fumbled with the buttons. I turned it on.
It lit up.
The wind swallowed my hoarse cry of triumph.
I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. It was nearly impossible to press the tiny numbers.
Nine.
I aimed for the next number.
One.
I pressed it again.
One.
I held the chunk of plastic ice to my numb ear.
Was it dialing? Was it ringing through? The wind was so loud.
I pressed it hard against my ear until I could feel the thing trying to crush my skull.
Nothing. I heard nothing.
I looked at it again. The display had gone dark.
I somehow pressed the ON button again. Once again, the display lit up.
The antenna – maybe I needed the antenna.
I pinched it between the fingernails of my thumb and index finger. I pulled.
Okay, try again.
My hands shook so badly, I could barely control them. It felt like someone had pressed a cold metal rod into my ears. My neck stung.
Nine.
I watched the display, making sure it stayed lit.
One.
Okay, one more try.
One.
I pressed the phone to my ear, shaking so badly, I wondered if I’d ever be able to stop.
What if someone answered and I couldn’t talk? What if my teeth chattered so loudly, they thought I was some nut, and hung up?
I heard it ring on the other end. A wavery buzz.
Another ring.
A click. Someone picked it up.
“Hello?” I said. “Huh – hello?”
I waited. Why weren’t they saying anything?
“Hello?” I cried.
I looked at the display again.
Dark.
I never felt so cold and hopeless before.
Dark.
I could barely hold the phone anymore, let alone dial the numbers. But I had to try. I had to try.
Why wasn’t it working?
I scolded myself. Why would it work, you idiot? It’s been sitting out in this bone-chilling cold for hours.
Just lucky it turned on at all.
But I had to try again. I had to.
Damn it!
I pressed the ON button. I pressed it again.
No lights. Nothing.
I pressed it again.
Come on, c
ome on, come on!
Nothing.
My teeth chattered so badly, I thought they’d crack off. My eyes felt frozen solid in their sockets. The air felt like knives in my lungs.
I had to get back inside.
I turned. Stumbled around the outside of the igloo, praying the entrance was near. I almost fell on top of it.
I dropped the cell phone down my shirt. It was a frozen lump against my chest that I barely felt.
I fell to my hand and knees. Struggling, forcing my limbs to move, I slowly made my way back into the igloo. Once inside, I fell to my stomach and rolled onto my back. The warmth felt like hot needles pricking my skin. My eyes teared up. My nose ran like a river. I grabbed my wool hat and worked it over my head. I pulled a blanket over me. I couldn’t stop shivering.
“Looks like you had fun,” Quinn said.
My jaw shook so badly, I couldn’t even tell him to screw off.
Chapter 32
Why didn’t he kill us then? Vince was immobilized, and at the moment, I was in no condition to put up a fight. Knowing what happened later, this would’ve been the time for him to act. But I think that he hadn’t made up his mind, yet. I think, perhaps, he still hoped there was another way out. Because if he killed us – two teenagers – he’d be on the run for the rest of his life, whether he ran to Mexico or Antarctica. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to cross that very dark and dangerous road.
But it wasn’t too long before he finally made up his mind. Before he finally decided.
It was just after three in the morning. I had forced myself to stay put until the shivering subsided. I didn’t move, didn’t talk, praying that my body would inch back from the verge of hypothermia before it was too late. I forced myself to do math equations in my head. I hated math, but I thought it was important to keep my mind from becoming sluggish and gloomy.
Four-hundred and twenty-two plus six-hundred and fifty-four is…one thousand and seventy-six.
Three-hundred thirty-four and one-hundred eighty-nine is…carry the one, carry the one again…five-hundred twenty-three.
Like that.
All the while, Quinn hummed to himself, something unrecognizable and wild, as if he, too, was struggling to stay awake and alert.
I checked on Vince, made sure he could still breathe. I saw his watch just above the rope that bound his wrists together. Big hand on the one, little hand on the three. Right about now, we’d be watching Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween 2, if Vince hadn’t gotten this bug up his ass to go camping. We’d be wide awake on Coke and Mountain Dew, watching nervously, waiting for the next axe or knife to make an arc around the corner and hack apart one of the idiots who decided to wander around alone, knowing a maniacal killer was on the loose. We’d be afraid, but in a different way. A good way.
Not like this. Not a hopeless fear, where you started thinking about your family, about how devastated they’d be, or about the things you’d never get to do. This fear was as numbing as the cold outside the igloo.
Two-hundred plus three-hundred fifty is…five-hundred fifty.
Okay, too easy.
I’d never felt so helpless.
At least I no longer felt like I’d shatter if I fell to the ground.
Was I still waiting for Vince to do something? He was the natural leader, and I was the natural follower. Maybe that’s why we got along so well together.
I looked at Vince now, at his eyes. They were tired from the smoke of the fire that drifted about the shelter before being replaced with fresh air. And they were tired, I’m sure, from being put into a situation where he was as helpless as I was.
Now he couldn’t tackle anybody, couldn’t make an important play, intercept a touchdown pass at the last second. He could only lay there on his side, his hands tied behind his back, his ankles bound together, his mouth covered with cloth. Only his eyes could move.
No wonder they were tired.
He was as helpless as I was.
No, that wasn’t true. He was more helpless.
I wasn’t tied up. I wasn’t bound and gagged.
Quinn didn’t think I was any kind of threat. Not really. If I tried to tackle him, to wrestle him into submission, what chance did I have?
None.
“You ever been to Mexico?” Quinn asked.
I looked at him. He sat with his back against the igloo wall and gazed into the fire.
“Nope.” I swallowed. “I’ve been to Canada a couple times.”
Quinn chuckled. “Canada doesn’t count. But Mexico – that place is a kick in the head.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s a different world. Sure they’ve got their McDonalds, their Dunkin’ Donuts, their five-star hotels, but – ” He pushed at the edge of the fire with the toe of his shoe. “ – they have this dignity down there. Even the poor people, the ones who live in crumbling shacks with no toilet, no electricity – you see them come out of these hovels, and they’re dressed in clean, bright shirts. They have beautiful smiles. They go to work, then go hang out in the town square with their friends, listening to bands, talking to each other, listening to the birds in the trees, eating at the little carts set up all over the place. And then they go back to their little crappy huts.” Quinn smiled. “But it doesn’t seem to matter to them. They got it figured out.” He looked up at me. “That’s where I’m going. After all this,” he said, waving his hand at the walls of the igloo. “I’m going down to Mexico and live in a damn shack and keep my shirt clean, and when anyone passes by, I’ll smile kindly at them, and maybe tell them a little about my day.”
“Are you going to tell them about this?” I asked. “About us?”
“That’s what the smile’s for,” Quinn said. “You can hide a lot behind a smile.” His eyes narrowed to slits. They reminded me of the eyes of a crocodile.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “I mean with us?”
He didn’t answer.
“What are you going to do with us?” I asked again.
He leaned his head back against the wall of packed snow, and his eyes had narrowed so much, I couldn’t tell if they were opened or closed. Was he looking at me? Was he imagining the best way to get rid of Vince and I?
If I was going to get through this, I realized, I’d have to do something.
Not wait for Vince. Not wait for Quinn.
I had to do something. And I had to do it fast.
“Is that all the brandy you guys brought?” Quinn asked quietly. “Just the one bottle?”
“Yep,” I said. “Didn’t know we’d be having company.”
“What’s that next to you?” Quinn asked.
“What’s what?” I asked, looking from side to side. Then I saw what he was looking at.
The can of lighter fluid.
Shit! Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? I could have used it as a weapon.
“Toss that over here,” Quinn said.
“What for?”
“You don’t need it.”
“You don’t need it, either.”
“Give me the can,” Quinn said.
Would I be able to pick it up, open it, and squirt it on him before he could grab me?
I looked at the can. Quinn started to rise.
It would be possible, except for one thing.
The childproof cap.
I remembered Vince struggling with it earlier. What if I made a go of it, only to get stuck trying to open it? Quinn would tie me up, too, at the very least. Then what kind of chance would we have of getting out of here?
Quinn hovered over me, his body tense as stretched cable.
I picked up the can. It was nearly full.
“Come on, Tommy,” Quinn said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Don’t be stupid. Give me the can.”
I held it out to him, trying not to let my arm shake. He watched me closely, then took the can from my hand.
“’Atta boy,” he said.
Chapter 33
Quinn op
ened the can with his teeth, grimacing when the lid popped open. He squeezed the can, sending a thin stream of lighter fluid into the fire. The flames flared up, bright and hot. He squirted more of the pungent liquid into the flames as a strange smile crept onto his face. There was another flare of intense heat.
He tucked the can next to his body, staring first at Vince, then at me. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. I didn’t want to think about what was going on in his brain.
But I had to.
I had to think quickly, had to figure out what he was intending so that I had a chance of preventing it. A chance of Vince and I getting out of here alive.
Vince breathed heavily. Bubbles of snot popped around the rims of his nostrils. I put a hand on his head. “Settle down, man,” I whispered. Then I said to Quinn, “He needs that gag off or he’ll suffocate.”
“I’m tired of his cracks.”
“He’ll stay quiet.” I looked Vince in the eye. “You’ll stay quiet, right?”
Vince nodded desperately.
Quinn sighed. “Okay, but any more b.s. and the gag goes back on.”
It was tied in a simple knot, but it was hard to get my cold fingers to work. Finally, I managed to tug it loose. I pulled it from around Vince’s head.
He gulped in air through his mouth, his face dark red.
“Shirt,” he gasped. “Give me a shirt to wipe off my face.”
I pulled another shirt out of his backpack and mopped the sweat off his face and the snot off his nose. I held it loosely over his nose and said, “Blow.”
He blew his nose into it and mumbled, “Thanks.”
I was ready to tell him to keep quiet, but there was no need. He grew calm, and laid his head on his blanket. He stared at the fire.
My mind raced. Quinn opened the can of lighter fluid again and squirted another stream into the flames. Vince blinked as the stream came within inches of his face and ignited. But the fluid quickly burned itself out.
“We need more wood,” I said.
Quinn shook his head. “We don’t need more wood. We’ve got a whole can of this stuff.” He squirted another line across the fire. His eyes widened as it flared up, his pupils shrinking, twin reflections of the flames shooting across his irises.
