where he had to be. Back to the lake, then just follow the shore, because if there was one place in Minnesota you’d find some kind of civilization, it was anywhere near water. Damn lakeshore property sold for a small fortune, even at the tippy-top of the tall state. The lake wasn’t that far back, and maybe slogging it wouldn’t be so bad.
You live long enough in prison where the lights are on all the time, you forget what real dark is like. Even in a landscape buried in white, you had to have a little illumination to reflect off it, or you werewalking blind. The moon was ideal – lit up the world like a big strobe in the winter – but even starlight was enough when you had this much snow. But there was no moon, no stars, and he had to work at staying on the road to find his way back.
He found the lake after half an hour, but already, he couldn’t feel his feet. The snow around the lakeshore was even deeper than it had been on the road, crawling up over his knees, soaking his jeans and then freezing them solid, until they scratched his calves every time he took a step.
Another half hour, and most of his face was stiff and the nerves had shut down, and still he hadn’t seen a single house, a single structure of any kind, except the ghostly shadows of fish shacks on the ice he’d passed earlier. A lot of them had heaters, and, Lord, he’d been tempted, but he couldn’t go back there.
Fifteen minutes more and he decided that this was the biggest lake in the state, the only one without houses on it, and that he was going to die. The funny thing was that it wasn’t even that cold out; not by Minnesota standards. Ten, maybe even fifteen degrees, and freezing to death in that kind of balmy winter temperature would be just plain embarrassing.
So he pushed on for another agonizing ten minutes, veering away from the lakeshore, up ashallow hill to a flat, empty field that seemed to go on forever. The hill, shallow as it was, had damn near killed him. By the time he got to the top he’d fallen twice, his lungs were burning, and the sweat was freezing his hair to his forehead. That’s when he started counting steps instead of minutes, and he knew that was a bad sign. Bend a knee, he told himself, then let the thigh muscles scream while he lifted a foot he could no longer feel above the snow, then stop to breathe and cough and then do it all over again with the other leg. He stopped counting at five, because he couldn’t remember the number that came next. And that’s when he saw it.
Such a dim, tiny light, barely visible in the distance through the falling snow, maybe a mirage, but maybe not. He started counting steps again.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of shelter he’d been hoping for, but it was out of the wind, a few degrees warmer than the outside, and by God it was going to save his sorry life, and the truth was that for the first time in a long time, he had a lot to live for.
Payback, he thought, stumbling around on half-frozen feet, feeling his way in the darkness with half-frozen fingers until he found what he needed to survive the night.
9
Iris Rikker hadn’t been up before the sun in ten years, and she didn’t like it. By the time she stumbled her way through the dark bedroom to the wall switch, she’d cracked her elbow on the dresser and stepped in a fresh pile of cat vomit.
‘Shit. Shit .’
The offending cat materialized when the light came on. She was sitting near her little surprise, blinking her startled pupils down to pinheads.
‘Puck, you puke,’ Iris muttered, then hopped on one bare foot into the bathroom and stuck the other one in the sink.
The water was freezing. Iris sucked air through her teeth when it hit her foot. It would take long minutes for hot water to rise two floors from the ancient heater in the basement, and she didn’t have extra minutes this morning. New water heater. It was first on the list of home improvements she might be able to afford now. That was something,
You live long enough in prison where the lights are on all the time, you forget what real dark is like. Even in a landscape buried in white, you had to have a little illumination to reflect off it, or you werewalking blind. The moon was ideal – lit up the world like a big strobe in the winter – but even starlight was enough when you had this much snow. But there was no moon, no stars, and he had to work at staying on the road to find his way back.
He found the lake after half an hour, but already, he couldn’t feel his feet. The snow around the lakeshore was even deeper than it had been on the road, crawling up over his knees, soaking his jeans and then freezing them solid, until they scratched his calves every time he took a step.
Another half hour, and most of his face was stiff and the nerves had shut down, and still he hadn’t seen a single house, a single structure of any kind, except the ghostly shadows of fish shacks on the ice he’d passed earlier. A lot of them had heaters, and, Lord, he’d been tempted, but he couldn’t go back there.
Fifteen minutes more and he decided that this was the biggest lake in the state, the only one without houses on it, and that he was going to die. The funny thing was that it wasn’t even that cold out; not by Minnesota standards. Ten, maybe even fifteen degrees, and freezing to death in that kind of balmy winter temperature would be just plain embarrassing.
So he pushed on for another agonizing ten minutes, veering away from the lakeshore, up ashallow hill to a flat, empty field that seemed to go on forever. The hill, shallow as it was, had damn near killed him. By the time he got to the top he’d fallen twice, his lungs were burning, and the sweat was freezing his hair to his forehead. That’s when he started counting steps instead of minutes, and he knew that was a bad sign. Bend a knee, he told himself, then let the thigh muscles scream while he lifted a foot he could no longer feel above the snow, then stop to breathe and cough and then do it all over again with the other leg. He stopped counting at five, because he couldn’t remember the number that came next. And that’s when he saw it.
Such a dim, tiny light, barely visible in the distance through the falling snow, maybe a mirage, but maybe not. He started counting steps again.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of shelter he’d been hoping for, but it was out of the wind, a few degrees warmer than the outside, and by God it was going to save his sorry life, and the truth was that for the first time in a long time, he had a lot to live for.
Payback, he thought, stumbling around on half-frozen feet, feeling his way in the darkness with half-frozen fingers until he found what he needed to survive the night.
9
Iris Rikker hadn’t been up before the sun in ten years, and she didn’t like it. By the time she stumbled her way through the dark bedroom to the wall switch, she’d cracked her elbow on the dresser and stepped in a fresh pile of cat vomit.
‘Shit. Shit .’
The offending cat materialized when the light came on. She was sitting near her little surprise, blinking her startled pupils down to pinheads.
‘Puck, you puke,’ Iris muttered, then hopped on one bare foot into the bathroom and stuck the other one in the sink.
The water was freezing. Iris sucked air through her teeth when it hit her foot. It would take long minutes for hot water to rise two floors from the ancient heater in the basement, and she didn’t have extra minutes this morning. New water heater. It was first on the list of home improvements she might be able to afford now. That was something,
Similar Books
