Shelter from the Storm

by Molly Wens

  The sleeves had another purpose. With a feeling akin to glee she heated the cloth over her small fire, touching it from time to time to see if all the dampness had evaporated. When she was satisfied the material was completely dry, she drew one sleeve over each foot, binding each one in place with more cloth strips. When she was done, her feet and legs were covered halfway up her calves.

  With a touch of panic, she tossed her last sticks of deadfall onto the fire, causing her to scrounge around in the pine bed searching for more. She found several good-sized chunks of wood on the opposite side of the huge tree-cave with a sigh of relief. The effort of dragging the wood to her little encampment caused her exhausted body to gasp for oxygen. This high elevation, she decided, was no place for a lowlander like her.

  She inspected her mangled hands with disgust. The knuckles were scraped raw, her fingers and palms were cracked and bleeding. No matter how expert the manicurist, there was no way to salvage her fingernails, one was torn out of the bed. She had nothing left to use as covering for her hands and wished she could keep them tucked snugly in her pockets for the rest of her journey, wherever it might lead.

  Pockets—that was the answer. She reached her hand inside one to gauge the depth of it. Her fingers connected with something hard in the bottom. Pulling the thing out she squealed with delight to find it was a dinner mint. She quickly unwrapped the small, chocolate treat and popped it into her mouth. She savored the sugary taste of it as she dug around to see if she could find another. There were two more and she made short work of them as well, tossing the wrappers on the fire.

  Carissa wasted little time in removing the pocket linings from inside her jacket so that she could put it back onto her trembling body. She cut holes along the open edges of each and laced half-strips of cloth around them, successfully creating mitts that would tie at her wrists. The fabric was thin but it would offer some form of protection from the pain of contact with this environment. She had to use her tongue and her teeth to tie the knots that would hold the mitts in place; it was difficult, but she managed it.

  She had two lengths of cloth left but nothing was available to cover her ears. She wrapped the remaining ribbons around her precious matchbook and tucked them into her bra for later use.

  The wind was howling louder at that point, sending bits of snow through the branches and onto her face. She fed more wood into the meager fire and dug a larger hollow in the bed of needles that surrounded her. There was nothing left to do but wait for daybreak and try to find her way out of the deadly wilderness. To her aching body, the bed she had made was as soft as eiderdown. She lay down, pulling as much of the dry bedding around her as possible.

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  Chapter 2

  Sleep proved to be elusive. Even though her body had been pushed to its limits, the fears that clouded her mind refused to allow her to relax. At any moment her two attackers might come charging in at her, or the fire might go out leaving her to freeze to death in her sleep. Such were the meanderings of her tormented consciousness.

  Despite it all, she did manage to doze a few times only awakening at the slightest sound or the dark shadows that loomed in that dream state between awake and asleep. Just as the first gray streaks of the storm-obscured dawn were hitting the world around her, she tossed the last of the wood onto the dying fire. She had no idea what she would find once she hauled herself out of the shelter of the giant pine tree. To make matters worse, she found she really did not care.

  The joints of her feet and legs, and the muscles of her back, creaked and groaned in protest as she began to rise from the forest floor. The low-hanging branches above her made it impossible to stand upright, which she so desperately needed to do to relieve some of the stiffness. At least she did not feel the cold anymore. Then it struck her what an odd sensation that was in such a climate as this. It did not take long for her to realize why she felt warm; she was running a fever.

  The voice of the survivor screamed at her to move. She had to get out, had to find help, that much was apparent. Reaching for her shoes, she discovered that they had completely dried in front of the fire, a comforting thought as she jammed her cloth-covered feet into them. Crawling to the edge of the tree-cave and pulling on the branches, she discovered that she was nearly snowed-in. Though it appeared that the wind had died back at some point in the night, the amount of snow that had been dumped was unbelievable to her eyes. By clawing and climbing, she finally managed to haul her aching body out and over the snow as clumps of the icy, sticky flakes fell from the branches above, covering her in a frozen mass of stark, white crystals.

  After several attempts, she finally managed to stand only to sink nearly to her posterior in the thick, white blanket. Within minutes, she felt soggy as she took the time to look at her surroundings in the drab, overcast morning. Hopelessness nearly swallowed her; it was impossible to get her bearings. Everything was completely hidden under a mantle of endless, pallid snow. As she attempted to move forward on her belly, she realized that she was not going to last long in her present condition in such a treacherous environment.

  Deciding it would be best to be at the top of the ridge where the wind might have sheared the snow from the rocky ground, she turned to claw her way up the steep slope. She was less than halfway to her destination when violent chills began to shake her body. Every inch that she moved skyward was hard-won, she had to fight, not only the inhospitable environment, but also her own strengthening urge to give up.

  Each time that she wanted to lay her head upon the snow and close her eyes, the tiny faces of her two children would appear to spur her onward. She continued to struggle, kept on fighting her way through the impeding snow. More than once, she fell through a particularly deep drift, the cold flakes sliding under her jacket, hitting her bare flesh like thousands of tiny knives. Her hair was sodden and beginning to freeze in the winter breezes that gusted across the landscape. Her feet, legs and hands had long since lost the ability to feel the cold or anything else. She even considered finding another sheltering tree and using the matches that were tucked inside her bra to light another fire, but she told herself they were probably too wet to be of any use.

  The sky was brighter by the time she had managed to climb over the last snowdrift to reach the top. Carissa was elated when she discovered that her estimate had been correct; the snow was much thinner here, and packed hard in most places. There were spots where the ground was bared by the harsh winds that had scoured them through the night.

  She chose one of those clear spots, one that was surrounded by sheltering brush, to sit down for a short rest while she cleaned as much snow as possible out of her pant legs and shoes. The shivering that had started halfway up the slope was weakening her already-depleted reserves, and the dark side of her mind tempted her with thoughts of lying down to sleep. Her shoes were soaked through; her saturated makeshift socks clung to her skin. She decided that she would have to try to build another fire and get herself as dry as possible. She wondered if she would be able to get anything to burn up here at the top, even though she was able to find plenty of dried material to use as tinder.

  The matchbook was still mostly dry. It took four of the invaluable matches to ignite a diminutive pile of dried grass and twigs. She carefully fed the little flame with shaking hands while hunching over it to block the gusting air until it was as big as the fire she'd had under the shelter of the tree. Up here on the ridge; however, with the wind slashing at her, the heat was inadequate to offer much comfort, so she continued to add enough deadfall until she could feel the fire's warmth. She crawled around gathering as much burnable materials as she could find, and piled it near the fire. She thought that if she was lucky someone might see the fire and send help.

  A stab of fright shot through her as she thought of the two monsters from whom she had escaped, but surely they were not still looking for her. Chastising herself for the ridiculous fear, knowing how badly injured at least one of them was, and the
storm that had ravaged the mountain, she rationalized that the two must have gone by now. Still, glancing around, she could not shake the fright that was gripping her mind. She reasoned with the irrational fear that tormented her, telling herself that it was the fever causing the frightening thoughts.

  Using rocks to anchor a couple of sticks, she hung her soggy shoes over the fire, hoping they would dry quickly. She used another stick to hang the wrappings from her feet and hands over the flames. Sitting Indian-style, she had her icy bare feet tucked in the crook of her knees as she alternated waving the makeshift socks and mitts over the heat, and feeding more wood into the fire. The shivering never ceased, nor did the urge to give up, to lie down, close her burning eyes and never wake again.

  As soon as the cloth was dry, she wrapped her feet once more, her hands shaking so badly that she had trouble tying the binding cloth. The shoes were still damp, but she could feel the scant warmth that the flames had given them. With the mitts tied securely in place over her rigid hands again, she forced herself up from the cold ground, knowing that to sit there any longer would be to risk falling under the spell of the illness that robbed her strength. She left the fire burning, not caring if the whole damned forest burnt to the ground, though she knew it would go out without damage in the thin atmosphere of this harsh climate, and the heavy blanket of snow that stretched onward in blinding endlessness.

  The wind at the top of the ridge was far more sharp than it had been below. It was not long before she wished she could move back down the slope, to the relative shelter of the snow-covered trees. Then she thought of the road that lay at the bottom of the mountain rise. Surely those vicious men were not still around, but looking down in the direction of the road she could see nothing but a deep crevasse where two ridges joined together at the bottom.

  Carissa stopped to take another look around. How far had she gone the night before? Where was that road? She had thought she had a good handle on her whereabouts in conjunction with where she had started this horrible journey. Now she was completely disoriented, the bewildering reality sending a pall of despair washing over her already-flagging spirits. A wave of nausea threatened to take control of her as she let out a piercing shriek of grievous hopelessness. The piercing cry was muted by the endless cushion of white, but still sent birds scrambling from their perches in the trees. For the briefest of moments, she felt herself giving in to the horror and misery of her situation and in to the weakening pain that strained her depleted body.

  She clung to the images of her children as they danced in her addled mind, and their voices that echoed within her. Using her hands to cover the deadened skin of her ears in an effort to warm them, she continued on her way, stumbling and catching herself with a grip on a boulder. She moved forward, each step forced and painful.

  A thirst, unlike she had ever known, was burning her throat, her tongue feeling as dry as sawdust in her mouth. She suffered the need for water for some time before laughing wretchedly at herself; the harsh sound was that of madness as another flock of birds scattered away from her. There was water all around in the form of frozen crystals, still pristine from the fresh fall. Without stopping her trek, she scooped a handful of the white stuff off a passing boulder, holding the icy flakes in her mouth until they melted before swallowing. The searing pain the cold water caused in her throat nearly dropped her to her knees, but she continued onward.

  With no sun peeking through the thick dome of clouds overhead, she had no idea what time of day it was. She knew nothing but the agony of her tortured body and after awhile, that faded as well. She failed to notice that the day was growing darker, or that the clouds above had turned so gray as to be black in the condemning sky. She did not feel the wind as it picked up speed. She just walked, stumbling from time to time, but managing to keep her feet under her.

  Tiny, hard flakes began to fall, catching on the wind and whipping about her. It did not matter. She could not feel the cold anymore. There was no sensation left at all, just the need to continue, the need to walk and never stop. She did not even mind that the snow at her feet had grown suddenly deeper or that she was once again climbing upward. The concept never registered as she kept up her steps. A feeling of euphoria enveloped her, leaving her feeling light as air, floating over a vast open space. She almost smiled. The howl of a wolf at that same moment brought her brain out of its fevered sluggishness. She was falling. Not realizing that she had broken through the crust of snow that had hidden a crevice, she was falling.

  Her reflexes took over, her hands reaching, clawing, groping for something solid. They found purchase in the tangled roots of the scrub on the ledge above. The sudden stop caused her body to slam against the rock wall in front of her, wrenching a hoarse scream from her raw throat. Her feet kicked about, searching for solid ground and finding a protruding bit of rock. She refused to acknowledge the urge to let go, to fall, to end it all. With all the dwindling strength she could muster, she pushed with her legs and pulled with her arms to the next foothold. There she stopped for a moment, gasping, wanting to vomit.

  "Almost there,” a voice told her from above. The voice, sweetly feminine and gentle, reached her even through the howling wind. Carissa looked up to see the gorgeous glittering eyes of a wolf some ten feet above. She smiled at the beautiful beast as she hoisted herself up to the next level. “That's it. You can do it, Cari,” the wolf told her.

  Carissa no longer felt the desolate loneliness in the face of this new friend. “I'm coming,” she called up to the glorious white wolf.

  "Of course you are, dear. Don't stop now. Just a little farther."

  The wolf moved back, allowing her room as she hauled herself up, swinging her leg over the edge of the rim. She pushed, pulled and fought her way to solid ground to lie on her belly, panting and gasping.

  "Better get up now. Don't lie in the snow, Cari,” the wolf told her.

  "How did you know my name?” Carissa asked as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have a conversation with a talking animal.

  "I've always known your name. I'm part of you. Come, dear. The storm is worsening and we need to get you to safety,” the wolf called over her back as she slowly picked her way over the snowy earth.

  Carissa turned to look at the fissure that had nearly swallowed her and beyond. She saw her own footprints on the ground on the other side of the opening and wondered how she had managed to fall so that she had made it across the yawning aperture.

  "You must keep moving,” the wolf called, dragging Carissa's mind back to the reality of her situation.

  She jogged a few steps to catch up, stumbling over something hidden in the snow. She reached out and righted herself against a rock, catching a glimpse of her tattered mitts and the blood that soaked through the fabric. She curled her aching fingers into fists and hugged her arms around the thin jacket that covered her torso, walking forward, following her new guide.

  "Wolf, what may I call you?"

  "You may call me whatever you like. I am your creation."

  This seemed like an odd concept to Carissa, to have created an animal out of thin air, but who was she to argue—she was no longer alone. “I think I will call you Alice. That's my mother's name, and you look like an ‘Alice.’ Mom's the only one who calls me Cari."

  The wolf chuckled softly, taking up a position at her side. “Naming me for your mother, now that is an honor."

  Carissa walked beside her wolf, neither of them speaking for some time as the wind howled and ripped at her ravaged face and body. Finally, Carissa glanced at her companion and said, “I wish I had your fur. I think I have frost bite."

  "I know. If I could remove my coat and offer it to you, I would. But, if we hurry, we can find you shelter soon. You must keep moving."

  "I'm not going to make it, am I?"

  The wolf let go another howl before turning her muzzle to look at Carissa with anger in her black eyes. “You will make it. You will survive. Banish those negative thoughts. They do
not serve you well."

  "Yes, Alice. You're right. I will make it. I will survive."

  The snow was getting heavier, coating her head and the wolf's fur before being stripped away by the harsh gusts of wind. They walked for hours, the sky darkening with the approaching night.

  "This way,” Alice said as she switched directions, heading up another thickly covered slope.

  By the time Carissa reached the point where the wolf waited at the top, the world was nearly darkened by the night. What little light remained reflected off the white of the wintry blanket that covered everything, giving her surroundings an eerie twilight glow. She dropped to her knees, gasping for air and grunting against the burning pain in her throat.

  "Get on your feet,” the wolf growled out harshly.

  With the support of an outcropping of rock, Carissa managed to pull herself up, standing on shaking legs, shivering violently. She brushed a strand of blood-crusted hair out of her face with her nearly frozen fingers. Her eyes burned as she tried to focus on the bewildering steep slope below. “You can't mean you want me to climb down that?"

  "You must if you wish to survive. There is shelter ahead and warmth. You will find safety there."

  Carissa turned to face the white wolf that blended so well with her surroundings. “What shelter? I don't see anything."

  "Put your faith in me, Cari. It's there. Now, sit on your bottom and use your feet and hands to keep yourself from moving too fast. Slide down the mountain. It will be as if you were a child again, sledding with your family."

  Carissa caught the scent of something on the air, something inviting and warming. She sniffed several more times until she smelled it again. The smoke of a wood fire, sweet and enticing, beckoned to her. She giggled and did as she was told. She let out a squeal as she began her decent, digging her heels in from time to time and clutching at the surrounding brush to control her speed. The snow forced itself up her back and pant legs, stabbing at her burning flesh.