eight at night. She was so tired, disoriented. Either way she would have already eaten, breakfast or dinner.
Eight at night in the tavern, and her mom would be brushing butter on fish fillets, grilling them for the visiting fishermen. Pan-fried potatoes. Tossed green salad. Homemade rolls. But, no, her mom was in Juneau, picking up supplies.
Food
. The outfitters always packed first-class meals for their clients, rich people from the Lower Forty-eight who wanted a wilderness experience without eating it. Cody rolled onto her stomach to muffle its growls and waited for sleep to sneak up on her.
Sometime deep in the lost hours of night a chilling scream shattered the silence. It sounded like an animalcrying out. Cody remembered a jackrabbit that had been hit by a car in the desert near Bishop, California. That was back in the days when her family had spent vacations together. The rabbit had screamed in agony until it died.
This animal—whatever it was—was suffering terribly.
It sounded as if it was right outside the tent.
A fresh kill
, she thought.
And something is eating it alive
. The cries of torment went on and on.
Just kill it!
she willed.
Stop the suffering!
She bolted upright in her sleeping bag. Another scream. More piercing than the others.
The whole world was screaming.
It took a few seconds before she understood that the screams, this time, were coming from her. She pressed her palms into her eyes. Her eyes were on fire. Burning as if someone were stabbing them with redhot pokers.
Derek was shaking her. “Wake up!”
Cody wasn’t asleep. This wasn’t a dream. She screamed again in terror and pain. The burning was intense. Unbearable. She opened her eyes. White. Everything was white. Impossible. It was still night.
In utter panic she felt for her flashlight and flipped it on. She still couldn’t see anything. “Blind,” she screamed. “I’m blind!”
Cody thrashed wildly in her sleeping bag, her eyes two blazing furnaces.
Burning, burning
. She bit her lip and tasted blood. “My eyes,” she cried, the salt making them sting even more. “I can’t see.”
All the hours kayaking on the water and no sunglasses. The intense glare off the glacier. Water, ice, and sun, a conspiracy against her. Burned. Her eyes were seriously sunburned. She shook uncontrollably as the shock of it sank in.
I’m blind!
Cody didn’t know why Derek had left the tent; she couldn’t know that he’d figured out why she was shaking her head violently, slapping at her eyes. He returned with a cold, damp cloth and placed it gently over her face. “Is that better?”
Cody half nodded and pressed the cloth against her eyes. She trembled as Derek stuffed his extra clothes on one side of her. He shoved his sleeping bag up against her on the other side and crawled in for added warmth. Slowly she relaxed a little. She gave way to semiconsciousness, and finally to restless sleep.
• • •
Hours must have ticked off while she floated in and out of consciousness, barely aware of the washcloth being removed, resoaked to make it cold again, then replaced. Or of her fever. She kicked in her sleeping bag, desperate to escape the heat.
Cody opened her eyes a few times to lightness or darkness. Shadows without shapes. “I can’t see!” she cried out.
She thought it was Patterson who answered her. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Patterson?” Then his voice turned deep like her father’s. “Daddy?”
She dropped off again.
The thin line between reality and dreams disappeared; they became welded together by the fever. And thoughts of food: Sometimes she dreamed of eating, even chewing meat of some kind. She gobbled it up, swallowing some of it whole.
Someone wiped her chin.
And Derek’s voice filtering through. “Don’t die on me, Cody. You can’t die.”
It seemed as if she laughed. No one died of sunburn. In the desert, maybe. Not in Alaska.
Shock—now, that could be a killer. And
Eight at night in the tavern, and her mom would be brushing butter on fish fillets, grilling them for the visiting fishermen. Pan-fried potatoes. Tossed green salad. Homemade rolls. But, no, her mom was in Juneau, picking up supplies.
Food
. The outfitters always packed first-class meals for their clients, rich people from the Lower Forty-eight who wanted a wilderness experience without eating it. Cody rolled onto her stomach to muffle its growls and waited for sleep to sneak up on her.
Sometime deep in the lost hours of night a chilling scream shattered the silence. It sounded like an animalcrying out. Cody remembered a jackrabbit that had been hit by a car in the desert near Bishop, California. That was back in the days when her family had spent vacations together. The rabbit had screamed in agony until it died.
This animal—whatever it was—was suffering terribly.
It sounded as if it was right outside the tent.
A fresh kill
, she thought.
And something is eating it alive
. The cries of torment went on and on.
Just kill it!
she willed.
Stop the suffering!
She bolted upright in her sleeping bag. Another scream. More piercing than the others.
The whole world was screaming.
It took a few seconds before she understood that the screams, this time, were coming from her. She pressed her palms into her eyes. Her eyes were on fire. Burning as if someone were stabbing them with redhot pokers.
Derek was shaking her. “Wake up!”
Cody wasn’t asleep. This wasn’t a dream. She screamed again in terror and pain. The burning was intense. Unbearable. She opened her eyes. White. Everything was white. Impossible. It was still night.
In utter panic she felt for her flashlight and flipped it on. She still couldn’t see anything. “Blind,” she screamed. “I’m blind!”
Cody thrashed wildly in her sleeping bag, her eyes two blazing furnaces.
Burning, burning
. She bit her lip and tasted blood. “My eyes,” she cried, the salt making them sting even more. “I can’t see.”
All the hours kayaking on the water and no sunglasses. The intense glare off the glacier. Water, ice, and sun, a conspiracy against her. Burned. Her eyes were seriously sunburned. She shook uncontrollably as the shock of it sank in.
I’m blind!
Cody didn’t know why Derek had left the tent; she couldn’t know that he’d figured out why she was shaking her head violently, slapping at her eyes. He returned with a cold, damp cloth and placed it gently over her face. “Is that better?”
Cody half nodded and pressed the cloth against her eyes. She trembled as Derek stuffed his extra clothes on one side of her. He shoved his sleeping bag up against her on the other side and crawled in for added warmth. Slowly she relaxed a little. She gave way to semiconsciousness, and finally to restless sleep.
• • •
Hours must have ticked off while she floated in and out of consciousness, barely aware of the washcloth being removed, resoaked to make it cold again, then replaced. Or of her fever. She kicked in her sleeping bag, desperate to escape the heat.
Cody opened her eyes a few times to lightness or darkness. Shadows without shapes. “I can’t see!” she cried out.
She thought it was Patterson who answered her. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Patterson?” Then his voice turned deep like her father’s. “Daddy?”
She dropped off again.
The thin line between reality and dreams disappeared; they became welded together by the fever. And thoughts of food: Sometimes she dreamed of eating, even chewing meat of some kind. She gobbled it up, swallowing some of it whole.
Someone wiped her chin.
And Derek’s voice filtering through. “Don’t die on me, Cody. You can’t die.”
It seemed as if she laughed. No one died of sunburn. In the desert, maybe. Not in Alaska.
Shock—now, that could be a killer. And
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