 
### HYBRID KILLERS

### Will Decker

Copyright 1996 by WILL DECKER

Smashwords Edition

WILL DECKER has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

**All rights reserved.** No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

**HYBRID KILLERS** is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any characters to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, situations, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

A special thank you to everyone that has made this story possible. My beta reader, my proof reader, and to you the readers. I sincerely hope you enjoy this work of fiction.

Will

Discover other fantastic books by WILL DECKER:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WITSEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

More by Will Decker

### **1**

The disembarking Station

"I hope you understand and can appreciate the fact that I'm only letting you have this lease for such a low price because the last tenants had to leave prematurely," said the short, rat-faced man. And then whined on in his irritating voice, "Next year, of course, if you decide to stay on, I'll have to charge the going rate plus any increases that the damn government imposes on me for the privilege of being the landlord."

"Of course, I totally understand," I impatiently acknowledged, intentionally sounding gruffer and more impatient than the circumstances really called for. My patience was wearing thin with both him and his equally irritating wife. "You've only reminded me a dozen times already!" I hesitated a moment before adding, "Just make sure my supplies are brought up on schedule; you don't want me hiking back down here on foot just to see what the problem might be."

I gave them both a good hard stare, dispelling any doubt to my sincerity. When they quickly averted their eyes from my fiery gaze, I casually mentioned, "By the way, you never did tell me why the former occupants had to leave in such a hurry."

For reasons I couldn't comprehend, I sincerely doubted if I would get an honest answer from them.

"Death in the family," the woman hurriedly blurted, while her husband only looked away with a nervous twitch.

They both seemed overly anxious to get rid of me, now that they had my money for the balance of the year. But I wasn't surprised. I suspected that they feared more questions might be forthcoming; questions that, judging by their nervous hesitancy to answer, they didn't want the answers to be known.

Yet, the feelings didn't make any sense to me, considering the circumstances. We were, after all, in a desolate mountain cabin located just below the tree line. By a city boy's estimation, we were a long ways from civilization.

The cabin doubled as their home and office, though it didn't resemble any office I'd ever frequented before. It also served as base camp for the other cabins that they leased out farther up the snow covered mountain. From this point forward, civilization was what you made of it. And unless you were an experienced mountain survivalist, this was the only way to get up and down the mountain.

But I'm not an experienced mountain survivalist. Like I said before, and I make no bones about it, I'm a city-bred greenhorn. My life's most traumatic experiences took place within the confines of a well-furnished publisher's office. Until yesterday, I'd never left the comfort of the city. In fact, until the tragic death of my only child, my teenage daughter, I'd never felt the need for solitude. But all that changed in a fleeting moment of catastrophe, the consequences of which broke my heart beyond repair, steeling the only thing in life worth living for. And now I was here, feeling more uncomfortable of my surroundings by the minute.

Yet, I wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable. Even to an inexperienced eye, which mine weren't, my questions were clearly making them uncomfortable as well. Could it be they were hiding something?

The cabin that I'd just leased included supplies delivered on a monthly schedule. It was just one in a chain of cabins that stretched along the snow covered tree line for miles upon snow-covered miles; all of which were leased from the federal government while maintained and managed by this man and woman. The couple that lived in this cabin leased the other cabins on an annual basis to people that needed to get away from civilization, for whatever reasons. Most were up here on sabbatical. Why I was up here was yet to be determined. Their terms were cash-in-advance, no exceptions.

The cabins were spaced along the distance between the tree line and the summit at intervals of approximately ten miles. That meant your nearest neighbor, and also your nearest source of help, was at least a ten mile hike across treacherous, unforgiving terrain. Moreover, it was a hike that had to be performed on snowshoes, since only specially licensed vehicles, such as Fred's, our landlord's, snow-tractor, were allowed in the pristine wilderness.

Of course, that inconvenience was also a blessing and the main reason for leasing the cabins. The long hike traversing the snowline would seem like a stroll in the park, compared to the much more difficult task of ascending the mountain from below. Your chances of being bothered by anyone for the duration of the year were very slim. The only exception was the landlord, who brought your monthly supplies and maybe a tidbit of news that you might have missed on the short-wave radio, which, to most people that thought they needed a sabbatical, the short-wave radio quickly became the focus of their existence amidst the sparse but adequate furnishings included with the cabin.

Although it wasn't in my nature to dislike people that I'd hardly met, I neither liked nor trusted these two. Yet, I figured they would get the supplies to me one way or another. Anything less would be criminal, considering the circumstances. And despite their nervous, almost secretive disposition, I honestly didn't believe they would stoop that low.

A snow tractor was used for delivering both supplies and tenants to and from the cabins. It wasn't anything like the tractors used on the farms that I'd seen in the Midwest. Instead, it was more like a small cabin with lots of windows mounted over a set of wide tracks. The interior was little more than a bench seat, a heater, and two levers protruding from the floor that were used to steer the contraption.

As I studied the piece of machinery through the dirty cabin window, my new landlord was grumbling about having to leave early in the morning in order to get the other tenants their supplies out to them on time. He went on to complain that my other options were to wait another month, without a refund of course, or to hike in on my own. Neither sounded fitting to my current state of mind, so I told them I would be ready to leave in the morning. Without so much as a by your leave, I headed to the room they'd offered me for the night. In my present state of mind, it almost felt as if they were going to add a surcharge to my lease for the use of it.

I hadn't had a good night's sleep since the tragedy that stole my daughter's life and tonight wasn't proving to be any different. The thin mountain air wasn't having the desired effect on my insomnia that I'd hoped it would. Maybe when we got up a little higher where the cabin was situated, that will change. Of course, once I got to the cabin, there would be no backing out. If I was going to reconsider, I needed to do it soon, while I could still opt out. Chances are, I wouldn't get any of my money back, but that was the least of my concerns; I would gladly have emptied my bank accounts for just a small piece of sanity, and considered it well worth the price. Right now, I'd consider the life of a pauper, if it granted me a decent night's sleep!

From the makeshift bed that they had set up for me, rather than cart me back to town and then have to retrieve me in a few hours, I could hear their constant arguing. The sound of their voices carried through the thin walls of the cabin, even though they were trying hard to keep them down.

They were busy most of the night getting the tractor loaded with supplies, which meant a lot of coming and going from the cabin. And yet, they continued to argue the whole time. I couldn't distinguish their actual words, but I could distinguish the tone of them, and they weren't being very nice to each other.

As I tried to ignore them and fought off the demons that haunted me, I tossed and turned in the strange bed the whole night. Every time my mind would drift into the darker shadows, and sleep began to creep toward me, I would find myself going back in time. Back to that time when I still had a daughter. The memory of her would be fresh and untainted, her face, bright and lively. She was a beautiful girl; she'd been, a beautiful girl.

But as always, the inevitable happened, and I would find myself reliving the nightmare. Over and over, night after night, it came back to haunt me. It wasn't my fault. I knew that. I didn't need any fancy shrink charging me exorbitant hourly rates to tell me that. But it didn't make it any easier to live with the fact that I had let her go out on her own.

Sure, it's easy to say that you have to give your child freedom; that they need to live and experience life on their own or they'll never grow up to be strong and independent people that make you proud to be their parent. But what of the ones that aren't strong enough to handle that freedom? What becomes of them?

Unfortunately, I discovered that the weak really do perish, and the strong do survive. My poor Amy just never was that strong and she perished, crushed beneath the onslaught of the stronger. Sometimes, I hear her painful cries for help, and the panic and terror on her face is visible through the hazy cloud of sleep. But though she cries my name in her moment of anguish, there is nothing I can do for her. Terrified for her, I reach out in the darkness, but she always slips away, just beyond my grasp.

I wasn't there at the time of her demise, but the doctors said it's normal for the mind to fabricate the images as I imagined them to have happened. They claim this is just another way for my subconscious to deal with the trauma. However, I think it's just another form of mental regression.

That's why I'm here. I came to this mountain and the solitude it had to offer so that I could think, and to push my thoughts to the limits. My plan was nothing short of a drug addict quitting his habit cold turkey. Against my shrink's better judgment, I'm here. Without the support system of the hospitals and doctors so readily available in the city, I will have to live through my anguish. When help isn't so close at hand, I will be forced to deal with it on a level that I'd previously been unable to attain, or wind up permanently and irreversibly insane.

If my idea didn't work, I wouldn't be able to run to the doctor or a pharmacy and refill my anti-depressant prescription, and I didn't bring any medication with me. I was either going to work this thing through to its ultimate end, or finish it once and for all. It was an all or nothing situation. Weak or strong, I had to know. Even if I can't ever know whether or not it would have made any difference in her outcome if I'd been there for her! I had made up my mind that I was going to find peace up on that mountain, or I wasn't coming back down from it.

These people gave me a bad feeling, and under different circumstances, I was sure I'd never trust my life in their hands. But the tragedy had shaken me up quite badly and I wasn't thinking as clearly as I once did. To my own chagrin, it was surprisingly easy to just put the bad feelings aside and ignore them. Besides, I was at a point in my grief where it didn't seem to matter whether I lived or died. According to the shrink that I'd seen early on, before I grew angry and frustrated with them, this was a natural part of the healing process. What the Hell did they know? Did any of them ever lose a daughter under such tragic circumstances?

Just as I began to wonder if morning would ever come, there was a hard rapping on the heavy plank door. They'd put me in a makeshift closet for the night, and my outer clothes were strung out over the bed where I'd taken them off. In the dim light of the night before, I'd been unable to find any hooks on the walls where I could hang them. But because of the extreme cold outside, I was actually glad for the extra protection they offered over the thinly worn blankets that were on the bed.

Fred, my new landlord, was asking me whether I was still going to head up to the cabin with him or if I'd changed my mind during the night. Before I could summon a reply, he added that there was a fresh pot of coffee on and that the missus was fixing bacon and scrambled eggs, if I were interested. The thought of food almost made me gag on the foul taste that had accumulated in my mouth, but I couldn't resist the temptation of the coffee.

Swinging my feet out from under the covers, I quickly realized just how cold the room had become. The bare, hardwood floors felt like ice to my stockinged feet. Grabbing my clothes off the bed, I hurriedly pulled them on. They were colder than I'd anticipated and I gasped as my heart missed a beat, but my body quickly adjusted. After pulling a quick comb through my not yet graying, but already thinning hair, I headed out into the main room of the cabin in anticipation of that proffered coffee.

Fred was seated at the long wood-planked table that ran the length of the room. It more closely resembled an old picnic table than any dining room variety that I'd ever seen.

His wife stood in front of an old wood cook stove with her broad back to me as she turned the sizzling bacon in an oversized cast iron skillet. Fred looked up at me with dark circles under his eyes and motioned toward the place across from him where there was a mug of steaming hot coffee waiting. His wife asked without turning around how well done I liked my bacon. The tone of her voice clearly belied the fact that she hadn't been to bed yet either, and that what I replied wasn't going to have any effect on how well done, or rare, the bacon was going to be. And since I had neither the courage nor the gumption just yet to tell her that I wasn't feeling up to breakfast, I instead answered her with, "Well done, please."

It dawned on me, of a sudden, that Fred had never mentioned her name to me. True enough, it had never come up. And though the lease agreement held many fine details and explicit instructions, all of which seemed unfairly biased in their favor, nowhere in the paperwork was her name mentioned. Fred had picked me up at the bus depot in town the night before at his insistence nonetheless, and had brought me straight out here. He'd immediately made it clear that if I still wanted to lease the cabin, we needed to get the paper work out of the way that night; we would be leaving first thing in the morning, and there wouldn't be the time then.

My original plan had been to rent a motel room in town for the night and catch a ride out to their cabin in the morning. Since I still needed to pick up personal items and specific supplies that I didn't expect my landlord to provide, this made the most sense to me. It was also a big deal in the respect that I might not come back to civilization for close to twelve months; what I took with me could make all the difference between a comfortable stay, and an uncomfortable one. But Fred had adamantly insisted that we head straight to his cabin. He was in such a big hurry, now that I think back on it, that he wouldn't even stop at the little quick-mark on the edge of town. Without slowing, despite my protests, he shot on past, muttering something about taking care of my shopping needs later, when he brought me back to town. I didn't think much more about it since the one stop market was a 24-hour place according to the sign hanging over the front entrance.

When we reached the cabin, Fred got right down to business. Primarily, he insisted on getting the money up front. Secondly, he had me sign a pre-filled-out lease agreement. Although I looked it over with interest, my eyes were tired and I wasn't overly concerned. There were a few other legal documents he presented me with at the same time. Mostly, they consisted of forms releasing them from liability in the case of an accident or some such. One appeared to be an insurance policy, but I'm sure it was just a disclaimer from their fire policy provider. I didn't really read them over since they looked and appeared to be standard forms. Besides, they provided me with copies that I can peruse at my leisure once I get to my own cabin. After the long bus ride and then the twenty-mile ride from town in his beat up old pickup truck with worn out shocks, I guess I was just a bit more than tired, I was exhausted! Moreover, details of a lease agreement were not a priority on my overly stressed mind.

Somehow or other, introductions went by the way side, and when they offered to put me up for the night, it just seemed like the logical thing was to take them up on it.

After hastily throwing a generous portion of bacon and eggs on a plate, she spun around towards the table and half threw, half dropped the plate in front of me without a word. Keeping her eyes averted, she just as quickly turned back to the stove and busied herself scraping the spatula in the skillet. In the brief glance that I got of her face, I could tell immediately that she hadn't slept the night before either. Without needing to look into a mirror, I knew that I probably looked worse than even they did; while they could probably remember the last good night of sleep they'd had, I couldn't.

I drank greedily of the hot coffee, but I couldn't bring myself to eat the raw bacon and runny eggs on the plate in front of me. Just the thought of them in my stomach made me gag.

Before sitting silent for too long and drawing attention to myself, I made my apologies to her for not eating and excused myself from the table. Her husband, Fred, who hadn't looked up since I sat down, but had instead just concentrated on his plate without eating either, mumbled something about us leaving in a few minutes and not to wonder very far or he would leave without me.

"I'm just going to make sure that I haven't forgotten anything," I said as I went back into the makeshift bedroom that wasn't any bigger than most people's hall closets.

"I took the liberty of putting your luggage in the sled last night," he said gruffly, before adding as an afterthought, "If you find you need anything special at the cabin, you'll just have to wait an extra month for it, is all. Providing I can get it for you, that is. It won't do you any good to request odd stuff."

"I'm sure I won't be in need of any odd stuff that you won't be bringing on your regular trips," I casually replied.

I had no interest in making conversation with these people, and I didn't want to give the impression that I was. When they realized that I wanted no more to do with them then they wanted to do with me, the tension in the air dissipated almost immediately. The lifting of the weight felt almost physical in nature. They had my money for the remainder of the year and in exchange, all I wanted was to be left alone with my thoughts in a rural cabin.

Among my personal effects, I had packed away my old typewriter and a ream of twenty-pound paper. I wasn't sure what had motivated me to do so, since I hadn't written anything since the tragedy. Several times, I'd found the courage to sit down in front of it, each time thinking that I would make an attempt. I thought that a new book would be the equivalent of a new start. Yet, each time, my thoughts drifted back to Amy, and I would find myself running from them in a cold sweat.

Pulling my nylon snowsuit from the duffel bag that I'd kept separate from the rest of my belongings, I hurriedly stepped into it, anxious for the warmth that the athletic sales clerk had promised. Before zipping it up, I double-checked that everything else was still intact. Everything else, that is, from the used toothbrush that would have to last me another thirty days, to the .357 magnum and its box of related shells. No one mentioned anything about needing a gun up here, so I decided not to mention having one. It just seemed like common sense to me. I'd never been into hunting wild game, or any other wilderness activities, for that matter. I was not a seasoned survivalist! And yet, in the last minutes before leaving the city, it seemed to make perfectly good sense to me that anyone going into the wilderness, especially alone and for an extended period of time, would carry a gun for protection. Maybe I'd just read too many books about cowboys and Indians.

Just a day earlier, before I'd met my new landlords, if someone had asked me if I had one, I wouldn't have denied it. However, now for some inexplicable reason, I felt better knowing that my landlords weren't aware of it. I knew what I was feeling was completely irrational, especially since all they had to do was neglect to bring my supplies one month and I would probably die. But there was something about Fred and his wife that gave me an uncharacteristic feeling of mistrust. What exactly it was about them, I couldn't put my finger on, and that made me even more nervous.

Yet, I was relishing the feelings of nervous anxiety, even if it was my new landlords and not just the anticipation of the forthcoming journey that was causing them. Since Amy's tragedy, I hadn't experienced much in the "feelings" department, as I seemed to be going through life in a numb state of mind.

After checking myself over thoroughly to make sure that I hadn't missed any of the multitudes of snaps and zippers on the suit, I closed the duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder. I took one more quick look about the room and under the bed, which I immediately regretted, and headed out through the main room for the front door.

"I'll wait for you outside," I said as I passed by the table.

"Like I said, don't wonder off. I'll be right there," he answered as I closed the door behind me.

If I thought it was cold in their cabin, it was definitely cold outside. The air bit sharply into my lungs, momentarily freezing the moisture in my throat and forcing an involuntary gasp. As I stood still, holding my breath in and waiting for them to adjust to the frigid air, I couldn't help but notice the scene unfolding before me.

It was magnificent! With the rising sun casting a rainbow glow over the frosted horizon, everything looked fresh and clean. It was the most beautiful sunrise that I'd ever seen as I stood in awe of it. I was momentarily taken aback; for the moment forgetting all about the cold and the ice. In the city, where I'd spent the better part of my life, mornings were drab and dreary; it was considered a good day if it wasn't raining.

Maybe if I wrote best sellers instead of mid-list books, I could afford a penthouse suite that furnished me with a sunrise view. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not disappointed with my writing career by any means. Overall, I've made a very good living writing mid-list books. If I implied otherwise, it wasn't what I intended.

Stepping off the open porch that was barely large enough for one person, my boots crunched loudly on the brittle snow as I slowly made my way toward the snow tractor. It was an older model in desperate need of a new paint job. Hitched up to the rear was a cargo sled of comparable condition. Going around to the passenger's side, I swung the door open and casually threw my bag up on the floor. As I did, I was vaguely aware of dogs barking off in the distance.

The sound had just registered on my consciousness when the cabin door suddenly swung outward. Fred, dressed in a heavy parka with a fur-lined hood, stepped out. In his left hand, he was carrying a small package wrapped in traditional white meatpacking paper. It had all the earmarks of containing raw meat; I could distinguish the blood-soaked edges even in the dim light. Under his other arm, he held a metal thermos that probably contained the left over coffee from this morning's pot.

"Go ahead and climb in," he said when he saw me standing by the open door. "I'll just be a minute."

He walked past the tractor, his boots crunching loudly on the hardened snow, and went down the side of the machinery shed to a small door near the back. After fumbling with a ring full of jingling keys for a minute, he finally found the one he wanted and unlocked the frozen padlock securing the door. Before entering, from a long-formed habit, he looked furtively to the left and then to the right. Suddenly aware that I was watching him, he hurriedly ducked inside, quickly pulling the door shut behind him. He brought to mind visions of a penny-ante burglar about to enter someone else's premises illegally.

A minute later, he re-emerged and, after stopping to re-secure the padlock, came at a brisk pace towards the tractor. It didn't escape my attention that he no longer had the small bloody package in his possession. Furthermore, my studious attention made him even more nervous than his usual demeanor.

"I thought I told you to get in!" he angrily barked at me as he neared the tractor.

Even in the glittery dawn light, I could see how visibly upset I'd made him just by watching him instead of getting into the tractor as he'd instructed earlier. There was no disputing the fact that he was afraid that I might have seen something I wasn't supposed to. What that could possibly be, I didn't have a clue. And judging by the way he jumped in and fired up the engine, I knew he wasn't about to give me any time to think about what I may have or have not seen either.

Before I could even slam the door shut behind me, he'd turned the defroster fan on high. A cold blast of roaring air struck me full in the face, making it impossible to talk. And though it would keep the windows from fogging up, it would remain cold until the engine had time to warm up. Within moments, the draft found its way past the collar on my suit, creating a chill that ran down my spine and setting my teeth to chattering and my body to shivering. The chill quickly settled into my bones, and even though the air slowly grew warm, I couldn't seem to shake it. I knew now why Fred had the thermos of hot coffee with and even though he could see me shivering, there was no offer forthcoming. I couldn't shake the feeling that he would just as soon have left me behind, especially if I didn't demand a full refund.

Although he set off towards the west, he quickly jumped onto an old route that wound back around toward the north, and then slowly angled toward the northeast. Within minutes of having left the cabin, we'd left the distinct rut marks behind and were headed across a broad expanse of flat tundra. At least, it appeared flat to a city boy like me. But in all reality, it gradually sloped upwards toward the mountain peak.

We were crossing at a slight angle to the mountain's face. Because of this, we were completely bathed in stark sunlight. To my right, grew a harried line of conifers, the snow lying heavy on their limbs. To my left was nothing but snow-covered rock, the shear face of the mountain. The transformation from woods to tundra happened so fast it was like driving forward out of a garage. The deep shadows of the trees having been left behind and abruptly replaced by the stark glare of the sun reflecting off an uninterrupted expanse of virgin snow.

The combination of bright light and heated air made my eyes water and blur. Digging into the duffle bag between my feet, I retrieved a pair of sunglasses. My information regarding snow blindness was only secondhand, mostly offered by good-intentioned friends. Yet, I knew it was possible to go blind without looking at the sun directly.

The tractor traveled at about twenty miles an hour, all the while emitting a deafening roar that echoed within the close confines of the cab. However, it wasn't so loud that you couldn't carry on a conversation, if you were so inclined.

Fred wasn't so inclined, which was not surprising, when I considered his earlier behavior toward me. Staring straight ahead, his eyes riveted to the white expanse before us, he weaved a path across the tundra. Not until several hours later, when we picked up a winding trail that dipped southward through a large stand of trees, did he say anything.

"We're coming up on the first of my stops," he said loudly over the sound of the engine. "When we get there, I want you to wait in the warmth of the tractor while I deliver her supplies."

"Her?" I blurted.

He ignored my remark, if indeed he even heard it. I was stunned by the idea that a woman would commit to a secluded sabbatical up here. In fact, I was so shocked by the idea that the way he'd told me hadn't immediately registered. He hadn't asked me to wait in the tractor; he'd ordered me to!

While I pondered his instructions, their meaning suddenly made sense to me. When people are on sabbatical, they don't want strangers intruding in their space, namely, me. Moreover, there wasn't any reason for women to need sabbaticals any less than their male counterparts did. If she ran into difficulties, or grew tired of the experience, she could always catch a ride back down with Fred. "Just the same as I," my mind suddenly reminded me.

With no warning, he suddenly veered sharply to the right. I grabbed the support bar in front of me to keep from sliding across the seat and into him. Just as suddenly, he jockeyed around a dead stump that rose above the height of the tractor, and then straightened it out.

Lying directly in front of us, less than a thousand-yards distant across a gently sloping meadow was a beautiful log cabin. It had been carefully constructed so as not to disturb the existing landscape, taking full advantage of the shelter offered by an existing stand of old growth fir trees. It was a typical one-room cabin, and even from this distance, I could make out a faint tendril of smoke rising from its chimney.

Fred gave a short blast on the air horn to announce our arrival, and then backed off on the accelerator. When I gave him a questioning look, he simply stated, "Gives them time to get ready for me."

He drove straight up to the cabin and then steered sharply to the left. With practiced movements, he stopped so the cab of the tractor was just past the front of the cabin; I was in a position where I couldn't see who came out of the door, if anyone did. Although it appeared as though he had done this to make it easier to carry the supplies into the cabin from the sled, I couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done it for my benefit. He not only didn't want me to meet the inhabitant of this cabin, but he didn't even want me to see them, if he could help it.

He jumped from the cab almost before it even stopped rolling and without shutting the motor off, quickly headed back to the sled, a contraption that was actually nothing more than a small, high-sided trailer that rode on skids instead of wheels. The frozen supplies were simply packed on the back of the tractor on a makeshift roof rack where the ambient air temperatures kept them frozen. They mostly consisted of different meats, vegetables, and citrus concentrates for making orange juice and the like. The dry goods, like coffee, sugar, flour, and what not, was packed in proportioned containers inside the sled. Each cabin was allotted a certain number of pounds of each, depending on the individual's requirements. Extras were apportioned accordingly and charged against your account. With Fred, there were no freebies!

Hurriedly, he set himself to undoing one of the lashes that held the tarp over the top of everything. Although I knew it wasn't what he wanted, I jumped from the cab on the other side and acting innocently enough, volunteered to help him with the lashings. He was about to protest my being out of the cab and order me back into it, when the tenant of the cabin came out. I wasn't prepared for what my eyes beheld. It was indeed a woman, a very beautiful woman!

Even wearing the heavy parka and padded ski pants, I could see that she was of a small and slender build. She gave me the impression that she was much too fragile to be out here on her own. She had short blonde hair that stuck out around her face from under the hood that she had only half pulled over her head. Upon seeing me, a smile immediately lit up her face. Yet, despite her warm glow, I sensed a deep sadness. Like me, she too had suffered tremendously. But it didn't detract from her beauty, it only added depth; she was much more than simply beautiful.

"Hi," I said awkwardly under her appraising look.

She pulled her heavy mitten from her right hand and held it out to me as she said, "Hi to you too. My name's Sandy, who might you be?"

Before I could answer, Fred roughly interjected, as he lifted a box off the sled, "His name's John. He'll be living in the next cabin over from you. But don't either of you get any ideas about visiting each other, because you'll never make it on foot."

She continued staring at me as the landlord brushed past her, heading into the cabin with the first box of her supplies. I felt speechless under her gaze, yet found it impossible to look away. We stared at each other, oblivious of the world around us. Though I felt I should be doing something, anything, maybe even helping Fred with her supplies, I couldn't move. Unknowingly, she'd trapped me in her gaze, and I suddenly wanted to stay there forever. No woman had ever made me feel so vulnerable, and yet, so masculine, and done so little to make it happen.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly blurted, putting her hand up in front of her mouth to hide her embarrassment. "You must forgive me. It's been more than two months since I've seen anyone besides Fred. I'm afraid I forgot my manners."

"It's quite alright," I quickly assured her, noting how her smile lit up her already lovely features. "It's been even longer than that since I've seen anyone nearly as beautiful as you." I suddenly stopped short as I realized that I'd just spoken my private thoughts aloud. Blushing and equally embarrassed, I apologized. "I'm sorry, did I just say that?"

For a long moment, she held her breath, fiercely trying to contain the emotions that suddenly bubbled up within her. When she couldn't any longer, she burst out laughing, tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. Her laughter was both genuine and contagious, and within seconds, we were both laughing hysterically. Subconsciously, she reached out and put a hand on my arm to steady herself. For the first time since the tragedy, I let my feelings go enough to forget the pain. And though it felt extremely good, it scared the Hell out of me.

Though I didn't want to, I flinched and pulled back. She immediately let go of my arm and stepped back, giving me room. Sadly, I recognized the sober expression that quickly masked her face; I'd seen it many times before in the mirror.

"If you two are finished, I have a lot of distance to cover before nightfall," Fred grumbled impatiently as he pulled the tarp back over the sled and retied it.

Without another word, he turned and headed back to the cab of the still idling tractor.

"My ride is leaving," I said anxiously, unable to hide the regret in my voice. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise," she answered, trying to force a smile that quickly faded to disappointment. Then, to my surprise and delight, her face suddenly turned bright again as she added, "Maybe we'll see each other again."

"I'd like that," I honestly replied. Then, I quickly added, "So long," before hesitantly turning away. When I realized Fred was about to leave, I hurriedly ran to the cab. I reached it just as he threw it into gear and it lurched forward.

With an agility that I'd forgotten I had, I leaped up onto the track and let it carry me forward. Just before reaching the door, I swung back and waved to the most beautiful woman that I'd ever met. To my enormous delight, she was still watching me. Immediately, she smiled and returned my wave.

Grabbing the latch, I jerked open the door and slid into the seat, pulling it shut behind me. Spinning around, I looked anxiously out the rear window; she was still watching and waving. Almost sadly, I returned her wave. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Fred would have left me behind had I not jumped aboard when I did. Yet, even more importantly, I wondered if Sandy would have allowed me to stay.

When the swirling snow kicked up by the accelerating snow machine all but blocked out my view of her, I slowly turned around on the seat and glanced over at Fred. He was staring straight ahead, almost as if to avoid any conversation that I may try to start. Although I wanted to ask him a thousand questions about the woman that I'd just met, I let it go, forcing myself instead to concentrate on the rest of the journey. Fred had said, after all, that mine was the next cabin in line. That meant there were only ten miles of country separating us; I intended to familiarize myself with every inch of it.

### **2**

As we rolled and jostled along, I looked at the scenery rolling past in an entirely new way. Suddenly, the sun seemed brighter than it ever had before. The sky was bluer and the snow cleaner. Even the trees looked sharper, more defined and less foreboding. The smell of diesel fuel had been replaced with the scent of cedar and pine. As miraculous as it seemed, since meeting Sandy, I had a brand new appreciation of the world. What was previously a cold, barren backdrop to an otherwise gloomy world was suddenly a very beautiful landscape, in a majestic sort of way.

And yet, despite my newfound optimism, I held no illusions to the world's unforgiving nature. It would take only one small error in judgment, and the frail human body wouldn't have a chance.

As beautiful and captivating as the scenery was, I couldn't keep my thoughts from returning to Sandy, and what she was doing up here all alone. Watching her, as she stood alone in the snow, gazing forlornly after the retreating tractor, I suddenly felt sorry for her. I felt a strong desire to reach out and comfort her, to go back and protect her. She looked so frail and vulnerable, and so out of place in this bleak country.

Almost as soon as the feelings assailed me, I rationalized them away. I recognized them for what they were, nothing more than a subconscious need to be there for Sandy, because I hadn't been there to protect my Amy. My feelings were irrational and unfounded; Sandy was here of her own free will, she neither needed nor required my protection! I failed my Amy, and I couldn't go back and change that fact! The baseless aspiration to protect Sandy showed me just how unstable I'd become.

Yet, I couldn't keep my questions to myself any longer. Knowing more about her wasn't going to change anything; I was still destined for a reclusive cabin, and a long spell of uninterrupted meditation. Now, as it turned out, I just had more feelings to sort out.

Turning toward Fred, I yelled over the sound of the motor, "How long has she been up here?"

"Who?" he naively barked back, feigning ignorance of whom I was asking.

"Sandy," I shouted a bit impatiently, suddenly not caring what he thought.

"If you were so damn curious about her, why didn't you just ask her yourself? It's not as if you two weren't getting awful damn cozy back there!" he fired back, the tone of his voice clearly expressing that he had no desire to speak with me, especially about another of his clients.

For the first time since meeting him, I was abashed by his response. He was absolutely correct; she was up here for the same reasons as I, to get away from people and their prying ways. Whatever made me think that I had any rights to infringe on her privacy? Sure, she seemed friendly and open to meeting me. But then, she knew I was leaving within a matter of minutes; it's not as if we were making some kind of long-term commitment! Moreover, if someone were asking about me, I wouldn't want Fred discussing my business with them.

Then again, the more I thought about it, she did seem eager enough to tell me about herself. She had mentioned not seeing anyone up here except for Fred for the past two months. That could only mean, she hadn't been up here for more than three months, all told.

"Sorry," I softly muttered. It was the closest he would ever get, to receiving an apology from me, and I didn't really care whether he heard it or not.

Three long, bone-jarring hours later with the sun cresting the southern horizon, Fred suddenly spoke for the first time since I'd asked him about Sandy. Nodding off toward my right, he gruffly grunted, "There she is. I hope you like it."

Following his gaze, I turned and saw a small, stalwart looking cabin, very similar in design to Sandy's cabin. But that's where the similarities ended.

Even though he said "I hope you like it," I could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't really give a damn how I felt about it. He'd brought me to it, and now he could drop me off and be done with me. Little else mattered to him at the moment.

Unlike the beautiful layout at Sandy's cabin, this one was situated above the tree line. There was no picturesque meadow flowing out from the front door, or a covey of old-growth trees to shelter it from the weather. Except for a sheer rock wall that escalated more than fifty straight up behind it while gradually sloping back towards the summit, the cabin wasn't afforded any protection from the weather. From the east, west, and south, it was exposed to all the elements.

As I studied it from the bouncing cab of the tractor, I noticed as we drew closer that the left wall of the cabin was completely buried beneath a heavy drift of snow, as it faced the prevailing wind. The chimney was the only thing protruding above the blanket of snow.

Meanwhile, there was a small stack of firewood leaning up against the right hand wall, covering a dark patch of bare ground stretching outward from it. As we drew closer, I wondered at the distance to the nearest source of firewood, and how difficult it would be to heat a drafty old cabin. If I were lucky, there would be enough wood to get me through the following day, giving me time to replenish it before I ran out.

A chill ran through me as I glanced again at the nearest stand of trees, a distance of more than three hundred feet across drifted snow. Getting firewood, while getting used to wearing snowshoes and operating a chainsaw, might prove to be a daunting feat. Even in my naivety, I could see that it wouldn't be easy keeping a supply of firewood on hand. But then, I didn't come here for an easy time of it. After a while, I might even come to appreciate the strenuous effort, and the necessity to do something worthwhile with my time. The physical effort, coupled with the very real concern of survival, might be just the right medicine to keep my mind preoccupied, and my body ready for rest. At the least, by necessity, the combination might just keep me from going mad!

Despite the bright sunshine beating down upon it, the cabin had a desolate, deserted look to it; I felt sure that no one had been here for a long time. But it was only a hunch. And Fred hadn't said when exactly the last tenant had left; just that he had to leave in a hurry. And besides, a lack of tracks in the snow wasn't any indication of when people had last been here. In case I'd forgotten, it snowed regularly up here, which explained the two-foot deep drift blocking the door.

The two windows on either side of the door had pieces of wood nailed over them to keep predatory animals from gaining entry. I couldn't help but wonder who had done it and why.

And then, just when I started rationalizing the situation, that feeling of foreboding started encroaching on the peripheral of my sub-consciousness again. I tried shaking it off as nothing more than a mild anxiety attack. This was, after all, a major life-changing experience on my part. Of the few friends that I still hadn't alienated, none agreed with my decision to do this.

Yet, no matter how I tried to rationalize the feeling, it wouldn't leave me. For the briefest of moments, I considered changing my mind and calling it off. Then just as quickly, I shut my mind off to that scenario. I'd never been a quitter, and I've never backed down from anything; I'd come this far, and gotten this close to doing what I knew had to be done, there was no going back. I knew that once I was settled in, and had a nice warm fire going, I'd feel better about the place. Until then, I would buck it up and move forward. Sandy must have gone through the same turmoil as I was going through, and she hadn't backed down; pride wouldn't allow me to do otherwise either!

Without a word, Fred pulled the tractor up to the front of the cabin and shut the motor off before jumping out. I threw open my door and hesitantly stepped out on the track, feeling the bite of the wind against my bare face. I was instantly glad that I hadn't shaved that morning, and made a mental note that the first thing I would do is grow a beard. I reached in, grabbed my bag, and jumped down off the track. The snow was more than thigh deep as I worked my way back to the sled. Fred had already undone the lashings holding the tarp in place and was setting my boxes of supplies and personal effects down on the snow beside it.

Walking past him, I went straight to the front door. I was more than just a little anxious to see what my home was going to look like for the next ten months. Not to mention that if I didn't head right in, I might still change my mind about staying.

With my rapidly stiffening fingers, I pulled the key to the padlock on the front door from my pocket, and inserted it into the frozen chunk of metal. The lock opened easily despite its frozen condition, but the door took a few good heaves from my shoulder against it to get it to budge. It made me feel better to know that it was a solid, well-built door.

As I stepped over the threshold, I was met with a cold, damp darkness, the chill of which penetrated me through the warm layers of my snowsuit. The only light entering was filtering in past my silhouette in the doorway. Removing my sunglasses, I stared into the dimness; even in the subdued light, I could tell that it was just a one-room cabin with a wood-planked floor.

While my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I studied the new images appearing before me. Against the back wall and nearer to the door stood an ancient-looking wood-fired cook stove. Clear to the far left, built into the wall that was buried beneath the snowdrift, was a large stone cookstove fireplace. I was subconsciously studying the construction of both it and the chimney, especially where it entered the roof, when Fred pushed in behind me with the first box of my supplies in his arms.

Almost as if he were reading my mind, he said, "You better make a point of getting up on the roof and clearing the snow away from that chimney before you try lighting it. You can use the cookstove for heat until you get around to it."

His comment caught me off guard; it was the only civil thing he'd said to me since we'd met. Yet, I wasn't about to let my guard down because of an attempt at civility. Instead, I turned away, continuing my study of the room and its meager furnishings. With a grunt, he dropped the box on the familiar looking table in the middle of the room, and turned to head back out for another. The table looked exactly like the one that Fred and his wife had served me breakfast on just that morning in their cabin. Of course, all the cabins would have the same basic furniture, or so I assumed.

My eyes wondered to the bed next, or rather, the lack of a bed. Instead of a real wood frame and mattress, there was nothing more than a metal-framed army-surplus cot with a canvas covering. Numbly, I thought to myself, just exactly what did I expect in the middle of nowhere, a room at the Hilton, maybe?

Fred returned with another armload of supplies. He glanced in my direction, and then hurriedly looked away. I got the feeling that he was about to admonish me for not helping unload my supplies, and then thought the better of it. He probably figured that once he finished unloading the supplies, he'd jump back into his cab and be merrily on to his next destination. He wouldn't have to see me again for another thirty days. By then, I'll be so desperate for companionship that it won't matter who drops by; I'll be glad to see anyone!

After dropping the load of supplies on the table, he turned back toward the cookstove. Reaching above his head, he grasped a hurricane lamp by its base and lifted it free from the wooden peg that suspended it. As I followed his movements, I noticed a long row of the wooden pegs that had been driven into a low hanging ceiling beam over the cookstove. They held everything from pots and pans to a braid of garlic that looked fresh only because it had remained frozen.

"I'll light this for you so you'll have some light in here until you can get around to taking the wood off the windows," he said almost apologetically.

If I didn't know him better, I would have sworn that he was feeling guilty for not taking the wood off the windows himself. Still, he didn't offer to clear the snow from the fireplace chimney either.

"Thanks," I muttered, not really caring whether he did or not.

I suddenly wanted him out of my cabin and gone. If there weren't any more supplies to unload, why was he hanging around? Surely, it wasn't for my company.

Studying the small mound of supplies sitting on the table, I suddenly realized that there had to be more. Even though I wasn't a big eater, I would need more food than what he'd brought in so far. He turned back toward me at the same time as I turned to ask him if there was more, and if he needed my help. I didn't get the chance.

Having stopped at the door and seeing that I wasn't following him, he gruffly stated, "I could use a hand getting your stuff unloaded."

Relief flooded through me; there was going to be more than just frozen garlic and flour and salt.

"Yeah," I quickly stuttered, hurrying to follow him.

He stepped through the threshold, his voice carrying over his shoulder. "I have several more stops to make yet before I head home today, and it isn't safe to be out on the mountain after dark."

"Sorry," I humbly replied to his stoic backside, following quickly behind him as he crunched over the snow to the sled.

Scanning the boxes and packages that he'd pulled out of the sled, I quickly recognized the one containing my trusty old typewriter. Without hesitation, I stooped over and scooped it into my arms, cradling it carefully like a newborn baby. Although I'd packed it carefully, I hadn't anticipated the rough ride in the sled over frozen tundra and snowdrifts. Even before I put away my food stores, I would have to unwrap and inspect it for damage.

Glancing around at the other boxes in search of my paper, I was still holding it securely, when Fred finished offloading my allotment of frozen meats from the back of the tractor.

Carrying a large plastic bag of various sized packages of white butcher's paper in each hand, Fred headed back toward me. As he neared the door to the cabin, he plunked them down in the snowdrift next to the door and said, "There's a wooden box buried beneath that drift along the west side of the cabin. I suggest you dig it out and put your meat in it so the bears and wolves can't get to it. They're hard to stop, once they get the scent of fresh meat. I'll just leave it here beside the door for you for now."

He started back toward the tractor, when he suddenly stopped and turned around. "I'm dead serious about that wooden box," he soberly stated. "Don't put it off, or they're likely to have found it by morning." He hesitated a moment as he considered whether he'd forgotten anything, and then added, "Oh yeah, there's a chainsaw and fuel in the cabin so that you can cut firewood. There should be enough to get you through the night, though. But tomorrow, you might want to consider bringing more in."

He turned then, speaking over his shoulder as he went, "Take care now, and I'll see you next month."

He nonchalantly walked past the last of my boxed supplies, still sitting in the snow where he'd dropped them, without so much as a downward glance.

There were a thousand questions racing through my mind, as I stood dumbfounded, watching him drive away across the clearing toward the trees. In my shocked disbelief that he had just driven off and left me all alone in the middle of nowhere, it didn't register immediately. But as the shock wore off, and the reality of the situation sank in, I suddenly realized that he had gone back the same way we'd come in. He was following his own tracks out!

Of course, I wasn't a mountain man. My own experience in the wilderness was limited to my ride in with him. It was more than possible that he had to double back a ways in order to return to the trail. Nonetheless, it still seemed strange to me. Was it possible that we'd passed other cabins on our way here, and now he would take them their supplies on his way home? And if that was the case, was there a reason he didn't want me knowing about them, or was it just more convenient for him?

Or maybe, he was just being considerate, and getting me here as quickly as possible so that I would have several hours of daylight in which to get my equipment and myself organized?

As quickly, as the thoughts entered my mind, I discarded them. My first impressions of people had never been wrong before, and I didn't believe them to be now. Neither Fred nor his wife impressed me with their compassion. Why should I consider that to be a motive behind Fred's actions now? It didn't make any sense.

What made more sense, and also fit tighter with their warped, self-serving personalities, was the assumption that they didn't want me knowing who was in the nearer cabins.

While I contemplated this last possibility, I had to wonder if they were close enough that I could reach them on foot. And if they were, did I want to?

On the other hand, even if they were within walking distance, was there someone or something at them that I wasn't supposed to see?

A slight breeze dusted me with a soft covering of snow that stuck to my face and sifted down the back of my neck. Immediately, a cold chill ran down my spine, and I wondered if there was more to it than simply cold snow. Now that I was on my own, the direction of Fred's travels was the least of my problems; I had much more urgent matters demanding my attention. Later, once I'm settled in for the night, if it still bothers me, I'll give it more consideration.

The first thing I needed to do was getting my supplies under cover and then come up with a list of duties that needed attending to and in what order. Crunching back and forth over the frozen snow, I quickly had all the remaining boxes inside. And then, since it was just as cold inside as out, I went ahead and drug in my meat allotment too. This latter pile, I left just inside the door. It seemed logical, so that I wouldn't have to drag it any farther than necessary. Once I got around to digging out the wood box beneath the snowdrift, I'd just be dragging it back outside.

With everything inside the cabin, I moved over to the cot and plopped down. Almost immediately, my thoughts returned to Sandy, as I couldn't help but wonder why she was leasing a cabin. Who or what was she hiding from? And more importantly, did I sense an attraction on her part, or was that just my writer's over-imagination? Would she welcome me back if I showed up on her doorstep unannounced? Or would she ask me to leave?

Although I had many more questions than I had answers, it was time to get back to work. It was too late in the day to go out for firewood, so I decided that I should probably dig out the wood box first. If I warmed the cabin with the meat still inside, it was likely to thaw and spoil. And if I took Fred's advice seriously, I couldn't leave it outside at night or wild animals would find it and drag it off.

Heading out the door, I hung a left toward the firewood instead of a right toward the snowdrift. It suddenly seemed more important to bring some wood in for the night. After several trips to the sorely depleted woodpile, I had a nice neat stack built up next to the cookstove. With that chore out of the way, I headed toward the drift. At some point in my train of thought, I decided to leave the wood over the windows for the night, and tackle that chore in the morning.

The drift was intimidating in size, and I backed away from it, working my way through the snow in front of the cabin until I was far enough back to appraise the situation. With a better view of the snowdrift, I decided that my best bet would be to climb up it to the roof of the cabin. Once up there, I figured I could push the snow off the roof with just using my hands and arms while clearing the chimney for the fireplace at the same time.

After several unsuccessful attempts before almost burying myself in the drift, I went looking around the woodpile for a shovel. After several minutes of fruitless foraging, I started wondering if he had stored all the tools together with the chainsaw. If I could just find the chainsaw, I would probably find the rest of the equipment, too. This didn't necessarily mean that I would find a shovel. However, it would give me the chance to take stock of what I did have on hand for future use, in case I needed something.

Inside the one room cabin, it didn't take much searching to discover the wooden box stashed beneath the cot. It was a fair sized locker; very similar in style to the footlocker that I'd had when I was in the Army. Having found it, I quickly grew excited with the anticipation of exploring its contents.

Dragging it out from under the cot, I noticed with some relief that it wasn't locked. Throwing the lid back, the first thing I saw was a bright red chainsaw. Beneath it laid an axe, fuel, oil, and kerosene for the lantern. Last, but definitely not the least valuable of its contents, was a collapsible G.I. latrine shovel. It wasn't much of a shovel, but it was better than nothing.

With the shovel in hand, I got to my feet and turned toward the door. As I passed the cookstove, I hesitated for a moment, contemplating fixing myself a cup of coffee. No sooner had the thought entered my head, however, than I worried that I didn't have the fixings. Almost jokingly, I said aloud, "Sandy, you might just be getting a visitor yet." It didn't pass my notice that I was smiling at the thought as I headed back outside to tackle the snowdrift.

After more than two hours of strenuously throwing snow down off the roof, the light suddenly began to fade on me. By the time I'd scrambled down off the roof, it had already disappeared behind the hulking cliffs to the west. It had taken much longer than I had anticipated that it would. But then, I hadn't figured on doing it with such a small shovel.

In the dark gloom of night, I stood back from the huge pile of snow that had landed to the left of the door, and checked my overall progress. Although I hadn't reached the wood box, I had cleared the chimney sufficiently to use the fireplace. For now, that small accomplishment was satisfaction enough. Tomorrow, I could pick up where I'd left off.

With thoughts of a warm fire blazing in the hearth, getting out of my sweat soaked clothes, and getting into something dry, I was quickly drawn toward the door. Yet, even before I could get inside, I noticed that the coming darkness had brought snowflakes with it, and rapidly falling temperatures.

After closing the door tightly behind me, I hefted the wood I'd brought in earlier, from the cookstove over to the fireplace. There was a stack of faded yellow newspaper tucked neatly in the corner between the cookstove and the back wall. From this, I grabbed several layers and placed them around the wood in the fireplace. The wood was surprisingly well seasoned; it took off on my first attempt to light it. By now, though, the sweat covering my body was turning chilly, or I might have pondered the firewood longer. Even as a city boy, I knew that it took months for fresh wood to season.

Within minutes, the cabin was feeling much warmer inside. While it threw its heat outward, probing into the cold damp corners of the cabin, I dug in one of my boxes marked clothing. Retrieving a pair of dry denim jeans and a flannel shirt, I hesitated while debating whether I should put on thermal underwear first. If I dressed too warm now, I would never acclimate to the cold in the cabin. The sooner I acclimated, the sooner the cabin would feel comfortable to me, even when bathing. Moreover, it would mean using less firewood. And the less firewood I used equated to less physical labor and more free-time to think, which, when I got right down to it was the main reason I was here.

After donning the dry clothes and slippers, I hung the wet ones, along with my snowsuit, near the fire to dry. Exhausted, I turned toward the remaining boxes and contemplated putting the stuff away. Because the lantern wasn't very bright, I considered waiting until morning. With the boards off the windows, much more light would come in, and the cabin would be a much brighter place.

With a shrug of defeat, I reached for the first box and begrudgingly opened it. My hunger and fatigue would have to wait just a short while longer; until I got my stuff unpacked, there wasn't anything to eat. Nor were there any blankets for the cot; both of which, I was certain that I would need before morning.

As I came across bedding, I made the bed. When I came across foodstuffs, I replenished the shelves. It didn't surprise me that there were items left behind from the last people to have stayed in the cabin, if what Fred had told me about their leaving was true. But that didn't explain the large volume of items with old expiration dates.

It seemed strange to me that so many supplies had been left on the shelves, if the former occupants had really left at the end of the month, as Fred had clearly said they had. After a month of occupation, the supplies should have been almost depleted. And when he picked them up, there wouldn't have been any reason to restock the shelves.

The only explanation that seemed to make any sense was if the former occupants had left near the middle of the month, and not at the beginning as he'd said. It didn't make sense, and it meant Fred had lied to me.

That opened up many other trains of thought, none of which was very pleasant. And none of which instilled me with confidence in Fred's eventual return. I quickly determined that these thoughts were better left undigested. It would be a long night, interrupted by many trips to replenish the fire. There would be plenty of time later to worry about all the different scenarios that explained the extra supplies. In the meantime, I would accept them and be glad of them.

The last box I came across contained my typewriter. I wasn't sure what had possessed me to bring it; I hadn't written anything since the tragedy. Unable to bring myself to face it now, I left it in its box and slid it into the corner by the faded stash of newspaper.

Turning back towards the center of the cabin, I realized that I needed to do something with my meat allotment. The cabin was feeling comfortably warm, and the snow had already melted off the packaging. Since I couldn't leave it in the cabin to thaw, I would have to take it outside. Despite Fred's warnings, I didn't have any other choices. If the meat thawed, it would quickly spoil and become useless to me.

Slipping my boots and a sweatshirt on, I was suddenly struck with an inspiration. The snow from the roof was more than eight-feet deep just outside the door. If I jammed the packages of meat into it, it would refreeze in no time. Moreover, because the snow was covered with my scent, any stray animals might not want to get to near to it. It should be safe for the night. In the morning, I'll find the wood box and store it properly. One night in a snow bank won't hurt it.

Stooping down, I picked up the mound of packages and then pulled the door open on the night. By the light that filtered out from the open doorway, I could see that the falling snow had grown much heavier in the last few hours. Already, there was nearly two new inches covering my tracks from earlier. In addition, the wind was starting to kick up. By morning, it could be a full-blown blizzard. I made a mental note to check the short-wave radio for a weather forecast later.

After stuffing the meat into the mound, I hurriedly worked my way around to the right hand side of the cabin. The cold quickly cut through my thin sweatshirt while the wind swirled its crisp fingers around my neck and down my collar, sending chills down my back. Grabbing an armload of wood to take back in with me for the night's heat, I spun around toward the open doorway. Something caught my eye.

Looking in the direction that Fred had taken when he left that afternoon, I thought I glimpsed a dark shadow darting across the fresh snow. With a sinking feeling that made no sense to me, I noticed that the snow had completely obliterated any tracks left behind by the tractor. I couldn't explain the feeling even to myself, since I knew it would be folly to attempt to follow the tracks and hike out on my own. The only justification I could give to the feeling was the finality the snowed-over tracks meant to my decision to be here. If anything, it said loud and clear that there was no going back.

The night was completely black, as the moon hadn't risen yet. When it did, it would cast a slight glow through the heavy clouds before reflecting back off the snow-covered ground. Through the falling snow and the darkness, I strained my eyes for a minute in the direction that I'd thought I'd seen the shadow. The wind was biting through my sweatshirt, and now it was making my eyes water. Had I seen anything? I couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just a trick of my eyes and nothing more. But even if it were something, that wasn't any reason for concern. These were the mountains. This was the middle of the wilderness. There were probably a great number of animals out there in the dark. Some were being hunted, and some were hunting. It was just the nature of the beast.

With my armload of firewood, I made my way back into the cabin, and closed the door securely behind me. The exertion of the day was taking its toll on my neglected and malnourished body. Though I needed desperately to eat, I declined the food on the shelves, opting for a cigarette and instant coffee instead, which has become my life's blood since the tragedy.

It took but a few minutes to heat the necessary water in a kettle set directly on the open flames of the fireplace. With a cup of coffee, I sat down on the edge of the cot and lit my first cigarette of the day. Inhaling deeply, I could feel the smoke coursing through my lungs, easing the worries and tension from my body as the drug stimulated my heart. Pulling my ditty bag closer to my feet, I set to removing my personal effects.

I removed the gun first, followed by the box of ammunition. Briefly, I considered keeping it loaded by the door in case of an emergency. Then, for unknown reasons, I decided just to leave it in the bag. Although I was many miles from civilization, there didn't seem to be any immediate threat that would require such deadly force. The most immediate threat to my life was the weather, and magnum or not, the gun could do little to protect me from it.

Pulling my shaving kit from the bag reminded me of the cold air against my shaved skin that morning, and I quickly threw it back into the bag. Unless a beard became uncomfortable, I would forego shaving for a while.

I got out my toothbrush and toothpaste next and then zipped the bag back up and kicked it along the floor so that it lay in the corner by the head of the cot, next to the wood footlocker. It wasn't the most accessible, but it was still within reach while lying on the cot.

Finishing the cigarette, I flipped the butt into the fireplace and watched as the heat slowly consumed it. Feeling weak and exhausted, I stumbled across the room and dropped the bar across the door. On my way back to the cot, I stopped and turned the lantern down. By the time I reached the cot, feeling my way along in the dark, I was already asleep.

That night, instead of the usual nightmare that haunted my dreams, my subconscious thoughts turned to a woman that I had met only once, and that meeting was much too short. Dreaming of Sandy, I got the first real night's sleep that I had gotten since the tragedy, which happened many months before.

### **3**

It was almost noon when I awoke the following day. The cabin had long since grown cold, and I felt a gnawing hunger in my gut. The wood that I had stacked near the fireplace the night before was still there; even the cold of the night hadn't disturbed my long-overdue rest.

Because I'd neglected to turn the lantern completely down, it had smoldered all night, filling the cabin with a sooty smell and depleting the small reservoir of oil. Fortunately, I remembered where I'd set the jug of oil, and felt my way through the dark to the cookstove, and the oil on the back shelf. Within minutes, I had the lantern refilled and lighted. Leaving it lit on the stove, I hurried back to the cot and got back in between the blankets. Even in my stockinged feet, the cold planks felt like bare feet on ice.

Within minutes, my hunger got the better of me, and I was working up a blaze in the old cookstove. It took but a few minutes to get it going, once I got up the courage to leave the warmth of my bed for a second time. While warming my hands over the rapidly heating metal surface, I debated lighting the fireplace, too. The fireplace lost out however, as I determined to feed the hunger in me before it dissipated. I had not felt the need for food for so long that I had forgotten what the feeling was like. Since the tragedy, I had lost more weight than was healthy, but it isn't easy eating when you have no desire for food. I'd been eating for the sole purpose of sustaining the life within me, not to nourish it.

With the fire going, it didn't take long for the cabin to grow warm and the coffee to boil. Instinctively, I reached for my cigarettes, and then immediately pulled my hand back as if a snake had bitten it. I hadn't started smoking until the tragedy, even though I knew Amy would not approve.

Acting rashly, I grabbed the pack and added them to the flames in the stove. Later, I vowed, I would find the rest of my stash and burn them also.

Warmed by the stove and the coffee, I decided to get dressed and bring in some bacon from my stash in the snowdrift. The thought of bacon and eggs frying was almost more than I could handle. With my mouth watering and my stomach growling with anticipation, I hurriedly pulled on my snowsuit and boots. Looking forward to the bright sunshine, I lifted the bar from the door. The thought of bacon frying was quickly becoming too much to resist, as I knew there was an abundance in my meat allotment. In fact, if I wasn't mistaken, the bulk of my allotment was bacon.

As I pulled the door inward, I wasn't prepared for what my eyes beheld. During the night, snow had piled up more than halfway up the doorjamb. Before I could leave the cabin, I would have to find the shovel and excavate a clearing. Fortunately, sometime during the night, the wind died down, and now the sun was shining brightly. From my vantage place in the doorway, I couldn't see a single cloud in the clear blue sky.

Turning back into the cabin, I retrieved the little shovel from where I had left it the night before and started working my way out, being careful not to let the snow fall back into the cabin. While I worked, which took me better than an hour, I had to leave the door ajar. My precious heat from within the cabin quickly dissipated.

Out of breath and sweating despite the cold, I finally reached the remainder of the firewood stacked next to the east end of the cabin. Already, I felt exhausted, and I hadn't even eaten yet. If I intended to live comfortably for the next month, I still needed to clear the wood box and cut more firewood. Looking at the small pile, most of which I would take back inside with me, my spirits flagged for a moment. My neglected body was feeling the effects of the laboring, and my mind was protesting what still needed doing.

But looking at it wasn't getting the job done. Grabbing an armload of wood, I headed back inside the cabin and fixed me another hot cup of coffee. Within minutes, the funk that had threatened to settle over me was dissipating. The coffee was good, hot, and everything I needed for the moment.

While I drank my coffee, I suddenly remembered that my entire reason for having gone out in the first place was to fetch a slab of bacon, and my stomach was voicing its anger at my forgetfulness! Hurriedly, I drank down the coffee and forced myself back outside. The shovel was by the wood where I'd left it. With it grasped in both hands, I headed toward the drift next to the door, which had grown by more than three feet in height, and viciously attacked it.

Within minutes, my muscles were screaming with the renewed activity. Stepping back from it for a moment to catch my breath, I turned my attention to the wood covering the windows. Using the shovel as a pry bar, I quickly removed the panels from the windows. By standing them against the logs, I found I could push them down into the snow alongside the front of the cabin. If I needed them again, they would be close at hand.

By using handfuls of snow, I was able to semi-clean the exterior of the windows before picking up the shovel and returning to the drift that contained my sustenance. Hunger and exertion were taking their toll on my fatigued body; I needed desperately to eat. For just the briefest of moments, though, I leaned up against the wall of the cabin and breathed a deep resounding sigh. The amount of work that needed doing was overwhelming. For the first time in months, I had more to worry about than my mind could comprehend, and that gave me relief. The sun was shining, it was calm, the scenery was breathtaking, and there were fresh tracks leading away from the front of the cabin!

Although I'm not an experienced zoologist, I've seen enough dog tracks to recognize these as belonging to the same general family. And though I found this deduction extremely disturbing, it didn't change the facts; it could only mean that I'd been visited by a wolf.

The idea that a wolf, or more likely a pack of wolves, since they run in packs, is in the area, doesn't really bother me. Even a city-boy like me knows that wild animals are fairly timid of humans. But just to be on the safe side, I made a mental note to keep a watchful eye out for them. It might not be a bad idea to carry the gun with me, either, especially if I venture away from the cabin, which I'll be doing when I go after more firewood.

With that knowledge in the back of my mind, I returned to the snowdrift and resumed my search for the meat that I'd stashed the night before. Already, the day was growing short, and I still hadn't eaten anything.

To make matters worse, because of all the new snowfall, it was almost impossible to discern where the original mound of snow had been. Walking in the direction of where the mound should have been, I suddenly drew up short, and turned back toward the cabin. Looking up, I was suddenly glad that I hadn't tried lighting a fire in the fireplace this morning. During the night, the snow had drifted back up and over the fireplace chimney, completely encapsulating it.

My heart sank at the thought of excavating the side of the cabin out from under the snow again. Yet, if I didn't find my meat allotment, there wasn't any purpose to it. The chimney would still have to be cleared if I expected to use the fireplace for heating the cabin. But without meat, there wasn't any need for the wooden locker supposedly buried beneath the huge snowdrift.

Disheartened, I started randomly driving the short shovel into the snow, hoping to strike the frozen meat. With each plunge, the shovel slid unobstructed into the snow for as far as I could push it. Slowly, almost methodically, I worked my way around the area where I felt confident that I had buried it the night before. But after searching for more than an hour, I had nearly excavated the entire drift from the front of the cabin, and still hadn't found a trace of my supplies. My stomach was rumbling with hunger pangs, and my limbs were growing stiff. As time wore on, I found myself driving the shovel shallower and shallower into the snow as my arms began to ache under the repeated effort. It was time to eat something, and it didn't look like it was going to be bacon. Resignedly, my limbs quivering uncontrollably from exhaustion, I gave up for the time being and headed back into the cabin.

My mood lifted immediately upon entering the cabin; I was both surprised and delighted at how much lighter it was inside with the wood removed from the windows. For the first time since the tragedy, I actually derived a sense of accomplishment from my efforts. It felt good, even if it felt foreign.

In the new light, I ran my eyes over the shelves of canned foods along the back wall above the sideboard until settling on a tin of clam chowder. Along with eating utensils and knives, I found a rusty old can-opener in the single drawer built into the front of the sideboard next to the cookstove.

After many cuss words, and a nasty scratch to my left thumb, I managed to get the contents of the can into a kettle on the stove. As an afterthought, I threw in a generous amount of salt, for good measure. While I waited for it to heat, I found an open tin of stale crackers that had been left behind. The necessary eating utensils were in the same drawer as the opener.

With a solitary place set at the table, I poured myself another cup of coffee. Despite the new snow, and my dwindling supply of firewood, I was feeling better than I had in a long time. Brimming with confidence, I didn't doubt for a minute that I would find the missing meat that I'd buried in the snow last evening. But first, I would eat some warm food and rest for just a minute to replenish my strength.

Between the cloying heat emanating from the stove, and the anticipation of finally eating, my mind was skipping merrily along in a euphoric state. My meat allotment was out there; I just hadn't looked in the right place yet. All the new snow on the ground was throwing my sense of location off, or so I reasoned to myself. Before trying again, however, I determined that I should find a long stick to use in place of the short-handled shovel. There had to be something in this cabin that I could use to probe deeper into the snow than the little shovel.

By the time the chowder was hot, I was ravenous. After breaking a pack of crackers into a large mixing bowl, I slowly poured the entire contents of the steaming pot over them. Although there were sufficient stores on the shelf to survive for a couple of weeks, I really needed that meat allotment to live comfortably until Fred returned with more supplies. The meat was intended to be the main nourishment, while the supplies on the shelf were only meant to subsidize and offer a little variety, not the other way around.

Within minutes, I'd wolfed down the whole bowl, scraping the spoon around the bottom so as not to miss a drop. Then, before I forgot, I put the dirty dishes in the washbasin to be cleaned later and added another chunk of wood to the stove. Before I could search for my missing meat, I would have to bring in a kettle of snow to melt; my water can was almost empty from making coffee.

With the last dregs of the coffee pot in my cup, I sat back at the table and rested for a moment. But even before I put my lips to the edge of the cup, I could smell the burn; this was one cup of coffee that I wasn't going to finish. From having set on the stove while heating my chowder, it had overcooked, taking on the aroma and taste of burnt rubber. But because it was coffee, and I wasn't relishing the thought of returning to my chores just yet, I took a meager sip just to verify that it tasted as bad as it smelled. Hurriedly, I set the cup down, putting it as far from my reach as possible so that I wouldn't be tempted to taste it again. Even now, I was left with an awful aftertaste.

Rising, I climbed back into my snowsuit and boots before glancing around the cabin, looking for something useful. There was a bamboo walking stick leaning in the corner by the snowshoes. Grabbing it, I reluctantly opened the door.

Expecting bright sunshine and bitterly sharp, cold air, I was taken completely by surprise when I was confronted by a pack of wolves. They were milling around, almost casually pawing at the snow near where I thought I had stashed my meat allotment the night before. With a sickening feeling, I suddenly realized why I'd been unable to find my meat earlier. They must have been here last night and found my stash. In the dark, they had carried it off. Now they were back for more. Because of their find, they recognized this place as a source of food.

With my sudden appearance in the doorway, their natural fear of man should have possessed them to run. Instead, they only stopped momentarily to leer at me before continuing in their search; it was almost as if I wasn't even there. Their reaction to my sudden presence in their midst was very unnerving. Or rather, the way they failed to react to my presence was unnerving.

Moving ever so slowly, I backed into the cabin and secured the door behind me. Hurrying to the nearest window, I looked on with mounting dread as the pack of wolves continued futilely trying to dig up anymore of my now depleted meat allotment. I was in too much shock for the consequences of what I was seeing to thoroughly sink into my numbed mind.

Of one thing, I was sure though, as I silently watched the wolves give up and head out across the clearing in the direction that Fred had taken when he left; I couldn't stay here for the whole month on the food supplies I had on hand!

Fortunately, I had more on the shelves than just what I brought, thanks to the last residents having left behind what they had.

Glancing anxiously at the shelves with renewed fervor, I quickly, estimated that there was enough to last me two and one-half weeks. And even then, they would only last that long if I severely rationed myself. The bulk of my nourishment was intended to come from the frozen meat allotment, and that was gone to me.

Sinking dejectedly into the wooden chair by the plank table, I cradled my head in my hands. My prior feelings of euphoria had all but abandoned me, having been sadly replaced by feelings of depression and solitude. Although the fire was still going strong in the cookstove, it was consuming the last of the firewood I'd brought in from outside. If I didn't at least bring some more in, and soon, I was going to be in for a cold spell.

Yet, I couldn't bring myself to see the importance of it anymore. Because I'd lost so much in my life already, it almost seemed fitting that I should lose the bulk of my food supplies too. For the first time since arriving at the cabin, I contemplated the fact that I might die up here. And now suddenly, for the first time since the tragedy, I wasn't ready to die! It just didn't seem fair!

Getting to my feet suddenly, I strolled forcefully across the expanse of the cabin, coming to a halt at the foot of the cot. Bending over, feeling the folds of fabric that comprised the snowsuit resisting my movements, I slid the footlocker from beneath the cot. Throwing the lid back, I reached in and retrieved the gun. With growing anger and determination, I checked to make sure that it was loaded. Satisfied, I rose and strode back to the window.

Scanning the snow-covered expanse in front of the cabin, I debated waiting for them to return. Grimly, I had decided that if the wolves could take my food, then I would have to take one of them in its place. I knew I wasn't thinking rationally, but I was mad!

For the first time since the tragedy, I was mad as Hell! It wasn't fair that so much bad had to happen to me. Well, no more! I was taking back control of my life. No more was I just going numbly along for the ride!

Not seeing any sign of the wolves, I got the snowshoes down from where they were hanging, and methodically checked the bindings for weather cracking and wear. Although I didn't know much about snowshoes, I knew it was imperative that the bindings not break and leave me stranded in a worse predicament than I was in now.

Fortunately, someone had the foresight to wax the bindings against the dry heat generated from burning wood. Instead of being weak and brittle, they were soft and pliable, ready for use. Satisfied, I set them by the door and went in search of anything else that might come in handy.

While looking through the utensil drawer, a small scrap of my sanity returned, questioning my intentions. In all of my life, I'd never gone hunting, never killed anything. The thought of killing an animal that was only doing what came naturally was stirring my conscience and raising a protest like so much bile in my craw. It wasn't right. There were other options. Furthermore, I couldn't truthfully say whether I would be killing the poor beast for its meat, or out of anger, a simple act of striking out against all the injustices against me, perceived or otherwise.

Slowly, I turned away from the sideboard and sank back to the chair at the table. Already, it was growing chilly in the cabin as the fire was burning down; I could feel it on my face, even though the suit and boots protected the rest of my body.

This was only my second day on the mountain, and already I'd reached a crossroads in my life. One certainty lay before me; I couldn't remain in the cabin and wait for Fred to return with more supplies. To do so, meant almost certain death. My options were limited. I could hunt down and kill a wolf, which was a disgusting idea, even if I could get over the idea of eating a relative of the dog family. Or I load up everything I can carry, and hike back to Sandy's cabin.

As appealing as the idea first seemed, the more consideration I gave it, the less I grew to like it. Although the thought of seeing Sandy again was exciting, I wasn't sure my pride would let me bring my burdens to her doorstep. Even if she didn't disdain me for showing up on her doorstep unannounced, with both of us sharing her supplies, we'd have to begin rationing immediately. Could I set my pride aside long enough to accept her generosity? And even more importantly, would her generosity be willingly forthcoming, or would it be resentfully given?

I had to ask myself how I would feel if she showed up on my doorstep unannounced. Would I greet her with open arms, willing to set my own troubles aside for the time being, so that we could face the hardship together, as a team? My answer was a resounding yes! But how could I be sure that she felt the same as I, or even remotely like I did?

Reminiscing back to the time outside her cabin when we first met, I forced myself to remember every detail. And the more I remembered the more certain I grew that she wouldn't resent my unannounced arrival. In fact, if she felt just a small part of what I was feeling, she would be glad to see me again!

Though I wanted desperately to believe that it was really possible, it was a hard pill to swallow. Because of the tragedy, not to mention the solitary lifestyle that I led before it, my social skills were rusty at best. It didn't help, that my first experience with a woman eventually ended in divorce. And just because we produced a beautiful, loving daughter, didn't mean the marriage was perfect; it was far from it!

But that was in the past, and many years from here. If my ex-wife were in that cabin back there, I would stay here and rot! But since she isn't the woman back there, I will hike the distance, and look forward to our reunion with joy. First, though, I must find something so that I can carry as much of these supplies as possible. By the end of the month, we might appreciate even the most inconsequential item.

Unable to come up with a backpack, I emptied my ditty bag of unnecessary items and headed toward the shelves. My first priority was the items that could be eaten without needing preparation. These I stuffed into the bottom of the bag along with the rusty can opener. To the top of this heavy pile, I added a bath towel, all-weather matches, some of the old newspapers, and a dry set of clothes. These last filled the bag to bursting. If I tried to fit anything else in, I risked busting the seams out.

After hefting it to get a feel for the weight and bulk, I lugged it over to the door and set it next to the snowshoes and walking stick. Next, I put the last of the kindling in the cookstove and opened the vent, bringing the flame up. Almost immediately, I could feel the rising heat emanating from the metal cooking surface.

Standing back, I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the warmth as it flowed softly over my face. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that the room had grown dimmer, the shadows falling through the windows longer and paler. The day was almost over. It would be full dark soon. In the mountains, it took just minutes for night to fall as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Since I would need as much daylight as possible, it was much too late to set out. There was much too great a chance for getting lost, or falling down and breaking a limb. Either of which could mean the end for me.

Instead, I decided to use up some of the supplies that I couldn't carry with me. Since there wasn't much left on the shelves, my eyes went immediately to the large sack of pancake batter sitting by itself. The thought of stuffing myself on pancakes, and then getting a good night's sleep, suddenly sounded too good to resist. Just the thought of food made my mouth water; I desperately needed to eat. At the first light of the day, after a restful night on a full stomach, I'll set out.

Although I wasn't sure how long or arduous my journey would be, I had sense enough to know it wasn't going to be a walk in the park. In so far as getting a weather forecast, the short-wave radio was useless to me. Weather conditions changed so fast in the mountains, it could be bright and clear sunshine one minute, and the next could be a full-blown blizzard. Besides, I didn't feel as though I really had a choice. My back was against the wall.

Maybe after eating and resting, I would come up with a new idea, something that didn't involve infringing me upon her. Even though hers was the nearest cabin that I was aware of, and thus the most obvious choice to head toward, I couldn't shake the feeling that I would be imposing upon her good nature. If I thought there was any chance of reaching Fred and his wife without intruding on Sandy, I would attempt it first. Or would I? Did I really not want to see her again?

While I gathered the pancake mix and necessary utensils, my mind continued debating the woman that I'd just briefly met. The vision of her eyes looking into mine remained in the forefront of my thoughts. Without understanding why, I knew that I had to see her again.

I suddenly froze in my tracks, my thoughts of Sandy overridden by the reality of footsteps tearing across the roof above my head. After listening for a moment, I came to the conclusion that the wolves' hunger had over ridden their fear of man, and they had come back in search of more food.

There didn't seem any point in going out and scaring them away, since they'd already done all the damage they could, when they stole my meat allotment. At least, I thought they'd done all the damage they could to me. But either way, going outside in the dark to scare them away seemed to be nothing more than a fruitless effort and waste of time; I was making pancakes.

After mixing all the pancake batter in a large bowl, I shoveled it out in uniform heaps on the stovetop, pouring piles until the bowl was empty. Looking over the multitude of steaming cakes, I knew that I couldn't possibly eat them all. Yet, my thoughts were such that I would leave what I couldn't consume tonight and again in the morning, in a heap by the front door. My intentions were to entice the wolves into hanging around the cabin under the pretense that this is where the food was, rather than following after me. Although I wasn't afraid of the wolves per se, as long as I had my revolver handy, I didn't feel in the least bit threatened by them. However, if I should get lost, or worse, I could do without the added danger that would be created by their presence.

Ignoring the sound of their feet treading across the roof, I filled a plate with pancakes and smothered them in syrup. They could have used some butter, but I was unable to locate any. It might have been with my missing meat, or it might never have gotten packed. Nonetheless, they were delicious, the best pancakes I could ever remember eating.

Like a glutton, I ate until I thought if I tried to force even one more down my throat, I would gag on it. Pushing the plate aside, I leaned back into the wood chair and stretched. The sound of the wolves on the roof had all but dissipated. Though I felt contented and relaxed for the first time in ages, I forced myself to my feet and fixed a cup of coffee. Returning to the table, I sat down and savored the harshness of scorched grounds.

While I pondered the journey that lay ahead of me, I wished for a cigarette. The sun had since disappeared behind the snow-covered mountains, leaving a solid blanket of black in its wake.

The top layer of snow had melted during the day, and then refroze with the coming of the cooler night temperatures, creating a paper-thin sheet of ice on top of the snow. It was the wolves' toenails that I could hear now as they pranced across the crust-laden snow surrounding the cabin. They were busy scouring the immediate area in search of more of what they'd already gotten from me. Would they be content with the pancakes I intended to leave them, or would they want more? And if they wanted more, would they come after me for it?

While I contemplated these thoughts, I sadly realized that I should have gone out while it was still light, and procured the remainder of the firewood. Cursing myself, I pushed the empty coffee cup across the table, inadvertently striking it against the plate. They clanged together, emitting a loud chink that startled me. It was with some chagrin that I realized just how tightly wound I still was.

It was too late to go back. Because I hadn't fetched in the remainder of the firewood before the sun had gone down, I would just have to brave the night and make my way out there in the dark, despite the wolves. The alternative was facing a freezing morning in the cabin.

Pushing myself up from the wooden chair, I fetched the revolver from where I'd left it lying on the cot, and carefully strapped it on my hip. Taking the lantern down from the wooden peg where it hung from over the stove, I begrudgingly headed toward the door. Although I wasn't looking forward to going out there in the dark and cold, I realized that I needed every advantage I could give myself to prepare me for the journey that lay ahead. If having a warm cabin in the morning might help me in the least, then I needed that firewood out there, and no number of wolves was going to keep me from it.

As I pulled the door open, I began to sing. At the top of my lungs, I sang, "Oh Susannah, oh won't you cry for me."

It had been a long time since I could remember having sung this particular song. In fact, not since Amy was a baby. While she lay in her crib at night, I would slip into the nursery and sing it to her. There wasn't any particular reason that I chose 'Oh Susannah', except that I just so happened to know most of the words. Any other song would probably have worked equally well at soothing her and sending her off to sleep. If anything, it was probably just the sound of my voice that relaxed her and not the song at all.

But right now, I was singing loudly to let the beasts know that I was coming out and that they had better clear out. It wasn't my intention to surprise them any more than I wanted to be surprised by them.

With the lantern held out in front of me in my left hand, I rested my right palm on the butt of the gun. Moving quickly, I headed straight along the front of the cabin to the remainder of the woodpile. After setting the lantern down, I filled my left arm with the few bits of wood that remained. Leaning over, I picked up the lantern in my right hand, and then transferred it to my left. As I turned back towards the front door, a low growl descended from the dark fringe directly above my head.

### **4**

Without thinking, I ran madly for the front door, slipping precariously on the snow as I turned the corner and ducked beneath the jamb. Dropping wood everywhere, I spun around, slamming the door shut with a crash. My heart was pounding, my breath heaving in my chest. Flinging the latch closed, I timidly stepped back from the door, fearful that the beasts were about to come charging through. I had always heard that wild animals were more afraid of us then we were of them, but in the heat of the moment, I wasn't so sure. Even though I'd spent most of my life in the city, I'd always felt like a country boy at heart. Yet, now, I was shaking like a leaf in a strong gale as I stood back from the door, my eyes riveted to it as if I could hold it shut by sheer will.

Slowly, I turned away from the door, forcing myself to relax. My wild dash into the cabin had been an irrational act, leaving me breathless and spooked. The wolves weren't after me; they hadn't pursued me to the door.

With shaking hands, I poured the remainder of the coffee from the pot into my cup. It was blacker than black, just the way I needed it. I also needed a cigarette.

Plopping woodenly into the chair by the table, my thoughts turned not to Amy, as they had been doing for so long, but rather to Sandy. She had struck something in me that I could only assume had been missing since the tragedy. With sudden clarity, I knew it was her cabin that I had to hike to, rather than the landlord's place. It was a long ten miles or so to Sandy's cabin. It was much farther to the landlord's.

Despite having to wear snowshoes the entire way, it didn't seem so horrendous all of a sudden. Moreover, I couldn't deny the fact that the idea of seeing Sandy again so soon made it a lot more appealing. And if she doesn't seem excited to see me when I arrive, I'll simply spend the night before heading on to Fred's place.

Although I was growing excited about seeing Sandy again, I wasn't deceiving myself about the trek ahead. Anything could happen to me out there, not the least of which, involved the wolves. The elements that I was about to face could be very cruel and unforgiving. Except for the snowsuit and boots, I would be putting myself completely at their mercy. But to see that lovely face and hear that warming laugh of hers made it an adventure worth risking. Suddenly, I felt as if I could walk through the valley of death without working up a sweat!

When my beating heart calmed, and the coffee in my cup was almost gone, I gathered several sticks of wood and stoked up the woodstove for the night. Closing the damper down, I went to the cot and slipped out of the snowsuit. The air in the cabin was warm and comfortable, and I quickly fell asleep, my thoughts drifting to Sandy, and our future reunion. Smugly, I wondered, did she think of me before drifting off to sleep, also?

Sometime in the middle of the night, I suddenly shot bolt upright, my heart pounding, my body wringing with sweat despite the fifty-degree air. The tail end of my recurring nightmare was still fresh in my mind. The stove had burned down, but the lantern was still glowing dimly.

Reaching over, I turned it up, the light quickly sending a new array of shadows about the cabin. As I rolled out from under the heavy blankets, I snagged a log from off the floor and stuffed it into the old cookstove before scooping up the coffee pot and heading for the door. I was intending to fill it with fresh snow and return it to the stove to make a fresh pot of coffee. It would probably be the last hot coffee I'd get to enjoy for a while, when suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks. For the first time since waking, I realized that I was hearing a noise out of the corner of my sleep-fogged mind. It was a noise of such familiarity that it hadn't registered because of the anxiety that my mind was dealing with.

Straining against the quiet, I tried vainly to pinpoint the exact location from which it was coming. Cocking my head to the left and then to the right, I finally ascertained that the sound was coming from the roof area, just above the fireplace. Yet, the more I considered it, the less sense it made, considering the depth of the snow up there. But the sound was definitely coming from near the chimney, where it entered the cabin roof. In fact, as the turmoil in my mind settled down, and my hearing attuned itself to the noise, I was certain that the sound was coming from the area adjacent to the chimney.

Moving closer with the lantern held above my head, I noticed that the sound was also coming down the chimney, and that I wasn't just hearing it through the roof. Something must have cleared the snow enough to get at the shingles on the roof and was at this very moment pulling up the cedar shakes. It was the sound of nails being pulled out of the wood lathes that had eventually aroused my senses.

Someone or something was working its way down into the cabin by gaining entrance through the roof. But why?

The longer I stood and listened, the more unbelievable it seemed. Yet, there was no denying the sounds that I was hearing. Whatever was making the sounds was working at a steady, unrelenting pace. While I stood mesmerized by the unreality of the situation, snowflakes started filtering down through the cracks in the lathing, only to melt on the floor in dark little spots, not unlike drops of blood.

Moving as if in slow motion, I transferred the lantern to my left hand and back-stepped to the cot. Once there, I bent down and reached beneath the snowsuit, feeling for the revolver. To the casual observer, I appeared calm and steady. Inside, my heart was fluttering and I was having difficulty breathing. My hand closed over the butt of the gun, the comfortable feeling of its grip in my hand doing nothing to alleviate the knot in my stomach. I was scared.

Without taking my eyes from the place in the ceiling where the noise was still steadily continuing, I stiffly and quietly edged toward the door, the palm of my hand holding the gun feeling moist from perspiration. Being careful not to clink the handle of the lantern against its glass mantle, I eased it down on the table and reached for the door latch. Carefully, so it wouldn't jingle, I raised the latch from its mooring and slowly eased the door open.

To my immense relief, the noise continued unabated from the corner. So far, it appeared to be oblivious of my actions. Sliding silently into the cold, dark night, I immediately regretted having left the lantern setting on the table, and wished now that I had opted to bring it along. In that same breath, I also wished that I had taken a moment to slide into my snowsuit and boots, as the subzero temperature quickly penetrated my single layer of clothes.

It had snowed again during the early part of the night, obliterating all evidence of comings and goings from the cabin. All, that is, except the fresh trail of tracks originating from the clearing and leading straight up to the front of the cabin.

Looking down at them, a lump suddenly formed in my throat making it difficult to breath. Even in the dim starlight reflecting off the glistening snow, I could see that they were the tracks of a large, dog-like animal. With a chill going down my spine that had nothing to do with sub-zero temperatures, I knew they were the tracks of wolves, many wolves.

Crouched over and shivering, from both the cold and fear, I crunched along the frozen snow, following the tracks to the end of the cabin. Where they should have turned and headed back toward the woods, they instead turned and went past the nonexistent pile of wood before heading up the snow bank and onto the roof. The small hatchet that was used for chipping kindling still leaned against the side of the cabin where I had left it earlier. From my crouching position, it was on a level with my line of sight. Without another thought, I reached out and grasped the end of the handle, thinking that I would take it back into the cabin with me.

The handle was cold; so cold that it stuck to my sweaty left palm. Momentarily panicked, I shook it loose. It flung from my hand and struck up against the side of the cabin with a thunderous thudding sound. It sounded like a stick of dynamite going off in the absolute quiet of the still night.

Almost instantly, the thrashing sound of many feet scurrying across the roof of the cabin assailed my ears. The pack was aware that their prey had gotten outside. Without hesitating, I leaped to my feet, running headlong for the open door. Diving through and landing on my stomach, I rolled over, oblivious of the pain in my chest, and lashed out behind me, kicking the door shut with a bang. Scrambling to my knees, I lunged forward, throwing my shoulder against the door while fumbling madly for the latch. Almost simultaneously, the cabin shuttered as a great weight crashed against the door. Fortunately, it was a well-built cabin, constructed almost entirely out of stout, fir logs. The split-rail door held securely.

My breath was hammering against my ribs, each of which felt as if it had broken on impact with the unforgiving wooden floor. But the pain in my chest was the furthest thing from my mind. In the terror of the moment, all I could think about was the wolves, and their irrational behavior, it didn't make any sense. I'd never heard of wolves attacking humans before, except in very rare occasions. And only then, if the human was injured or defenseless, or the wolf had felt that either it or its young was endangered by the human. Neither of those scenarios was the case here. The only thing that even remotely made any sense was the possibility that the creatures were hungry, very hungry. In fact, they would have to be hungry enough to over-ride their natural fear of human contact.

But just as quickly as I considered that possibility, I rejected it. If my biology classes had taught me anything, they taught me that wolves were territorial by nature. That meant this had to be the same pack of wolves that stole my meat allotment. And that also meant, they couldn't be hungry this soon, at least not hungry enough to attack a man!

There was one other reason for their brazenness, but I wasn't sure that I was mentally prepared to go there. If I compared them to the hogs in the Midwest that escaped captivity, it meant something much more involved than simply a wild beast and hunger. Back in the Midwest, due to a large number of hogs escaping confinement, a bounty had been put on their head. This was the government's way of controlling a beast that was a threat to the safety of children and domesticated pets. No license or special permit was needed to hunt them. They were more dangerous than any wild animal indigenous to the area. But what made them such dangerous creatures was nothing more than their flagrant disregard for man. Because they've been raised in captivity, they have no natural, instinctive fear of humans.

That is what makes this particular wolf pack so dangerous. But that doesn't explain where they could have acquired their disdain for man, if that is indeed why they're acting the way they are? Is it possible that they've tasted human flesh before? And if so, where? Where have they tasted it before? Where could they have gotten the sweet fragrance of human blood in their nostrils?

My mind was reeling with the possibilities, none of which were very encouraging. I couldn't help but think that if these creatures tasted human flesh in the past, then someone must have suffered severely, possibly even died because of it.

The cabin was suddenly growing smaller. The walls were closing in, the air getting heavier. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. The direction my thoughts were going was too horrific, I couldn't consider anymore.

They were back on the roof tearing at the shingles again. With the lantern held above my head, I went and stood before the fireplace, directly beneath the spot. Looking up past the light, I realized for the first time that once they removed the shingles, there would be nothing more than a thin layer of lathe between them and me. For the briefest of moments, I felt like a trapped animal. There was no denying their intent.

Yet, if I was their prey, why hadn't they just leaped through the windows?

Looking nervously at the front windows, I realized that until this afternoon, they'd been boarded over. It would just be a matter of time before they saw the light through the glazing and tested its resistance. Within minutes, they could be in here.

A large cloud of snow suddenly dusted down from above, drawing my attention back to the ceiling. What I saw struck a chill in me; the area where the wolves were tearing their way through showed signs of having been recently repaired. From my position on the floor, it looked like a large patch had been installed in the original roof. The new wood used in the repair stood out starkly from the smoke-darkened wood of the original ceiling.

While I stared in disbelief at what I was seeing, a new and more horrifying thought entered my mind. Was the person that had been leasing this cabin prior to me also the same person that had died, allowing Fred to lease the cabin again so unexpectedly? And moreover, was the prior tenant the human flesh that whetted this wolf pack's appetite for more?

My thoughts were unsettling, adding to my feelings of urgency. In less than four hours' time, the sun will be. I can hold out until then, I have to. In silence, I watched the frantic progress of the wolves. Whether the roof would hold them out that long, I wasn't sure. But I still felt that the windows left me more vulnerable than the roof.

I suddenly needed a cigarette and a cup of coffee. Moving on wooden legs, I set the lantern on the table and took the coffee pot from the stove. Going to the door, I quietly released the latch, and then gingerly pulled it open a crack. Holding the pot in my right hand, I looked nervously into the blackness, sure that a vicious mouth full of teeth was about to pounce on me, tearing me from limb to limb. There was only silence, and the dark.

Quickly, like a child playing a game, I reached out and scooped the pot full of snow. Then just as quickly, pulled it back in and pushed the door shut, realizing for the first time that I'd been holding my breath the entire time. Taking a deep breath and exhaling a deep sigh of relief, I slid the latch back into place.

Setting the pot of snow on the cookstove, I opened the firebox and threw in the last of the firewood. The coals were glowing hotly, and within minutes, the fresh wood was crackling sprightly. With the fire going good in the stove, and the coffee in the pot heating, I sat down on the edge of the cot where I could keep an eye on the wolves' progress. Almost casually, I took the revolver from the holster and checked again that it was loaded. Without being aware of my next actions, I felt the bulge in my pocket, finding security in the fact that I had many more shells; there were a lot of wolves out there!

My fragile mental state was only being held intact by the security that I was able to draw from the cold hard steel of the gun. Even if the wolves broke through the roof before daylight, I could keep them at bay with the gun. Although I'd never shot any living thing before in my life, I believed in the magnum and the damage it could do to living flesh, either a man's or a beast's. Once daylight sets in, if they persist in following me, I will be forced to use the gun on them. And though I don't relish the thought of killing, I'm equally not ready to die just yet.

At the time that I decided to lease a wilderness cabin, I was in a deep depression, and rapidly spiraling downward. But all that changed the day I met Sandy. For the first time since the tragedy, I felt a growing desire to live again. And now that I knew there was still hope for me, I was determined not to let some wild animals take it away.

Nursing a black cup of cold java, I stared at the ceiling until the first rays of the false dawn signaling the start of a new day started creeping through the dirty glass of the cabin windows. It was time to get moving. I needed all the daylight possible. The days were short enough as it was, and to be caught trekking through the wilderness come nightfall and subzero temperatures, was not a very enticing thought. Gulping down the last dregs from my cup, I carefully refastened the snaps on my snowsuit and checked the laces of the boots. Although I wasn't hungry, nerves had seen to that, I forced down several of the cold, syrup-laden pancakes that I'd planned to leave behind for bait.

I snapped my gloves to the sleeves of the snowsuit so that I wouldn't lose them, and then threw the heavily laden ditty bag over my shoulder. Holding both the gun and the handle to the lantern in my left hand, I tucked the snowshoes under my left arm, and then took a deep breath and held it. Expecting the worst, with my right hand, I flung the door inward and stepped out.

There was nothing there, and I hurriedly ran forward, not stopping until I'd put more than twenty feet between the front of the cabin and myself. If the wolves were going to pounce down on me from the roof when I came out, they would have to catch me before I was out from under them.

But now, spinning around with the gun leveled and ready to fire, there wasn't any sign of them. I was far enough back from the edge of the cabin to see the rooftop clearly in the growing dawn light. Yet, there wasn't a trace of anything on the roof except for snow. Snow, splintered and broken shingles, and one large gaping hole near the fireplace chimney.

Mesmerized by the extent of the damage, I was still gazing upward when the first beast suddenly charged out the front door, coming directly at me. All I could see were long yellow teeth and foam flying madly from its mouth. Its eyes were zeroed in on my silhouette against the backdrop of virgin snow. Without thinking of my next set of actions, nor realizing that they would form the start of this new day, I dropped the lantern and drew a bead on the creature's head. In two bounding strides, the beast would be on me, driving me backwards, its teeth searching skillfully for the vein of life in my throat. Almost too calmly, I squeezed the trigger.

The gun kicked and bucked in my hand with a deafening roar. The swiftly advancing creature recoiled crazily on its hind legs, pawing wildly at the dark sky before flopping lifelessly on its side. Emanating from its head was a solid dark stain that spattered wildly outward, reaching almost to the open door.

In the growing light, the stain looked almost black against the brighter white of snow. I was frozen in time, the gun suddenly feeling warm to the touch; though I knew I was only imagining that part of it. Slowly, almost too slowly, time started moving again. Should I go to it? Should I make sure that it's dead, and not suffering? Or should I turn and leave while I still could? But where were the others? Were there still more of the bloodthirsty beasts hunkering inside the cabin, suddenly too intimidated by the sound of the gun, or the sight of their dead comrade to come out? And how long will it take for them to get their courage back?

While I contemplated these indecisions, I was suddenly aware of movement. However, it wasn't the kind of movement you glimpsed from the corner of your eye; it was more of a vibration-type movement. The very earth beneath my feet was starting to move and shake.

Understanding quickly replaced incomprehension as a movement high up behind the cabin caught my attention. To my ultimate dismay and horror, the shockwave from the gunshot had set off an avalanche, and it was coming straight down the face of the mountain, straight toward me. This was even worse than the sight of the wolf charging toward me just moments earlier. There was nowhere to run, and the gun couldn't protect me.

As if warned by some deep, inbred instinct, the rest of the wolves in the cabin quickly abandoned their search for food. Unlike the first beast that charged toward me from the open doorway, these didn't even see me. With a speed and grace that I could only look at longingly, they ran for the shelter of the trees at the far end of the clearing. If the smell of fresh blood did anything for them, it spurred them to even greater speed. They never even paused as they shot past their fallen comrade and then me.

Leaving the lantern lay where I dropped it, and with the snowshoes still tucked beneath my left arm, I turned and ran after the retreating wolves. Something told me to drop the ditty bag, to drop the snowshoes, that they would do a dead man no good. But I was too busy running, trying vainly to outrun the impending doom that was crashing thunderously down behind me.

With the wolves rapidly outpacing me, I followed their path through the snow; there wasn't time to stop and fasten on the snowshoes. Everything was happening much too fast, and I was moving way too slow. Already I could tell that I'd be lucky to make it a fourth of the way to the protection of the trees before the avalanche caught up to me. Despite my strongest efforts, I was about to be buried alive. Yet, my will to survive had never been stronger, and I pushed my legs to go faster, drawing on the adrenaline of the moment to speed me through the snow.

But it wouldn't be enough.

With the roar of cascading snow growing louder with each passing second, I was suddenly lifted off my feet and thrust forward, rolling head over heels. The snowshoes were torn wickedly from my grasp, while I held even tighter to the handle on my ditty bag. It had developed a life force of its own and was pulling me witlessly through the ever-increasing weight of snow. My body was being battered from all directions and yet there was no sense of direction. There was no telling if I were up, down, dead, or alive. The forces of nature rolled me and buffeted me mercilessly. Yet, despite the crushing forces slamming against me, I didn't believe anything had broken. My ribs were still tender from striking the floor earlier, and now they were screaming in agony, making it almost impossible to breathe, but I was rolling with the punches.

Suddenly everything stopped. I was trapped in an immense silence. The only sound was coming from inside my head. My ears were echoing with the roar amidst the pounding of my blood as it hammered in my chest. But through it all, I was alive!

Out of fear, I lay motionless for the longest moment. If I tried to move, would I be disappointed? I'd seen enough avalanches in the movies to know that I was probably buried beneath tons of snow and ice. I was alive, but for how long? There was a pocket of air surrounding my head, but how long will it last before I suffocate on my own carbon dioxide? Or will I succumb to the cold and freeze to death first? As long as I was breathing, there was still a chance of surviving. I mustn't give up.

Slowly, gradually preparing myself for the worst, I mustered the courage to try moving. My right arm jerked free, surprising me by how little resistance I felt. Arching my back while bringing my arms around to where I believed them to be under me, I slowly forced myself to my hands and knees. With immense relief, I discovered that I wasn't buried at all!

Swinging around, I started kicking and tossing, ecstatic over my good fortune. In no time, I'd squirmed through the few inches of snow that had dusted over me, and I was lying on my back, the morning sun streaming down in my eyes. Slowly, almost gingerly, I rose to my feet, and then quickly sank to my waist in the churned snow. Furtively, I glanced around for the snowshoes, or anything else that I might be able to use. But all I could see was snow. Everything was gone, even the cabin had been carried away by the onslaught of snow.

Turning around in a complete circle, my eyes hesitate on the trees, which appear considerably closer than I remembered them being. In addition, the snow has buried their lower limbs. Sitting back against the snow, I take a moment to contemplate my situation. Things aren't looking very bright for me at the moment. Without the snowshoes, it will be impossible to hike to Sandy's cabin, much less that of the landlord's. All of my provisions, including anything that might have been left in the cabin, are gone. I've lost everything except the gun and the five remaining rounds in the cylinder.

My hat is gone, but I still have my mittens, thanks to the endurance of the snaps on the ends of the snowsuit's sleeves. But it doesn't matter. Without the snowshoes, I'll be lucky to make two miles a day in this deep stuff. I'll die from exhaustion and hypothermia long before I reach Sandy's cabin, if I can even find her cabin. I was a dead man, and I was fooling myself if I thought otherwise.

Nevertheless, I have to try. To stay here is certain death. Before long, the wolves will be back. The avalanche wouldn't have caught them; they were too fast for it. They would have known instinctively where to run, where it would be safe for them. They had survived, of that I was sure, and now there wasn't anywhere for them to go; they'll come looking for easy prey. Soon, much too soon, they'll come looking for me.

No longer was there any bait to draw them away. And even if there were, I would eat it myself. It was time to get going. Already, the sun was halfway to the midway point, and I had a long way to go.

### **5**

Because I had no recollection of the passing of time, I could only assume that I had been unconscious for a while. When the wolf charged out of the cabin, the sun was nothing more than a lighter horizon. Now, in what seemed like only a matter of minutes, it was shining brightly, less than two hours' time before it would be high noon.

Only because I counted on the snow being shallower in the trees than it was out here in the open, I slowly struggled toward the tree line. My breath sounded harsh to my ears, and ice crystals quickly formed around my nose. After ten minutes of struggling through waist-deep snow, I glanced back and discovered to my dismay that I'd barely moved twenty-feet from where I'd started. There was no way that I was going to make ten miles before nightfall. I could only hope that once I reached the lighter snow beneath the trees, I would make better time.

Sometimes crawling, sometimes rolling, I worked my way doggedly toward the shelter of the trees. The going was slow and tedious, and by high noon, I was still quite a distance from the edge of the clearing. The sun was burning brightly, glistening off the snow, and penetrating my exposed eyes like a spray of salt. Spots were blurring my vision, forcing me to squeeze my lids shut against the stinging glare.

When I first noticed the darker shadows moving swiftly through the trees, sometimes disappearing, and then quickly reappearing, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But when I glanced away, looking through the corners of my eyes, I could see the shapes more clearly.

It was the wolf pack!

I wasn't really surprised. If anything, I expected them to return. It was inevitable. But I wasn't ready for them yet. Neither physically, nor mentally, was I prepared for them. My body was fatigued, and it was taking all of my newfound desire to live just to continue fighting my way across the snow. Their ominous presence immediately dashed any remaining hopes of surviving. A heavy blanket of depression settled over me, my struggles momentarily ceasing.

For just the briefest of moments, I lay down and gave up the fight. I let the depression cover me, envelope me. It was warm and encouraging, making it extremely easy to give up, to lie back against the cold snow, and feel it take over. It was in charge, and suddenly nothing mattered any longer, I was free to go.

But then thoughts of Sandy standing alone outside her cabin flooded into the forefront of my mind. It was the way I'd last seen her, looking longingly after the snow-tractor as Fred took me away from her. She was alone in her cabin right now, and if I just kept fighting, I could be there with her. I couldn't die! For Sandy's sake, I couldn't give up.

Through the burning glare, I counted nine of them, and they were coming fast; or at least as fast as was practical considering the depth of the snow. It was almost comical watching them come at a beeline towards me as they leaped above the snow, and then momentarily disappeared beneath the surface, only to come bounding back up above it. Yet, as comical as it appeared, I wasn't laughing. There were five rounds in the magnum with which to deal with this coming terror, and when those five bullets were gone, I had my bare hands and nothing more.

Planting my feet in the loose powder, I rose to my full height, openly defying the approaching menace. They may have the strength and the numbers to overwhelm me, but they didn't possess my determination to live. If I hadn't just recently rediscovered it myself, I never would have known that such a driving force existed within me.

"But I have something more than you!" I shouted loudly at them, trying to bolster my confidence. "I have the ability to think and to reason!" And then silently, I added to myself, "And that's what separates us. That is why you must die, and I must live."

"So use your brain and think!" I scolded myself, vaguely aware that my fingers had grown stiff around the butt of the gun.

Suddenly, like an epiphany, and with no thought of what I was doing, I stashed the gun safely in a zippered pocket, and started burrowing frantically into the snow. It had suddenly occurred to me that the beasts would need a scent trail to find me if they couldn't see me. The avalanche had done away with any scent trail that I would otherwise have left, so if I can just stay out of their sight, they shouldn't be able to find me. Although they'd seen me from the distance of the trees, in their chaotic effort to cross the clearing through the snow, I was willing to gamble that they wouldn't remember exactly where they'd seen me. It was a long shot, but I couldn't think of anything more promising, at the moment.

Digging deeply into the snow, I suddenly slid my hands free of the encumbering mittens, and with my bare hands, created a burrow that closed in behind me. In no time, my body was exhausted from the effort, and I was struggling to breathe. The sheer weight of the snow felt crushing and inhibiting. On the verge of panic, I curled into the fetal position and waited. If the wolves discovered me, they would tear me from limb to limb before I could even maneuver into position to use the gun.

The dead weight of the snow pressing down on top of me was more than just suffocating; it was utterly and completely depressing. Reaching deep into myself, I was surprised at the strength of my resolve, easily finding the determination to remain buried for as long as needed. But with-in minutes, the air had grown stale, taking on a bad taste. My lungs were pumping it in and out faster than it could filter through the snow. As the carbon dioxide level rose in the stagnant air, I began to feel groggy and tired. It was as if I hadn't slept for many hours. But if I dozed, there was a very good chance that I wasn't going to wake.

My thoughts turned to Amy, and I found myself reliving her ordeal as the coroner had recited it to me. It was so vivid, almost as though I were there, part of the frustrated and confused mob that caused such unspeakable mayhem. Was it possible that she too felt a sleepiness come over her, much as the one that was coming over me?

I found myself struggling to believe that she didn't feel the tremendous pressure being exerted upon her frail little body as the crowd crushed her against the chain-link fence. She had died under extreme force; her lungs unable to expand and draw in the precious air that she so desperately needed to survive while looking through the chain link fence and seeing freedom just beyond her grasp. The pressure of the heavy snow that lies so densely over my own body, could it have been much different for my Amy, as the air was literally forced from her lungs? Or, God forbid was she acutely conscious of what was happening to her as her fragile bones broke and buckled under the pressure of all those bodies pressing against her?

"GOD!" I screamed into the snow, my anguished cries turning to sobs. "Make the dreams go away! Please, God, make them stop. I can't take any more of this."

My sobs slowly died, yet, my breathing didn't slow. At some point in time, my mind had drifted off, and I dozed. The air tasted funny, almost coppery, with a hint of sulfur; I desperately needed fresh air. If I dozed again, I might not be so lucky as to wake up again. My breath was coming in gasps as my lungs were having a harder and harder time extracting the necessary oxygen from the stale air surrounding my face. If I didn't do something soon, I would not have the strength for it shortly. Yet, I didn't know what I could do.

Slowly, I scraped at the snow in front of my face with my bare, frozen hands. However, since my body heat had warmed it earlier, causing it to thaw and then refreeze, my nails barely scratched the surface.

On the verge of panic, I kept clawing at the frozen snow. Within minutes that dragged like hours, I finally succeeded in scratching my way through the layer of ice, breaking into the drier, softer fluff that hadn't been affected by my body's heat. My head was pounding from the cold and exertion and lack of oxygen. But I kept digging, tearing at the snow directly in front of my face while squirming and dragging my body along behind. It was tough going, but I was spurred on by the fresher taste of the air, and a sharpening of my senses; the snow covering was thin enough that it was filtering air through it.

With renewed hope and energy, I worked feverishly with my frozen hands, slowly dragging my body along behind me, when suddenly my hand broke through the surface, grasping wildly at the fresh air.

This was as far as I could go until I knew where the wolves were. Despite my thunderous headache, I hadn't forgotten the reason for being under the surface of the snow. Pausing, I took deep breath after deep breath, pushing myself to the verge of hyperventilating until the headache subsided, and the ringing in my ears diminished.

While I waited for my breathing to normalize, I listened intently for any sound of pursuit by the wolf pack. After several moments of silence in which I hadn't heard anything but the slew of a slight breeze along the top of the snow, I cautiously clawed my way to the surface. When my head broke above the crust of the snow, I slowly, and with a great degree of care, studied the flat expanse surrounding me.

To my relief and delight, there wasn't any sign of the wolves. However, my delight was short-lived. To my alarm and dismay, the sun had traveled far into the western sky. It would be but mere hours before it once again fell behind the horizon. In my frozen cocoon, I hadn't been aware of the passing of time, and now it was getting into late afternoon.

With flagging spirits and a growing sense of hunger, I realized that I would not be reaching Sandy's cabin anytime soon. But I couldn't spare the time worrying about it. Right now, I needed to reach the tree line before dark. And then, I needed to find a safe place to spend the night. The ideal shelter would not only protect me from the bitter cold of the night that was coming, but also from the wolf pack that was surely still in the area. Although I didn't know enough about wolves to know how large of an area they considered their territory, I could only assume that it was a larger area than I was capable of escaping from in a single day, especially now that I no longer had the snowshoes.

Though I struggled feverishly through the snow, it was easy to see that it would be well past dark by the time I reached the tree line, and with that realization, all hopes of finding shelter for the night were banished. Fortunately, my snowsuit was still intact after the tumble through the avalanche, and keeping my body dry. My feet, however, had gone from soggy to frozen, feeling like little more than blocks of ice. Yet, I wasn't worried about them at this point, since I was sure that with the onset of frostbite, they would lose all feeling and sensation. When they stopped hurting, that would be the time to start worrying about them.

What had my immediate attention was the fact that I didn't have anything on my head. It's common knowledge that more body heat is lost through the top of one's head than anywhere else. Between sweat and melted snow, my hair had frozen into spikes of ice.

With a sudden spurt of inspiration, I undid the top of my snowsuit, removed my flannel shirt, and then quickly redid my snowsuit before losing too much body heat. Taking the flannel shirt, I rolled the body, and then wrapped it around my head in the fashion of a turban, leaving the sleeves dangling downward over each ear. These I used to secure the makeshift contraption in place by tying them together beneath my chin. With that done, I set off once more for the trees.

It was extremely slow going through the deep snow. I attempted crawling on my hands and knees and even rolling at times to keep from sinking. Each attempt to stand and plow my way ahead with brute force only ended with me sinking deeper and getting shorter of breath. Each attempt also drained my body of vital strength and calories that I knew I could ill afford to waste.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the snow covered mountain and I had barely covered a little more than half the distance to the trees. With a sinking feeling, I strongly suspected that I was going to be spending the bulk of the night working my way just to the trees. But there was no lack of motivation; to be out here in the open come morning would mean certain death by the wolves. If I didn't make it to the trees and find shelter by morning, I had to face that certain death.

Even if I reached the trees before daybreak, I had no idea how I would find suitable shelter in the dark. Yet, I couldn't stay here. There was nothing to do but wait until I reached that bridge and had to cross.

Like an old friend, the dark settled in around me, blocking out the view of the trees and everything else. But just because I couldn't see them, didn't mean they weren't there. With dogged determination, I continued struggling toward them. Sometime during the late afternoon, I took the time to put my mittens back on. At another point, I felt I had swerved away from them when I became dizzy after rolling a short distance. By lying flat on my back and waiting until the dizziness passed, I could study the night sky. But it didn't help. I was still a city-boy, and I had no idea what the different patterns of stars meant.

After a minute, in which I caught my breath, I rolled over onto my stomach and strained my eyes to see into the distance. To my good fortune, the moon broke through, briefly giving me a fleeting glimpse, and re-affirming that I was still moving, however slowly, in the right direction. My spirits rose when at the same time, I could see their shadows distinctly, hovering high above my head. I was almost there.

Feeling acute pangs of hunger, my body aching from fatigue, and stiff from the penetrating cold, I struggled forward on my hands and knees. When my arms grew numb from the cold and exertion, I leaned backwards, forcing my feet downward through the snow until I could stand upright again; I felt like a small child learning to walk. To my surprise and gratitude, my feet hit down on something solid. With rising spirits, I quickly propelled myself forward, moving faster with each forward step. Within minutes, I was among the trees. Even though it was still deep snow, almost to my thighs, with some difficulty, I was now able to walk upright. It would be tiring and slow going, but it would be considerably faster than crawling on my belly.

Reaching the trunk of a tree, I stood in silence, leaning against it while catching my breath. It was time to decide what to do next. To my good fortune, I'd made it over the first of what was sure to be many more hurdles yet to come. Hurdles that I was afraid would make this first one seem like a fond memory. It was time to formulate a plan of action.

Yet, beyond finding my way to Sandy's cabin, I had no idea what to do next. Should I wait until daybreak to set out, or should I start now? Although I'd made it to the trees, until the moon rose, I couldn't see more than ten feet in front of my face. It was too dark to find a shelter for the remainder of the night, and it was too dark to wander blindly in what I hoped was the right direction. I was in a quandary of which there was only one certainty; I can't just stand here in the dark and wait for morning. My options were limited, but as long as I was alive, I still had options.

While I contemplated my situation, I remembered the gun. With a mitten-covered hand, I felt the reassuring bulge in the front of the snowsuit. After rising from beneath my snow-cocoon, I'd secured the magnum in a zippered pocket for safekeeping. Now, I debated briefly over removing one of the mittens and carrying the gun at the ready. Just as quickly as the idea crossed my mind, I dismissed it. There was much too great a chance that my hand might freeze and I'd end up dropping it in the snow without even realizing it. In the dark, if that should happen, chances were very good that I would never see it again. The gun is the only thing with which I have left to defend myself and I can't afford to lose it now.

Although my breathing had finally normalized, my heart had quit hammering wildly in my chest, and I knew it was time to be moving, I didn't know where I should move. Without shelter, there was no point in waiting for daylight. But with no clear direction to Sandy's cabin, I might go miles out of my way without knowing it, especially in the dark.

In the dark, there was a very serious chance that I could fall into a ravine and break a leg, or worse. Anything delay, injury, or detour, might be the difference between life and death.

Since I didn't know the most direct route to her cabin, but did have a general idea of what direction it lie, I set off through the trees. I was depending on my memory of where the cabin used to sit in relation to the direction that I'd arrived here with Fred in the snow tractor. My first objective was just to be gone from this area come morning before the wolf pack came back looking for more food, even if I wasn't going in the right direction. For now, I would have to settle for that little piece of satisfaction.

As I trudged along in the dark, trying to look out for darker shadows against the snow that might be stumps or brush or other dangerous obstacles, my mind wondered to Fred, and the story that him and his wife had told me about the former tenants of my extinguished cabin. There was no doubt in my mind that they hadn't told me the whole story about the previous tenant. In fact, the more I considered it, the more I had to wonder at the truth of everything else they'd told me too. Had the prior tenant really had to leave because of a death in the family? Or was it more serious than that? Was it possibly because of his own death? Did the wolves kill him?

This last thought made me stop in my tracks and reconsider everything anew. There was no doubt that my landlords were cold-hearted and uncaring people, but it was still hard to believe that they could be so unsympathetic toward their fellow man. Furthermore, it seemed to me that for them to lease the cabin so soon after the last tenant's departure without taking care of the wolf problem that it might even be considered criminal, especially if you considered the nature of the beasts. And I never doubted for a minute that the landlords were aware of the wolves! I was suddenly determined that if I survived this ordeal, I was going to confront them, and force them to tell me what happened to the last tenant.

The going was much easier through the knee-deep snow and I was making very good time. Yet, I wasted a lot of time floundering through or going around snowdrifts that I didn't see until I was waist-deep in them. Moreover, though I was sure that I wasn't suffering from frostbite, my feet felt like solid blocks of ice. Each step that reached a solid surface sent pin-like spikes of pain through my heels and upward into my calves. But I couldn't let it slow me. Time was working against me. If I didn't succumb to the cold before the wolves caught up to me, I was liable to die of hunger while wandering around in circles looking for civilization.

### **6**

The rising sun suddenly glittered across the night's freshly fallen snow, catching me unawares as I painstakingly worked my way along the edge of a clearing, not far from where I'd entered the tree line the night before. Tired, hungry, and cold, I paused for a moment to catch my breath and take stock of my progress, as well as to check my course. Although it was dark, and all traces of Fred's and my passing less than forty-eight hours' prior had been covered by fresh snow, I felt confident that I'd seen this little clearing before. There were several tall pines standing near the opening to it that formed a gateway near the lower end, and though I was seeing it from a different angle, it looked awful damn familiar. When Fred brought me to the cabin in the snow tractor, we passed through this clearing, I was almost certain of it. It had to be the same clearing; I was staking my life on it. Just knowing this, and the fact that I hadn't wondered off in the wrong direction during my struggles through the dark of night, boosted my moral tremendously.

Looking around the clearing, and gazing even momentarily into the rising sun just a short distance above the eastern horizon, I realized that without my sunglasses, I was bound to develop snow blindness very quickly. My only option was to stay to the denser woods that offered more shade and to avoid the wide-open clearings as much as possible. Of course, that meant I wouldn't get the benefit of drawing warmth from the sun. And without food to replenish the calories that my body was burning just to stay warm, I would need to find suitable shelter that much sooner.

At the moment, my chances of surviving to find Sandy's cabin, much less any other form of shelter before it got dark, weren't looking very good. My head was aching from the cold and I was shivering despite the suit. When I considered the amount of effort I was putting into walking, I should have been covered in sweat and overheating.

As I worked my way beneath the heavily snow-laden limbs, always heading in the general direction from which I remembered coming up the mountain, I contemplated the idea of killing a wolf for its meat. The more I considered it, though, the more I found it a waste of time. Since I had no means of lighting a fire with which to cook it, I would have to eat it raw. And to further complicate the situation, I also didn't have a knife with which to butcher the meat from its bones, leaving only my bare teeth.

My stomach knotted at the thought of ripping bloody flesh from a still-warm body with nothing more than my teeth. Not to mention the idea of eating raw flesh from a beast that so closely resembles a dog. Their meat might be considered a food source in some countries even as late in the millennium as we've traveled, but it will never be the main course, or any other course, on my table!

In a sort of disconnected way, I found it halfway amusing that I could be having thoughts that were so opposite of what the creatures were probably having. Even now, there could be no doubt that they were stalking me for their own survival, probably imagining the sweet taste of my warm, bloody flesh as they ripped it frantically from my bones.

And yet, I held no ill will for them. Tomorrow, if I survive that long, my own hunger will have grown tremendously stronger, and my thoughts on the matter, might well have changed. Like an old saying that I remember from somewhere far away and long ago about the hunted becoming the hunter.

Even though I was having these thoughts, I hadn't been pushed that far over the edge just yet, in order for me to physically act on them. But if I lived through this day and survived the night, tomorrow might be a whole other story.

According to the sun, it was nearing high noon when my ears picked up the sound of barking dogs. My heart froze in my chest as a bolt of panic and terror shot up my spine. Frantically, realizing that it was the wolves hot on a scent, I scoured the immediate area around me for a place to hide. There was neither the time nor the snow to bury myself, as my eyes went longingly to the trees surrounding me. If I can find a low enough limb to grab, I could pull myself up to safety and wait for them to leave.

The barking was growing louder by the second as I stood still, not seeing the limb that I needed. The wolf pack had picked up my scent and was coming down on me fast. It wouldn't take but a few short minutes before they caught up to me and tore me from limb to limb. To try to outrun them would be futile.

Turning, I nervously glanced back in the direction from which their barks were coming, expecting to see them within feet of where I stood. But due to the denseness of the trees, and the slope of the terrain, it would be impossible to see them until they were right on top of me, literally.

While my mind raced, searching for a plan, a small thought deep in the back of my head said that the beasts had gone back to where the cabin had been in search of food, and somehow had stumbled across my scent trail. Suddenly, in the forefront of my head, an idea struck me. It dawned on me that if I can't see them coming until the last second, then they probably can't see me until the last second either. They were following a hot scent-trail by using their noses, not their eyesight. There was a very good chance that I would see them mere seconds before they saw me, but it might be enough.

Moving quickly, pushing my stressed-out limbs beyond their limits, I turned and ran to the nearest tree. But instead of climbing it, I continued on past it before turning and circling around. As I circled the tree, I rubbed my bare hands on the bark, reaching upward as high as I could. Then I hurried to the next tree and did the same. Breathing hard, but determined to keep up the pace, I repeated the routine with the next closest tree, and then the next, until I had done six trees. By now, their barking and growling was coming from just over the next hill. My instincts were screaming at me to run wildly into the forest to get away, but logic prevailed, showing me the futility in such madness.

Instead, I took advantage of the adrenalin that was pumping through my veins, and ran crazily along my own back-trail, back towards the snarling and snapping creatures as if I were going to take them on with my bare hands.

When I was sure they were about to appear over the mound ahead of me, I launched myself to the right, diving directly at a snowdrift that had collected in the shadow of the ridge. To my good fortune, the snow wasn't compacted, and gave in easily to my impetus, effectively burying me almost five feet from my trail. For my plan to succeed, I needed the wolves to smell me on the trees and mistakenly assume that I had climbed one of them. If the wolves are confused by the scent on the trees, there's a good chance that they will grow frustrated and give up, eventually leaving the area. Although I'd been lucky when I hid from them under the snow before, my confidence level still wasn't very high.

Though muffled by the snow, I could still hear their growling and snarling as they passed frustrated, just feet from where I lay. Out of fear of discovery, and the certain death it would bring, I lay motionless, the light curtain of snow my only protection. Whether from fear or cold, I wasn't sure, but I clamped my mouth tightly shut out of fear that my teeth would start chattering and give me away.

When I was running, I'd removed the magnum from my pocket. Now, I squeezed it tightly against my chest, my bare hand quickly growing numb from the cold. I was holding it and my breath, my heart pounding frantically. It amazed me that they couldn't hear the beating from my chest.

The snow covering my head was melting. A fine trickle of water ran into my upturned ear, blotting out the sound of the hunting wolves. The silence should have been bliss, but it only raised the level of my panic. Suddenly, I was sure they were moving closer, getting ready to pounce on my hiding place and drag me into the open, exposing my vulnerable flesh to their massive jaws.

Clutching the magnum tightly to my chest, my breath held bottled within my throat, I physically forced every nerve ending into submission, willing myself not to shiver.

I had to know what was going on! Had they moved on, were they heading back toward the cabin, or were they moving back down the slope and into the heavier timber? Summoning the remainder of my wits, I slowly turned onto my back, acutely aware of the water running deeper into my ear. But I could hear for the first time, and I realized too late that I hadn't waited long enough.

With terrific force, something clamped down on my right foot, yanking me backwards through the snow, the force whipping my head back and ripping my boot off. Without thinking, I jerked my foot away and leaned up into a sitting position as my head and shoulders broke through the snow. Standing directly in front of me, shaking my lifeless boot like a dead rodent, stood the ugliest, largest, most intimidating beast that I'd ever laid eyes on. I was looking into the face of a wolf with my right boot grasped firmly in its teeth, trying hard to shake the life out of it. It stopped only long enough for my boot to fall from its mouth before comprehending that it didn't have its prey after all. It was just this fraction of a second that I needed to level the gun at its head, and at point blank range, I squeezed the trigger.

But nothing happened! Not even a click, as the hammer should have fallen against the firing pin. Even if I didn't know what had happened, there wasn't any time to readjust and determine what was wrong; my hand was frozen solid!

I could see white foam and drool slavering from the creature's mouth as it met my gaze, almost as if it were pausing to ask what was wrong. Then it came forward, its teeth bared and snarling as it lunged toward my exposed throat. Without warning, the gun roared to life, the thunder of the round momentarily stunning me. The bullet caught the charging beast in the forehead, killing it instantly. There was no yelp or howl of pain as it fell over on its side like a discarded hobbyhorse with a runner missing.

Frantically, unsure of what had just happened, I clambered to my feet and spun in the direction of the trees that I'd just circled, expecting to see the rest of the pack charging towards me. The gun lay where it had fallen on top of the snow at my feet. But there were no wolves!

On the verge of panicking, I spun around, suddenly sure that the beasts had gotten behind me. But there was nothing, no wolves, and no tracks in the snow. Surprised and confused, I stood a moment longer, studying the terrain surrounding me before my eyes went to the dead carcass at my feet.

There was very little blood. I expected much more. I expected the sight of the dead creature to affect me harder than it did. But instead of bringing a vile expulsion of bile to the surface, it had quite the contrary effect on me. Gazing into its dead eyes, I felt a calming come over me, a clearing of my mind, and a sharpening of my mental focus.

With renewed mental acuity, I knew better than to think that it had been my imagination regarding the number of wolves that I had heard or seen. It would have been impossible to imagine the sounds of so many wolves barking and snarling. They were still out there, somewhere, and they were hunting me. They had to be! I hadn't imagined them. All I had to do was look down at the dead one at me feet and know that I hadn't imagined them.

Looking down at me feet, I suddenly realized that I was standing in the snow with only one boot on. Bending over to retrieve the boot, my eyes came to rest on the magnum. Twisting slightly, I scooped it up in my left hand, testing the flexibility of my fingers before tucking it back into a pocket. If I had to, I could shoot with my left hand; my right was numb, feeling like an overweight sausage, and just as useless.

Using my left hand and keeping my right tucked into a lined pocket in the suit, I bent over again and retrieved my boot. To my instant dismay, I noticed that it had been torn through by the tremendous jaw strength and sharpness of the wolf's fangs. Yet, as my bare foot was attesting, it was better than going without.

Glancing around as I slid the damaged boot back on my snow-covered foot, I noticed for the first time that there were indeed many more sets of tracks, and they were all heading in the same general direction.

With my boot on and my hands warming in my pockets, I moved back to my original scent trail, all the while studying the tracks left by the wolf pack. Judging from their sign, it was evident that they hadn't stopped to inspect the trees that I had so painstakingly circled. My efforts had been wasted energy. Yet, I was thankful for my good fortune. Although I had no idea where they'd gone and why, it made me nervous, not knowing when they might return?

Furthermore, why had the one I killed been separate from its pack? It didn't make any sense to me that this one wasn't with the others when he found me. Was he trailing along behind, or was he accidentally separated from the rest?

My interest was piqued, and I went back to take a closer look at the corpse, sure that I would find a deformity or prior wound, something that would explain its strange behavior. Upon a closer inspection, however, I found nothing obvious. It didn't seem to have any physical impairment that would slow it down and explain why it was lagging behind the others. Whatever the reason for the abnormal behavior, it was not to his advantage to have been the one to find me.

After rolling the carcass over and checking its limbs for breaks or deformities, I contemplated taking it with me. But I quickly banished the thought as impractical, because the carcass weighed over one hundred pounds, and I had no way of butchering it or cutting off a manageable-sized piece. Furthermore, I hadn't deteriorated to the point where I could eat raw wolf meat. The thought still turned my stomach.

I suddenly felt as though I'd been here too long. The smell of death was permeating the air and filling my nostrils with its dire odor. It was time to get moving. Though it screamed against my instincts, my rational thoughts dictated that I continue in the same direction that I'd been traveling previously, even though it was the same direction the wolves had gone. Yet, my knowledge of the creatures suggested that they would circle back to this place after they got where they were going. Unlike humans, they wouldn't backtrack on the same trail; they would make a wide circle while searching for fresh scents. Besides, going in another direction now would only increase the time it was going to take to find help, and greatly increase my chances at becoming hopelessly lost. My best bet is to continue on in what I hope is the most direct route to Sandy, even if it seems like the most dangerous.

Following the trail the wolf pack made through the snow made for easy going. The pack had formed a line of follow the leader, and by the time I came along behind, the path had been well compacted by the number of paws that had tread on it. It still bothered me that they were heading in the same direction as me. However, I was delighted to be behind them for a change, and not the other way around.

Yet, that didn't explain their strange behavior, nor did it tell me what they were following? The only tracks that I could discern in the snow before me looked to be made by wolves. But since I wasn't a zoologist, or a tracker, I couldn't swear to it. If they were following an elephant through the snow, I probably wouldn't see the poor creature's track beneath the wolf tracks.

A strange thought suddenly dawned on me, and I felt a brief moment of panic as it unfolded before my conscious mind. It seemed almost too ludicrous to be real, though, and I tried putting it out of my mind with the same speed that it had entered. But it refused to go, it demanded to be heard, and before I knew what I was doing, I was speaking it, voicing the question aloud, "What if this wolf pack is heading to Sandy's cabin?"

As soon as the question was out in the air, several possible explanations made themselves known. The first was the easiest to accept, and my mind desperately clung to it: When the avalanche wiped out all traces of my cabin, it also obliterated any source of food that the wolves had come to expect there. Now, out of desperation, they were expanding their territory, and they were going toward Sandy's cabin in search of food! And though it seemed almost too crazy to comprehend, it was the easiest reason to accept for their bizarre behavior.

The other thought that I was toying with was much harder to believe, and had many more dire consequences. But I had to give it equal consideration. Even though it would have been much easier to just ignore the possibility, for Sandy's sake and all the others that were renting cabins from Fred and his wife, I couldn't.

Moreover, when I thought back to the morning that Fred had brought me up here, and the way he'd behaved just before setting out, it only seemed to confirm more strongly what I didn't want to acknowledge. That morning, when he pretended to be in a hurry, and I truly believed now that he was only pretending, and that it was actually nervous energy driving him, he had carried a package that obviously contained raw meat to a locked building. And when he noticed me nonchalantly watching him, his attitude openly portrayed his discomfort.

When I thought back on it, more pieces fell into place. He hadn't kept it secret that he had many stops to make that day, or that he didn't want me tagging along on them. In fact, he acted as if he was doing me a favor by getting me up to my cabin and unloaded as quickly as he had, literally putting off the rest of his deliveries until afterward. My stomach was tied in a knot, but my mind insisted on pushing further. It was determined to follow this train of thought to the end.

Pushing forward, I suddenly wondered if it might be fear of coming across a gruesome scene that he was afraid to have me along with him on his other deliveries. Was he afraid that I might be a witness to a scene where wolves had killed and eaten a tenant?

Up until Amy's accidental demise, I had been a good writer. Because of my artistic mind having sat idle for so long, I had to wonder if these bizarre thoughts weren't anything more than just the simple release of a fertile mind breaking loose. If my shrink could hear these irrational thoughts, he would tell me that they were stress-induced, brought on by my current situation. But no matter how I tried to write them off as completely illogical, I couldn't!

Neither could I make myself believe that anyone could actually be so cruel that they could lease out cabins on a yearly basis, only to get the money up front, and then have the cabins vacated by killer wolves, hybrid killers. If ever there was a way to commit murder and get away with it, Fred had discovered it. The scheme was so absurd that even if the authorities should get wind of it, they'll have a difficult time tying it to the owners of the cabins. Just coming to the conclusion that it was more than mere coincidence that so many people were being killed up here in the wilderness meant nothing. In fact, even if suspicions were raised, they would find it easier to blame the deaths on a wolf pack that had gone rogue. Eventually, they would come to the most obvious and expedient solution; they would call in the state Game and Wildlife Department, which would simply hire bounty hunters to exterminate the rogue pack.

But I strongly suspect that such measures will only offer temporary relief from the problem. When the authorities leave, a new pack of wolves will arrive, and the killing will start all over.

The only thing that the owners of the cabins could be found guilty of was lack of morals. They knew the danger from the wolves, and yet they continued leasing the cabins to unsuspecting tenants. They kept the yearly lease money that was always paid up front, and then act as though the next prospective tenant was getting a discount because the former tenant had to leave unexpectedly, thereby relinquishing the balance of their lease. And as I knew first hand, the discount was never close to the proclaimed remaining balance of the lease.

Unless, and this is where my thoughts really get bizarre, Fred and his missus are raising and training the killer wolves for their own devious end. Although I found this hard to believe, if it turned out to be the case, then they were guilty of more than just a lack of morals, they were guilty of murder!

As bizarre and disturbing as this last thought was to me, I couldn't shake it, it felt too true to be anything but. When I added up all the little inconsistencies of the wolf pack's behavior, they fit into this theory better than anything else I could come up with did. For instance, it neatly explained why they ran past me at our last encounter, instead of stopping to investigate the fresh scent that I'd left on the stand of trees. And why one of the wolves separated from the pack to investigate me on its own. By doing so, it had displayed very abnormal behavior for a pack animal, but very normal for a domesticated beast.

While these thoughts were racing through my mind, I was racing through the snow, following the trail left by the pack. With each conclusion that I drew, my footsteps took on greater anxiety, spurring my weary legs to pump harder, to go faster. The conclusions were all pointing in one direction, the same direction that the wolf pack was going, and that was toward Sandy's cabin. It meant beyond a doubt that they were heading toward their next victim. I was beyond convincing that it was just coincidence that the wolf pack and I were heading in the same direction. It was too late for that. I had however, convinced myself that I was thinking clearly, and logic had dictated the outcome of my quandary, forming its dreadful conclusion.

The old familiar feeling of despair was creeping up my backside. It was an intimate feeling that I had come to know well since the tragedy. But it didn't mean that I had grown to like it. I liked it even less now. In the past, when I had let it wash over me and take charge of my life, it had served a function. This time, I couldn't let it take over; I no longer had that luxury. There was more than just my miserable life at stake this time, there was also Sandy's, and I had to live long enough to make it to her cabin before the wolves got to her.

After the tragically horrible death that my beautiful daughter Amy had suffered, it would be more than I could bear to discover Sandy's remains after the wolves were finished with her. It was bad enough reliving Amy's tragedy night after night in my dreams. Having to envision her tender body so badly damaged and mutilated, I couldn't go on living if I found Sandy in anything but good health.

Amy's death had been the result of fans going nuts at a concert and creating a tsunami of human bodies. Although I wasn't there that horrible night, the subconscious had its own way of showing me what I missed. Almost every night since that night, I've seen her as the thousands of panicked fans pressed her fragile body against the chain link fence surrounding the stadium. Her face is always turned toward mine, her eyes pleading with me as she screams for help. Unfailingly, her voice is always choked off by her internal organs, as they're forced into her throat by the immense pressure against her chest and abdomen. But she keeps looking at me, even as she ruptures and hemorrhages, her eyeballs extruding from her skull while her blood runs uninhibited through the individual links of the fence like so much tomato puree.

The visions that I've lived with for more than six months now are more than enough to drive the average man over the edge. I couldn't begin to envision what a human's remains would look like after being attacked by a pack of hungry wolves. Or how frail the limbs, compared to the malice inflicted by the fang-lined jaws of several wolves during a feeding frenzy.

I swung to the side of the trail and heaved, the acids from too much coffee and not enough food leaving a burning sensation in my mouth. Taking a handful of snow, I packed it against my sweat-covered face, using the cold to force the gruesome image from my mind. But before it was gone, I carefully fed my loathing of the wolves from it, and fueled the fire within me to succeed. If I have to, I will die trying to reach Sandy in time, before I will face that vision in reality.

I never saw Amy's body after the tragedy. There was no viewing, just a short memorial followed by the cremation. From reading newspaper accounts, going to the scene after the fact, and listening to the whispering of the police officers around me, I knew that the vision I'd developed in my mind's eye of the scene shortly after the fact, was probably as accurate as any police photograph or actual survivor's eye-witness account. In the weeks, and then months that followed, I tormented myself with that gruesome account. The vision of her dying took on a life of its own. Night after night, it kept coming to me in my dreams, the details growing more distinct with each loathsome visit to my mind. Night after night, the days and nights eventually running and blurring together until it became just one long continuous nightmare.

The shrinks were no help. They all believed that it was just a simple matter of confronting the demons that were tormenting me. They said that if I confronted them, I could lay them to rest and be done with them. They didn't know! None of them did!

I can't tell you how hard I tried to do just that, but the demons kept coming back. When I couldn't take it any longer, I decided that I needed to get away to a place where I couldn't run to a shrink every time I had a bad day, which was pretty much every day. The ideal place would allow me to confront my demons on my own, and eventually come to terms with them, or go completely insane trying. When I heard about the wilderness cabins, I knew they were exactly what I needed. It seemed important at the time to be an all or nothing ordeal.

Even before I met Sandy, I must have been feeling optimistic, even if it was at some deep, subconscious level. If I hadn't been, I never would have packed my typewriter and a box of twenty-pound paper.

Well, the typewriter was gone. It had performed well, but it wouldn't be writing any more mid-list novels. What was more dramatic than the loss of the typewriter though was the loss of my life. Essentially, it too, was gone. Unforeseen events have changed my life's course forever. No matter what happens next, I'm going to come out a better, a stronger person, because of this adventure. Sure, there's a strong possibility that I will die, but I'm not afraid of dying any more. And though there are many ways to die, there aren't any worse than the way Amy had. She knew that she was going to die before the life force left her body. I have no doubt that she suffered at the end. "So why shouldn't I also suffer?" I suddenly screamed at the sky, shattering my reverie.

It was growing colder as I plodded along through the snow, diligently following in the path that the marauding wolves had left behind. Even as storm clouds rolled in, bringing a harsh, biting wind with them that kicked flurries of snow into my eyes, I plodded mindlessly forward, my hands pushed deep into the pockets of the snowsuit. My face was covered with ice as the snow crystals stuck in my beard stubble and melted on my exposed skin, only to refreeze before forming a frozen whiteness around my mouth.

Occasionally, I'd lean over, scooping a handful of snow up to my mouth. It was risky business, weighing the value of the moisture against the loss of calories that my body required to melt it. Most times, though, I'd only discover to my dismay that my face was too frozen to open my mouth. With tremendous effort, and a not too small amount of pain, I'd force my mouth open just enough to accept the snow. If I didn't take in at least some fluids, my bodily functions would quickly become impaired, which would soon be followed by the shutting down of internal organs, and eventually death.

The wind was whipping the frozen snow crystals into my face and stinging my eyes, forcing me to keep them tightly closed. Even when I opened them temporarily to check my progress and assure that I was still in the disappearing trail left by the wolves, I shaded them against the wind with a mitten-covered hand. It seemed like a real possibility that they could freeze and glass over, causing permanent and irreparable blindness.

Even without using my eyes, it was easy to tell that I was still on the trail. Every time I swayed to one side or the other, the deeper snow immediately impeded my progress.

My feet were another matter. I had barely left the dead wolf's carcass behind, when they were little more than blocks of ice; all sensation from my ankles downward was gone. But because they weren't hurting, I quickly forgot about them.

Of more immediate concern was with the sky, and the intensity of the growing and swirling darkness that it harbored. As the sky grew darker, the wind blew harder. It seemed as though I'd barely closed my eyes and reopened them, and the snow had increased tenfold. The harsh whiteness blending with the dark sky shrouded everything in a dull gray soup. Dismally, I realized that I was losing the trail of the wolves. Even though I opened my eyes increasingly more often, straining against frozen tears and burning wind, it slowly disappeared before me. It wouldn't be much longer before I was on my own. Without a trail to guide me, my humble progress will be greatly impaired, and I was sure to lose my sense of direction. It was time to find a defensible shelter from the storm before I ended up walking in circles.

Without warning, the ground dropped away from under my feet, and I went sprawling downward, the world tumbling around me. Head over heels, I sailed, bouncing and sliding down a steep embankment, finally coming to a stop at the bottom of a deep ravine.

### **7**

Stunned, I lay motionless, spread-eagled on my back, staring up into a murky mix of snow and darkness. For the first time since leaving the cabin, I began to doubt in my ability to reach Sandy's cabin.

Gingerly lifting my right arm, while slowly turning my head to the side, I listened intently for any creaks or pops that would indicate broken bones or dislocated joints. When my fingers brushed across the bridge of my nose, I let it fall back to my side and turned toward the left, doing the same maneuver with that hand.

Satisfied, I pulled my legs up toward my chest, stretching them as far as they would go. They were stiff and sore from hiking, but they weren't broken or sprained. Relieved that I wasn't any worse for wear, I struggled into a sitting position, and then rolled over and got my legs under me. My knee joints protested against my weight, but I knew it was just a combination of advancing age and cold. The cold was originating from the blocks of ice that were my feet. They'd been completely numb for some time now. But because my mind was preoccupied with Sandy's safety and the trek that still lay ahead, I couldn't waste the time or the energy worrying about them.

Taking a deep sigh, I studied the opposite side of the ravine, straining to make out the terrain of the landscape in the dark. From what I could tell, it appeared to go straight up. With a sinking feeling, I wondered how I would ever reach the top. It didn't seem even remotely possible that I could climb out of this predicament with my frozen feet and fatigued muscles.

If there was any bright side to my current situation, it lay in the fact that I was out of the wind for the moment, despite the increasing intensity of the storm above me. It also meant that Sandy would be snuggled safely into her cabin, taking shelter from the storm, and unwittingly, from the wolf pack.

Since there wasn't any hope of scaling the side of the ravine in my present condition, I would have to follow it until I found a place that was shallow enough for me to ascend. But which direction to take?

Without giving it any thought, other than it was the easier to negotiate because of a natural downward slope, I set off, my entire body lurching from side to side with each awkward step. It would have been much easier to just lie down and sleep.

I hadn't gone far when I came to a pile of logs and debris that stretched from one side of the ravine to the other. As I drew closer, I noticed a small opening nearer to the ground, leading into a darker cavity beneath it. With a numbed sense of concern for my immediate safety, I got down on my belly and peered into the dark recess. It was just large enough for my shoulders to squeeze through, and I quickly dragged my body in behind.

What first appeared to be a small cavity, actually turned out to be a fairly large cavern, once I got through the tight fitting opening. By sliding on my belly, using the naturally downward slope of the ground to ease my forward progress, I inched along toward the back of the recess, finally coming to a place that the snow couldn't reach. I felt something soft against my face and realized that it was dried grasses and twigs; the ground was covered by several inches of the material, forming a soft and inviting bed.

My first impression had been that the cavity was unoccupied, but within seconds, I had my doubts. Although the space was currently vacant, something was using it for a home, and that something was liable to return at any time.

In the far corner, almost glowing in the dark, I could just make out what appeared to be a substantial pile of bones. They'd been picked clean and shined a ghostly white against the dark backdrop. Yet, that only proved that something had inhabited this space at some time in the far past. What confirmed my suspicions regarding the present was the smell of fresh dung accented by the sweeter smell of blood.

Slowly, my hands searching the air above my head, I carefully got to my knees, and then, fighting a growing stiffness in my joints, I rose to my feet. To my surprise, I found that nearer to the center of the cavity, I could stand upright, and the debris was still inches above my head. Feeling my way along the makeshift ceiling, I worked my way out from the center. The roof quickly sloped downward, forcing me back to my knees.

Once again on the floor, I felt around in the dark with my hands, familiarizing myself with all the little crooks and crannies. When I reached the opposite corner from the hauntingly white pile of bones, I found what could only be described as a nest.

Exhausted, I plopped down on it, and pulled my boots off. With frozen fingers, I started working on my frozen feet, rubbing them, and massaging them, trying to get the circulation flowing in them again. The nest was soft and comfortable, and I could lean back against the wall for support, both physical and moral. If only I had something with which to build a fire, this place could be quite comfortable, I thought to myself.

In the darkness of the cavity and the night, I was unable to see my feet. But as I rubbed first one and then the other, alternating back and forth while I placed the idle one beneath a layer of bedding, the feeling slowly returned. In no time at all, my hands were warm from the friction and my feet were stinging from renewed circulation. The pain grew almost unbearable, as I realized that if I were suffering from frostbite, it was only a mild case at this point, and nothing too serious. And yet, while I was thankful for my positive self-diagnosis, I couldn't shake the depressing feeling that came over me as I considered the near future.

Before too long, exhaustion took over, and I dozed on the matted weeds. But I didn't get much rest. Throughout the night, I was constantly waking with fits and starts as the pain in my feet became a dull throb, and my stomach ached from a lack of food; I hadn't eaten since the night before.

During one of these waking fits, I cursed myself for not having had the foresight to load the pockets of the snowsuit with additional supplies when I'd had the opportunity. Instead, I had packed everything into the one ditty bag, basically putting all of my eggs in one basket, so to speak. I reached to the pocket containing the magnum and ran my hand over the bulge it produced, glad for at least that one foresight.

My reverie was suddenly interrupted by a noise coming from the small opening between the rising level of snow and the stacked brush and debris. It was the sound of something being drug over the snow, and despite the distant sound of the wind, it grew more distinguishable as it came closer to the opening. My hand was pressed against the gun, and I quietly moved it up, searching carefully for the tab on the zipper. With a dexterity in my fingers that hadn't been there just hours earlier, I slowly slid the zipper open and withdrew the gun.

The sound was drawing nearer. Silently, careful not to rustle the dead grass and leaves, I drew my feet in to me, as I sat huddled on the straw nest. Holding my breath, the steel of the gun cold in my palm, I heard more than saw something come through the opening, entering the cavity, my cavity, as I'd come to think of it.

On the verge of panicking, I let out a scream and clapped my hands together, hoping to startle and scare out whatever had slinked in. My shouting was answered by a short snarl, and then a frantic scuffling noise as the slinking beast turned and scampered back out of the cavity. Although I couldn't be sure, the snarl sounded as if a feline creature, most likely a bobcat, had made it, as they were indigenous to this area.

My body went limp, and I took a deep breath, letting the relief flood through me. It was then that I noticed, in my moment of immense fear, I'd dropped my revolver in the dry weeds, probably when I'd clapped my hands and yelled.

Suddenly fearful that the wolves would find me in the cavity, and that I wouldn't have any way of protecting myself, I scurried around on my hands and knees, searching frantically for the gun. Urgently running my fingers over the matted grass, I was bordering on hysteria when I fumbled over it. Grasping it tightly with both hands, I hugged it to my chest. For the moment, I was too afraid of losing it again to put it back in the zippered pocket of the snowsuit. It was almost as if I could draw strength from it by merely holding it. And though it contained such tremendous power, it offered such limited use, or did it?

With relief came a loss of strength, and I fell slowly back on my haunches, landing softly on the old nest. My breath was still coming in great gasps, and I bordered on tears. My situation suddenly seemed too hopeless and futile; I questioned my sanity for continuing to put my body through the agony and torture.

Just as quickly as the thoughts of defeat entered my head, I cursed myself for letting them in. I wasn't a quitter when Amy died, and I wasn't a quitter now. Even if Sandy wasn't aware of the fact that she was in danger, I knew that to give up on myself, was the equivalent of giving up on her.

After a long moment, I suddenly realized that all I could hear was the slight murmur of the wind howling above the ravine. The poor beast that I'd so rudely evicted from its home on this cold and snow-swept night hadn't returned, and probably wouldn't. Although it had caused me a fright, I was sure that I'd scared it even more.

Tired, both emotionally and physically, I slowly returned the gun to the zippered pocket in the snowsuit, and then let my head fall forward into my waiting hands. It was all I could do, just to support the weight of my head.

Sleep returned, and I rested peacefully for a couple of hours, the first undisturbed rest in quite a while. It was still dark outside, but the predawn light would be breaking through the night sky very soon. Even though I hadn't slept much during the entire night, the last couple of hours had refreshed me, and I could once again hold my depression at bay.

It also helped, that my feet were feeling much better and, except for the tips of my toes, I felt pretty confident that I wasn't suffering from frostbite, at least not very seriously. Even my knees were feeling more like their old selves, as I stood up and stretched; the pain of yesterday only a painful memory. Regretting having to give the refuge back to its former lodger, I slipped my boots on and retied the shirt around my head. Almost as an afterthought, I decided to put the mittens on before working my way back through the small opening and out into the snow.

Kneeling down, I put my face into the opening, smelling the cold bite of the still-night air that caressed my face, welcoming my return to the harsh world of reality. Pushing forward, my hands came across something soft and pliable in their path. Pushing it ahead of me, I continued crawling until I cleared the outside of the opening and was able to stand once more.

Taking my right glove off, I did a cursory inspection of the find with my bare hand. It turned out to be a wild rabbit, and even though it no longer retained any body heat, I sensed that it hadn't been dead for long; despite the cold, it was still pliable.

Without hesitation, I stuffed it into one of the many pockets in the snowsuit. For the briefest of moments, I felt a small amount of guilt for taking the wild cat's food, especially since I wasn't prepared to eat it just yet, at least, not raw. But I quickly set my guilt aside when my stomach let out a loud rumble. Even though I couldn't eat it right now, I might reconsider.

With the rabbit tucked safely away for later, I glanced up at the predawn light as it filtered through the dense cloud cover. A cold shiver ran through me, even though the wind had died during the night. The shiver came from knowing that the dark clouds were going to unload more snow on me during the coming day.

For the first time in twenty-four hours, I knew which direction I needed to go. By looking up the ravine, and then down it, the lighter horizon indicating East, I was delighted to learn that the direction that I'd been traveling, was indeed the correct direction, or at least close enough. Once I find my way out of the ravine, I can make any course corrections that I feel necessary then.

With no more reason to procrastinate, I climbed over and through the debris that formed the shelter in the ravine, and continued on my way. By the time I'd scaled the shelter, the predawn light had faded, and the sun, though hidden by clouds, was working its way into the sky. Moving with renewed enthusiasm, and by staying in the shallower snow on the leeward side of the ravine, my confidence was slowly restored. If I can keep up this pace, I should reach Sandy's cabin within the day. In addition, I hadn't seen any sign of predators, wolves or otherwise.

After two hours, in which I made excellent time, I finally came to a break in the ravine where the side had collapsed, making it shallow enough for me to climb out. Without hesitation, I hurriedly guesstimated how far off course the ravine had forced me, and then started plodding through the snow in the direction that I hoped would take me to Sandy's cabin. Although I was quickly tiring from the journey, I was feeling much more optimistic about the day's coming events, than I had the night before. Furthermore, I took advantage of my thawed condition, and ate snow constantly as I worked my way along.

Because I didn't have the snowshoes, I had to work my way between trees, and up and down slopes, and other less traversable routes, all in order to avoid obvious snowdrifts. In my present condition, a deep snowdrift would easily have been the end of me. With the snowshoes, I could have picked the straightest route, going over the top of everything. Unfortunately, without that luxury, I was adding at least two miles for each one that I needed to cover. Yet, despite my slow progress, I still felt confident that I was going in the right direction, and would make it to Sandy's before nightfall.

But that wasn't going to be the case. As the day dragged on, my legs grew stiffer, and my feet colder. Several times, I tripped over snow-covered limbs and lost my footing on small slopes, only to roll back to the bottom, where I was forced to start all over again. Each time I fell, it got harder to get up, and easier to remain down.

Shortly after nightfall, I was snapped out of a delusional reverie, where I'd made it to Sandy's cabin, and we were enjoying a hot cup of coffee and sandwiches by a warm fire, by what sounded like a pack of dogs barking in the distance. I was immediately aware of the cold on my face and the radiating pain in my limbs. All my limbs, that is, except for my feet. Sometime during the day, they'd gone numb again, only this time it was different. I wasn't sure how I knew it, but I sensed that the frostbite was much more serious than it had been last night.

The barking could only be from one of two things, and I felt confident that it wasn't from a dogsled team. My spirits rose dramatically when I considered the possibility that if this was the same wolf pack that had been after me at my cabin, and I was confident that it was, then they hadn't gone directly to Sandy's cabin after all. Because it stood to reason that if they had, they would be there by now.

And then a new thought jumped to the forefront of my mind and stopping me in my tracks. It suddenly became difficult to breathe as a force constricted my chest tight, forcing my heart into my throat. There was one other possibility that explained their presence; they've already been there!

With all thought of my own safety set aside, I hurried in the direction of the barking. In the dark, I couldn't see, and I ran blindly forward, going more than fifty feet, when common sense took over, and I pulled up short.

"What the Hell am I doing?" I harshly asked myself between great gasps of air.

It was full dark and the moon hadn't risen yet, and I was charging ahead toward a vicious wolf pack simply because I feared for a woman's life. Of course, she wasn't just any woman. But how much of my image of her was reality, and how much was fabrication from a fatigued mind? Was it possible that I'd made her into something that she wasn't, simply because that was what my overtaxed mind needed?

Whatever the reason for my overt concerns for her safety, in the dark, this was the last thing I should be doing.

I collapsed heavily to my knees, the pain from my shins almost too much to bear. Though it hurt me to consider it, I realized that I could do nothing in the dark. Feeling defeated, I looked around my immediate surroundings, studying the shadows intently in search of a place to hold up for the night. Finding that cavity under the pile of debris in the ravine the night before had been a fortuitous fluke. Unfortunately, it didn't appear that it was about to be repeated.

A darker shadow near the base of a group of trees on the far side of what appeared to be a small clearing suddenly caught my eye. It was directly along the path that I was headed, and without giving it any further thought, I focused my attention on it, and rose to my feet. The immediate pain from my lower extremities solicited a small outcry of pain, bringing tears to my eyes. Though I wanted drastically to sit back down, I forced myself to go forward, one treacherous step at a time. As I drew closer to the darker shadow, I discovered it to be nothing more than a low hanging branch drenched in snow, and hanging just high enough off the ground to form a small pocket of air beneath it. The resulting space was barely large enough to accommodate a single person in a prone position. Unfortunately, it wouldn't afford me the opportunity to remove my boots, and massage my feet back to life. It would however, protect me from the extreme cold and any wind or snow that might kick up during the night. Though I doubted that it would snow, judging by the clear sky and bright stars.

Trudging forward, I lethargically crawled under the bough, being careful not to disturb it for fear of dislodging the snow and bringing it down on top of me. My body ached with cold and fatigue, yet I couldn't sleep for the hungry ache in my stomach. It continually growled obnoxiously, hungering for something besides snow. A year ago, I weighed a hale and hearty two hundred pounds. But since the tragedy, I hadn't eaten properly or taken care of myself. When I came up the mountain, I was a paltry one seventy, maybe less. But after less than three days on the mountain, I was sure that I'd lost even more. Even through the insulation of the snowsuit, I could feel my individual ribs.

Lying on a thin blanket of snow that had found its way under the pine bough, I tossed and turned throughout the night. Sometimes I woke up freezing, and the next, I was drenched in sweat. It didn't help that I'd lost all sensation in my feet and ankles, and my knee joints were hurting worse than ever. Early in the morning, before predawn made the eastern horizon distinguishable, I awoke with a start; my whole body was tense and shaking from the cold. A stubborn chill had settled into my core, causing cramps and overall discomfort. It emanated from deep within my body. Though it was too late, I vowed not to eat any more snow, as I felt sure it was the cause of my chill. And though it didn't help me during the long, cold hours of the night, I tried vainly to convince myself that it would dissipate just as soon as the sun came up, and I started moving again.

Still shivering and cramped up, I crawled out from under the pine bough, relieved to see the sun shining brightly over the eastern horizon. With a flood of relief, I felt sure that I'd made it through the worst night of my life.

Standing stiffly on aching joints, I casually stretched, enjoying the sunshine even though I couldn't feel any heat from it. With new optimism, I set off in the general direction that I hoped would bring me to Sandy's cabin.

Within an hour of trudging, I stopped to catch my breath. To my delight, I hadn't come across any sign of the wolves. Yet, I knew they weren't far away. While I considered where they might be, my hand subconsciously rubbed the lump in the snowsuit pocket that contained the gun. Without realizing it, I took comfort from the heavy bulge.

My feet didn't regain any feeling in them, as I doggedly trudged toward my destination. It felt almost as if I were walking with blocks of kindling strapped just below my knee joints. Combined with my dwindling strength, it made my progress even slower than the day before.

When I tripped and fell face-first into the snow, I thought at first that I must have tripped over something. But when I glanced back at my footprints, there wasn't anything to see. As the day drew on, I fell with increasing repetition. On several occasions, I found myself dozing and waking up with no idea where I was, or where I was going. By high noon, I knew my chances of reaching Sandy's cabin before nightfall were next to none. In addition to wandering off course several times and having to backtrack, I was moving much too slowly. By mid-afternoon, in one of my more lucid states, I realized that my chances of finding Sandy's cabin were swiftly diminishing.

Although I never expected it to be as easy as a walk in the park, I did expect to find her cabin within a day's hike. And although I have a general idea of the direction that I need to go, in truth, I have no idea how far I've already gone, or still need to go. Unless I get really lucky and walked right up to it, I might pass it by a mile or less and not even know it. In fact, I may have already passed it.

It had seemed so easy when I set out. All I had to do was hike through the woods, basically following familiar landmarks that I'd seen from the tractor when Fred brought me up. When I felt that I was getting close, I'd keep an eye out for smoke from her chimney or cookstove. But it was much more difficult than that. Lately, I wasn't even seeing the snow directly in front of me, much less smoke in the sky.

Sometime during the day, I forgot the pain in my lower extremities. On the one hand, I was thankful for this temporary respite. But on the other hand, it bothered me deeply, because it made it impossible to deny how serious the frostbite had become.

My strength was dwindling rapidly, and I was waking up with my face in the snow with increasing frequency. It was during one of the 'rest periods', when I thought I heard barking. At first, it didn't register, and seemed to be part of a dream. When I heard the scream, I awoke instantly, a cold hand of terror clutching at my heart.

But it wasn't for me, that I felt the terror, it was for the woman that emitted the scream. Sandy!

While I listened intently to the terrible sounds, the scream was abruptly cut off, almost as if a door had been slammed shut on it.

Worried and anxious, I pulled myself to my feet, and forced myself in the direction of the sounds. The realization that the barking wasn't coming from dogs, but rather from wolves, came to me in a hazy sort of way. I couldn't seem to grasp the importance of this knowledge, even while it filled me with dread. And yet, at the same time, it was the reason for my urgency.

The barking seemed to be coming from just over the next rise, but try as I might, I couldn't seem to get over it. The harder I tried to climb the slope, the more frustrated I became. With each thrust of my numb and frozen limbs, I only dug myself deeper into the snow. My heart was hammering inside my chest, my breath was roaring through my mouth, and my head was pounding from the exertion, yet I wasn't moving. My strongest efforts to crest the rise were futile against the giving snow.

With a sudden shot of inspiration, I realized the futility of my efforts. Instead of trying to go straight up the incline, I set off at an angle toward the nearest tree, and out of the drift that had formed in the lee of the hillock.

Within a matter of painful minutes, I reached the tree, and from there, trudged to the crest of the slope. The effort took everything out of me, and I collapsed in the snow. But, the urgency of the situation hadn't left me, just because my strength had. Sandy was in peril, and I had to get to her, I couldn't lose consciousness. For Sandy's sake, if not my own, I had to keep going!

My body wasn't responding to my demands. It had reached the end of its endurance, and it refused to go any farther. Between the lack of food, hypothermia, and a growing case of frostbite, my body couldn't take anymore.

Yet, it had to!

With a growing resolve, I knew that if I didn't get up immediately, I would doze off to sleep. And if I let that happen, I was sure I would ever wake.

With a tremendous effort of will, I looked deep into my soul, searching for the strength that I needed to go on. It was there, I found the reasons for pushing myself harder, and why I couldn't afford to just lie down and surrender. It was there, I found the strength to get up and force myself to forge ahead, to see where I still needed to go. And it was there that I saw Amy's face, slowly being replaced with Sandy's!

I couldn't let that happen. I wasn't there in Amy's hour of need and I'll be damned if I'm not there for Sandy!

Lifting my face up out of the snow, I looked over the crest, studying the terrain that lay ahead of me. There was a small mountain meadow, sloping gradually away on the right, while rising ever so gently to a denser stand of fir trees on the left. The sun was about to disappear behind the stand of trees, and long shadows were spilling out from between the green-dressed limbs. Under different circumstances, I would have found the view inspiring.

As I strained my sun-blurred eyes against the setting sun, peering into the lengthening shadows at the base of the trees, I thought I saw movement. My suspicions were quickly confirmed by the howling and yapping coming from there. Without waiting to be sure, I forced myself to my feet, and started working my way down the slope towards the near side of the meadow. Something caught under my leaden foot and I fell, rolling most of the way to the bottom of the incline before I came to a stop.

But I couldn't give up. I took a deep breath, and rose to my feet, trying hard to ignore the pain throughout my body. Moving stiffly like a monster from a horror film, I took a few sodden steps and found myself standing on the edge of the clearing. It was a large mountain meadow that stretched a good one-half mile or more across. Now that I didn't have the advantage of the rise to look down from, it was impossible to see the base of the trees across the clearing.

Swaying unsteadily, I stared into the quickly diminishing sunshine. Another scream suddenly filled the air, sending a shiver of fear along my frozen spine. This time it wasn't abruptly cut off, but continued on, slowly dissolving into a soft wail. I didn't need to see the source of the cry to know that it was Sandy. She was still alive and she needed my help!

### **8**

Shrugging off my limitations as so much baggage, I anxiously hobbled across the snow-covered meadow. Each step sent bolts of pain screaming through my body. I had no idea what I would or could do for Sandy when I got there; I knew only that I had to get there. Above the pounding rush of my blood in my ears, I could hear the frustrated cries of the wolf pack. They've treed their quarry, but they're unable to reach it. That can only mean that Sandy has evaded them for the time being. But how long can she hold out? If they're determined enough, they'll find a way to get to her; they've shown me to be very resourceful creatures.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, the wind first calmed, and then picked up from a different direction. No longer was it sluicing the perspiration off my brow, instead, it gently urged me forward, its cool touch caressing the back of my neck. Because of my mounting anxiety over Sandy's welfare, and the sharp pain that numbed my thought processes, I was hardly aware of these changes. I saw only that it was getting dark, and I still had a ways to go. It was then that the barking and yapping took on an entirely new sound. Even in my severely fatigued stated it took me less than a moment to realize that the pack had found new prey. They'd picked up a fresh scent, and they were abandoning their pursuit of Sandy!

It took me even less time to realize that the sound of their barking was increasing rapidly, and they were heading straight toward me!

With the change of wind direction, my scent had carried directly to them. Although I didn't know what to do now, I was glad to have distracted them from Sandy. In some ways, it couldn't have worked out better.

Without considering my next move, but operating solely on impulse and instinct, I fumbled madly at the frozen zipper on the snowsuit's pocket. Slowly, each crystal of ice resisting my clumsy efforts, I finally got it to move. After moving less than an inch, the ice built up again, and it stopped cold, net yet far enough to allow my hand through.

I was breathing hard, and I put my hand in front of my mouth and warmed it with my moist breath. Under normal circumstances, this can be very unwise, because the moisture in exhaled breath will quickly freeze, making an object even colder than before. But desperate times dictate desperate measures, and I grabbed the frozen zipper with my temporarily warm hand, using the heat contained in it to thaw the ice from the teeth.

Before it could cool and refreeze, I jerked hard on it with my other hand, moving it several more inches before it jammed with ice again. It was just enough, and with my bare hand, I reached into the pocket and pulled out the rabbit carcass contained within. If I hadn't completely forgotten about it, I might have eaten it by now. But there it was.

Now that I was holding it in front of me, I suddenly had no idea what I was going to do next. As I listened to the approaching wolf pack, I stood facing the growing sound of their barks and snarls, feeling more foolish than afraid. The only action that seemed even remotely rational was to throw the carcass at the oncoming wolf pack like an offering to them.

By now, it had grown so dark that it was impossible to see my hand held just inches in front of my face. Since there were very few clouds in the sky that would change once the moon came up.

But the wolves weren't hunting me by sight; they were following their noses, and thus my scent. Yet, even in my demented state of mind, I was lucid enough to realize that I couldn't use a single frozen rabbit carcass to distract a wolf pack while I ran to safety, even if I knew where safety was!

If by some miracle of God, I did manage to evade their keen noses and get behind them, it was foolish to think that they wouldn't pick up my scent again almost immediately. But even if they didn't pick my scent up immediately, I still had no idea what lay ahead of me. Yet, it didn't really matter. Because even as unclear as my thinking was, I realized that short of lying down and giving up, I had no other options. And as long as there was even the slightest chance, that Sandy was still alive and needed my help, that wasn't an option.

Wavering on my frozen feet from exhaustion and hypothermia, I waited patiently for the first of the wolf pack. Though I couldn't see them in the dark, I had no problem sensing their looming presence and threat. When the first wolves were only feet from me, I flung the carcass at a diagonal over their heads and off to my left. I was amazed at how easy it was to get momentum behind it from swinging it by its hind legs, and then releasing it at just the right moment. In the pure darkness of the night, I couldn't see the carcass sail through the air, but I knew that it flew outward at a low angle, barely missing the snapping jaws of the advancing beasts. To my good fortune, not all of the blood from the dead rabbit's wounds had frozen solid. The side of the corpse resting against my body still retained some elasticity, and the wolves immediately picked up the fresh blood-scent soaring through the air, and veered after it as one.

They had taken the bait, and were following the dead carcass away from me! In a matter of moments, they'll find it. And then, in a matter of moments after that, they'll have disposed of it and returned to my scent.

Without wasting a single moment pondering my good fortune, I used the last reserves of adrenalin that I didn't even know I possessed, and started plodding forward. It was still dark, and I couldn't see the terrain directly before me. But stepping on unseen objects didn't cause my stumbling; there were no objects, only dying feet.

Moving in a straight line, I stumbled forward, angling slightly to the right, away from the wolves. If memory still served me, I was heading for the cover of the trees as I remembered them before the sun went down. And the very same place where the barking and yapping had originated from before they'd picked up my scent. It was at least three hundred feet distant. I wasn't sure I could make it, even without the threat of the wolves behind me.

As I passed by them unnoticed, less than thirty feet away, I was vaguely aware of them fighting over the poor rabbit's carcass.

When I'd gone just fifty feet of the three hundred or more that I needed to cover, my strength faltered and I stumbled and sprawled face-first into the snow. My legs were numb clear to my thighs; whether the problem stemmed from exertion or cold, I couldn't tell, and I didn't really give a damn. All I knew for sure was that I couldn't stop. My breath sounded like a steam engine climbing a long grade, and I worried that the wolves might hear me. I had to get moving!

Pushing myself upright, I managed to get them under me one more time, and continued my forward plight. It was then, for the first time, I remembered the gun. But in my haste to evade the wolves, I'd neglected to replace my mittens after opening the zipper. With a sinking feeling, I knew my hands would be useless to me in their frozen condition, even if I could get the gun out of the still-zipped pocket of the snowsuit. How could I have been so careless? Why hadn't I thought of getting the gun out sooner, or replacing the mittens earlier?

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and cursing me wasn't going to help anyone, least of all, Sandy. In a more generous thought, I consoled myself with the knowledge that if I had removed the gun from the pocket earlier, I might have lost it in the snow by now anyway. At least I still had it, even if I couldn't get to it or use it.

When I'd covered less than half the distance to the edge of the clearing, I sensed a change in the yapping and snarling of the wolf pack. They were finished with the carcass, and were sniffing for the human scent that had eluded them earlier. To my good fortune, it was no longer being carried to them on the wind.

Yet, they were born hunters; it would only be a matter of minutes before they discovered my scent in the snow and come bearing down on my backside. This time, I was certain that I would not be as lucky as I'd been the last.

I briefly considered burrowing into the snow, but then quickly discarded the idea. Even if I managed to fool the wolves using that trick a second time, which I highly doubted, I would only be hastening a different demise. Once I was snuggly burrowed into the snow, I'd succumb to my fatigue and fall asleep; it would quickly become a snowy grave, a sleep from which, I would never wake.

Because my feet were feeling wooden and inanimate at the ends of my distraught legs, I repeatedly stumbled over them. With each lurch forward, my hands shot out reflexively to break my fall, just as they'd done a thousand times prior. It was a reflex that seemed ingrain to the human species. Nine times out of ten, the reflex betrayed our bodies, generally causing more physical harm than if we'd just let ourselves fall, landing flat on our faces. This time though, my hands didn't break my fall, they never had a chance.

Unforeseen earlier in the fading dusk with the sun shining brightly into my frost-blurred eyes, was a shallow rift running across the meadow. It was nothing more than a shallow dip in the landscape that rose back up to the trees on the far side. It was into this snow-filled rift that I plummeted, first tripping over my feet when they failed to adjust to the increased momentum, and then falling and rolling several feet farther before coming to a stop at the bottom. Under normal circumstances, I might not have noticed it. But because I wasn't expecting it in the dark, it caught me by surprise.

Lying unmoving in the bottom of the dip, I faced skyward, my heart pounding. Although I was aware that the wolves were closing in on me, I couldn't move. The trees were still nearly one hundred feet from the dip. From here to there, the ground sloped upward. It was a shallow angle, but it was more than I could mentally reckon with. In my present condition, I didn't think I could make it.

From where I lay in the bottom of the dip, the sound of the wolves seemed distant. Too tired to move, I lay still, quietly listening to them, waiting for them to come charging over the top of the rise. After a long moment, I realize that the sound of their barking has changed. Instead of growing closer, they're sounding farther and more distant. It seems too good to be true, and I listen intently, convinced that my ears are playing tricks on my mind.

I don't have to listen long though, before I realize that it's true, the animals are indeed moving away from me. Overcome with gratitude, I listen for a moment longer, unable to believe what I am actually hearing. But the longer I listen, the fainter the barking and yapping becomes.

For some unknown reason, I have been given a respite. Yet, I don't need anyone to tell me that if I don't act quickly, I will lose it.

Forcing my begrudging body up, I plant my frozen feet beneath me. By leaning forward against the resistance of the rise, I place one foot in front of the next, and start the trek to Sandy. The excruciating pain is almost more than I can stand, and for a long moment, I teeter on the verge of consciousness. The snow is knee-deep, and the little resistance it offers is more than made up for by the assistance it lends in keeping me upright. After a while, the moon is showing on the horizon, and I can see the trees ahead. They loom upward, appearing closer than they are.

My progress is slow. By leaning forward and using my hands to assist my legs, I lurch forward one step at a time. Each step feels like my last, but I keep moving, drawing strength from the fact that I've been given one more chance; I can't waste it.

As my body falls forward, I barely catch myself by quickly dragging the other foot forward with my hands, and then planting it in front of me. In this manner, I slowly work my way toward the darker outline of the trees. Somehow, if I can just make it that far, I will find shelter.

It is that belief that I cling to, even when my mind interjects the thought that the wolves have left the trees because their prey has left the trees. I can't consider that possibility at any cost, because if I do, it means that I won't find anything there either. It means I'm too late!

My determination was faltering; I couldn't afford to entertain the thought that I might only find Sandy's remains. If I let that penetrate too deeply, I would certainly give up. And if it does turn out to be Sandy's body beneath the trees, I will surely die from a complete mental breakdown before the cruel elements of Mother Nature can finish what they've already started.

Using all of my strength and resolve just to continue up the shallow incline, all other thoughts went from my mind. If I can just make it to the top, I will be near the edge of the meadow, if not directly under the trees. For the moment, I couldn't allow myself to think about anything else.

While I trudged single-mindedly forward, the moon was slowly rising on a clear, star-studded night. As it came over the horizon behind me, its reflection highlighted a murky glow over the snow-covered ground. With all the elegance and splendor of a special-effects show, the powdery covering of dust quickly crystallized, illuminating a mist of pixie sparkles over the frozen landscape. The multi-colored reflections glinting off the snow with all the colors in the rainbow, lent to an eerie atmosphere of surrealism, not quite daylight, and not quite night. It brought to mind a miniature version of the Aurora Borealis for my own viewing pleasure.

Irrelevant of what it reminded me however, it lit up the area sufficiently to make out the top half of the trees, their outline appearing black against the night sky, directly ahead of me.

The nearer I got to the top of the rise, the more visible the trees became. In what was in all probability less than ten minutes, but seemed to be dragging on for all eternity, I found myself at the top of the rise and back on an even keel with the rest of the meadow. My body pleaded with me to stop as I gasped raggedly for air. But I was too close to stop now.

My heart was pounding against my ribcage, the hammering sound audible in the cold night air. But I couldn't hear it over the sound of my blood roaring in my ears. Except for my eyes and nose, I was oblivious of anything that might be approaching. Determined to reach Sandy before the wolves returned, I strained to see into the darker shadows where the moonlight didn't quite penetrate beneath the trees.

On level ground, I pushed forward, suddenly sure that the wolves were quickly gaining on me from behind. The trees were just yards ahead of me, and then I saw what I was looking for.

In the deeper shadows of the trees, I finally made out the outline of a building. But it didn't look right!

The wind went out of my sails, and I froze in my tracks, suddenly feeling all the fatigue and pain that I'd been fighting to ignore. Somehow, I must have gotten turned, and I came to the wrong cabin. All that effort and sacrifice for naught, and I was no closer to Sandy.

I collapsed to my knees as they folded under the weight of the disappointment. There wasn't any need or reason to go on. I'd reached the end of my rope.

But that couldn't be right! Staring into the night, studying the cabin, I suddenly realized my folly. Because I'd approached it from a different direction, the sloping angle of the roof presented a different pitch, making me believe that I was looking at a different structure. If I weren't so exhausted and mentally fatigued, I never would have made such a mistake, but now I recognized it for sure; I was looking at the cabin leased to Sandy.

The other day, when I came by here with Fred, we'd come up on it from more off to the left. When we left, heading toward my cabin, we had departed at a sharper angle to my right.

Having sorted that out in my mind, I studied the gloomy outline in the shadows. Suddenly a fist closed on my heart, gripping it in an icy grasp. If Sandy was inside the cabin, why hadn't she lit a lantern? Even if the windows were boarded over, a small glimmer of light would seep through. Something was terribly wrong.

Just a short time earlier, I would have thought it to be physically impossible to increase my pace. But with each trembling step that brought me closer to the cabin, I was picking up speed. And keeping pace with my mounting anxiety, my heart beat increasingly faster as the adrenalin started flowing through my veins once more. From a hidden reserve buried deep within my soul near the bottom of my heart, it was pouring its last little bit of juice into my bloodstream, forcing my heart to pound harder and my legs faster.

Almost before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of what might be called the front yard to the cabin. What was once thigh-deep snow had been trampled down by many feet, and not all of them human. Focusing on the dark silhouette of the cabin, my feet began pounding unevenly across the hard packed snow, quickly closing the distance between us.

When I was less than ten feet from the darkened doorway, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a low, threatening growl. It was coming down to me from a point in space just above me.

Although I'd been fine while I was moving, standing still was another matter entirely. My momentum drew me forward, and I almost fell on my face. But at the last moment, I caught my balance somehow, and turned my head up toward the source of the menacing sound. To my surprise and amazement, I wasn't afraid. Without knowing how I knew it, I sensed that I was being warned off, and not attacked.

Studying the outline of the roof against the breaks in the trees, I could just make out the silhouette of the largest wolf that I'd ever laid eyes on. The pack had left a guard behind to keep their prey confined. That could only mean that Sandy was still alive!

We were staring at each other in the darkness, when a sliver of moonlight glistened off a strand of saliva hanging from its mouth. It was anticipating its next meal. But I didn't believe it was looking upon me as that meal.

The silhouette was developing more substance as the moon rose higher in the sky, casting more light on the structure. The increasing moon glow suddenly glanced off a set of long white fangs. This in itself would have been enough to scare a normal man or woman out of their wits. But its long white fangs paled next to the blood-red light that emanated from its eyes, adding an otherworldly feeling to its presence. It didn't appear to be merely a reflection from the moon or any other natural light source. Rather, it seemed to be radiating from an evil source living deep within the creature's bowels. It was a source that could only find an outlet through the eyes of the beast.

I felt as though a twin laser had been turned on me with enough power to penetrate and freeze the blood in my veins. Mesmerized by its eyes, I was unable to look away. At any moment, it was going to bound off the roof and strike out at its new prey. In the dark, I sensed more than saw its shoulder muscles flexing with anticipation and expectation of the coming leap. Soon, it will pounce down on its prey. And although I knew this just as surely as if it could talk and had told me so, I couldn't force my body to move. It was as though I'd lost all control of myself, including my will to resist.

As I stood like a sheep before the slaughterer's knife, my hands dropped uselessly to my sides. Because I'd failed to put the dangling mittens back on, my hands were stiff and inoperable. Yet, even if they weren't, the beady red eyes transfixed me, as it stood crouched and ready on the roof of the cabin, directly over the darker shadow of the closed front door.

Of course, in the dark, I could only assume that the front door was closed, as it was too dark to see anything but a darker shadow. Moreover, there was no reason for Sandy to have left it open, or to open it. She had no way of knowing that I was standing just outside of it, or so I thought.

Out of the peripheral vision of my sight, the focus of which was on the beady red eyes glowing down at me, I sensed movement in the denser part of this shadow. A soft brushing sound followed it.

Something was happening in the shadows directly in front of me, and the beast on the roof was not aware of it. Yet, though I wanted to badly, I couldn't tear my eyes away from those two red pencil beams as they bored into my soul, opening it up for the world to see. Never before in my life had I felt so vulnerable, or so helpless, as I did right then.

Without anymore warning than I'd already had, the beast sprang from the roof, sailing gracefully outward, powered by its strong hind legs. With all the fury and passion of Satan coming to claim my soul, it descended toward me. Unable to move, or even take my eyes from those two red orbs as they came at me, I stood.

The pull came so fast and suddenly and with such force, my head snapped back, and my body shot forward. It all happened so fast, I wasn't even aware that I was falling forward into the darker shadows, and not being knocked backwards by the impetus of the wolf. Something, or someone, had reached out of the shadows, and at the last instant before the wolf's front nails raked me to the ground, grabbed the front material of the snow suit and pulled me forward with such force that I landed sprawled out flat on top of them.

Hot breath blasted my face from the impact of my weight landing on their chest. But it didn't smell rank or foul, only hot and coppery; it smelled of fear!

Before I could begin to comprehend the situation, I was roughly pushed to the side as a body squirmed out from beneath me. Lying confused and bewildered on the hard wood floor, I was blindly aware of a body moving quickly past me in the dark, and then the door being slammed shut against my feet. There was no pain, only a dull thudding sensation that rocked my body. I wanted to move them, to accommodate my rescuer in any manner that I could, but they refused to obey.

Something struck against the side of my calf, which was quickly followed by a sharp breath and a curse. He/she was trying to clear my feet from the doorway in order to close the door. They have to come in farther, or the door will never close, and my rescuer is too close to the door to retreat and pull me in before the wolf reaches the door.

Doing the only thing left for me to do, I grab the backs of my thighs with my frozen hands, and pull my legs up as far as I can while rolling onto my side and assuming the fetal position.

The door slams shut with a bang and a clang as the latch lands home. Almost immediately, there's a loud thud as the wolf throws its weight against it, testing its strength, and probably not for the first time today.

Outraged and frustrated that its quarry has escaped, the beast leaped at the door a second time. And even though it hit with enough impact to cause a shudder to run through the cabin, literally shaking the floor beneath my face, the latch holds. It will have to find another way in, which I have no doubt, in time it will. With the kind of force the creature had behind it coming down off the roof, it would easily have caved in my chest if it had hit its mark.

Unable to move, the side of my face pressed against the wooden floor, I remained quiet, surrounded by the dark interior of the cabin. Outside, the thrashing and snarling continued, as the wolf's efforts to gain entrance to the cabin were thwarted by the solid wood door. For the moment, I was safe, and I wasn't alone. Little else mattered.

Slowly, the roar in my ears subsided, and the rapid beating of my heart steadied. In the ensuing silence, I was suddenly aware of a new sound coming from outside. It was growing louder by the minute, and I recognized it immediately; the wolf pack was returning!

Something was bringing them back, and I was afraid that I knew what it was. It confirmed my suspicions of earlier, when I'd slipped past the wolf pack in the meadow. They weren't after my scent then, and they're not after my scent now. They were simply coming back to finish what they'd started!

Suddenly, my urgency growing with the sound of the returning pack, I needed to know where my savior was. Moreover, I need to know for sure, just who they are. After that, I'll determine how secure the cabin is, and if it will protect us from the wolf pack.

These thoughts and more were flooding through my head, when I detected the first sounds coming from inside the cabin. Though it was faint, I recognized it immediately. My own snowsuit made the same sound all the time; it was nylon rubbing against nylon. With growing excitement, I remembered that Sandy was wearing a nylon parka over her nylon snowsuit the last time that I'd seen her.

"Sandy," I tried calling into the darkness, but only managed to make a weak, grunting noise. Frustrated, I tried again, but couldn't force my frozen face and jaw muscles to respond with the words that I needed so desperately to say.

Was this really her cabin, or have I stumbled on one that happens to be nearer to my own? In the cold and dark of the wilderness, I'd lost all sense of time and distance, including a mounting uncertainty about the direction that I'd traveled. Yet, I truly wanted to believe that I'd found her cabin. I had to believe it.

Out of the darkness, came a soft, reassuring voice. "Quiet. They'll leave in a little bit, and then I'll light a lamp. Until then, I've found it helps to stay quiet until they lose interest."

Her voice, though full of tension and anxiety, was the most beautiful voice that I'd ever heard. For the first time since the tragedy, I knew profound joy tempered with relief. Drawing comfort from those few spoken syllables, I laid my head down on the wooden floor and relaxed. Within moments, I'd fallen into a deep sleep.

I dreamt pleasant dreams, not the nightmares of before. Amy was in my dreams, and so was Sandy. We played in a lush green park, Amy the innocent child, and Sandy my loving wife. We sailed the high seas on a custom catamaran. I could see Amy, now the young woman that she would have grown to become and Sandy, the beautiful woman that she already is. It was always the three of us together, moving purposefully through life. It was good, and it felt so real.

Suddenly, a cold harsh reality entered my dream, and I knew immediately that I was too late. I was suddenly sure that I'd died, and Sandy was already dead too. While I died shortly after reaching her cabin, she was overtaken by the shear ferocity and cunning of the wolf pack early the next morning.

Yet, I wasn't upset by this knowledge, only disheartened, and extremely saddened. The knowledge didn't seem real. Unlike Amy's death, Sandy's death was only a dream-state, it wasn't reality. It couldn't be!

But in my heart, I faced the reality of knowing that there wasn't anything more I could have done for her, even if I'd reached her sooner. Sadly, I faced the fact that I did as little for her, as I did for my own daughter!

Yet, I refused to accept the reality where I was dead! I was merely unconscious or asleep on the wood floor in Sandy's cabin, and I was more determined than ever that I wasn't going to die.

Because I wasn't there for Amy when she needed me the most, it was doubly important that I be here for Sandy now. Especially since, I'd been given a chance to do something this time; it was a chance that I'd never had with Amy. It was a chance to save her, slim as the chance might be. I'd be damned if I didn't at least die trying, I couldn't live with the alternative for a second time in my life.

By shear will, I forced the bad dreams from my mind, and convinced myself that Sandy was alive, and I was sleeping soundly on the floor of her cabin. When the time was right, I'd wake up, and be fully rested. Sandy will have a warm fire burning in the fireplace, and bacon frying on the cookstove.

With these thoughts drifting through my mind, I fell deeper into oblivion. It was warm and comfortable, and we were sailing on the high seas. Life was momentarily blissful.

### **9**

A storm came blowing in, sending waves crashing over the stern of our catamaran. An extremely large swell caught us broadside, setting the catamaran up precariously on one hull. We hung suspended in the clear air, reaching toward the blue sky while leaning perilously out over space. My bare foot suddenly slipped on the wet decking, and my head bounced along the rail with a thumping repetition. As one reality faded, I awoke to another.

Someone or something was dragging me across a rough wooden floor by the collar of my snowsuit. With each straining tug, my head thumped softly against the floor. Ironically, the thumping was in identical rhythm with that of my head bouncing along the rail in my dream. It wasn't coincidence, as one reality was overlapping the other.

Though my eyes were open, it was much too dark inside the cabin to see. Whether it was daylight outside, or still night, I couldn't be sure. The dark might be from having boards over the windows. I immediately hoped that was the case.

Except for the roughness of the floor against my backside, and the intermittent thumping of my head, I couldn't feel any sensations in my body. My legs, as well as my arms, felt loose and disjointed, almost non-existent. Both my hands and my feet had to be bouncing along the surface of the floor, and yet, I had no sensation of them except for the dragging effect being exerted on my torso.

A new thought suddenly manifested itself in my conscious, and I immediately grew concerned that I was being dragged by a wolf. It was taking me deeper into the cabin after having mistaken me for dead. My windpipe grew tight, and a chill hand clutched my heart. And then I just as suddenly remembered Sandy's voice as she softly reassured me, asking me to be quiet.

Taking a deep relaxing breath, I thought of how I wasn't going to disappoint her on the quiet part, as I became aware of the fact that my face was still frozen solid.

Remembering my earlier attempt at speech, I declined to advise her that I was awake and conscious.

Rolling my head to the side, I studied the area on the wall where the windows should have been. Although my experience inside one of these cabins was limited to my own rental, I assumed they were all laid out the same. There wasn't any hint of outside light, so I couldn't have been unconscious for very long. Sandy probably wasn't even aware that I'd passed out.

With each lunging tug on my collar, I slid farther into the cabin, nearer to the fireplace. As my senses slowly returned, I realized how silly I'd been when I thought it might be a wolf dragging me, and not Sandy. Although nothing had changed since I was jerked bodily into the cabin, I was aware of many things that I wasn't aware of earlier. The most prevalent of which, was a soft, lightly feminine fragrance lingering in the air. Despite the cold and semi-frozen condition of my face, I could taste, more than actually smell, a dainty forest flower. It seemed almost ironic, so totally out of place here in the dark interior of a cabin, situated well beyond the climatic conditions acceptable for all but the hardiest of fragrant flowers.

It came to me then, what I was really experiencing wasn't the scent of any one particular flower, but rather the total essence of a woman. Only in a place where a woman has been, can there be the woman's touch that men can rarely imitate, and never duplicate on their own. It's what makes a woman a woman. It makes her unique unto herself, setting her apart from man. It's one of the little things that make a woman unique, because there are never two women whom share the same essence. And it's one of the little things that make a man fall in love with a woman, and only that woman.

It can just as easily drive him mad when he is far away from her. If by chance, he picks up her scent on something that she so carelessly added to his luggage, he will immediately miss her and long for her. And all the while, she will be oblivious to the effect that her scent is having on him. This is especially true if he discovers her scent after suffering through a difficult day, such as the one he has just had.

This was only the second time in my life that I was experiencing her scent, and yet I recognized it immediately. Somehow, when I'd been near her the first time, even with the cold wind blowing briskly in our faces, I hadn't been aware of a tangible scent coming off her, only her engaging personality. And yet, this time, half frozen in a dark, frigid cabin, I knew by that unique fragrance, which was currently assailing my olfactory glands, I had indeed beat the odds. By some miracle or magnanimous stroke of luck, I'd made it to Sandy's cabin.

Breathing deeply of her wonderfully refreshing aroma, I considered my situation. Hypothermia was my most threatening enemy at the moment, but in my euphoric state of mind, I felt confident that with a fire for heat, and Sandy's company for warmth, I would be fine.

The frostbite that I was suffering could prove to be more detrimental to my health. It would take Sandy's assistance to determine the severity and locations of all the afflicted limbs and appendages. But I will cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I am satisfied that Sandy is alive, and by all indications, in better health than me. I can't ask for any more.

Struggling to drag me farther into the cabin, I slowly grew aware of her hot breath blowing across my face, as her own was just inches above mine. She was tiring from the effort. Although I'd lost a lot of weight in the last six months or so, I was still pushing one hundred and seventy pounds. For a petite woman such as Sandy, I was quite a load to drag across the floor.

My head suddenly dropped, striking the floor solidly with a loud thump, creating a ringing in my ears; her hands, growing numb with the exertion and cold, had failed her, losing their grip on my collar. At the instant of impact with the unforgiving wood of the floor, a white flash sparked before my eyes, and then the colors of the rainbow danced before the black landscape comprising the interior of the cabin.

Unable to move, I lay still, vaguely aware that her fragrance was rapidly growing stronger in my nostrils. Without warning, her face was suddenly beside my own, and she was whispering apologies in my ear. There was the smell of salty tears mingling with her other scents, and I could hear empathy in her voice, as she was sure that she'd injured me even more severely than I already was.

Futilely, I tried to respond to her, to set her fears aside and assure her that she hadn't harmed me. Though I wanted badly to assuage her unwarranted feelings of guilt, my face and mouth were too frozen to cooperate, and my voice wouldn't behave. All I could do was make pathetic little grunting sounds.

She sat on the floor beside me, and took my head in her arms, cradling me gently across her lap. Slowly, she rocked back and forth, all the while showering me with words of encouragement mixed with words of apology. She didn't know that by finding her alive, I had all the encouragement I would ever need. I just prayed that it would be enough. And she had no way of knowing that I didn't need her apology; there wasn't anything she could do that would ever require an apology from me.

Although I wanted desperately to ask her how she knew that it was I, outside in the dark, and how she could have known just the right moment to reach out and pull me to safety, I dozed off long before my face thawed enough for me to talk. In the comfort of Sandy's scent, my head resting contentedly on her soft lap, I found complete peace and calm.

In a deep, coma-like sleep that didn't afford me any hellish dreams, I rested.

As I came around, my senses groggy and sluggish from sleep, I slowly grew aware of the keen smell of bacon frying, and realized that the noise was coming from an open cast-iron skillet, and not my head. In the background, there was the stronger hint of fresh-brewed coffee.

It was like Déjà vu. I've been here before. Suddenly concerned that I'd died and gone to Heaven, I craned my head around the dimly lit cabin. A lantern was perched precariously on the upper shelf along the back wall to the right of the stove. It left me in deeper shadows, but it highlighted the face of the woman working over the hot skillet. This was not a dream, but it had all the flavor of a heavenly experience.

All essence of Sandy had been overpowered by the combination of bacon frying and coffee boiling, as my stomach reminded me rather harshly that it'd been too long since I'd tasted such a delectable thing as food. Briefly, I remembered the rabbit that I'd carried in my snowsuit pocket, and quickly put it, along with the ordeal that I'd suffered in order to reach this place, out of my mind.

She was even more beautiful than I remembered. And I suddenly found myself dreamily wondering if it wouldn't be worth missing the upcoming meal just to smell her essence one more time. Fortunately, I didn't have to make that decision.

Tearing my eyes away from her vision, I studied the rest of the cabin. The windows were boarded up, which explained the lack of light. It also explained why we were still alive, or surely, the wolves would have crashed through them by now; they were proving to be very resourceful creatures, and it wouldn't be wise to underestimate them.

My gaze went apprehensively toward the ceiling as I remembered why I had to leave my own cabin in such a hurry. After looking intensely at the wood sheathing in all directions for as far as my head could turn and the limited light of the lantern allowed, I couldn't detect any sign of the roof having recently been repaired. Or more importantly, I couldn't see any recent damage. Furthermore, there was no doubt that the wolves had ready access to the roof, since I'd just been confronted by one standing on it not that long ago.

Although I felt that I could relax for the moment, I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before they started tearing and ripping the shingles off this cabin too.

The food smelled terrific, and I was feeling optimistic. Without thinking, I rose up on the cot, intending to get into a sitting position and surprise Sandy.

My head suddenly felt as if a depth charge had gone off in it. Shutting my eyes against the onslaught of pain, I slowly lowered myself back down, the pain igniting a sky of bright lights behind my eyelids and incapacitating my body. After taking several deep breaths, I slowly opened my eyes, turning to see if Sandy had noticed my failed attempt at sitting up.

At first, all I could see was dark and darker, with a dim light nearer the center of my vision. My head pounded, and beads of sweat broke out on my forehead and upper lip. Clumsily, I squeezed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger, trying to shut off the pain. Slowly, too slowly, my vision cleared, and the pain subsided, retreating enough so that I could relax. With relief, I noticed that Sandy was oblivious of my actions, her side was still turned to me, and the work area next to the stove required her to turn the other way.

Yet, I was determined to overcome my injuries, whatever they might be, and sitting up was the first mountain to conquer. But before trying again, I decided to rest for a minute. Closing my eyes, I quickly fell asleep.

When I awoke, the air was still redolent of hot bacon grease and coffee. The pain of earlier had receded from my head, and my vision seemed sharp and focused. I also felt stronger; enough so, that I was able to slowly raise myself into an upright sitting position. With my confidence restored, I eased my legs over the side of the cot, careful not to make any sudden moves. It was then that I realized I didn't see Sandy anywhere.

Turning my head slowly, I looked around the single room cabin until I was sure that I hadn't missed her. My heart started racing, and I felt that familiar clutch tightening around my chest, squeezing my heart in its frigid grasp. I was on the verge of panicking. Although it was difficult to believe that she'd take such a risk, the only place she could be was outside!

For whatever reason, she had ventured outside, and she was alone! It wouldn't matter if she went to the meat locker, or more likely, to the woodpile, if the wolves have taken her by surprise.

That feeling of guilt was crawling up my throat again, turning the smell of bacon rancid in my nostrils, and tasting like bile in the back of my mouth. This time however, the guilt wasn't the byproduct of something that I'd been incapable of doing. Instead, I was feeling guilty because of the risk someone else had undertaken on my behalf.

Sitting anxiously on the edge of the cot, I considered where she might have gone, and why. The same reason kept haunting me; she'd gone to the woodpile for more firewood to keep the fire going for my benefit.

How could she not have realized the danger in going outside? She must have known the wolves would be lying in waiting for her. She was more concerned for my well-being than her own, and it cost her life. If I hadn't shown up here thinking that I could do something for her, she never would have put herself at such risk! I would have done better by her if I had just frozen to death or been buried in that first avalanche!

She'd obviously been aware of the wolf pack and the danger they meant, or she wouldn't have survived up here for as long as she had. The last thing she needed was an idiot like me to come along and need her help. She was doing just fine on her own.

My head suddenly felt too heavy for my neck to support; I rested it in my hands, my elbows on my knees. It took a great effort to swallow down the bile in my mouth, and consider the possibility of going on. Life wasn't fair.

Raising my head, I looked around at the interior of the cabin. Except for a few personal items that Sandy had made from wild things growing in the woods around the cabin and used to decorate the walls, I found myself sitting on the edge of a single cot in the one room that was furnished exactly like the one in the cabin that I'd leased. They were probably all identical, making my judgment based on seeing the inside of only two of them.

It suddenly dawned on me that I was wearing nothing but my long johns. For the first time, my eyes were drawn downward toward my feet; or rather what should have been my feet. With incredible effort, I fought back the impulse to vomit, as I gazed in shock, down at two foul-looking, huge-swollen black appendages. Mortified, I stared down at my feet. A primeval scream forced its way past the vile substance blocking my windpipe, and I fell back on the cot, too staggered to move. It took all of my willpower to suppress a second scream, and then a third. I suddenly felt certain that if they escaped, I would surely go mad. Already, I was only one step away from lunacy.

My feet were so swollen out of shape that they didn't resemble feet anymore, at least, not of human origin. The black color was thickly interspersed with dark bluish-greenish lines that I distressingly recognized as diseased blood vessels laying just beneath the surface of blackened skin.

Perspiration ran down my forehead and into my eyes. My breathing was coarse and irregular, as well as my heart beat. Even though I knew it couldn't be possible, I was sure it was the poisons from my feet coursing through my veins that were causing these symptoms.

Relax! I'd done it earlier; just moment's prior when I smelled Sandy, and then later when I smelled the bacon frying. Relax. Take deep breaths.

When my heart, though heavy from the presumed loss of Sandy, finally slowed down, I slowly raised myself back into a sitting position. Tentatively, I glanced downward at my feet again. Slowly at first, and though I couldn't help myself, my revulsion slowly turned into fascination. In looking closer at them, they reminded me more of over ripe eggplant fruit, than they did human feet. The toes were barely distinguishable. I refused to believe they could be mine as I continued to stare at them, but there was no denying they were on the ends of my legs, and no one else's.

Walking on them was out of the question. My fascination turned to anger. Not because I was going to die, stranded and alone in this cabin, but because I couldn't even go out and retrieve Sandy's remains. It wasn't fair that the wolves should feast on her; she deserved better than that!

With renewed determination that was fueled by anger, I decided that I would go outside and bring her body back, even though it meant crawling on my hands and knees. She would do the same for me. In fact, she'd already done more for me than I ever could have asked of her.

Suddenly, the door burst open and banged against the back wall of the cabin as Sandy came charging through it. She turned on her heel with one fluid movement and slammed the door shut on the frigid night behind her without breaking stride.

She was alive!

Subconsciously, overwhelmed with joy and relief, I waited silently for the impact of the wolf that I had come to expect following the slamming of a door. When none was forthcoming, my gaze settled on the woman that had just entered. For the second time in my life, she made my pulse rise. And she raised my ire! How dare she risk her life like that!

Seeing me sitting up on the cot, her face broke into a smile, and my anger evaporated instantly. I was reminded of what a beautiful woman she was. In her arms, she held several pieces of firewood, the reason for her outside venture. But they were immediately forgotten, and casually discarded beside the cookstove, as she made her way to the cot.

When she got closer, she suddenly realized that I'd seen the vile condition of my feet, and pulled short. Like an approaching thunderstorm, a cloud of worry and concern quickly descended on her face, vanquishing her smile to another dimension. If anything could bring back her sunshine, and drive away the storm on her face, I would get it or do it for her. It hurt me to see her sad.

Though I wanted to comfort her, and tell her something to cheer her up, I was stunned by her beauty, and blurted instead, "Did you latch the door?"

"Yes," she stuttered, groping for the right words to broach the subject of my condition.

"I know," I said softly and resignedly, following her gaze downward to my black and swollen stumps. "I know."

Tears came to her eyes as she reached out, tenderly encircling my neck with her arms, and embracing me. Tightly wrapping her in my arms, I returned her embrace, never wanting to let her go. With my face buried in the small of her throat, I breathed deeply of her, quickly losing myself in her, and growing intoxicated by the fragrance that surrounded me, filling me with strength and optimism. From a fear of losing her after just finding her, I didn't want to let go, ever. I wanted her near me forever, always to be in my life. I didn't want to die!

As well as I did, she knew the seriousness of my situation. We held each other for a long time, not saying anything, just drawing strength from each other. It wasn't until the bacon warming on the stove began to smell like burning bacon, did she slowly and begrudgingly pull away, mumbling something about fixing me something to eat. As she got to her feet, her hands lingering on my shoulders for a moment, she hesitantly let go and wiped the back of her arm across her face, drying the tears from her now red and puffy eyes. Moving slowly and dreamily toward the cookstove, she repeatedly glanced back at me, a look of joy tempered with a large dose of pity evident in her eyes. We would only be fooling ourselves, and each other, if we tried to claim that everything was going to be all right.

Everything wasn't going to be all right! In fact, nothing was ever going to be all right again! "It just wasn't fair," I sighed resignedly.

Sandy, having made a hurried attempt to dry her eyes, removed her snowsuit, revealing a heavy, wool-knit sweater and skin-tight, Lycra ski pants. Standing with her back to me, she called over her shoulder, "How do you like your bacon? Crisp I hope!"

She turned to face me as she broke out in a strained laugh. It quickly proved contagious, and as the pressure of the situation thrummed down on me, I too broke down and laughed.

It wasn't real laughter, and it didn't last long. Too quickly, her smile fractured and broke, her laughter becoming a wracking sob, and a torrent of tears suddenly sprang forth. Crying, she ran back to the embrace of my arms, and we sat on the edge of the cot, holding each other tightly. In a strange sort of way, it was as if we'd known each other forever, and not mere hours, despite the fact that we knew almost nothing about each other. Our pasts were a mystery to the other, and I suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about her. And I wanted her to know me, both intimately, and otherwise. Time suddenly seemed precious, when there appeared to be so little of it.

"I can't lose you too!" she sobbed against my chest.

Speaking softly, my face buried in the softness of her hair, I dug deeply to find the courage to match my words. "I know it looks bad, but people have survived worse. You're not going to lose me. Not just yet, anyway."

"I want to believe you, I do, but..." her voice trailed off and she gently pulled away, her eyes drifting down to my feet.

"Then believe me!" I said sternly, my hands gripping her forearms with conviction. I wasn't only trying to convince her, but myself, too. I paused a moment to calm myself. When I continued, my voice had taken on a determination and anger that accented my seriousness. "I have a score to settle with a man who leased me a cabin. When I signed that lease, I have no doubt that he knew there was a wolf pack up here." I paused again, taking a deep breath, while I considered whether I should share the rest of my suspicions with her. She had so much to worry about already, I wasn't sure if I had the right to burden her with more. At least not until it could be substantiated with solid evidence, and not just my hunches.

Rather hastily, I decided that she not only had a right to know of my suspicions, but also, if my suppositions proved to be accurate, the knowledge might just mean the difference between her surviving this ordeal, and death. "I don't believe that I'm the first human that wolf pack has attacked. They'd been in my cabin before, and I believe that Fred knew it!"

I hurriedly went on to tell her about the prior tenant in my cabin to me, and the reason for his early departure. She nodded in the affirmative, when I asked if she'd paid for the year up-front. Since I was telling her everything that I could think of, I also mentioned seeing Fred take a bloody package to the shed on the morning that he brought me up here. When I finished, she thought for a moment, mulling it all over.

"If you can prove what you just told me," she softly concurred, her belief in me evident in the tone of her voice. "He could be charged with murder, or at the least, homicidal negligence."

"I think I could have proven it before the cabin disappeared under the avalanche. But now, who knows," I finished, sounding defeated even before I'd started.

She leaned back into my arms, drawing comfort from my embrace, and we sat in silence, holding each other for a while longer. Although my stomach ached for lack of food, the smell of bacon still redolent in the close air of the cabin, I wouldn't mention it; I didn't want the moment to end. Because I wanted her to remain in my arms forever, if going without food could prolong the moment, then so be it.

But it wasn't going to be so. Without prelude, my stomach suddenly rumbled, startling us and spurring Sandy into action. She immediately jumped up as she remembered the bacon and hash browns warming on the cookstove. As she made her way to the stove, she apologized profusely for her thoughtlessness, muttering that she couldn't believe that she'd forgotten how long it must have been since I'd had anything to eat. She cursed herself for her inconsideration and selfishness, knowing that I must be starving.

Although I could have stayed in the comfort of her arms forever, my hunger was the distraction that we both needed to take our minds off my feet. It wouldn't be much longer before the frost thawed out of them, and then the pain would set in. With our limited medical supplies and resources, infection in the form of gangrene will probably follow that. From then on, life as I know it will cease to exist.

Sandy was equally aware of this, and that short of amputating my feet, my chances of survival were next to nil. There was always the chance of course that they wouldn't become infected. The swelling could go down with time, and the veins might support the flow of fresh, life-giving blood again. It might take time, I thought optimistically, but they might even get their healthy color back.

Taking my eyes off Sandy for a moment, I glanced down at the deformed obscenities at the ends of my legs, and knew that it would take more than a miracle for that to happen. At the sight of my feet, all optimism flowed out of me, and my head sagged.

While Sandy was busy filling a plate with the burnt bacon and potatoes, I began to wonder if I shouldn't save her a bunch of trouble, and just crawl back out into the night where the wolves can find me. With my carcass to keep them both busy and fed, Sandy might be able to escape the cabin unnoticed, if she tried. She was definitely in good physical condition. With a proper pack of supplies, she wouldn't have any trouble getting down off the mountain, and finding civilization. Leaning against the wall, between the door and the nearer of the boarded over windows, I noticed a sleek pair of cross-country skis. They must be hers, as they're in addition to the snowshoes that originally came with the cabin, which were also hanging on the wall next to the fireplace.

If we outfitted her correctly, she could easily make it down the mountain. The thought kept repeating itself in my mind, and it was beginning to stick. There wasn't any reason that both of us should die up here. By using the skis and snowshoes, she could make excellent time. If she started out early enough in the day, she wouldn't even have to spend a night in the wilderness. And if she started soon, before my condition deteriorated too severely, she could send back help. But only after she notifies the authorities, I quickly corrected myself.

Still deep in my thoughts, Sandy startled me, as she set a heaping plate of food on my lap. It was a blue-enameled tin plate with high sides. Almost immediately, I could feel the heat emanating through it, warming the tops of my legs. Taking the fork from where she'd stabbed it into the pile of food, I looked up into her gaze and sincerely thanked her.

"I'll get you some coffee," she hastily replied, turning back toward the stove.

Amy used to do the same trick with the fork when she'd bring us dinner in the living room on one of those too frequent occasions where I had to work late to meet a deadline. It was a pleasant flashback. When I'd asked her why she did it one time, she answered with a question of her own, "Would you rather eat from a fork that has fallen on the floor?" I never understood why it was considered efficiency of movement, as Amy was quick to lecture me on during the meal, when you had to make a second trip back into the kitchen to retrieve the beverages anyway. It never failed that, as you carried the beverages back to the living room, you would undoubtedly have a spare hand with which to carry the silverware.

But I soon discovered the obvious, and that was the futility of arguing with a woman. In the end, it never nets the man anything but grief, and the longer you persist in the argument, the more grief you will end up with on your plate.

The food didn't look as burnt as it smelled, and I took a heaping forkful. Testing it cautiously with the tip of my tongue to insure that I didn't burn myself, I inserted it into my mouth and hungrily bit down on it, only to discover that my teeth were loose. After putting the fork back into the mound of potatoes, I gingerly grasped my front teeth between my thumb and forefinger, and was immediately dismayed when I found that I could wiggle them back and forth with ease.

Sandy returned with two steaming cups of coffee. She watched me with interest as I continued toying with my teeth. She set the cups on the floor at her feet and sat down next to me, being careful not to cause my plate to spill.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, a worry line taking shape across her forehead.

"It's my teeth," I simply replied as I picked the fork back out of the food, not wanting to alarm her. "They're loose."

"When did you last eat?" she asked, a nervous concern mounting in her voice.

"I can't say as I rightly remember. How long have I been here?" I asked, cautiously biting down on a small piece of potato and being thankful at how soft it was.

"You have been asleep for the last twenty four hours or so, since you got here, and it was eight days before that when you stopped by on the way to your cabin," she answered, glancing at a small calendar pinned to the wall by the head of the cot.

It was one of those little paper ones that has all twelve months on it, but still only measures three inches wide by six inches long; it was the kind found in the back of a checkbook.

As I followed her glance to it, I noticed that there were two days each month with the letter 'X' drawn through them in ballpoint pen. One of the 'X's indicated the day that supplies were due. I knew this, because our supplies would have been delivered on the same day.

But the other day signified something of even more meaning to her than even supply day. The 'X', although drawn in with the same ballpoint pen, had been made much darker; the ink having been pressed into the paper with repeated passes. If I intended to find out what the other 'X' signified, I would have to resort to prying into her personal life. I was sure that if I asked her, she would unhesitatingly tell me. But was it really my place to ask? Moreover, if I do ask, and she tells me, must I feel compelled to divulge the details of my tragedy?

Veering away from the consequences of that significant date on her calendar, I did a simple calculation in my head and said, "I left the cabin the day after I got there. That same day, I lost my pack and all of my supplies in the avalanche, along with the cabin. Somewhere, I seem to have lost some time, because that means I haven't eaten for at least a week." Her mouth dropped, and I instantly wanted to alleviate her concern, so I lightly added, "Of course, my last meal was an awful large stack of pancakes, and we both know how nourishing pancakes are."

It didn't work. The seriousness stayed on her face, and she sternly asked, "When was the last time you've had any fruit, or vitamins?"

"I haven't had any meat or fruit since leaving the base cabin the morning he brought me up here," I meekly replied between small bites. She stared at me unbelieving. So, I told her more truths. "Since I lost my daughter more than six months ago, I haven't taken very good care of myself." And then, to lighten the mood, I quickly added, "But since I've come up here, I have quit smoking. That must account for something."

She forced a smile, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. Instead, she looked down at my plate. When she saw that I wasn't going to be able to eat the bacon, she asked if I'd mind her eating it. She went on to explain how the wolves had managed to raid her meat box, even though it was secured shut by a latch. Of all the meat supplies Fred had dropped off just last week, the bacon on my plate was the last of it. She couldn't bear the thought that it should go to waste just because I wasn't capable of chewing it. I couldn't agree with her more, and I gladly pushed the bacon from my plate onto hers.

While we sat next to each other, silently eating our food, I contemplated my feelings toward her. I hadn't shared such a closeness with anyone since Amy, and that had been different, a father-daughter closeness. What I was feeling now was more primal, more basic, and yet, it was gloriously pristine. We were developing a bond with many facets. We were sharing food, or breaking bread, as it used to be termed. It inspired friendship, comradery, and a closeness that could only be felt by the sharing of one's food. It gave the act of dining out a much more intimate meaning than I had previously felt. It wasn't anything sexual. In fact, it would make little difference if the participants were male or female. But an undeniable closeness could be felt and shared by two people when they partook of food together.

And yet, the bond growing between us was so much more. From the first time that we'd met, we'd both felt something. Now, it just needed time to grow, and to blossom.

We ate a while longer in silence; or rather, as silent as one can be when ones chewing overly crisp bacon. The potatoes had been fried in the bacon's grease, an indulgence of saturated fat that Amy would never have allowed, but now contained essential calories that I desperately needed. My body was emaciated even before I put it through the ordeal of the last week. But now, I'd shy away from looking at myself in a mirror for fear of what I'd see. I felt like a skeleton covered in nothing more than a thin white layer of skin. I had to wonder how Sandy could bare to look at me; I had to be a fright.

By morning, I was afraid that I wouldn't be in any condition to carry on a conversation. And it seemed important that Sandy know everything that I know, or at least, she should be familiar with what I suspect about the landlords.

"I need to tell you something," I said slowly, not sure if I was doing the right thing, or if I was just burdening her with unfounded suspicions. "I know that I already told you about my suspicions regarding Fred, and the former tenants in these cabins. But in case you're the only one left to tell the story to the authorities, you need to know everything that I know, or suspect. There was something strange going on at base camp the morning Fred brought me here. At first, I thought that I was just imagining it." I paused for a moment, still debating if I were doing the right thing. In addition, it wasn't easy sharing my feelings and shortcomings with someone that I'd just met, no matter how comfortable we felt together. "I was nervous that morning, setting out on a journey of unknown consequences, and all. But then, you've been there yourself, you know what I'm talking about."

"I'll bet you weren't nearly as afraid as I was!" she burst forth, trying to ease my obvious unease.

Smiling at her, feeling more comfortable because of her effort, I continued. "I couldn't help but pick up on the nervous tension between Fred and his wife. They acted almost as if they were afraid that I was looking for something, and that if they let their guard down, I just might find it. Moreover, they hedged around my questions, especially when I brought up the subject of prior tenants and the reasons for their early departures. But there was more to it than that." I paused to catch my breath and swallow a mouthful of potato. "I told you about the bloody butcher-paper package, and how Fred reacted when he saw me watching him come out of the shed. It wasn't anything he said, really, but the look he gave me. He was livid! I had no idea why. At least, not then, I didn't. Now, however, I have my theories."

Pausing to catch my breath again, I thought back on that cold dark morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I tried to remember the details about that morning that had been nagging at me. But they wouldn't materialize no matter how I tried to force them. Finishing the last of the fried potatoes, I handed her the plate.

"Thank you," I said sincerely as she took the proffered plate and fork. "They were delicious."

"I'm glad. You need all the nourishment we can get into you", she said encouragingly as she returned from the table where she'd set the plates. Bending over, she retrieved our cups of coffee from the floor. She'd set them there earlier so they would be out of the way while we ate.

Taking the proffered cup, I was mildly surprised that it was still warm. Speaking softly, with just a hint of encouragement to continue, she said, "I'd like to hear more, but if you're tired, I'll understand."

"I'm afraid that I don't really know much more than I've already told you. But I do have some theories that I've formed, if you're interested."

"I'd love to hear them," she said enthusiastically.

"Well, I'll give you the main theory that I've come up with, and you can think on it, while I take a nap. After such a wonderfully delicious meal, I'm afraid it won't be long before the sandman shows up. Now, are you sure you want to hear this?" I asked once more before continuing.

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure. Now quit stalling", she said playfully.

"Well, don't let it be said that I didn't warn you." I hesitated a moment for effect, before saying, "I believe that Fred and his wife are housing wolves in those huge equipment sheds by their cabin. And not just any wolves, but hybridized animals, bred for a distinct purpose." I waited for her to argue with me. When she simply sat in silence, digesting my words, I slowly, almost hesitantly continued. "It's my further belief that the whole purpose of these animals is to use them for the facilitation of murder. That's why Fred felt conspicuous regarding his activities the morning he brought me up here. He was feeling guilty!"

She looked at me, her eyes betraying her shock, not with my words, but because I was suggesting that, there were people in this world capable of such atrocities. She started to say something, and then stopped herself. Her innocence played on my heartstrings, and I suddenly wanted to take her in my arms and comfort her. But before I could, I had to tell her everything, all of my darkest suspicions.

"The way the wolf pack searches from cabin to cabin for prey isn't anymore coincidental than their obvious lack of fear toward people. They've been trained for the explicit purpose of killing people. And since their training is by people, they've lost that naturally occurring inbred fear of people that a wild creature is born with. It's always been my understanding that the inbred fear comes from an evolution of survival instincts, one of many varied traits that the wolf has learned over the millennia." I paused for a moment to catch my breath again before continuing. "I guess what I'm saying is that, when they attack people, they've learned that they usually come out on the short end of the stick, if you know what I mean."

Her voice betraying the shock she was feeling, she said, "I don't understand why someone would train wolves to kill people. It doesn't make any sense to me." And then, in a softer tone, she asked, "Some more coffee?"

"Yes, please," I replied, watching her closely as she got up and headed toward the stove where the pot sat simmering.

"Here you are," she said, handing me a steaming mug brimming with coffee before settling herself back on the edge of the cot beside me with her own mug of coffee. "I still don't understand what our landlords would have to gain by training vicious wolves to kill their tenants."

"I thought long and hard on that one too. But then I did the math," I said smugly. "Of their own admission, they claim to lease ten cabins up here. It might be considerably more than that, and no one would be the wiser. But let's assume that it's just ten cabins. Based on that number, and a tenant lasting two months on average, but paying approximately ten thousand for the year in advance, why, they're averaging sixty grand or more per year per cabin. That's over a half million dollars per year. But as I said, I think there are more than just ten cabins. They could have cabins scattered all over this mountain and who would ever know about them. Look around", I said, swinging my arm to encompass the interior of the cabin. "What would it take to whip up one of these one room buildings using all the natural materials at hand? What can't be scrounged from the woods, they bring in with their snow tractor."

"You know," she said meditatively, doing some thinking of her own, and coming up with conclusions that my theory suggested to her. "It's also possible that there are more people involved in this than just Fred and his wife." She chuckled softly before adding, "I'm sorry, but I think you're giving them way too much credit if you think they're capable of pulling this off on their own. There have to be others involved."

"Who else would gain by our deaths?"

Without hesitation, she said, "The travel agents that set up the people to lease the cabins would have to be in on it too. Otherwise, they'd grow suspicious when their clients never returned from the sabbaticals they arranged."

"Yes, I hadn't considered that. But you're absolutely right," I said complimentarily.

She grew excited, eagerly delving into the theory process. For the moment, it took her mind off the seriousness of our situation, giving her something fresh with which to occupy her thoughts. Moreover, she literally beamed with pride at my compliment.

Before she got too overly enthusiastic, I soberly reminded her that we didn't have anything in the way of proof, only overactive imaginations. Yet, she'd grasped onto the theory, and she would continue working on it, even as my own eyes grew too weary.

Despite the black coffee, because I was warm and relatively comfortable, sleep came easy to me. Tomorrow, when my feet were completely thawed, sleep wouldn't come anywhere near as easy, if at all.

It did my heart good to have taken Sandy's mind off the situation immediately confronting us, even if it was for just a short while. The coming days wouldn't afford us the luxury we'd shared this night.

### **10**

I awoke with a start. My body was drenched in sweat. I was shaking uncontrollably from chills while simultaneously burning up with fever. Yet, this time was terribly different from all the other times in my recent past when I'd awakened covered in sweat; this was more than just the dregs of a nightmare. This time, the pain was real.

Both of my feet were engulfed in searing agony. The pain was intense, eating its way up my legs, and culminating in a sharp throb within the flesh of my thighs. With each labored beat of my heart, I felt new pain wash through me, until even my balls ached. I had hoped, prayed actually, that my feet and their subsequent nerve endings would be beyond giving me pain in their dead, and soon to be decayed state. But I'd been wrong to think that I would get off so easily.

Briefly, between heartbeats, when the pain momentarily subsided, I wondered if I was equally far off about my murdering wolf's theory too.

Before I could start doubting myself though, the pain quickly reaffirmed its grip on my attention. Lying on my back, my teeth clenched against the unbearable pain that racked my body, I stared at the ceiling. In the back of my mind, I knew there was more to come. The pain was going to get worse before it got any better. If I believed otherwise, I was only deceiving myself. I'd seen my feet and their unholy condition! I knew the circumstances of our situation up here on the mountain! Whom did I think I was kidding?

Shaking, the sound of my teeth chattering loudly within my mouth, I unsteadily sat up on the edge of the cot, and took another look at my bare feet. For some morbid reason, I felt compelled to reaffirm to myself what the odds really were.

Although my feet looked bad the night before, I wasn't prepared for what I saw.

The swelling hadn't gone down with the thawing. Instead, they'd ballooned up to a fourth again the size of what they'd been. The skin stretched tautly over the dead flesh beneath it like a wet t-shirt, only several sizes too small.

As I stared in horror, I could literally see movement just beneath the discolored skin as bubbles of carbon dioxide were being released by the thawed and decaying blood and tissue. Within a day or so, the rotting gelatinous liquid beneath will start to work its way outward. When the pressure becomes too great for the dead and decaying skin to contain it any longer, it will explode, and emit all manner of foul smells and juices. By then, all the flesh and tissue within my feet will have broken down into a thick, foul-smelling, gooey liquid.

It will only take a single one of those innocent looking little bubbles to reach my heart or brain, and I will never know what hit me. In a way, that might be considered a blessing, for both Sandy and me.

Just as I was reprimanding myself for thinking such thoughts, I was suddenly startled by a gasp from Sandy. With a blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders to ward off the chill that had developed in the cabin from cutting back on our wood consumption, she'd come around the end of the cot and, upon seeing my feet, had emitted an involuntary little gasp as the sight took her breath away. I wasn't aware that she was awake, and now I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I should have kept the sight of them from her. Immediately, I pulled the fallen blanket back over my legs, suddenly embarrassed by what she'd seen, and angry with myself for my inconsideration.

"I'm sorry about that," I said quietly.

"It's all right, really," she said hurriedly. "I just wasn't prepared, is all. I guess I didn't really know what to expect once they'd thawed. I'll be all right. Would you like some coffee?" she ended, getting up too quickly and going toward the stove.

"I'd love some," I answered to her retreating back, speaking as calmly as the pain would allow. Sandy was proving to be a tough girl, but the sight of my feet had really shaken her. "Just by chance, you didn't find a first aid kit here when you moved in? I'm feeling a real need for drugs."

"No, there wasn't," she answered tightly from in front of the cookstove where she was busying herself with stoking up the fire and getting a pot of coffee set up.

She had her back to me, and although I couldn't see her face, I knew she was taking longer than necessary to make a simple pot of coffee. She was stalling until she could effectively mask the look of concern and worry on her face that the sight of my feet had brought on.

After a brief pause, and several backhanded wipes at her eyes, she continued, "At the time, I thought it was strange for a cabin that was supposed to be completely stocked and furnished didn't come with at least a basic first aid kit. When I mentioned it to Fred, he said the last tenant must have taken it with when they moved out. He said that he would make a point of bringing me a new one the following month. But he never did, which, now that I consider your theory, doesn't surprise me in the least. After all", she continued, her voice sounding unusually flat and void of emotion, "when you think on it, what would be the purpose in making it easier to survive an injury, when that goes against your overall plan?"

"I'm sure none of the cabins ever had first aid kits, or at least not since they started their murderous scheme," I commented, making an effort to hide my concern for her well-being. "I swear, I'm going to live through this, if for no other reason than to see everyone involved in it behind bars," I said with an air of determination that was meant more to hide my pain from her, than to actually imply any determination.

It wasn't that I didn't intend to go on living, because I did, especially since meeting Sandy. But I'd become too much of a realist since losing Amy to believe that life just goes on forever. The realist in me was telling me without mincing words that my chances of surviving this were pretty damn slim. Yet, I still had my determination, and I wasn't about to give up on myself just yet, or Sandy either.

"You don't happen to have any liqueur on hand, by chance?" I asked on the off chance that she might have brought some along with her for medicinal purposes.

"No," she answered a bit too slowly, her gaze drifting to the calendar on the wall, and then quickly turning away. Her eyes flitted nervously to mine, almost as if she were looking to see if I'd noticed, and afraid that I may have. "I don't drink, anymore," she said hurriedly, almost angrily, before getting up and going to check the stove, even though it didn't need checking.

"I'm sorry," I said gently, turning to follow her with my eyes. "I didn't know."

"It's all right. You couldn't have known about my problems. It's not as if we've known each other all that long."

She let out a small, forced-sounding laugh, before slowly making her way back to the edge of the cot. Slowly, she lowered herself down beside me. I reached out for her, gently taking her hand in mine. She squeezed my hand in response to my own light pressure on hers, and then let out a sigh, saying, "You noticed the two dates marked by 'X's on the calendar, I suppose."

"Yeah, they were a little too difficult to miss," I said noncommittally, not wanting to make her feel pressured into discussing anything that she didn't feel comfortable discussing with me. As much as I wanted to know everything there was to know about her, both the good and the bad, I only wanted it to come from her at the rate that she felt comfortable telling me.

"Well, the one date is pretty obvious, it's the date our supplies are due."

With a quick, sly remark, I cut her off short, "You mean that mark isn't up there to signify the day we met? I'm really hurt now."

"I guess that one does fall on the same day that we met," she said with a smile, her voice sounding brighter. Then she paused, the seriousness returning to her face, and she gazed down at the cold coffee in the bottom of her cup. "That other mark signifies the anniversary of the day that I quit drinking."

"That's a day to be proud of," I said, fully expecting her to agree, and quickly grew baffled by her continuing depression and sad countenance. "There's more to it than that, isn't there? You don't have to tell me the rest if you don't want to," I quickly added when she didn't respond to my question.

"No, I want you to know the whole truth." Her gaze met mine as she added, "I'd like to tell you, even though it isn't easy to speak of. But I think that I may be developing feelings for you." She blushed, and then added, "My God, I hope you don't think I'm always this forward. But under the circumstances, I feel a bond with you that I've never felt with anyone else. It's only right that I should tell you everything about me so that you know who and what I am, and aren't surprised and disappointed later. No secrets, okay?"

"I don't think that I could ever be disappointed by anything that might come up later, not about you. In case you haven't noticed, I'm feeling the same feelings your feeling. And to be honest with you, they scare the hell out of me. If only we could have met somewhere and sometime before ending up here."

"We may have, John. We may have met in the grocery store while selecting vegetables, or at the Laundromat, trying to get soap out of the dispenser. We could have passed each other a million times on the street going in opposite directions, but until now, we weren't ready for each other," she said softly as she turned toward me. We held each other tight, hoping that the moment would never end. Yet, at the same time glad that the moment came to be.

She cried softly against my shoulder as I caressed her back, and then she whispered through her tears, telling me the horror of her life. It was eight fifteen in the morning, a typical workday by anyone's standards. She'd already drank the hair of the dog to ward off the hangover that was chasing her from the night before. She followed this with a liquid breakfast of vodka and orange juice. She never knew what happened until the police arrived at her office with an arrest warrant for 'Felony Hit and Run'.

They took her in handcuffs to the precinct. Several hours later, when the buzz had worn off, they booked her. Only then, did they explain why she'd been arrested. On her way to work that morning, she'd hit two small children in a cross walk on their way to school. She'd been so drunk at eight fifteen in the morning that she wasn't even aware of what she'd done. If the judge had sentenced her to death, she wouldn't have appealed his ruling. But because she was a first offender, she was sentenced to therapy, lost her license for a year, and put on probation.

"I wonder how easily I would have gotten off with a good lawyer," she said flatly, pulling her head away from my shoulder, and wiping at her tear streaked face with the back of her hand. "It isn't right. They should have punished me more severely!"

"I think you have created your own personal form of punishment, Sandy. I don't think your letting yourself off easy enough. What happened to the kids in the cross walk, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Fortunately, neither of them was hurt very seriously. The little girl got some scrapes and abrasions on her legs from falling against the curb, and the little boy's arm was broken from where the door handle clipped him. The worst part was the fact that I was so drunk, I didn't even know that I'd almost killed two small children," she said with obvious anger and contempt for herself. And then, in a faraway voice, she added, "I didn't even know what I'd done."

Pulling her back into my arms, I told her that it was all right, and that we all make mistakes while going through this journey called life. No one is perfect, and no one is judging her anymore, least of all me.

I wasn't sure if she was listening to me or not until she gently pulled away and, after making a feeble attempt at drying her eyes with the back of her hand, forced a smile for me.

"I'm sorry," she said relieved. "Would you care for some more coffee, it's the one supply that I made sure I wouldn't run short of?"

"Yes, thanks," I replied as I looked down at my exposed feet and felt the pull of reality even stronger than before.

She handed me my mug and followed my eyes down to my feet before asking, "What do we do now?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest with you. But I have a feeling that we need to disinfect my feet and extract or eradicate the dead tissue before it can become gangrenous. It's not going to be easy, but that's why I asked earlier if you had any liquor. We need something to use for a disinfectant as well as an anesthetic."

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'd misunderstood your intention earlier; I didn't know that's what you'd meant." Smiling, she hurriedly rose and went to the shelves on the wall next to the stove. After studying the supplies set along the varied rows, she reached out and grabbed a single brown bottle. Returning to the cot, she handed it to me, saying, "I have something that will work for a disinfectant, but I don't think you'd want to drink it."

Taking the proffered bottle, I turned it so that I could read the label. She'd handed me a squeeze bottle of anti-bacterial soap. Elated, I said, "This'll make a good antiseptic. We can boil water and sterilize sheets for bandages." I paused for a moment to study her face. "I don't want to sound mushy or anything, but I'm glad that of all the people to be stuck in a cabin on the mountain with, it happened to be you."

"Thank you, that's sweet. I'm really glad you feel that way. I hope you still feel that way when we get done with your feet," she added, the tone of her voice turning to a more serious note.

"I want you to promise me something, Sandy," I said, noting her seriousness. "If I'm unconscious, or unable for any reason to tell you what needs to be done, and the infection turns gangrenous, you will take that axe and chop off my feet, or put a bullet in my head. The gun is in the front pocket of my snow suit."

"I know where the gun is, I found it when I undressed you. It was the only thing you had on you besides your wallet, which was in your back pant pocket. But John, if you think I could use it on you, whether to put you out of your misery or not, you are sadly mistaken."

"Sandy, I'm not kidding myself here, and I'm not holding back any punches. What's ahead is going to be downright ugly, foul, and painful, for both of us. If it gets too bad for me, and there isn't any hope, please, for my sake, use the gun."

Though I was sincere in my pleading with her, I could feel a palpable resistance, growing within her.

"I know you're just trying to get me mentally prepared for the worse, John, but it isn't going to happen. You're going to fight it with every fiber of your being, if for no other reason than to prevent me from being placed in that predicament. Do you hear me, John?" she suddenly cried out as she fell into my waiting arms. Her tears broke down the dam, and flowed unabated down her cheeks, soaking the front of my wool undershirt. I continued to hold her tightly while her body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

Speaking softly into her ear, my face pressed against her hair, I encouraged her to let go, to let it all out. This would be the last time that we would be able to talk this way before the pain in my feet would become unbearable. This was especially true, since I intended for her to begin cutting through the tightly stretched skin, and start the disinfectant process immediately.

But right now, we needed to share our strength, and to feed each other our fortitude. We were quickly approaching a long famine that would take all of our mental and emotional reserves to get through, if we could get through it at all.

My faith in Sandy was unwavering. There was a strong woman behind that pretty face and petite build. My faith in her was such that I was confident in her ability to pull through this ordeal and survive. It was my own physical strengths that had me most concerned. Since meeting this beautiful woman, my will to survive has never been stronger. Yet, my physical condition has never been at a lower point in my life. Since losing Amy, I'd neglected even superficial attempts at taking care of myself. But it was the physical tests that were going to be the most demanding on me through this ordeal, just as it was the mental tests that were going to prove to be the most demanding on her. I wished I didn't have to put her through it now, after coming so close to accepting her drinking problem, and dealing with what she'd done. But it wasn't going to be any other way.

When her sobbing finally subsided, we continued sitting together with our arms wrapped tightly around each other for what seemed a very short time, but was in reality, more than an hour. Finally, she pulled away, and looked deeply into my face. I felt an onslaught of emotions pour out to her. She was the most beautiful person on the face of this planet, red and swollen features, notwithstanding.

Pulling her face to mine, I searched out her lips, and kissed her long and hard, relishing the salty taste of her tears. Through the challenges ahead, I will remember this kiss, and I will draw strength from it in my darkest hour. Like the breath of life, I will cling to it, and when there isn't any more hope, I will come back to her for more.

Slowly, hesitantly, we pulled apart, looking at each other in silence, both wondering why life had dealt us this blow. I wanted to scream out and ask why, after we'd been through so much already. It didn't seem fair, on the one hand, but at the same time, it couldn't be blamed on anything or anyone but us. We had chosen the paths we were on long before we decided to lease the cabins. If I could have known all the pain and anguish that I was going to have to go through, and was about to continue through, I wouldn't forgo any of it, if I was guaranteed the path would lead me here. Right here and now, with Sandy holding me, and loving me. She made it all worthwhile.

The pain in my feet is growing unbearable. My temperature is rising higher by the minute. It won't be much longer before I go into fever-induced shock. My immune system is being overtaxed. Soon, it will be overloaded. When that happens, it will either shut down, or kill me. Faster than my body can fight them off, the dead and decaying flesh in my feet is sending deadly toxins into my bloodstream. Very shortly, Sandy is going to have to be the strong one, as I'm going to be depending on her to cut away the dead flesh, so that the new can live. The burden of debriding the dead flesh will be solely her responsibility. If I expect her to have the strength to do what's needed, I must find the inner strength to resist the pain and continue to live. After bringing myself on her the way I did, it won't be fair of me to put her through the future agony that I'm going to put her through, just so she can watch me die. I can't do that to her!

The shivers were growing worse, making it hard to sit upright on the cot, and yet, I knew it wasn't cold in the cabin. Before long, colder and clammier sweats would follow the chills. It was starting, whether I was ready for it or not, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

Through rattling teeth, I said, "You're going to have to cut through the skin, and literally scrape the dead meat from the living tissue. Then disinfect with a watery solution of soap what's left behind. If my memory serves me correctly, the medical term would be debriding, or curettage. In an operating room, it would be done with a curette, and I would be under an anesthetic. But we don't have a curette, so you're going to have to make do with the cutlery that we do have on hand." I paused as a wave of nausea passed over my body, leaving my feeling faint and slightly off-balance. "I think I'm going into shock. I need your help, Sandy."

She got up suddenly and grabbed several pots from the drawer under the stove. Speaking over her shoulder as she headed toward the door, she said that she would be right back. I said to be careful, but I don't think she heard me as she went through the door in a rush, the steel pots banging and clashing together in her arms.

While I lay back on the cot, the blankets pulled up to my neck, I listened intently for the sound of the wolf pack. But my ears were met only with silence. As a new wave of chills racked my body, I pulled the blanket up tighter around me, trying vainly to stave them off.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and she came charging back in with the first of several pots of snow. She set the largest of them on the stove after moving the coffee pot to the table. The smaller kettles, she left on the floor, close at hand to replace the volume that the melting snow would vacate in the larger pot. With that done, she opened the cutlery drawer that was fashioned under the one and only solid wood table, and retrieved all the knives from it. These she added to the largest pot on the stove. I wanted to tell her it would be quicker and easier to disinfect the knives in the flames of the fire within the cookstove. But I knew that she was using the extra time to psych herself up for the ordeal that lay ahead of her, and I kept my thoughts to myself.

She came back around to the cot, and after appraising me for a moment, said, "I think we need to get you up on the table. I'll put all the spare blankets on it for a makeshift mattress so it isn't quite as hard, and then we need to figure out how to move you up there."

My teeth were clattering together uncontrollably, and yet, I stuttered, "You have a good idea, there. The table will be much easier to keep clean and dry when you're working on my feet." I couldn't help but be amazed at how quickly I was deteriorating. "It's not very likely that I'll be able to walk over there and jump up on it, if you know what I mean."

"No, I suppose not. But we'll find a way," she said encouragingly. "First though, I need to get the table ready."

After adding more snow to the large pot with the knives in it, she went to a large sea chest setting against the far wall that until now, I hadn't noticed. Upon opening it, I could tell that it contained her life in bits and pieces of memorabilia. One of these days, I thought to myself, I will ask her to take me for a walk down that road. Near the bottom, she pulled out several quilts that appeared to have been hand-stitched. They were very ornately patterned. They must be heirlooms that were handed down from her mother's mother, and eventually to her. To think that she was going to risk destroying them for my sake brought on a wave of guilt. Whether she used them for padding in place of a mattress, or for covering me, they were going to get soiled.

She spread these on the table top, one over the other, and then carefully flattened them, caressingly running her hands over them to make sure that there weren't any folds or creases that might possibly be a discomfort to me. Then she came back to the cot where I lay shivering. Carefully, she helped me back into a sitting position with my feet dangling over the edge of the cot. She needed me sitting up so that she wouldn't have to lean quite so far over in order to get the bulk of my weight aligned with her back. Her intention was to hoist me onto her back and carry me to the table. Although I'd lost a lot of weight recently, I was still considerably larger than her. In addition, I was considerably taller, and she couldn't lift me high enough to keep my feet from dragging across the floor. There had to be a better way.

"Before you go any farther," I chattered out in little more than a whisper. "Maybe you can drag me and the cot over to the table, or drag the table over here. Then all we have to do is get me from down on this cot to up on that table."

"That's a good idea coming from you, since I'm the one who's supposed to be thinking straight." She thought for a moment before saying, "I think I'll bring the table over here, that way I'll have more room to work around it. Then I can move the cot over there," she added, pointing towards the chest.

She went over to the table and grabbed it by the nearest end with both hands. Throwing her weight into the effort, with much protesting coming from the wood floorboards, she slowly dragged it into a position parallel with the cot. She left just enough room between it and the cot for her lithe frame. Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, she also removed her snowsuit. Because she'd cranked up the old cookstove to melt snow and boil water, the cabin was getting hot and humid. Mixed with the exertion from dragging the heavy wood table, her face had turned a bright pink. Even on the brink of being delirious with fever, I couldn't help but think how beautiful she looked. Standing there in front of me with the glow from the lantern highlighting her face, she was a vision of beauty, easily rivaling that of an angel.

Just as quickly, I scolded myself at the thoughts that followed, as I took in the thick wool sweater she was wearing beneath her snowsuit. It closely followed the contours of her body, silhouetting her round curvaceous hips and small waist, and accenting her flat tummy, while highlighting her proud, firm breasts. In that moment, despite my pain and the horrible situation facing us, I harbored thoughts that weren't appropriate under the best of circumstances.

She turned her back to me and, in a voice that was both firm and demanding, said, "Now, when I bend down, you lock your hands in front of my throat and hold on tight. I'm going to reach around my sides, grab you by your belt, and lift while turning at the same time. If we're lucky, I'll be parking your butt on the edge of the table. When I do, I'm going to need you to maneuver yourself far enough onto it so that you don't fall back off. You understand me?"

"Yeah," I stuttered back, confident in her abilities.

I was shivering uncontrollably, the cold having penetrated all the way to my core. My body was being racked by intermittent spasms of pain that were starting in my lower extremities, searing through my guts, and terminating in the back of my skull. With each spasm, I shook so hard, I was afraid the cot was going to collapse beneath me.

Bending her knees while lowering herself before me, she took my hands in hers, and carefully placed them over her shoulders, bringing them together in front of her throat. I suddenly doubted that I would have the strength to do what she needed of me, but I was afraid to say so. If I voiced my concern, it might take hold, making it come true. Instead, I laced my sweaty fingers together, and prayed silently that they would stay that way, at least until she got me on the table.

She reached past her hips, and wrapped her fingers between my belt and body. Softly, she counted to three. Then, inhaling deeply like a weight lifter going after a world record, she straightened her legs with one mighty effort.

With a tremendous rush that sent the blood draining from my head, I rose upward off the cot, simultaneously spinning dizzily around to the side. My eyes rolled in their sockets, and a dark cloud settled over my vision. I was about to pass out when, just as suddenly as it all began, I was sitting on the edge of the table with my arms still clasped in front of Sandy's throat. Though I felt sick and nauseated from the movement, I was aware of her butt pushing firmly against my crotch, as she forced me farther back from the edge of the table. Attempting to help, I rocked from side to side on my buttocks. The movement was more than my poor head could withstand, and I immediately grew dizzy and disoriented.

None too soon, she stopped, satisfied with our efforts, and slowly unlocked my hands from in front of her throat. She kissed them lightly as she held onto them and turned back to face me. Too light headed from the exertion to do it myself, she gently helped me lay down on my back, and then lifted my legs up onto the table, moving one at a time and setting it gently on top of the quilts.

After positioning a pillow beneath my head, she quickly removed my sweat-soaked underclothes, and toweled my body dry, being especially careful near my feet. Next, she covered me with the blankets from the cot. Though I continued to shiver, the sharp spasms of pain seemed to subside for the time being, and I almost felt the warmth trying to displace the cold in my core.

Stepping back for a moment to assess the situation, she suddenly went over to the small pile of firewood by the stove and dug through it, looking for just the right piece. When she finally settled on one, she returned to the table and positioned it beneath my legs so that my feet were propped up enough for her to work on them, top and bottom.

Finally satisfied with her efforts, she dragged the stripped cot across the floor, placing it next to her chest of memories. Sitting down on it, she rested her head in her hands for a moment, staring blindly at the closed lid. I thought she was going to open it and pull something of importance from within. But instead, she was drawing the courage and fortitude to continue, from all that was contained within.

Ready, she took a deep breath and rose, coming to stand by my side. "I'm going to have to start on your feet now," she said slowly and softly, almost apologetically. Then, bending over and cradling my head in her arms, she started crying, ever so softly saying, "Please forgive me."

Through the chattering of my teeth, I managed just three words, "I love you."

She went to the stove and, after satisfying herself with the temperature of the water, removed the large pot and brought it over to the foot of the table before setting it down. Reaching into the steaming water with a pair of tongs, she retrieved a medium-sized knife, and returned to the stove with it. Opening the firebox door, she held it in the open flame for a moment to sterilize it. Returning to the table with a detached look in her eyes, she began the cleaning process. I knew immediately when she cut through the blackened skin, as a putrid odor suddenly permeated through the air, blocking out the beautiful fragrance of her being. She moved quickly and stoically, doing what needed doing with professional detachment and accuracy. But I wasn't aware of this directly; everything had already grown hazy and distant, even the pain.

I was no longer lying on an old wooden table that looked as though it had been hand carved out of an old tree over one hundred years ago. Instead, I was drifting toward my future, floating high up in the rafters of an ancient church. A funny thought passed fleetingly through my consciousness, as I wondered briefly, that this must be what it feels like to be an angel. Looking downward toward the doors, they were suddenly flung open, allowing the sun-filled daylight to enter. Shadows filled the doorway, as I continued looking on in amusement. A wedding procession took shape from the materializing shadows, and filed into the church. I was happy for the couple, though I wondered absently if I even knew them.

No sooner had I formed the thought that I needed a closer look then I was suddenly drifting down to the alter gliding gracefully and invisibly behind the two lovers. There was something familiar about them, but I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. I'm almost upon them, when suddenly, I'm pulled back up with such a violent force that I let out an involuntary gasp. The feeling doesn't hurt since there is no sensation of gravity; it's a feeling more akin to riding in an elevator and having the floor drop out from under your feet. Yet, it isn't even that so much, as it's more just a 'feeling' of being there. There's no feeling of air rushing past me, as I move rapidly upward, toward the rafters again. This time, though, I continue upward through the roof of the church, and into the bright morning sky.

Flying over the rooftops of the buildings, I can't help but wonder where I'm going. There is no sensation of time or movement. Rather, I feel as a spectator, watching a movie roll by on a large screen that has the ability to encompass all of my surreal surroundings. I'm acutely aware of a lack of all sensations, though I should be feeling something, even nausea, when I am suddenly being pulled back down toward the roof of another building in another part of this little town.

Again, I'm sure I should recognize this town, this little community, just as I'm sure I should've recognized the wedding couple. And I would have, if I'd just seen their faces.

There's no fear of hitting the roof that I'm spiraling rapidly down toward, the same, as you have no fear when you're watching a movie. The camera is taking the picture from the driver's seat of the car as it crashes over the cliff, but you don't fear for your life. That's the way I felt now, watching the roof rushing up at me.

With all the ease of a spirit, I sail through the roof, and suddenly find myself floating near the ceiling in a room that is unmistakably a child's nursery. There's a small child in a crib below me, playing contentedly. It's a very beautiful child, and I can tell that it senses my presence in the room. And though I'm unable to see its face, I still know that it's a very beautiful child.

Ever so slowly, it turns to look up at me. I feel a moment of excitement at the prospect of seeing its face. But then, once again, I am violently heaved upward and away. I find myself not wanting to leave this child as it sits in its crib. But my attempts to resist the pull are futile.

As I'm carried away against my will, I feel a deep sense of loss and regret. But the feeling subsides, and a new awareness takes hold. This time, I'm on a journey through a dark and forbidding place. Also, for the first time since setting out on this surreal journey, I'm aware of my body. The air is turning colder by the minute, and I'm acutely aware that I don't have the right clothes on to be here. I'm not dressed for such extreme temperatures, and I can feel the bite of the cold all the way to the pit of my stomach and beyond. It feels as if it's penetrating right into my soul.

I've come to the end of my journey. Although I don't know how I know it, I am very certain of it.

### **11**

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the cold seeps outward. In its wake, a void is left in my body, which is quickly filled with glowing warmth and love.

My eyes suddenly snap open, but the light is dim, making it difficult to see. Still, the room looks familiar, and it takes me only a moment to recognize the common layout. Yet, I'm not sure if it's my cabin or Sandy's. Fighting a stiffness that has lodged in my neck and upper torso, I slowly turn my head from side to side, studying the interior of the cabin.

The first thing of importance that I see is the cot, still setting across the room where Sandy had dragged it earlier. But even though it looks as if it's been slept in, and remains unmade, there's no sign of Sandy.

Should I be worried, I ask myself. My mouth is dry and I'm extremely thirsty.

"Sandy," I try calling out, but am barely able to generate a hoarse whisper.

Only then, do I remember the wolves and the inherent danger she might be in, if she ventured outside again. Feebly, my heart starting to race, I try to get up. It suddenly seems imperative that I find her. She may be in danger, or worse, and in need of me.

As my head rises shakily from the pillow, I'm vaguely aware that the blankets laying over me, as well as the pillow, are saturated with sweat. But before I can contemplate it further, and what it means with regard to my situation, a rocket explodes in the back of my skull, and I quickly drop back against the soggy bedding. My head feels as if it's splitting open, and beads of sweat are breaking out anew on my forehead. My breathing is shallow but steady, as I lay motionless, waiting for the pain in my head to subside.

In my present condition, I sadly realized that even if Sandy desperately needed my help, there wasn't a damn thing I could do for her. I wasn't in any shape to help myself, much less her. The sooner I resign myself to that fact, and quit fighting the urge to get up, the sooner the pain will subside, and I'll be able to think clearly.

While I lay motionless, listening intently for any sound that might give me a clue to her whereabouts, I try to take stock of my physical condition. From my position on the table, I have a clear view of the turned down lantern, and I notice for the first time just how black the chimney has grown. If I could just remember how black it'd been the last time I'd seen it, I could draw a time line that would reveal how much time has slipped away from me. Thinking back to the last time that I'd seen it, I'm suddenly sure that I remember it being much cleaner, almost as if it had recently been taken apart and cleaned.

The thought brought a smile to my emaciated face, as I envisioned Sandy doing domestic chores around the cabin. It would be just like her to keep the place spotless, even when she wasn't expecting visitors. Gazing at the kerosene lantern, and noting the thick buildup of black lining the glass chimney, I couldn't help but wonder how long I'd been unconscious; it appeared to be many days' worth of buildup.

With that realization, it suddenly became very important to see my feet. In my earlier anxiety over Sandy's absence, I'd forgotten all about the main reason for feeling the way that I was. My feet were lower than my head, and thus, below my line of vision, making it impossible for me to see them without raising my head. I was afraid of what would happen if I tried to sit up again, so I resigned myself to being content with the fact that they weren't hurting.

Another, more chilling thought came to mind; it was possible that I couldn't see my feet because Sandy resorted to amputation as a last means of saving my life.

Just as quickly, as the thought entered my mind, I rejected it. When I was last conscious, she was only going to puncture the bloated skin and relieve the building pressure by draining the backup of fluids. There wasn't any reason to believe things had progressed beyond that until I talked to Sandy and she told me otherwise. In the meantime, I will resign myself to not worrying about it. When the time comes, I will cross that bridge, and with Sandy's help, I will face up to the consequences that come to bear. If giving up my feet will bring Amy back, I thought morosely, then I would gladly go without a limb or two. There were many worse fates in life, and losing Sandy was one of them.

Careful not to move very fast, I rolled my head from one side to the other, taking in as much of the cabin's interior as possible. I was worried about Sandy and looking for clues as to her whereabouts. The first thing I noticed after the lantern was the wood stacked by the side of the cookstove. It was dry from the heat radiating through the cast iron sides, and all evidence of melted snow was gone. Moreover, there looked to be an amount sufficient for at least a day's worth of heat. So, unless she went into the woods to cut more, there wasn't any pressing need to go out for firewood. But if she'd gone out to cut more wood, I should be hearing either a chainsaw running, or the thumping of the axe splitting through logs. I heard neither sound.

Of course, there were two other options that I hadn't considered. It was possible that she'd already cut and split the firewood, and was in the process of carrying it back to the cabin, which meant that she should be back anytime.

The other option wasn't quite as optimistic, and I decided not to dwell on it. It involved her going out for firewood, and being caught off guard by the wolves.

However, this latter thought brought a new dilemma to mind: why hadn't the wolves approached her cabin during her first month here?

As quickly as I pondered it, reasons leaped to mind. The first, and most obvious reason being, that the wolves were working their way along the line of cabins, and Sandy's was the last cabin in line before Fred retrieved them and returned them to the shed at his base camp.

For a brief while, I contemplated these new ideas, seeing how they fit into the overall scheme that I'd painted of Fred and his wife. The package of raw meat that he'd taken into the shed was only a small part of what he wanted to keep concealed. In addition to food, he took personal items of his new tenants so that the beasts of prey would have out scent when he turned them loose later that same day. With the aid of the snow tractor, Fred could easily have gone back to base camp and loaded up the wolf pack, already primed and raring to get started.

But the thoughts were brief, before they once again returned to worrying about the missing Sandy. Because the temperature in the cabin was still relatively warm, I didn't believe she'd been gone for long. Through the cracks around the plywood covering the windows, I could further tell that it was indeed daylight outside, and the sun was shining brightly. It was just the kind of day an adventurous woman would want to be outdoors.

Moving stiffly, I craned my head around until I could see the fireplace. Much to my relief, I noted that the skis and snowshoes still hung where they'd always hung. Wherever she'd gone, it wasn't with the intention of going far.

"Sandy!" I croaked through my parched throat. "Please God, don't let anything happen to her," I pleaded aloud.

I suddenly jumped, as I heard the unmistakable sound of stamping snow off boots. Someone was about to enter the cabin, and although I was sure that it had to be Sandy, I was careful to keep an open mind. There was always the possibility that Fred was making sure his wolf pack had done their job before bringing new tenants.

Just as quickly, I scolded myself for being paranoid, the only person that would stamp snow off their boots before entering an old mountain cabin would have to be Sandy. No one else would give a shit about a little snow being dropped on the rough plank floors.

As the door swung inward, my eyes squinted against the glare from the bright sun reflecting off all the snow surrounding the front of the cabin. For just a moment, a dark shadow blocked out the brightness, and I worried that I'd been wrong, and it wasn't Sandy. Then she stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind her. In the dim light of the interior of the cabin, she was as blind as a man with a white-tipped cane. But while it would take her eyes a few minutes to adjust before she'd notice that I was awake, I could see her clearly, and my heart started beating faster.

She took off her hat, briskly shaking the powdery snow off it, and hung it on a hook by the door next to where my own snowsuit was hanging. Still unaware that she was being watched, she unzipped her suit and stepped out of it, also hanging it there. Only then, did she turn and see me watching her.

She froze in her tracks, the deeply engraved lines of weariness that were etched into her face, abruptly vanishing and being replaced by a vibrant smile, as she called out my name, "Oh John!"

She came running around the wood piled just inside the door and next to the cook stove, excitedly crying out, "Oh John, oh John. You have no idea how many times I thought I'd lost you. Thank God you're still alive!"

Grabbing my head in her arms, I weakly manage to lift my hands to her face. As our lips find each other, I'm acutely aware of the softness of her skin, still cool from the outside air. We kiss passionately, as two young lovers that have found themselves together again after having been too long apart.

When our lips slowly and begrudgingly part, I whisper through parched lips, "I love you."

"I love you, too, John, more than you will ever know."

For a long time, we held each other tightly, grateful for the opportunity that we thought we'd never have again. And though I wanted it to last forever, I couldn't keep down my rising trepidation. Did I still have feet, or did Sandy resort to amputation to save my life. And if I still had my feet, would I ever walk again?

Looking deeply into her eyes, I search for the answers to my questions, hoping to spare both of us the pain of having to ask, and the agony of an answer. She quickly averts her gaze from my own, and I'm suddenly certain that she knows what is coming next. Deep in my heart, I sense that she is putting off the inevitable. Steeling myself for the inevitable, I take solace in the fact that I have my life to spend with her, if not my feet and the ability to walk.

"My feet, Sandy. You have to tell me, do I still have my feet?" I rasped, my words shaking with anxiety.

In response, she nods her head briskly in the affirmative, followed by an onslaught of tears. Loudly, her dammed up anxiety breaking forth, she cries against my chest, "Yes! Oh yes, you still have your feet! And yes, John, you will walk on them again!"

Grabbing her shoulders, I kiss her hair, her head, and I break down with emotion, crying with relief while blabbering, "Oh thank God, Sandy, thank you."

For a long moment, I lose control of my emotions, and cry uncontrollably. We hold each other and let the sobs run their course before she hesitantly pulls away.

When she's ready to talk, she says softly, still dabbing at her red and swollen eyes with the back of her hand, "I have to admit that it wasn't very easy for me. At one point, I even thought that if I didn't amputate, I was going to lose you altogether." She hesitated, taking a deep breath and swallowing before she continued. "There was a moment when I stood over you with the butcher knife, looking down on your feet, and I asked God for the strength to do what needed doing." She paused again, swallowing back her tears before continuing. "I can't begin to tell you how glad I am that I didn't find the strength to do what I mistakenly thought needed doing. But you should also know that if you had died because of my inaction, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"It's all right," I say consolingly. "You did the right thing no matter the reason why. It's all working out for the better, now, isn't it? I have my life, my feet, and most important, we have each other. Whatever else has happened is irrelevant, as long as we go forward from here, and don't dwell too deeply on the past. We've both done enough of that for a life time."

"Yes," she softly agreed. "Yes we have."

After a moment of silence, I said, "I'm dying of thirst. Would it be too much trouble to get a cup of coffee?"

"No, not at all," she responded lightly before flippantly adding, "Just as long as you're aware of who's going to be waiting on who, once you're feeling better, and can get up and around again. Life doesn't just revolve around you, you know."

"Tell me, how long has it been since I lost consciousness? I feel as weak as a new born kitten."

My voice was dry and raspy, but at least, I could talk.

Sounding both tired and resigned, she spoke over her shoulder as she set up the coffee pot, "You've been on the table for twelve days now. Most of that time, it's been touch and go, and I've been afraid to leave you. But then, this morning, you were snoring softly, and your temperature was down. So I took advantage of the break, and snuck out for some fresh air."

"You didn't have enough firewood stacked by the cabin for that long of a stay, did you?" I asked with concern.

"Oh, heavens no!" she gasped. "I've been doing a lot of wood cutting in order to keep this place warm. I'll be glad to let it cool off a little now that you're over the worst of it." She glanced at me and smiled, before adding, "I was beginning to wonder if your fever was ever going to break."

Apprehensively, I asked, "What about the wolves?"

"I haven't seen hide or hair of them since you first arrived. Not even any howling at night. I haven't let my guard down, mind you. I did however find the gun in your snowsuit. If it makes you feel any better, I've gotten into the habit of taking it with me every time I go outside," she answered with an air of confidence, almost bragging. "By the way, you don't happen to have any more ammunition for it, do you?"

"No, unfortunately that's all there is. When it's gone, it's gone."

"Too bad," she mumbled to herself.

When she didn't expound on her thoughts, I was forced to pry. "Would you mind sharing that thought with me?"

"Oh," she said, startled from her thoughts. "I was just thinking that when you're up to it, we could hike out of here. Between the skis and the snowshoes, we could make good time. But with only four rounds left for the magnum, if we got caught out in the open, we wouldn't stand much of a chance against that wolf pack."

In an effort to see the calendar on the wall, I rolled my head to the side. I was hoping that if I could see it, I could calculate what day it was, and from there determine when Fred was due back with supplies. It wouldn't take many bullets to hijack the snow tractor from Fred and commandeer it back to civilization. We'd probably have to take Fred as our prisoner, since I'm sure Sandy wouldn't let me turn him loose in hopes that the wolves take care of him. Of course, they probably wouldn't turn on him anyway, if my suspicions regarding their upbringing were correct. But at least with the snow tractor, we wouldn't have to worry about the wolves, or the elements.

Sandy turned back from the stove just then and followed my gaze to the calendar on the wall. She must have had the same thought as myself, as she said, "He's not due for another nine days. But I'll be very surprised if he shows up. The wolves have been up to something for the past two weeks that's keeping them away from here. We may not know what it is, but I'll bet you old Fred our landlord does. Furthermore, he's probably behind whatever it is they're up to."

"I have a sinking feeling that within the next nine days that wolf pack is going to be back. If you have to go outside, try to keep it to daylight hours, and by all means, please be careful."

"I always am my love," she answered in a serious tone of voice before lightly adding, "Are you ready for your coffee while I fix us some soup. We need to get your strength up, and I don't think your teeth are up to anything more substantial just yet."

"My throat either, for that matter," I lightly rasped. But because of the dried-leather quality of my throat, everything I said came out sounding the same, at least to my ears.

She lifted my head and bunched the pillow up under it so that I could drink from the mug without further assistance. The coffee burned all the way down my throat, and she quickly brought me a cup of cold water to sooth it. Holding the cup to my mouth while I drank, she waited until it was empty before handing back the mug of coffee. Feeling refreshed, I listened to her working at the stove. The old familiar sounds of kettles knocking together and such, as was customary of someone fixing a meal, made for a relaxing atmosphere. It seemed to take all the strength I could muster just to raise the coffee mug to my lips, so I held it in my hands, but in essence, was only balancing it to keep it from spilling; it needed to cool some before I could drink it anyway.

Feeling sleepy, I was almost dozing off, when the aroma of her work at the stove wafted over me. Almost immediately, my mouth started watering, and I realized for the first time since waking up just how hungry I was. I struggled to raise the mug of coffee to my lips and was pleasantly surprised to find that it had cooled enough to be palatable. Though I couldn't take very large swallows without causing pain to my throat, I hurriedly drank it down in anticipation of a meal. Just from the warmth of the coffee, my throat was starting to feel better, and the caffeine was having a real pick-me-up effect. Of course, the caffeine effect would be counteracted by putting something nourishing into my stomach. Then, my body would really start feeling better.

"Here we go," she said, speaking as if to a baby, as she came around the table with a steaming bowl of thick beef soup.

Sitting on the edge of the table, she slowly and methodically started feeding me, one careful spoonful at a time. I could feel the warming of my core almost immediately. By the time the bowl was empty, I was ready for some serious sleep. Even before Sandy reached the washbasin with the dirty dishes, I was sound asleep.

With a dull aching throb in the back of my neck, and a burning sensation emanating from both feet, I awoke thinking that someone had pulled the stove over and set them on it. Glancing down to be sure that wasn't the case, I saw Sandy, hard at work on them. With hands that moved steadily and gently, she carefully squeezed and massaged the darker places, forcing out the foul smelling puss, and then gently absorbing it with a sterilized rag. She was so involved in what she was doing that she didn't realize I'd awakened.

With a great amount of will, I lay unmoving, quietly feigning sleep. Not making a sound, I forced the pain aside, as I surreptitiously watched her work. It lifted my spirits to see that the deeply etched lines were growing softer as they gradually receded from around her eyes. Except for looking like she didn't get a very good night's sleep, I would have said she was absolutely radiant.

Feeling my gaze upon her, she suddenly glanced up, noticing me watching her for the first time. Immediately, a smile lit up her face, it felt as though the sun had just broken out from behind a dark and threatening cloud cover. The whole cabin seemed to radiate with her warmth and love.

"How did you sleep?" she asked softly, hurriedly finishing the task at hand. "I hope I didn't wake you, but I didn't want to leave these bandages on for too long."

"Good. I slept good," I answered, my voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Though it still felt as dry as sandpaper, it was steadily improving. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost two days. I'll get you some water", she said as she went to the pot on the stove that she used for thawing snow. Filling the same mug that I'd used for coffee, she returned, continuing in the same cheerful tone, "You're looking much better than you have in a long time. You're getting your color back. And not only in your feet, but also in your cheeks."

"I hope you mean the cheeks on my face," I interrupted, holding back a smile.

"Yes, I mean the cheeks on your face. Here, drink this," she ordered, holding the mug to my mouth and feigning indignation at my remark.

Without giving it any thought, I reached a hand out for the mug, and was mildly surprised to feel the strength returning to my limb. Although I was still as weak as a kitten, I was definitely feeling stronger. I was on the mend!

"You wouldn't have anymore of that wonderful broth round here, would you?" I asked of her, after swallowing a soothing mouthful of water. Along with my rediscovered strength, came an even stronger appetite.

"It'll only take a minute to heat it," she said cheerily, as she let me hold my own cup and headed back toward the stove. "A strong appetite is the best sign we could possibly hope for. It means you are definitely getting better."

"I'm on the mend," I quickly agreed, feeling better than I had in a long time. With almost all the hoarseness gone from my voice, I asked her in a serious tone, "How long do you think it'll be before I'm able to get up and walk?"

I couldn't help but notice the light slipping from her eyes, and a serious cast creeping into them. Aware that I was watching her closely, she quickly turned her head away to prevent me from seeing the turmoil on her face. It said more than words, and I knew what she was going to say before she said it. But I wasn't about to let it rain on my parade.

"I'm not sure," she hesitantly stuttered. "They're healing, and I think I've removed all the infected tissue...." Staring down at the stovetop without seeing it, she grew visibly nervous, struggling for the right words. Suddenly, she took a deep breath and threw her head back, turning to meet my gaze. Having come to the conclusion that I deserved nothing less than the truth, she said with steely determination, "There isn't much muscle tissue left connecting the tendons. What's there, is healthy, but I don't think you'll ever be able to walk normally again, if at all."

I should have been shocked, but I wasn't. I was still reveling in the fact that I was alive and that Sandy was here with me. The rest, I'd get over. Somehow, I'd find a way. There was worse in life than not being able to walk.

Seeing her on the verge of tears again, I suddenly grew determined that I didn't want to see her cry. Her smile had a glorious way of uplifting me; her tears achieved just the opposite. At the moment, anything less than her smile will devastate me.

"It's okay, Sandy," I said sternly. "We'll find a way to cope with my feet. Right now I am just grateful to you for saving my life." Before she could respond, I quickly added, "And for loving me. You came into my life when I needed you most."

She stepped away from the stove and, leaning over me, squeezed my shoulders while gently brushing her lips over mine. Tasting the salt on her face from previous tears, I asked of her, "Please don't cry. I can't stand it when you're sad. Just smile for our good fortune." It was all I could say as I fought back my own tears. But mine weren't tears of sadness or depression, I was crying because I was happy. And she smiled. Once again, the cabin seemed to glow in a bright yellow light from her radiance.

"Now, how is that delicious soup you make coming along?" I asked huskily while patting her on the back.

She stood, wiping tears from her cheeks, and turned back to the stove where a kettle was just beginning to boil over, hissing loudly as the liquid contents met the heated steel.

"I think it's ready," she said equally huskily, her voice choked up with emotion. "Let me pour you a bowl."

She returned with a steaming bowl of beef soup and, after taking a seat on the edge of the table, started spoon-feeding me like a small child. She was obviously enjoying this part of taking care of me. After what she'd been through to get me to this point, I couldn't object to her mothering, and allowed her to continue.

The soup was even better than I remembered it. I had to attribute this to the fact that along with my strength, I was also getting my six senses back, one of which was my sense of taste.

After finishing the first bowl, she brought the second bowl with my own spoon. Then she returned to the stove and poured a bowl for herself. While she was preparing her own bowl, I hungrily lapped up the soup, forgetting my manners completely. When she returned, however, and sat down next to me on the table again, I slowed down my pace so that I could talk to her between mouthfuls. Something was nagging at me, and it wasn't until I'd started on my second bowl of soup that it dawned on me just what it was.

Using the tip of my spoon, I pushed it slowly through the contents of my bowl, trying to determine the origin of everything contained within. As I studied it, I chastised myself for having overlooked the obvious. Sandy had referred to the watery concoction as 'beef soup'. But if I wasn't mistaken, we didn't have any beef. In fact, we didn't have any kind of meat! I distinctly remembered her telling me that the wolves had ravaged her meat locker, and the bacon we ate when I'd first arrived had been the last of it.

As I swirled the spoon, I breathed a sigh of gratitude; there wasn't any evidence of meat in the bowl, aside from the flavor.

I glanced up and saw Sandy staring at me. Without having to say a word, she knew what I'd been thinking. The wolves hadn't bothered us for a while, she'd found my gun, and we were eating 'beef' soup. Smiling sheepishly back at her, I said, "This soup is delicious. You have outdone yourself. But how do you achieve the beefy flavor without any actual meat?"

Smiling knowingly back at me, she simply stated, "Bouillon cubes."

When I looked puzzled, she explained, "It's a trick I learned from my mother. When I was a kid growing up, we called it poor-man's porridge, because we couldn't afford real meat. For whatever reason, the cubes have stuck with me. I never got out of the habit of keeping them on hand. I'm not really sure if it's because they're a link to my past, and they make me feel close to my mother, or if they're just convenient when I need a light meal. Either way, I keep a case of the little buggers on hand at all times. Since I wasn't sure whether I could trust Fred to deliver them up or not, I brought more than a year's supply with me. Fortunately, they're small, and they don't take up hardly any space, so I don't have to worry about them going bad as long as I keep them reasonably dry."

She hesitated for a long moment, her eyes taking on a distant look. Talking about her mother and childhood conjured up some old memories, and she drifted off. Leaving the floor open for her to continue, I refrained from saying anything, preferring to sit in silence. There were a few thoughts of my own that I wanted to study. Foremost, how the rest of her supplies were holding up, and if they would be sufficient to sustain us until I was well enough to hike out. It wasn't any secret that she didn't have many supplies left.

When she realized that I was still waiting for her to continue, she thoughtfully added, "Unfortunately, they don't offer any nutrients of their own. The only sustenance one gets from preparing them is from the other ingredients you add to the kettle."

"Speaking of the other ingredients," I said slowly, hoping she would take the lead and I wouldn't have to press the matter of our dwindling supplies.

"Well, if we could live on bouillon cubes, we'd be set. But, unfortunately, we can't."

"Are the supplies really that low?" I asked solemnly, confident that the tone of her voice suggested that except for the flavored bouillon cubes, we didn't have much left.

"Once you get your appetite for solids back, and I hope you do pretty soon, we'll have about two weeks before we're reduced to a bouillon cube diet. That is, of course, if we start a rationing program now." She paused, taking a minute to study her slender build, before saying, "That won't be a problem, though, as I need to go on a diet anyway. But you, on the other hand, need all the food you can eat to get your strength back up. Plenty of food and rest will hurry along the healing process," she said sternly. "So don't feign a loss of appetite to make the food go farther! We'll be a lot better off if you eat everything within a week, and are strong enough to start hiking the day after."

"Don't worry about me. I'll eat everything I need to get my strength up. You just be sure that you're not the one that's too weak from lack of food when we head out of here. Besides, up until our dear landlord Fred is past due, there's always the possibility that he'll show up with your supplies." Throwing her a surreptitious wink, I knowingly add, "Maybe he's attracted to you, too."

Blushing, she asks, "What will we do if he does show up?"

"Simple, we use the gun and force him to take us back to civilization. Why do you ask?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

Although I'd assumed that we were both in agreement about our future intentions, all of a sudden, I wasn't so sure. It suddenly seemed possible that she was just agreeing with me in order to keep me from becoming upset. Maybe she even thought my ideas regarding the wolves and their training to kill was a figment of my imagination. After all, she only had them here the night that I showed up, and they haven't returned since. Why, except for my word, would she think the wolves were anything other than what they appeared to be, a roving pack that just happened to pick up my scent. For all she knew, I'd hiked back to her cabin just to do her harm. She didn't know me from Adam. I may not even be telling her the truth about my cabin having been buried in an avalanche. Her completely peaceful existence here hadn't been upset until I arrived. Moreover, I was in dire physical condition, full of wild stories, crazier ideas, and last but not least, in need of supplies. Yet, somehow I'd managed to hang onto the handgun. Just thinking of it started making me suspicious of me. How could I expect anything more from her?

"I'm not sure," she said slowly, speaking from deep within in her thoughts. "But if he does show up on schedule, he might just be more innocent than you give him credit for."

"You doubt me. Don't you?" I stated, feeling a growing resentment toward her for being skeptical. "Well, that's all right, you'll see. When he doesn't show up, and he just leaves you up here to starve to death, you'll believe me," I argued, trying hard to control my rising anger. "Or when the wolf pack comes back, and they will, you'll see that what I've been saying is true."

She didn't say anything as she stood up, her eyes focused on the floor. I didn't want to be angry with her. I had no right. If our roles were reversed, I would have demanded proof before I'd have taken someone's word for such a wild-haired idea.

"If it makes you feel any better, why don't you go ahead and hang onto the gun. I'll feel much better knowing you have it on you when they return. And they will return," I stated emphatically. "They'll either be back before your supplies are due, or shortly thereafter. Fred won't come back to this cabin before he's one-hundred-percent certain that the wolves have been here, and done exactly what he's trained them to do!"

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered softly, not taking her eyes from the floor. "I don't mean to doubt you. I know you truly believe everything you've told me. But please, don't be upset with me if I need a little more proof." She stood nervously, slowly raising her eyes to mine, before adding, "You said a lot of strange things while you were unconscious. Are they all true too?"

"I'm sorry, Sandy," I said as calmly as I could. She couldn't have done more harm to my esteem if she'd hit me alongside the head with a chunk of wood. All this time, I thought we were growing closer. How could I have been such a fool? Whatever made me think she was different, the one that I needed? Speaking softly, barely able to get the words out, I continued, "I thought we were meant for each other. I never suspected that you didn't trust me, that you didn't believe in me the way I believe in you." There didn't seem to be anymore to say. She'd driven a stake into my heart, and I was suddenly tired; I'd lost the desire to go on. "I need to take a nap now, if you don't mind. Thank you for the soup, it really was good."

Laying my head down on the pillows, I closed my eyes, and feigned sleeping. But I was too wound up. Sleep wouldn't come, even if I'd wanted it to. What I really wanted was time alone to think, to sort things out. I'd fallen hard for Sandy, and I thought she'd fallen in love with me. That altruistic world had been rocked, and now, I just didn't know anymore.

Still laying with my eyes shut, deep in my troubled thoughts, I suddenly felt her hand rubbing softly against my cheek. Opening my eyes, I looked up to see her standing over me, looking down on me. She'd been crying again, and I gently reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of my index finger. Then I took my finger and touched it with the tip of my tongue, tasting her sweet saltiness. Her beauty would always astound and captivate me.

"I believe you," she said softly, her voice hitching as she fought back more tears. "Forgive me for doubting you. You put yourself through hell, all because you thought I needed help, and I repay you with doubts and skepticism. Until you came along, I'd forgotten what love was. Please, I'm begging you; don't let me drive you away!"

Reaching up, I pulled her head down against my chest, and she started crying uncontrollably.

"You're lucky it isn't water that's in short supply around here, or you're liable to suffer from dehydration," I said jokingly, too overcome with relief to think of anything more appropriate.

Pushing away, she playfully hit me in the chest, pretending offense at my comment. Grabbing her wrists in my hands, I used my regained strength to hold her close to me, and then kissed her long and hard. I was barely aware of her cleaning the dishes, when my eyes closed with weariness, and I fell fast asleep.

### **12**

Nervous and agitated, I came awake, slowly comprehending the whining buzz-sound of a chainsaw working through a log, somewhere off in the distance. Immediately, I realized the cause of my anxiety; Sandy had gone out to the woods alone, working to replenish our fuel supply.

It hadn't dawned on me earlier, but for her to live here for almost two months, she'd had to have gone into the woods with the saw and cut firewood before. Although she hadn't had a serious mishap yet, now that I was awake and aware of what she was doing, I began to worry about her. But I didn't doubt for a minute that she knew what she was doing, it was on account of the wolf pack that I was worried. While she ran the saw, she would be distracted by the action and noise, leaving herself very vulnerable. They could sneak up on her, attacking her before she had a chance to use the gun that she carried whenever she left the cabin now; this was a policy that I insisted upon her adhering to. In my gut, I held no doubts that I was right about our landlord and his wife. I was equally certain that the wolves would visit us before Fred returned on the snow tractor. It was just a matter of time.

Though I consoled myself with the fact that as long as I could hear the saw grinding through wood, Sandy was still working it, and thus, she was all right. Yet, I couldn't help but grow more concerned by the minute, especially when I knew that I was right about the wolves returning.

Laying helplessly on the table, unable to move from it, I dreaded the time to come when the saw stopped running, and she started the long quiet chore of lugging the cut wood back to the cabin. During that time, I'll be beside myself with worry, right up until she's back inside the cabin where I can see her and know she's safe.

Instead of going insane with worry over something that I couldn't control, I tried to think of ways to distract myself from the thought of Sandy being out in the woods all on her own. Slowly, determinedly, I shifted my thoughts to the reason I was on the table, and what I could do to hurry up the healing process. To my good fortune, they hadn't needed extensive debriding, just a simple draining of the pus sacks, and a sterilizing cleansing. When Sandy finishes with the firewood, I'll have her raise my feet so that I can see them for myself. Except for the time spent cleaning and replacing the bandages, they didn't really hurt very much. They itched an awful lot as the new tissues grew, but Sandy convinced me that so long as I couldn't scratch them, it was a good thing.

After a short period of idling, the saw stopped running. Anxiously, I strained against the newfound silence in an effort to hear. My mind told me that there wasn't anything wrong, and that she was finished cutting wood. Yet, I felt certain that if I listened hard enough, I'd hear her crying out for help.

Strain as I might though, there wasn't anything to hear, excepting the occasional sound of snow sliding off the roof as the sun warmed it. It seemed almost unnaturally quiet, and I started to believe that there might actually be something wrong, when the saw suddenly sprang back to life.

After taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out in a sigh of relief. It was inevitable that she would have to shut the saw off again, and even though I was now familiar with what it sounded like when the saw wasn't running, I also knew that I would put myself through the same worry and agony all over again.

To my amazement and astonishment, I'd never before listened to the sounds of my immediate environment since coming up here, and I was surprised at the quietness and solitude. It seemed almost funny, in an ironic sort of way, when I considered that I'd come up here for just those specific reasons, and I'd yet to enjoy them.

It seemed like I'd just started listening to the endless drone of the saw again, when suddenly, I was startled awake by the door being kicked open, as Sandy entered with an armload of wood. I jumped in my skin, but in actuality, only swung my head toward the door. Through my sleep-blurred eyes, I quickly noticed that she'd already brought in several armloads, as was evident by the large pile of split wood lying beside the cookstove with snow still clinging to it.

"You're awake!" she said cheerily, noticing me looking up at her.

She dropped the armload of wood on top of the existing pile, then closed and latched the door behind her. As she turned back into the cabin, she pulled off her mittens, while simultaneously asking if I was ready for some coffee.

"I would love a cup," I answered spiritedly, all anxiety and trepidations of earlier gone in a flash, as her good mood and optimism quickly rubbed off on me. "You've been busy today. All that fresh air and exercise seems to have lifted your spirits."

"I love the outdoors," she answered cheerily, pulling off her hat and climbing out of her snowsuit. "And I love nothing more than being out in it."

Although I felt compelled to ask if she'd seen any sign of the wolf pack, at the same time, I didn't want to bring up the subject and possibly dampen the good mood that she was experiencing. Besides, I silently confided to myself, if she'd seen any sign of the wolf pack while she was out making firewood, she wouldn't be in the good mood that she was, and she wouldn't have hesitated to tell me. Since she didn't mention them upon entering the cabin, I was willing to accept it without saying that she hadn't seen any sign of them.

While adding coffee grounds to the blackened pot, and then pouring water in it from the larger kettle of melted snow, she asked if I'd care for something to eat, too. When the water had almost reached the top of the pot, she added, "Since I worked up quite an appetite today, I thought I might fix something a little more substantial than soup, something more solid and rib sticking. It's about time I start putting some solids away, if I intend to keep my strength up.

"You're absolutely right," I wholeheartedly agreed, glad that she wasn't going to secretly starve herself behind my back in order to save the food supplies for me.

She paused for a moment, as she appraisingly studied me. Fleetingly, I considered asking her to prop my feet up so that I could take a look at them for myself. But I quickly decided against the idea, thinking that it might be better if I didn't mention the subject of my feet until after we'd eaten. It wasn't that I was kidding myself about what to expect; I was still surprised and thankful that she didn't have to amputate. This was in all probability going to be the first real meal for either of us in more than three weeks, and I didn't want to risk ruining it. Actually, it was twenty-two days, to be exact, if I counted pancakes as a meal.

Glancing at the spot on the wall where the calendar had been, I noticed that it wasn't there.

"The calendar?" I asked curiously. "It's not on the wall where it used to be. Did you move it?"

"Yes. Look to your left," she said, turning back to the stove and starting on our next meal. "I thought it might be easier for you to see there. I couldn't help but notice how you like to keep track of the days."

Glancing to the left, I quickly realized how much easier it was to see the small numbers on the calendar, now that it was less than two feet from my face.

"Thank you. I like it there," I told her in earnest.

First, I counted the days that had passed since the last supply run by our landlord. Then, I calculated the number of days until he was due again. It worked out to nine more days. Silently, I prayed that my theory was way off the mark and that Fred, our landlord, would show up on schedule. Furthermore, that his innocence would be obvious, and when he saw my condition, he would immediately take us directly off the mountain, going straight to the nearest hospital. I said this prayer not so much for myself, but for Sandy's sake. She deserved better from her life than what she had been handed.

Supper was a grand success, as Sandy showed off her cooking skills. Granted, we didn't have any meat. But the dumpling stew that she made with her own recipe for homemade dumplings, combined with frozen vegetables, couldn't be beat. And the fresh egg custard for dessert was almost more than I could stand. Unfortunately, the culinary ecstasy couldn't last forever, and when we'd finished the last of everything off, I knew it was time to see what lay below my line of vision.

Sandy cleaned the dishes, fixed two more cups of coffee while we engaged in small talk about my past, and then returned, taking up her usual spot on the edge of the table.

"I sure do miss my cigarettes," I started. "I always enjoyed an after-dinner smoke more than any other. I guess I found it relaxing."

"How long has it been since you quit, or didn't you really quit?" she asked, feigning sarcasm, while a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, I quit," I emphatically proclaimed, feeling the bite of her sarcasm, feigned or otherwise. Softening before her smile, I choked back a sarcastic response of my own and chuckling said, "You think you have a problem with hording bouillon cubes, well let me tell you, if I were still a smoker, I'd have cigarettes stashed in every available pocket. While I was in denial, I horded cartons of cigarettes everywhere, even behind the john. I was always paranoid that I was going to be somewhere when the desire for a cigarette would become overwhelming and my pack would be empty. And matches!" I exclaimed. "I was ten times worse about hording matches. I harbored this deep-seated fear that I would be stuck in the middle of nowhere, put a cigarette between my lips, and then discover that I didn't have a light for it. That one really drove me mad."

Her demeanor suddenly grew serious, and I thought maybe I'd said something inappropriate, when she softly announced, "I used to horde bottles everywhere. In the apartment where I lived, I had more nooks and crannies to tuck bottles away that sometimes, even I couldn't remember where I'd hidden them all. And my car," she started, and then abruptly stopped, as the pain of what had almost happened came flooding back. She took a deep breath, and then slowly, full of determination, continued, "Even my car became a stashing place. I'd hide bottles under the spare in the trunk, in the jack compartment, any place that a bottle could be squeezed out of sight. If the niche was only large enough for one of those single-shot bottles, then that's what went in it. If there was a cranny, you can bet there was a bottle."

"But you kicked it, just like I did," I said encouragingly. "You'll always feel the longing, I'm sure. But you're stronger now; you can resist the temptation. Just as I'm sure that cigarettes will always have their claws in me, so will alcohol in you. But the claws just aren't as sharp and deep as they use to be. They're not drawing blood anymore."

"Yes, I think you're right about the urge always being there. Even though I got the most dramatic warning ever, and it almost cost a small child his life, steeling my determination against ever drinking again, that urge is the main reason why I leased this cabin. Because I couldn't completely trust myself, I had to remove myself from any possible temptation." She paused for a moment, while her gaze met mine. When she continued, her voice was husky with emotion. "That was before I met you. Now, I have something more than just myself to worry about; I have a greater reason to succeed."

"We all have our demons to face," I said thoughtfully, meeting her gaze. "Some of us more so than others. And some of the demons are so fierce and evil we can't do anything else but run and hide from them." It was my turn to face a bit of reality. "Isn't that what we did when we leased these cabins? We didn't come here to face our demons; we came here to escape them. At least, I realize now, that's what I did."

For a long while, she didn't say anything. And then slowly, thinking over each word before mouthing it, she said, "I came here to get away from the temptation, which I guess is an evil all of itself. So yes, I was running, if the truth were known. But now that I'm here with you, I want to face that demon. Like never before, I want to show that demon that I'm stronger than it could ever be. Even when you're not aware that you're doing it, I feel the strength you're giving me," she hesitated. "And with the strength you give me, just by believing in me, I know I'm strong enough to go on with my life."

"It does my heart good that you know how much I believe in you and always will. Does that mean that you're ready to go down off this mountain with me, if and when Fred shows up on schedule?"

"Yes, John. You're not going to get away from me that easy."

"I love you, Sandy," I whispered. "When we get down from this mountain, I'd be truly honored if you would come to live with me. In separate rooms, of course," I blurted, suddenly embarrassed, and then quickly adding, "At least until we decide otherwise."

"I love you too, John. And yes, I would love to come and live with you. And yes, I'm sure we'll decide otherwise. Until you're sure though, separate rooms will be fine with me." And then, moving closer to kiss me, she said almost as an afterthought, "But only until you are sure."

It wasn't my imagination that she emphasized the word 'you'.

Before our lips met, I softly whispered, "I'm sure."

We kissed passionately for a while, followed by an extended period of lying next to each other, holding each other tightly. Though I didn't want the moment to end, I didn't resist her efforts when she slowly pulled away. Sitting up on the edge of the table, she asked me if I cared for another cup of coffee. When I grunted in the affirmative, she slipped off the table and, after lithely stretching her limbs for a moment, gracefully stooped over and gathered our mugs from the floor. Because I was using the table for a hospital bed, she'd developed the habit of placing our empty coffee mugs on the floor so they were out of the way, and not liable to get knocked to the floor.

Watching her cross the few feet to the stove, I could feel myself getting aroused. Her slacks were tight, revealing every shape and curve of her body, and she had nothing of which to be ashamed.

My feelings of arousal were short lived, as the pressing matter of my feet reasserted themselves with a fresh bout of itching. Fortunately, they were beyond my reach, making it impossible for me to scratch. If I wanted to see them, I needed Sandy to raise them. Yet, because I didn't want to burden her anymore than I had already, I was hesitant to ask. In addition, I was afraid that I might dampen the mood that was permeating the cabin. I hadn't felt this much love and warmth since before Amy's tragedy, and I was too afraid of disturbing it. If I could just get myself up into a sitting position, I could see them without her help.

But no, I thought quickly. Even if I had the strength to sit up, I wouldn't be able to remove the bandages by myself. There was no way around it. If I intended to see the damage to my feet, I needed her help.

"Sandy," I said, speaking to her backside, as she busied herself at the stove.

"Yes, John."

"I need to see my feet. I have to know how bad they are."

"I know," she said calmly, before adding, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask so soon. In a few more days, the cuts that I had to inflict will have scabbed over, and more muscle tissue will have grown back. They're not pretty, John, but I understand your need to see them."

"Will you help me sit up?" I asked of her, as she came around the side of the table. "My back is killing me from lying on this hard wood table for so long."

"I know. I was going to suggest that we should start your rehabilitation tomorrow, before you develop any serious bed sores, or your muscles have a chance to atrophy," she said almost matter-of-factly, giving me a little more insight to the inner strength she possessed.

It took a special person to do what she did for me. And it went well beyond having a strong stomach, or compassion for a fellow human. She didn't have to share her rations with me, or even welcome me into her cabin. If she'd been smart, she would have turned me away, and made her own way down off the mountain. Between the skis and the snowshoes, she wouldn't have had any trouble getting down off the mountain. Instead, she straddled herself with a cripple, a man she'd met only once before.

And he'd fallen in love with her. Even if she didn't feel as strongly about him, as he did her, could she leave him behind to save herself? It was only a matter of time, before he would have to ask that of her. Already, he'd put her through Hell. But she was tough. The more time he spent with her, the more he loved her.

She reached an arm under my shoulder and lifted at the same time that I planted my hands against the flat surface of the table, and with a painful effort, pushed down, lifting myself skyward. My head spun, and I thought I was going to fall back. But she held me secure, steadying me against the rising tide of blood in my head. Together, we managed to keep me upright until the tide ebbed, and my head cleared.

The exertion brought a flush to my face, quickly followed by tiny marbles of sweat plastered across my forehead. My back cricked from the bending after having laid flat for such a long stretch of time. But everything was temporary, and within a minute or two, I'd feel fine. Or at least, I thought I would feel fine. Once I took a look at my feet, I might not feel quite so fine.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked, concerned at the amount of effort it was taking just to maintain an upright sitting position.

"Yes," I said shakily. "I'm ready. Let's do it."

Without another word, she went to the foot of the table, where several layers of blankets covered my heavily bandaged feet. Being very careful not to bump the bandages encasing my feet, she rolled the blankets up beyond my knees. Then, with even more care, she gently lifted my right foot, and carefully placed the pillow that she'd been using on the cot, beneath it. She'd done this every time that she needed to clean my feet, and was knowingly careful to leave enough of the pillow free so that when she lifted my left foot, the remainder of the pillow slid neatly beneath it. It was evident by her lack of wasted moves that she had done this frequently in the past couple of weeks. She never inadvertently bumped the foot that she wasn't working on. She did everything efficiently, and without hesitation. I would have sworn she had a background in nursing.

While her touch was gentle, it was firm and precise. Within a matter of minutes, she stopped and looked at me, clearly asking without words if this was what I really wanted, before lifting the final wrap from my right foot.

No one could have prepared me for the sight that assailed my eyes, and now I understood her silence when I'd asked her to show me. Staring at the vision of horror, I sat in shock, unable to make the connection between my leg and the alien appendage connected to it. It was my foot, to be sure, but it appeared much too small and shrunken to be real.

While I sat dumbfounded, shocked at the sight of my right foot, she just as quickly and efficiently removed the bandages from the left. This one was actually a little larger than the right. Obviously, the damage hadn't been as severe to the left foot as it had been to the right. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered the wolf pulling my right boot off, and having to replace it in a hurry. That one brief moment in time, must be the reason for the disparity in my feet now. Yet, it was not a normal looking foot by any stretch of the imagination. If I hadn't just seen the right foot, I would've sworn that it couldn't have been any worse, and still be attached to my leg. But the right was worse, much worse, and it was still attached.

"I'll never walk again," was all that came to mind. "My God! What has happened to me?"

Suddenly, I didn't have the strength to support myself any longer, as my head began to swim and my arms to wobble. The next moment, I was flat on my back with no recollection of what had happened. I'd seen some disgusting things in my life, and my imagination could be very vivid at times; my nightmares of Amy's death were proof of that. But the two grotesque objects at the end of my legs were more than just my imagination; they were a part of my body.

Feeling sick to my stomach and on the verge of throwing up the delicious meal that Sandy had prepared for us, I suddenly heard her voice break through the haze surrounding my eyes, as she confidently stated, "They're looking much better each day, John. You'll have to be patient with them. I know it's a shock for you right now, but believe me, despite as bad as they look, they are getting better every day. With your strength and determination, it'll only be a matter of time before you're up and walking again."

I had to believe that what she said was true. But also, the tone of her voice, and the way she said it, gave me comfort. Relaxing, I let her voice carry me away from the pain and agony, as she took the opportunity to cleanse and refresh the bandages, never stopping talking the whole time. She was a pillar of strength, just when I needed her to be one. There was a lot of toughness within this woman that saw herself as weak and fragile.

After finishing with the bandages, she removed her pillow, lowering my feet back to the table. Looking at my sweat-covered face, she gently wiped a towel across my forehead, drying the beads with a tender touch. She spoke softly, her voice filled with kindness and understanding, "It will get better."

There was no doubt that she was referring to more than just my feet when she said that. She was referring to our lives and our future together. I wanted to be strong for her, I really did. But I was floundering. I wasn't sure that I had the same inner strength and resolve that she did. She looked so small and petite, while I looked so tall and rangy, and yet, I knew who was leaning on whom for emotional support. She needed someone to lean on as much, if not more, than I did. I feared that I wasn't strong enough to give her the support that she so desperately needed. I wanted to more than anything else to be the man she could put her faith in and lean on. But I just wasn't sure that I had it in me.

The sight of my feet had scared me deeper than I had anticipated. I expected a bad sight, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw. Sandy was doing her best at trying to keep me from becoming depressed. She had only the best of intentions when she said that it was only a matter of time before I was up and walking again. But after seeing the condition that the frostbite had left my feet, I really doubted if I would ever walk again. For Sandy's sake, I would try. And I would give it my damnedest effort. However, I didn't believe for one minute that my best efforts would be enough to overcome the alien appendages that I had left for feet.

I tried to convince myself that it could be worse. Without Sandy's heroic efforts and determination, I might not have any feet to be worrying about. I may not even have my life. Thanks to Sandy, though, I did have feet, such as they were. And if I ever do walk again, it will also be with great thanks to Sandy.

"Here," she said, handing me a steaming cup of coffee, her high spirits not diminished in the least. "Careful, it might be a little on the hot side."

"Thanks," I said weakly, extending both hands with which to grasp it, for fear that I might spill it on me if I tried to hold it one-handed.

We drank in silence. Sandy was giving me space, respecting my silence, though not sharing in it. I, lying flat on my back with the pillow propping up my head just enough to drink coffee unassisted, while she sat in her usual place on the table top beside me. We had used these positions for drinking coffee, eating, and just plain talking; now I realized that I drew comfort from their familiarity. I suddenly wondered if that was why, I had the dreams of Amy for as long as I had, because of the comfort I drew from their familiarity. Did my conscious mind require that comforting familiarity over the nightmarish dread of the subconscious mind?

When we finished our coffee Sandy took the cups and as she walked back to the basin beside the old cookstove said, "Tomorrow we'll start on your rehab, so we should probably turn in early. We'll both need to be refreshed and ready come morning."

"I'll be ready," I said earnestly and yet, with a tinge of sadness that the day and our time together, were over for the time being. Begrudgingly, I added, "Good night, Sandy." When she didn't say anything for a long moment, I felt I had to say more. I couldn't let the day end like this. "And by the way, thank you."

"For what?" she asked, setting the empty coffee cups on the side board by the stove, and then turning the lantern down to barely a glow.

"I knew before that it couldn't have been easy for you taking care of me. But until I saw my feet for myself, I don't think I fully realized exactly what you went through for me. You not only saw them, but also had to handle them when they were rotten and smelling; I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you. Thank you."

She was barely more than a shadow moving in the dusky light of the lantern, when her voice came to me, "Don't worry about it, John. The worst is over and you're getting better, that's all that really matters now. Get some rest, honey. I'll see you in the morning."

In my self-absorption, I had forgotten that she'd been sawing, splitting, and hauling firewood all day. She was probably on the verge of exhaustion, as she plopped down on the cot and pulled the blankets over her. If I could walk, I would go to her, and take her in my arms, and hold her the whole night through. I would comfort her, making her feel secure.

But I can't walk, and probably never will again. In fact, I don't truly believe that I will ever walk again, at least, not without artificial help.

I was suddenly thankful for my career as a writer, and that I could support her without needing the use of my feet. With newly found optimism toward the future, I determined that as soon as we took care of the situation at hand, I'd set a pen to paper, and turn out a best seller so that she'd never want for anything again. I will keep writing and making money so that she never realizes that without the use of my feet, I am anything less than a whole man.

These thoughts, along with the memory of seeing my feet, kept me awake for many hours into the night. I had barely drifted off to sleep, when I heard Sandy feeding the old cookstove. She added a log and opened the flue to get the heat up so that she could fix coffee and breakfast. I lay with my eyes shut, hoping that she wouldn't realize that she'd awakened me, as I listened to the comforting sounds of pots being gently placed on the stove and the stirring of eggs for omelets. Before long, the sound of potatoes frying in bacon grease, even though we didn't have any bacon, was more than I could stand.

"I'll take a cup of that java when it's ready," I said cheerily. She smiled at me, and I knew the sun was shining.

"It'll just be a minute, love. Don't get your knickers in a twist," she gaily replied.

"Only for you, my love," I answered her jokingly. "Because only you, would I allow untwisting them."

"Ooh, aren't we in a good mood this morning," she cooed, as she brought me a steaming cup of coffee to the side of the bed, and then bent down and gave me a kiss before letting go of the cup. "We'll see how long that mood lasts, once we get started on your rehab therapy."

"Nothing is going to dampen my spirits today!" I said exuberantly, watching her heap mounds of fried potatoes onto a plate, before draping the omelet over the top like an egg blanket.

As she generously sprinkled salt over everything, I couldn't help but notice the diminutive size of the omelets. It was just another reminder of how close to the edge we were living, and that edge was creeping closer every day. If Fred doesn't show up on schedule, our options will become very limited.

There was still one idea, however, that I hadn't shared with Sandy. Mostly, I kept it to myself out of fear that she wouldn't give it the consideration it warranted. And in truth, I wasn't overly fond of it myself. But not for the same reasons that I suspected, she would disapprove. For her, it would be the part that called for me to stay behind, alone in the cabin with little or no supplies. For me, I didn't like the idea that she would be skiing down the mountain alone. I couldn't bring myself to grips with her having to face such an endeavor by herself.

The rest of the idea was pretty simple and straightforward. Once she reached civilization, she'd send help back for me. Traveling alone, she'd make very good time, and help could return in the form of life flight. Within a couple of days, we could both be safely down off the mountain.

Nevertheless, I didn't doubt for a minute that Sandy would balk at the idea. She'll insist on the two of us leaving together, or not at all. And although my feet are healing much faster than I could have hoped for, they aren't healing fast enough to make hiking down the mountain a viable option. In fact, after seeing them, I didn't honestly believe they would ever heal enough for me to attempt such a feat, ever!

In my present condition, I'd be lucky if I made it ten feet beyond the door, before the newly forming scabs break, and I bleed to death. Even if we wrap them tight enough to stem the bleeding, I could never stand the extreme pain of walking on them for any distance, if at all. To attempt such a foolhardy feat, would only result in the loss of one or both of my feet from an inevitable gangrenous infection. Although Sandy's heart is in the right place, and she'd never consider the idea of leaving me behind, there's absolutely no way she's going to carry me single-handedly down off this mountain. It was probably best if I kept this idea to myself, at least for now.

My appetite was improving each day, and I wolfed into the omelet first, before quickly seeing off the heaping mound of fried potatoes. For the extra calories that our bodies could extract from it, she laid the grease on thick.

"There are more potatoes in the pan yet, if you're still hungry," she volunteered, taking my empty plate and adding it to her own.

"Let's save them for later," I suggested. "I've always liked fried potatoes cold, especially after the grease has hardened into a white gel, and you put an extra dash of salt on top."

"Sounds yummy," she said sarcastically, adding another chunk of wood to the firebox. "Can I warm up your coffee?"

"Please, anything to postpone the inevitable."

She brought the pot and warmed both of our cups. After returning it to the stove, she came and sat on the edge of the table, settling into her familiar place.

"I've been thinking," she started slowly, almost hesitantly. "If Fred doesn't show up with supplies, we'll have to decide what we're going to do."

"Yeah, I've been thinking along the same lines. If he isn't here on schedule, I don't see much sense in waiting around to see if he's going to show up late."

"I agree. If he isn't on time, he probably isn't coming." She hesitated, almost reluctant to continue, "What are you suggesting?"

The time had come for me to spill my thoughts to her and try to make her see the logic in them. I had hoped we would come up with something better, but we hadn't.

Taking a deep breath and preparing myself for her resistance, I said, "Well, as I see it, the only logical thing left to do if Fred doesn't show up, will be for you to ski down the mountain on your own and get help."

"And leave you up here all alone! Without any food or supplies, not to mention, unable to get up and move about! No!" she said adamantly. "I will not leave you here to die! Don't even consider that as an option."

While she was talking, she'd turned a bright red, and her breathing had grown quick and shallow.

"I know you're not in agreement with the idea, I'm not crazy about it either. But I honestly can't think of another alternative," I pleaded. "It's foolish for both of us to remain here when one of us has at least a small chance of saving both of us."

"I have a better plan," she said suddenly, almost too calmly for her agitated state. When she hesitated, I knew she was still feverishly working out the details of it in her mind. "What if," she started, while walking over to the skis and taking one down from the wall. "What if I use these to make a sled that I can pull behind me, while wearing the snow shoes?" She grew more excited by the moment as the details gelled within her mind. "We'll tie you on the sled, along with any supplies that we have left."

"I don't know," I said hesitantly. But she brusquely cut me off with her enthusiasm.

"A sled with skis as runners would be a cinch to pull down this mountain! Plus," she hesitated again, as she looked back at me on the table, making sure she had my full attention. Smiling, she jubilantly added, "We stay together."

Turning, she placed the ski back on the wall with its mate, while I thought to myself that she did indeed have a good idea. Although I especially liked the last part about us staying together, I did have my reservations about her being able to pull a sled laden with the combined weight of any supplies that we had left along with me. It would be a large burden on her petite frame. Yet, there could be no mistaking that her spirit was definitely up to the challenge.

"I can keep my eyes open to the surrounding countryside for signs of danger, so all you have to worry about is the immediate trail ahead," I added, growing fonder of the idea by the minute.

Realizing that I liked and approved of her idea, her optimism quickly grew, barely keeping pace with her enthusiasm. "We can also take blankets and anything else that might come in handy for providing us with shelter from the cold at night."

"Whoa. Wait a minute, missy," I said suddenly, concerned that she was losing her perspective on reality. "You're a human being. Yes, you're beautiful, charming, and a very sexually attractive female. But you're still just a human being, not a pack animal. We're going to need to keep this homemade sled as light as possible. Just because we're going 'down the mountain', doesn't mean our journey will be all downhill. There will be many places where we'll have to negotiate long, uphill ascents, as well. After several miles of dragging my dead weight, those inclines are going to feel like individual mountains. I don't mean to rain on your parade, because I think you have one hell of a good idea, but let's not get carried away here, either."

"No," she said solemnly, slightly subdued. "You're absolutely right. It won't do either of us any good if I wear out and can't pull the sled simply because we packed more than we absolutely needed for the journey."

"Good. You just keep that in mind when you decide what to pack."

After setting our empty cups on the drain board next to the stove, she turned to face me, a mischievous glint burning brightly in her eyes. It did me good to see her enthusiasm return. "I'll get started on the sled later, after we stretch your muscles."

Moving toward the table with an exaggerated swagger, her demeanor relayed a sense of impending pain, and she was looking forward to delivering it. Yet, there was a kindness behind her motivation; she would never intentionally inflict pain for the sheer pleasure of it. She was only doing what she felt needed doing.

Pulling my legs up, and then pushing them back down before repeating the entire procedure, she made me realize that I had many muscles that hadn't been asked to move for way too long. Slowly, the tension faded from my shoulders and upper neck. She worked with deliberate determination, massaging and stretching everything from my head to my feet, always being careful not to accidentally strike the bandaged areas. By the time she'd finished with me, I could sit up on the table without assistance from her. My skin also looked more vibrant, because of the invigorated blood flow.

It was only the first of what would become innumerous hours of rehabilitation, and although I still didn't have much control of my legs, I had regained control of my personal body functions; I wasn't wetting myself any longer. It didn't matter that it was completely beyond my control; it's still embarrassing when you have to be cleaned up like an infant. Sandy was very sensitive to my feelings in this regard, however, and except for when she needed to check on me, she never mentioned it. Nevertheless, when she did have to attend to my needs, she politely adopted a professional attitude, one that didn't make me feel disparaged in the least.

By the time Sandy finished with me, I was sweating hard, and yet, I felt better than I had in weeks. While I continued moving and flexing the individual muscles that she'd awakened, Sandy laid the skis on the floor and considered the construction of the sled. It was a complex matter that couldn't be taken lightly. While the sled had to be stout enough to carry me, along with all the necessary supplies for the journey, it was imperative for Sandy's sake that it remain as light as possible. It would also be required to withstand the rigors of a very rough terrain.

She suddenly looked over at the table, then back down at the skis, before asking, "John, what do you think of using the table top for the base of the sled?"

"Too heavy."

Irritated by my flat dismissal, she heatedly asked, "And what would you suggest?"

"The cot."

"Yeah, right. In case you haven't noticed, the cot's nothing more than a flimsy aluminum frame with a piece of canvas stretched over it."

"Exactly. It's light. It sits up above the snow in case the skis break through the surface, and I think you'll find it fairly easy to work with," I smugly replied. Instead of shooting it down without consideration, she turned her attention to it. On a serious note, I added, "It won't take much engineering to fasten the skis to the aluminum cross braces, but there is one drawback that might prove to be a problem when we hit rough terrain."

"Oh. And what's that, smarty pants?" she quipped, her pride having been bruised.

"It sits up a little too high. Being as narrow as it is, it's liable to be top heavy after we load me and our meager supplies on it."

"I can take care of that," she smugly replied, imitating me.

"Would you care to tell me how?"

"You'll see. First, though, I better wax these so they don't give us any problems," she said happily, busying herself with the skis.

When she finished with them and was finally satisfied with their condition, she went around the cabin, gathering up the other materials that she felt she'd need to finish putting the sled together. Standing back from the collection of items thrown together in the middle of the floor, she studied them for a moment, making a mental inventory of what she had. When she was satisfied that she had everything she would need, she turned to me and, seeing me contentedly watching her, said she was going to fix supper.

"I hope you aren't getting tired of fried potatoes," she commented, as she stoked up the fire in the stove, and began preparations that involved banging pots and kettles.

The sound had a dramatic calming effect on me. "No," I said almost sleepily. "Potatoes are just fine."

Within a matter of minutes, she brought over a mug of coffee, and took up her familiar post on the edge of the table, while the potatoes fried in the background. Just to show her that I was getting better, I sat up without any help. She commented on how good I was doing, and for just a fleeting moment, I felt like a small child in grade school that was receiving a reward for achieving a high score on a simple test from his favorite teacher. But not just any teacher, a teacher that he desperately needed to impress because of his emerging pubescence, and her mature womanhood. It was just a simple gesture on her part that probably wasn't even motivated by conscious thought. Nevertheless, it did wonders for my ego, and even more for the way I felt toward her.

"I was thinking," she said softly, almost as if she were trying to convince me of something that she hadn't said yet. "Maybe we don't need to wait and see if Fred shows up with the supplies."

"If I'm wrong about all this, we would be putting our lives in jeopardy for naught," I quickly countered, suddenly afraid to put our lives at risk because of an unfounded suspicion.

"But if you're not wrong, John, the extra supplies we use between now and a week from tomorrow, could be the supplies we need to sustain us on the hike down."

"How low are your supplies?" I asked. "I know we don't have any meat, but in your best judgment, how many days are we talking, before all the supplies are gone?"

"We have close to thirty pounds of potatoes, maybe five pounds of noodles, six eggs, salt, and maybe a half pound of cheese," she said solemnly. And then, hastily reminds me in a cheerful tone of voice, "We do have an abundance of coffee and bouillon cubes!"

Her cheerful tone did nothing for my deflated sense of being. "You're right; we can't wait to see if he shows up or not. If we wait for him, and he doesn't show, we won't have enough supplies left to sustain us on an extended hike." I paused for a moment, my confidence wavering. "But if I'm mistaken, and the whole idea of killer wolves is just in my head..."

"Tomorrow, I will finish the sled. And the day after, we will leave here," she said with purpose, as she stood up from the table and headed to the stove.

Supper was a silent affair, as our thoughts were in different places. Hers were on the construction of the sled, while mine were weighing the possibility that I was wrong. After supper, she replenished the woodpile by the stove, working fast to finish the task before it turned dark outside. Satisfied with the amount of wood, she secured the front door for the night. Although we hadn't seen any sign of the wolf pack, we weren't taking any chances, and she still carried the handgun whenever she left the cabin.

In the toolbox where the chainsaw and axe were stored, she found a large ball of nylon cord. With the dishes cleaned, and her other chores done, she began braiding and weaving the cord into a net, of sorts. While she weaved in silence, I did stretching exercises on the table. We worked at our prospective tasks by lantern light, staying at it until it grew late, and we were sleepy. We hadn't said much to each other since supper, when Sandy suddenly turned to me and asked if I'd care to have my beard shaved.

"I've never shaved a man before," she said shyly, running the back of her hand along the side of my cheek.

"This must be the first time in my life that my beard has grown this long without driving me crazy from the itching," I replied, gently taking her hand in mine. "If you don't mind, I think I'd prefer to keep it for the extra protection it'll offer my face from the cold."

"I don't mind at all," she said playfully, still rubbing her hand against it. "But if you change your mind when we get back to civilization, I want to be the one to do it."

"I promise, it's all yours," I cheerily responded, feeling good for the moment.

The next day we drank lots of coffee and ate the last of the eggs and many pounds of potatoes. Sandy finished her sled by early afternoon and took it out in the snow to test it. She'd woven a fishnet type affair that she draped beneath the canvas cot to hold the supplies. We determined that if we suspended the supplies beneath me, we greatly reduced the center of gravity, and therefore made the sled more stable. She concluded the test by stacking a large amount of firewood on it, at least as much as my weight, plus the weight of our meager supplies. Before starting out on our journey, she wanted to test its strength, as well as get an idea for how difficult it would be to pull.

Within twenty minutes, she was back, carrying the sled in front of her. She was flushed a bright red from the cold and exertion. She was also jubilant, because it had worked better than she'd anticipated. Excitedly, she exclaimed, "It was wonderful. Even with the weight of the firewood, I can pull it with ease." She paused to catch her breath, before going on. "We'll pack extra blankets around you, and also some other items that might come in handy, and if the load proves to be more than I can handle, we'll just discard the less needed items as we go. I am so happy!"

While she was out, I managed to get into an upright sitting position, and for the first time since arriving at her cabin, I raised my legs without any assistance. It was a tremendous feat for me, leaving me almost as excited as she was, and the mood between us couldn't have been more celebratory.

But the joyous mood came to a quick and abrupt ending when suddenly, echoing in the far distance of the surrounding hills and valleys; we could hear the unmistakable sound of barking. They were back, and they sounded hungry!

### **13**

My voice died in mid-sentence while my heart sank in my chest. The sounds were coming from across the clearing that lay in front of the cabin, and they were growing louder by the second. For a long moment, we stood motionless, staring at each other in disbelief, before snapping out of the shock that had come crashing down on us. Almost as quickly, as the realization and shock had come crashing down on us, we threw it off and leaped into action.

Although it had seemed inevitable that the wolves would return before the supply due date, I had hoped that I would be wrong. Even if my theory regarding Fred and his wife was correct, the return of the wolf pack was premature. They shouldn't arrive until several days before Fred, three at the most, if my hunch was correct. Their arrival a full week before Fred was due didn't make sense. In fact, it made me question the rest of my theory, and how much more of it was also flawed.

Sitting up on the table, I cried out for Sandy to look out the door and see if she could see them. Instead of looking from the safety of the doorway, however, she charged over the threshold and into the bright sunshine of the late afternoon beyond.

The crunching of her feet on the frozen hardpan abruptly stopped, and her excited voice drifted back through the open door, "Yes, I see them!"

"Tell me," I shouted anxiously. "Can you see how many there are?" I felt compelled to ask her if they were coming toward the cabin, but I already knew the answer to that question. Asking it wouldn't change the reality of it.

"I see six. No, wait a minute, there's another coming behind the others. Yes, seven for sure, maybe even more."

Her voice faded off, as the reality of the situation struck home. The arrival of the wolves, though earlier than anticipated, confirmed my theory regarding our landlords. They'd sent the wolves back to finish us off. While I lay on my back suffering from frostbite, Fred must have been scouting my back trail, learning my whereabouts. He probably discovered the avalanche, and found my trail. When he figured out that I'd made it to Sandy's cabin, he brought the wolves back.

Although I could theorize everything, explaining why the wolves were back, I couldn't see an easy way out of the situation. Even if I stayed behind, and let Sandy go alone on the skis, she couldn't outrun the hungry beasts.

Of one thing, I was certain; there wasn't any reason to wait for Fred to arrive. Without a doubt, Fred was not going to deliver any supplies. The big question now was how we were going to evade the wolves.

While my mind was turbulently spinning with all the implications implied by the return of the wolf pack, the barking and yapping grew steadily louder. It suddenly dawned on me that Sandy hadn't returned to the doorway. She was still standing out in the open, crushed by the arrival of the wolf pack, and what it meant to our survival. My heart sank in my chest with empathy for her. Just moments earlier, we were happier than we'd been in a long time. We were optimistic of the future. It was difficult to believe that so much could change so suddenly by the sound of barking in the distance. It just didn't seem fair!

"Sandy!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, yet barely penetrating the spell of despair that had settled over her. "Sandy, you have to close and latch the door! Now!"

Slowly, almost sleepily, she strolled back inside, her eyes studying the floor without seeing it. Turning around, she slowly pushed the door shut, then secured the latch, and leaned against it for support. Even without seeing her face, I could read the hopelessness of our situation in her stance. Dejectedly, she turned and faced me, her eyes rising hesitantly from the floor and searching out my face. I was shocked by the change that had come over her. Her eyes had taken on the look of defeat. She'd given up, and the battle hadn't even started. As crestfallen, as I was myself, my heart still went out to her. She didn't look like the same woman that was standing there just a few minutes earlier. It was hard to believe that so much life and optimism could be vanquished so suddenly.

Holding my arms out to her, I gently implored, "Come here, my love."

Moving as though she were in a trance, she shuffled along the rough plank floor until she was standing between my feet, as they hung limply over the end of the table. Embracing her tightly, trying to impart my own sadly depleted strength and optimism into her, I held on to her. For the first time since we met, I wasn't lying flat on my back, as I held her to me.

Breathing deeply through her hair, as it fell loosely across my cheek and forehead, I smelled her warm, loving scent. Softly, I whispered in her ear, "We aren't beaten yet, my love. We'll find a way out of here. They're only dogs, after all. They can't think with the ability that we can. It can be dangerous to underestimate them. But it can be even more dangerous if we overestimate them. Trust in me, we'll find a way to beat them. We're too close now to give up."

Squeezing me tighter to her, she huskily replied, "I believe you, John. I have to believe you."

There was a sudden, loud impacting noise against the door that literally shook the one room cabin, sending dust and what not cascading down from the timbers. The door was solid, hewn from a single piece of old growth fir. Yet, even though it measured more than four inches thick, I caught myself looking in its direction, assuring myself that it was still intact. Past experiences with the beasts of prey had taught me that the weakest part of the cabin lay in the sheathing beneath the shingles. I've seen firsthand how quickly a pack of determined wolves can shred their way through the thin layer of wood. However, I didn't feel it was necessary to share that knowledge with Sandy just yet. As long as the wolves weren't on the roof, I felt we had a chance. If the wolves went to the roof, we'd either have to form a strategy to fight them, or flee.

At the impact against the door, she involuntarily pressed in tighter against my chest. She was scared, and rightly so, I was too.

She stood against me in silence, drawing strength from me. "I just had a thought. Actually, it's more of a question," I suddenly stammered. "How do the wolves know where to go? I mean, how do they know that this is the cabin that contains their next victim?"

Even as I blurted the question, the answer was forming in my mind.

"I don't know," she mumbled into my chest.

"I think I do."

When she didn't answer, I continued, my voice growing excited at the prospect of finding another piece to the puzzle. "The very first day that I was on the mountain, after Fred unloaded my supplies, he backtracked out the same way that he'd come in. At the time, I remembered thinking that it was strange. But in the excitement of being left on my own in the wilderness, I didn't give it much thought. When I thought about it later, I wrote it off to the idea that he had to backtrack to the main trail, before he could proceed to the next cabin."

"That makes sense," she said noncommittally. "If the cabins are laid out along the tree line, there may well be a main trail connecting them, with short spurs leading to the separate cabins."

"That's what I thought, too. But he wasn't backtracking to any trail that would lead him to the next cabin on his route; he was heading back to base camp to get the wolves!"

"How can you be sure?"

"Because it fits!" I said victoriously, holding her out at arm's length so that I could look into her eyes. "They select their victims based on more than just availability, which is what I had incorrectly assumed earlier. For whatever reason, maybe because I don't have any family left, they decided that I was going to be their next victim. When the avalanche wiped out the cabin and the wolves didn't find me, they must have assumed that I'd been buried under tons of snow. Unfortunately, because they didn't have a cabin left to lease to their next client, he brought the wolves here. They're your eviction notice, my love. They know that this is the right cabin, because Fred just dropped them off beyond the clearing to do their nasty little job. I'll bet that right now, this very minute, Fred is less than a mile away."

"I don't doubt you, John, I never have. But I'm sure having a hard time believing that there are such cruel people in the world."

"Believe it, Sandy," I said emphatically. Then with equal conviction, I added, "I wish my feet were able to support me, because I'd love nothing better than to catch him before he could get away." Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I continued, "I might be wrong, but I have a strong hunch that he's not even aware that I'm alive. He's probably assumed that the avalanche buried me, along with several of their dogs."

"My feet are able," she said with determination, suddenly standing taller than her five-foot-four frame.

"You're forgetting the wolves, Sandy," I said without making any inflection toward her abilities. "They'll be on you before you can get one hundred yards from the cabin."

When she didn't immediately rebuke me, I knew she believed me. "Thinking back on it, that's probably why we got a respite from them, and why they were leaving here when I showed up. Fred, our landlord and wolf tender, was collecting the pack so that he could put them in a controlled environment before introducing the replacements for the ones that I'd killed. That also explains why there are seven of them again."

"So now what do we do?" she asked calmly, and then threw herself against me, as another beast threw itself against the door.

"If Fred can safely control them, there must be a key to it. We need to figure out what it is that distinguishes him from their prey. Why do they obey him, instead of attacking him?" I asked softly, my thoughts drifting, unable to find the elusive answer. "You wouldn't happen to have any experience with the canine class, by chance, would you?"

"Sorry, I wasn't even allowed to have a puppy, when I was a kid."

"It's almost dark now," I said calmly. "We can't do anything more tonight, even if we wanted to. Let's get a good night's sleep, and maybe by morning something will come to us."

"I don't want to let you go", she whispered against my chest, squeezing me still tighter in her arms. "I need to stay with you tonight. Just hold me, please."

"Climb up here on the table with me", I said comfortingly, softly encouraging her.

With a graceful ease, she raised herself onto the tabletop and lay down beside me. With my arms wrapped tightly around her small waist, we lay against each other, our faces only inches apart. Being careful not to let her feet touch mine, she snuggled against my chest. Holding her tightly, I whispered in her ear, telling her how much I loved her. Slowly and begrudgingly, as the lantern burned ever lower, my thoughts drifted back to the wolf pack, and our sorry predicament.

Although I'd told Sandy that something would come to us in the way of an answer to our problem by morning, I now had to face the fact that I'd sounded confident only for her sake. In reality, I doubted if anything would come to me by morning. My mind was drawing a blank. And yet, I knew that Fred had to have some kind of control over the beasts, or he wouldn't be able to move them to the different cabins as needed.

Thinking back to the early dawn of a cold morning, while I was waiting outside by the snow tractor, Fred took a small paper package to one of the equipment sheds. At the time, I hadn't put any significance to the package. For all I knew or cared, it might have been the morning's garbage. But the shed had been padlocked like Fort Knox. Even then, that had struck me as odd. That and the way Fred had reacted when he saw me watching him return from the shed. His reaction had been out of character. If he was doing something as innocent as taking out the garbage, why did he react the way he had? The minute he saw me watching him, his whole demeanor changed. Immediately, he grew perturbed and angry with me, yet I'd done nothing wrong. In fact, thinking back on it now, I'd almost have to say that he'd acted paranoid. Just what the hell was in that package, I began to wonder anew. And even more importantly, what was he hiding in the shed?

It came to me like a bolt of lightning. Sure, why hadn't I thought of it sooner? The shed was his secret kennel. That's where he raises and trains his hybrid killers. And that little white package he took to the shed before we left that morning didn't contain raw meat like I first suspected; it contained something of mine! The blood was only to reintegrate their savage desires. The main item had my scent on it.

The blood may have been left from the meat the package originally contained. Or it might have been human. I don't think it really mattered. What did matter was that it intermingled with my scent, working the beasts into a killing frenzy, a frenzy that will only be satisfied with my blood and flesh. The wolves out there were trained just like police canines, to do a certain thing regarding a specific scent. And I had no doubt just whose scent they were hunting this time!

"Sandy, I think I figured it out," I said softly, speaking into the darkness. "You're not asleep, are you?"

"No, I'm not," she quickly replied, speaking with a voice that didn't even sound sleepy. Tired, maybe, but not sleepy.

She moved ever so slightly against me, as she made herself ever more comfortable within the confines of my arms.

"What have you figured out?" she asked, trying not to give in to her growing excitement until she heard more.

"I haven't been able to devise a plan yet that will implement what I think I know. But let me tell you what I've come up so far. I have a theory about how he has trained the wolves. Maybe together, we can figure something out of it," I said confidently, trying to comfort her in my embrace.

After pulling the blankets tighter up around us, I proceeded to tell her everything that I'd been thinking. When I finished, she didn't say anything for a long minute, though I knew she hadn't fallen asleep.

Then, from a very close place to my heart, she said, "Now tell me how knowing that is going to get us out of here."

Although I didn't want to alarm or frighten her anymore than she already was, I started, "If I'm correct in my hunch, they're tuned to your specific scent, not mine. If I could walk, I could probably strut right past them and they wouldn't as much as snarl at me."

"That may very well be," she started, her voice increasing ever so slightly in pitch, as she realized what I was getting at. "But where does that leave us, exactly. In case you don't remember, that itch in your feet should be telling you something about their ability to carry you. And unless you brought a good supply of bleach with you, I don't think we're going to be changing my scent anytime soon."

"First off, even if I could, I'm not sure that I'd want to change your scent. And second, I told you that you'd have to wait until morning, so don't get impatient on me."

"I love you, John. No matter what happens to us, I want you to know that I love you," she said softly.

"Just remember that I love you too, and I'm not about to let anything happen to you. We'll get out of this, Sandy. Believe in that, if nothing else."

"I believe in you, John. Without you, there is nothing else."

What I expected to be a restless night, turned into a peaceful and relaxing one, even though neither of us was able to sleep but for short snatches. Sandy got up and stoked the fire to keep the cabin warm several times during the night. There didn't seem any point in conserving the firewood, since we weren't going to need any more after tonight. Long before the sun broke over the horizon, Sandy got up and put a pot of coffee on the stove, and then fried up a huge pan of spuds. Over the top of the potatoes, she broke the remaining eggs, and then put the lid over the whole thing.

When she saw me watching her, she asked, feigning sarcasm, "Haven't you ever had a potato omelet before?"

"No, I can't say as I have."

"Trust me, you'll like it," she quipped, almost cheerily. "Especially when you get a taste of this gravy that I'm making to go over the top."

"Let me guess," I said facetiously. "The gravy wouldn't happen to be based around a small brown cube that if I were to look around, I'd probably find a case or more of."

"Smart ass," she responded tartly. "Do you always get so smart after you've shared a table with someone?"

"Oh, lady!" I cried out. "You just wait until I'm able to do more than share a table! We'll have to find somewhere much more appropriate for the main course."

Unable to hold back, a loud laugh erupted from her, as she began to reprimand me for raising my voice, and possibly waking up the neighbors. We laughed for a minute before the seriousness of our situation reasserted itself and the moment had passed.

"Someday soon, we'll have us real neighbors, love," I said solemnly, before adding, "Not the four-legged kind that wants to eat you."

But my attempt at levity flopped, and we ate in silence, neither asking the other if any ideas had come to them during the early morning hours. We both knew the other would already know, if either had come up with anything, even something farfetched and reckless. I was bitterly disappointed with myself after arriving at a plausible scheme for training the wolves, and then drawing a complete blank with regard to a solution for our dilemma. A plan of action seemed within reach the night before, and now an answer seemed miles away. I had truly believed that with morning, would come the answer that I was looking for. I could almost feel it, yet it stayed just out of reach.

We knew what we were facing. We even thought we knew what the wolves honed in on and why. Nevertheless, for some reason, we just couldn't seem to figure out how to get them to focus on something else. And there in lay the solution.

Unless!

"Sandy!" I suddenly cried out excitedly. "I think I know how to distract them!"

She was in the middle of cleaning the dishes and my sudden outburst startled her, causing her to drop one of the tin plates on the floor. It struck the floor with a hollow clang, as she whirled to face me, oblivious of the plate.

"How?" she anxiously fired back, immediately forgetting all the troubling thoughts that were occupying her mind just a moment earlier.

"It's not going to be easy. And it'll be very dangerous, for both of us. But there's a chance that it just might work!"

She waited patiently as I grew silent, the plan continuing to formulate within my mind. The main obstacle I kept encountering, and also the one around which the entire idea was based, was my immobility. If we could just figure out a way to make me even temporarily mobile, the plan just might work. It was still a long shot, but it was better than sitting here in this cabin with our dwindling food supplies while waiting for the inevitable.

"The one problem that I'm having is trying to figure out how I'm going to get about. I need mobility if we're going to make my plan work," I said to her, hoping beyond hope that she might see a remedy that I was overlooking.

Unfortunately, she was only able to tell me what was already blaringly obvious, and that boiled down to the fact that if I put any weight on my feet, the newly forming scabs will break open and leave me lying helpless within a few short steps. And that didn't take into account just how horrific the pain would become.

We sat deep in thought for a moment when Sandy suddenly said, "I can make you crutches to keep the weight off your feet."

Thinking in harmony with her, I excitedly asked, "You mean by securing them to my thighs and leaving them extend beyond the bottom of my feet?"

"Yes, exactly," she replied, her excitement growing in proportion with mine. "They'll be awfully awkward, painful, and difficult to get used to, and you won't be able to move very fast. But they'll allow you a degree of mobility that you wouldn't otherwise have."

As she talked, she scurried about the cabin, hastily grabbing items from here and there until she had the materials necessary to fabricate a crude pair of crutches. Next, she grabbed the axe from where it was leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'll need the table legs, John. We need to get you into the chair," she continued animatedly, as she set the axe down, and proceeded to drag the one and only chair over next to the table.

It was a solid wood chair, but the legs were too short for what Sandy had in mind. With her help, we managed to slide me off the table while I remained upright in a sitting position, and plunked my butt down into the seat of the chair. She quickly rolled the table over and, with the use of the axe, knocked the legs free from their moorings at the outward corners on the underside of the tabletop.

"We should be able to use these just the length they are," she said absently, as she positioned everything within easy reach of where she was going to be assembling the crutches to my legs.

"I don't suppose that you're going to let me in on the plan while I affix these to you?" she finally asked, when she realized that I wasn't going to offer it up for her scrutiny without a struggle.

"I'm afraid if I tell you now, before you get me up and walking, you won't continue. In fact, you may even refuse to help me altogether," I said half-jokingly even though I was well aware of the truth that I'd just spoken.

"Now you realize, these are going to be painfully crude, and you won't be able to wear them for any length of time. Because in order for them to work, they'll need to be so tightly secured to your legs, they're going to shut off the flow of blood, much like a tourniquet."

"If my plan works like I hope it does, I won't need to go very far, or for long," I said encouragingly. "Let's get the sled together before you fasten them on me, so we're ready to go."

"Don't you think you should practice on them first?"

"No. The difference between a rough plank floor and the snow-covered meadow outside the door tells me I'd just be wasting valuable time and energy," I said firmly, so as not to invite any argument from her.

The odds of my plan working were slim enough already. In addition, my strength was far from what it used to be, and I couldn't risk wasting any of it on practice runs. We were only going to get one chance to make it work.

Sandy quickly put the final touches on the sled. I was immensely impressed with the harness that she'd fashioned for herself by weaving ropes together. With the sled ready, and all the supplies secured beneath it, she turned to me and said, "It was supposed to have you on top before I secured the supplies underneath so that the net would hold you in place too. But since we don't have that option, we'll have to tie you on later." And then, after a long moment's hesitation, she added, "Or you may just have to hold on until we can stop and take the time to secure you properly."

"Then let's get those crutches on me and get this show on the road," I said as enthusiastically as I could under the circumstances.

While Sandy busied herself wrapping my feet with extra bandages, I busied myself by checking the condition and readiness of the gun, and telling Sandy about my plan. Specifically, I empathized what part of it she was going to be instrumental in playing.

With the extra bandages applied, she turned her attention to the crutches. While she worked, she interrupted me occasionally to ask questions, and even volunteered a suggestion here and there. When I was finished, I asked her what she thought of it.

Stopping what she was doing, she looked up at me before responding. Without a hint of sarcasm in her voice, she said, "I think I'm nuts to let you go ahead with such a hair-brained idea. If I weren't half as desperate as I am, I'd be taking these off of you, not putting them on."

"It's going to be extremely dangerous for you, too. If I could come up with anything else, believe me, we wouldn't be doing this."

"What happens if you're wrong, and they attack you?" she softly asked, unable to keep the tension from her voice. "What then?"

"Then, my love, you don't have the burden of me to worry about, and you escape." Her gaze met mine, and I reiterated with emphasis, "For me, you must escape!"

Turning away, she quickly finished fastening the crutches to my legs. They were extremely tight and painful, and I knew the pain would only get worse when I got up on them. Fortunately, the distance that I'd have to go with them on wasn't very far.

Sandy got to her feet, fighting back a flush of tears growing in the corners of her eyes. "Give me your arms. When I stand, you rise with me," she said, leaning forward and locking her arms behind my back.

Together, we straightened up. As my weight settled into the straps binding the crutches to my legs, I winced at the pain. Although Sandy had generously padded my legs to protect them against the narrow straps, they quickly cut through it, digging cruelly into my tender flesh beneath. Yet, the bottoms of my feet were suspended more than two inches above the floor.

However, because it had been such a long time since I'd been upright, I wobbled for a minute as the blood rushed to my head. But with Sandy's support, I managed to maintain my balance.

We held each other tightly, not only for the physical support that I needed, but also for the emotional support that we both needed.

Even without the benefit of the crutches, she was several inches shorter than I was. With the crutches on, her head barely reached my chest, as I straightened up for the first time in more than three weeks. Leaning down, I kissed her on the top of the head, and then suggested that we needed to get started. She quickly helped me into my snowsuit before climbing into her own.

After taking one last look around the cabin to be sure everything of necessity was packed and ready, she turned to face me and said, "I love you, John. You be careful out there."

"Me too, and I will be," I replied, holding back my emotions.

Stepping back, she let me stand on my own. Cautiously, I stepped forward, and was instantly wracked with sharp, biting pains, as the straps cut deeper into my tender flesh. Yet, despite the pain, I was surprised at how balanced they felt. Not having been on my feet for so long must have made it easier to adjust to the crutches as I took several more, equally painful steps, and then started toward the door. Sandy quickly ran to it and undid the latch for me. She stood to the side, looking at me with desperation and worry in her eyes, and all I could do was smile weakly back at her.

When I reached her, I stopped. Using the doorjamb for a crutch, I leaned over and kissed her. Straightening up, I winked down at her. She opened the door, and I stepped out into the awakening dawn.

My plan was simple. It required me to get as far from the cabin as possible before the wolves realized that I'd left. Then, by deceiving them with Sandy's scent, they'll mistakenly come after me, abandoning the cabin. Sandy, meanwhile, will watch my progress from a crack in the door until I draw the wolves as far as I'm capable. When she deems that I've done the best I can, or the wolves overtake me, she'll head away from the cabin on a forty-five degree tangent from my trail. While I'm working my way up the gradual slope that lies east of the cabin, Sandy will be riding the sled down the southern slope toward the bottom of the meadow. When she can't slide any farther, she'll don the snowshoes, and slip into the woven harness, before doubling back in a large circle to pick me up.

After the wolf pack is away from the cabin, and I have sent them away, I'll continue working my way around the outer edge of the meadow until I rendezvous with Sandy, if I'm able. There's no guarantee that the wolves won't kill me when they discover that I'm not Sandy. Frustrated and hungry, anything is possible. And after killing me, they may go directly back to the cabin in search of Sandy. Even with a head start, they can easily overtake her.

Furthermore, there's the real risk that we might get lost in the woods, and not be able to find each other. Or, Heaven forbid, the wolves find Sandy before I do.

Any of these are real possibilities, and if any of them happen, they may prove to be disastrous for one or both of us. I couldn't let that happen.

Having passed through the door and into the cold early morning, committed us on this journey for better or worse. Yet, I had to put such thoughts out of my head, and concentrated on the chore at hand, walking on the crutches. Without the hardness of the wood floor beneath me, the straps were much easier on my flesh. Between the small amount of weight that my well-wrapped and padded feet absorbed from the compaction of the snow, and the softness of the planting of the crutch in the snow, I found it easier to negotiate than I'd anticipated. Before I knew it, I'd almost reached the far side of the meadow, and I hadn't seen a sign of the wolves.

Just when I let myself start to believe that Fred had come back and collected his pack of hybrid killers, a loud chorus of yapping and howling erupted directly ahead of me in the woods. The sounds were coming from less than a quarter of a mile away; they would be on me within minutes.

Gasping loudly for breath, a cold film of sweat plastering my forehead, I forced myself to move faster. If there was any chance of it, I wanted to draw them into the woods, and out of sight of the cabin, before they figured out that I wasn't their prey.

My heart was hammering thunderously in my chest, and I felt a sharp pain in my side from lack of oxygen. I was sick and out of shape, and the altitude only made matters worse. Yet, I was drawing closer to the trees and the undergrowth, and the wolves still hadn't broken into view.

When I realized that there was a chance for me to make it to the woods before the wolves could reach me, it became even more imperative that I get there. If the first part of my plan didn't go as I'd hoped it would, and the wolves turned upon me, viciously attacking me, I didn't want Sandy to have to witness it. From her vantage point behind the solid door of the cabin, she could hear their high-pitched yaps, and would recognize a change immediately if they went from following scent to attacking a victim. Listening to such a disharmony of terror would be cruelly difficult for her, especially since she would know what the sounds were implying on my behalf.

But I was more than willing to make that sacrifice for her. If my death bought her enough time to escape down the mountain, I would go willingly to the jaws of permanent destruction. If she didn't believe so strongly in me, she wouldn't have allowed me to venture out here without her. By allowing me to take this chance for her, she was affirming the depth of her faith in me.

It would be scant minutes before she jumped on the sled and rode it down the meadow. Once she reached the bottom, she'd still have to cover at least four hundred feet of open ground before reaching the shelter of the trees. By sliding down the slope on the sled, we also intended not to leave any of her scent on the snow leading away from the cabin. Because once the wolves learned that I wasn't their quarry, they would return to the cabin, searching for a scent trail to follow. It was a risky plan at best, but there didn't seem to be any alternative.

Staggering wildly from side to side, I finally made the shelter of the trees. The minute I disappeared from sight, Sandy would have jumped on the sled. Even while I stood here swaying, dizzy from nausea and lack of oxygen, she's sledding across the meadow like a kid on a snow day.

Just as a smile crept into the corners of my mouth, the wolves appeared, moving rapidly toward me through the thin underbrush between the trees. The sun was just now cresting the horizon, casting eerie shadows, and illuminating everything surrealistically. Standing my ground, watching the advancing beasts, I suddenly felt like a fool for having thought up such a hair-brained idea.

Upon seeing their quarry, the snarling beasts slowed to a walk, confident in their ability to overtake. As I watched their glaring yellow eyes focus on me, I grew oblivious of my pounding heart and the roar of my blood in my ears. No longer, did I feel the icy sweat frozen to my forehead, or the way I had to force my lungs to breath, to keep from passing out and falling unconscious into the snow. As I stared in horror at the slowly, methodically advancing creatures, I became oblivious to everything surrounding my weakened body.

They were no longer barking, only growling through exposed teeth, their yellow eyes unblinking. They were less than twenty feet and still working their way unwaveringly toward me. Any moment, they would break into two groups, each closing in on me from opposite sides. It was the way packs hunted, and hybridized or not, these would still revert to such tactics.

At less than ten feet, I could smell the wet fur, the slobber and drool clinging from their ghostly-white fangs. I couldn't help but feel that the end of my journey was near at hand.

### **14**

I'd never been so scared in all my life. I stood immobilized by an overwhelming fear. All of my pain and discomfort was immediately forgotten. It seemed almost surreal. They didn't look like wolves. Rather, they looked much more like snakes, slithering through the undergrowth, moving stealthily between the trees, their yellow eyes straining against their nearsightedness to see me.

Sandy had been right; there were at least seven of the fearsome beasts. And what they lacked in eyesight, they more than made up for with their keen sense of smell. Now that they had me in their scents, running was out of the question, even if I could, which I couldn't. I was committed, and my destiny was quickly approaching, moving toward me through the hazy light like demons coming for my soul.

A frigid breeze stirred up from the shadows, driving away any trace of warmth the rising sun could lay down. My body shivered from its penetrating influence, my nerve endings snapping as if over-tensioned piano wires, setting my body to shaking. Yet, it wasn't because of the cold night air clinging desperately to the ground. Nor was it from the snow that I'd brushed over my body when I first stepped out of the cabin; a feeble attempt to mask any of Sandy's scent that I might be carrying on me. The snow, having melted on my face, now mingled with the sweat running from my pores. I stunk of perspiration from my exertions. I also stunk of fear. It was cold, running in frigid rivulets that avoided my collar, finding its way down my back and chest, making it increasingly difficult to stop the shakes.

Reaching into the front pocket of the snowsuit, I unsteadily withdrew an item that didn't belong to either Sandy or me. It was an item that meant much to me, and could now possibly save not only my life, but also the life of a woman that had come to mean everything to me. It seemed like a small sacrifice, considering what hung in the balance.

Shivering uncontrollably, my hand came hesitantly out of my pocket, now holding the item in a white-knuckled grip. The first wolf was almost upon me. While I stood my ground, determined not to show my fear, I noticed that it appeared considerably larger than the others coming behind it. If it knocks me over, I thought suddenly, there is no way I'll ever get back on my feet.

But I needn't have worried. It suddenly stopped came to a halt less than ten feet from me. Cautiously, it sniffed the air, clearly confused by what its nose was telling it. Never before, did it have to distinguish between scents. My plan was working; it was clearly confused.

This one must be the leader of the pack, and not just because he was the first to reach me, but also because he stopped when he realized that I wasn't the scent he had been given to hunt down and kill. If the rest of the pack, which was swiftly catching up to their leader, followed his lead, I'd have a chance to implement the rest of my plan.

As the others came charging up to join their leader, they were immediately thrown off by his actions, or rather, his inaction. This wasn't any ordinary wolf pack. My suspicions regarding Fred had just been proven accurate. Without warning, I grew angry, completely pissed off! It was difficult to believe that someone could be so cruel and callous to sic a pack of wild beasts on a fellow human. But it made me even madder to think that he'd sat right next to me in the snow-tractor, pretending to care about my well-being, when in truth, he couldn't wait to return with the wolves! Damn, I was mad! If I had to crawl back to their base camp on my hands and knees, I was determined to do it! Fred, and anyone else that was involved in this murderous scheme, were going to pay.

The first wolf was approximately ten feet from me, nervously pacing from one side to other, all the while growling and threatening, his white fangs drizzling with anticipation. He'd been primed to kill, to ravage his quarry, and rent his prey from end to end. He was hungry for blood, the sweet juices that would eventually pour from the wet entrails of a fresh kill. He wouldn't hold back for long.

The others caught up, and they too, began pacing nervously, unable to understand what was happening. Like their leader, they were hungry for warm flesh and sweeter blood. They wouldn't be denied for long, as they dutifully kept their distance, waiting impatiently for their leader's next move.

Speaking as calmly as I could, all things considered, I said, "Nice boy."

The larger wolf barely acknowledged my voice, yet I knew he heard me. Even a trained killer, would have been kindly addressed. After all, Fred didn't train them to work in a junkyard. They were much more sophisticated than that.

A new thought suddenly came to the forefront of my mind, and I felt as if I were going to wet myself. It was very possible that the leader of the pack was the only one that had been trained to be selective in what it killed. The others were just waiting to pounce on me.

In addition, no matter how well trained this creature might be, it was still a creature of the wilderness, and in the end its instincts would rule out. There is nothing worse in this world than a wild beast possessing the physical attributes necessary to kill a man, without the inbred fear of man to hold it in check.

Luckily, I hadn't considered all this when I came up with my plan, or I might never have managed to bring it along to this point.

Leaning forward as far as I dared without fear of losing my balance and falling into the snow at their feet, I un-balled the bloodied scarf in my hand and shook it out, permeating the cool breeze with Amy's bloodied scent. It was a morbid keepsake, a constant reminder of how Amy had died, and now I felt that I knew what had possessed me to hang onto it.

With the soiled scarf in my right hand, I flapped it before the lead wolf, coaxing the beast to come closer. It took enormous mental control to keep from yelling and shouting and waving my arms to drive the animals away. But I held my impulses in check, speaking slowly and reassuringly to the animal instead.

Pacing nervously, almost apprehensively from side to side, the ugly beast continued growling, its sharp teeth and fangs bared at me the whole time. Yet, almost imperceptibly, there was a definite purpose in its pacing, and slowly, very cautiously, it drew nearer. It was close enough to smell the foul breath emanating from its panting, growling mouth. I told myself that it was nothing more than a large dog, a neighbor's annoying pet. But there was no fence separating it from me, and the thought did little to console my jangled nerves.

When the animal was less than two feet from my knees, I held Amy's scarf out to its nose, and firmly told it to "find."

It was a wild guess, since I had no idea, to what commands Fred would have trained the beast to respond. But I'd seen enough police shows to know that, except for using a foreign language, the commands were always kept simple.

The beast turned its nose toward the scarf expectantly. My hopes leaped upward. It studied the scarf, stopping its growling just long enough to look up at me questioningly with its balefire eyes and muddy pupils. I had no doubts that the beast could just as easily kill me, as it could obey me. It held no allegiance to me, and I knew it. Yet, it had absorbed the scent from the scarf into its nostrils, and now it was clearly torn, undecided.

While it paced nervously, I could feel cold shivers running down my spine. Looking into those eyes was like looking into the bowels of hell. Here was a creature that could take life without any conscious remorse or true understanding of what that life had been. It was the ultimate killing machine, completely devoid of feelings.

Sensing that the creature understood my intentions, I repeated the command, only more forcefully this time, "Find! Go." And I ended it with, "Kill!"

It took one more sniff of the scarf in my hand, and then looked around, not sure which direction it should take. Without thinking of what I was doing, I took the scarf and feigned throwing it in the direction that I wanted them to go.

The other wolves in the pack were growing increasingly restless, and when I raised my arm and pretended to throw the scarf, one of them charged toward me. It was immediately snarled at and nipped in the flank by the leader. This action on the leader's part had nothing to do with protecting me, because it wasn't. It was just reminding the rest of the pack that he was just that, their leader. Every so often, he would have to exert himself if he intended to hold his position of authority within the pack. Yet, I was grateful for his actions just the same.

Suddenly, as if a light went on in its head, the leader understood my intentions, and took off running in the direction that I was indicating to them. He was well out in front of the others, as they raced to catch up. In a matter of moments, they were gone, having quickly disappeared from sight amongst the trees and sparse undergrowth.

For a longer moment, while I listened to their retreating yaps and yowls, I stood still, unable to believe that it had really worked.

Almost indiscernibly, my sweat turned cold against my skin, and my limbs started shaking again. All the symptoms of my fatigue and ill health began to re-exert themselves. Feeling extremely nauseous and light headed from the physical exertion, I wanted to stop and rest. Yet, I couldn't. Not yet. Sandy was working her way around to me and I needed to start making my own way toward her.

The total distance we would have to traverse to reach each other would be close to three miles. That meant my share of the hike was going to be one and one half miles, if I could keep up the same pace that Sandy was doing. I had thought about making it a shorter trek, and thereby decreasing the distance of the arc from the cabin. But I didn't want to risk putting Sandy any closer to danger than I had to. If the wolves had not stopped when they had, but had instead just attacked me, the greater distance could have meant the difference between life and death for her.

Now the greater distance was just that much more of an obstacle to overcome. It also meant an increased chance of missing each other in the woods, or that one or the other of us might get lost. It was imperative that we connected on our first pass or we could both end up separate and alone when night fell. In addition, we couldn't afford to spend all of our precious little energy and resources searching for each other. We needed to find each other and get down off this mountain before the wolves figured out they were running down a blind trail. My little trick would only keep them off our trail for a short time and the chances of it working twice were nil.

Pushing aside the sick nauseous feeling that was churning in my stomach, I started by planting one crutch before the other, all the while struggling to maintain my balance. If I fell, I would never get upright again. Before Sandy could find me, if she ever did, I would be frozen to death. Without help, I'll never survive this ordeal.

Keeping a steady forward pace that slowly ate up the yards, I continually searched ahead with my eyes, always looking for the path with the clearest ground cover. The snow was a troublesome hindrance, constantly trying to drag me down. Frequently, I had to stop and catch my breath, which was growing ragged and harsh from my efforts. My head was pounding ferociously, whether from altitude sickness or simple exhaustion, I didn't know or care.

When I grew dizzy, I started worrying that I would slip in the snow, or become entangled in the underbrush. Because of this growing concern, I changed my tactics, almost without realizing that I'd done so. Instead of maneuvering toward the widest clearings between the trees and undergrowth, I started guiding my quivering limbs toward the next nearest tree so that I had something to lean on while waiting for the dizzy spells to pass. This technique, although vital to my efforts, added many more additional yards to my journey, as I was forced to zigzag along my course. Although I tried my damnedest, I couldn't come close to the same pace that I was sure Sandy was making with the sled in tow.

This realization brought on a new bout of guilt, forcing me to push myself even harder than I was previously. The longer it took me to find her, the more distance she would have to cover.

Before leaving the cabin, we had decided not to yell for each other until we were sure we'd covered enough distance to put us in the same area as the other. I hadn't realized at the time just how optimistic those words must have sounded. In my present condition, I couldn't have raised my voice above a whisper without collapsing, even if I had looked up and seen Sandy passing by less than fifty feet away. It was everything I could do just to remain upright while working my way from one tree to the next. The dizzy spells were coming at increasingly shorter intervals and never completely clearing from my head before I would press on to the next tree.

The cold had worked into my core again, chilling me to the marrow of my bones. The straps securing the crutches to my legs needed loosening, yet I couldn't remember why. They were cutting into my flesh with increasing cruelty, cutting off the flow of blood to my recuperating feet. They had become tourniquets, and they needed attention.

But the cold had numbed my feet, or so I assumed. I wasn't thinking too clearly any longer. Yet, it seemed strange that I was coherent enough to be aware of that. A fever was growing within me, and yet, it had been only mere hours since leaving the wolf pack and cabin behind.

For reasons that I could no longer comprehend, I kept a close watch on the sky. Particularly, I was watching the sun. It was important that I keep the sun at the correct angle to the direction that I was traveling. But I couldn't seem to remember just what made that particular direction important.

Leaning against a stout fir tree, my head hanging listlessly forward, I noticed for the first time that one of my footprints was a deep shade of red. And though this should mean something important to me, I couldn't figure out what it was.

My hands were scuffed and bleeding from bracing myself against the rough winter bark. Several fingernails had been pushed back and broken beyond the cuticle. They were also peppered full of minute slivers. In the excitement of the moment, I failed to put my gloves back on after removing them to retrieve the scarf from my pocket. But none of this seemed important. They didn't hurt. And wasn't that all that really mattered? Moreover, they were much too stiff now to get the gloves over them anyway. This should concern me, but it didn't.

With increasing difficulty, I continued trudging forward, always keeping the sun above my right shoulder. Time had ceased to have any meaning for me. At some point, one of the bindings came loose and it gave me the sensation of stepping into a hole, as my right foot suddenly dropped lower than my left. Unable to help myself, I stumbled forward. And would have fallen to the snow covered ground were it not for a large tree standing directly in my path.

Landing hard against the tree, I was awash in waves of nausea. But nonetheless, I was still standing upright when the darkness cleared from before my eyes. Pushing off from my savior disguised as a tree, I continued my lopsided plodding, toward a goal that seemed to be eluding me.

Short of breath and chilled with fever, I was leaning against a tree for support when I thought I saw something moving in the shadows to my left. My vision had been blurry and unfocused for some time, and I was forced to squint ever harder in order to make out the blur that was moving towards me. Yet, I wasn't concerned; there was something familiar in the blur, though I couldn't put my finger on it. As it drew nearer, I was able to distinguish a person dragging something, and I was glad, but I didn't know why.

Suddenly, with a shot of clarity that stunned my feverish mind, I remembered who I was and what I was doing. But more importantly, I knew who was coming towards me.

Stepping away from the tree and balancing precariously on the crutches, I raised my arms to wave to her. Just as suddenly, as the bout of clarity that had come over me only moments prior, I was overcome by a dizzying wave of nausea that clouded my vision. My surroundings went from a hazy, disorienting fog, to a deeper shade of gray. Without any sensation of falling, I landed hard on the snow-covered ground. For just the briefest of moments, I was sure that I felt a cold, wet substance against the side of my face. And then, just before the sun went out and the darkness enfolded me, I caught the faintest whiff of a woman, and a smile came to my face.

With Sandy leaning over me, I regained consciousness on a cot in the middle of nowhere. It was growing dark, and the tree limbs were barely visible against the darker sky. They seemed ominous and threatening, even though I knew them for what they were. I also knew where I was, and how I got here.

Noticing that I was awake, she forced a smile for my benefit. I attempted a smile back. Moving toward my feet, she took the end of a piece of cord, similar to the cord that she wove the netting beneath the cot with, and tied my feet and legs securely to the cot. Only then did I realize that she'd already secured my upper body to the cot by stretching the fishnet taught across my chest and securing it to each side. Despite the restricting action of the netting, I was able to raise my head off the padding that she'd placed beneath it.

Something light and fluttery landed on my eyebrow, and I tried to reach up and whisk it away, but my arms wouldn't respond. It was then that I noticed for the first time that she had put my gloves back on and secured my arms beneath the netting so they wouldn't inadvertently dangle over the side of the cot. I also noticed that I still didn't have any feelings in my hands.

Her backpack with the bandages and meager first aid supplies was lying open in the snow beside her. A little distance farther laid a scattered pile of bloody bandages. My stomach lurched at the sight of them, and the realization that she changed the dressings on one or both of my feet.

Looking away from the bloody rags, I watched her tie off the last few knots securing my feet. She was working faster than seemed prudent. Yet, I understood the urgency.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, as she stood and pressed her hands into the small of her back.

"There is nothing for you to feel sorry about," she said gently, trying to hide her surprise at my ability to speak coherently. "If it wasn't for you, they probably would have gotten me by now."

"Leave me," I rasped through a throat that was parched and dehydrated. "You have a much better chance of making it without me."

"I make it with you, or neither of us makes it, love. Since I've met you, life is worth living again. I couldn't imagine a life without you. Now quit talking and save your energy for getting better."

"I don't deserve you," I said with a sigh, lowering my head to the padding beneath and resigning myself to being pulled along.

"Shut up and hang on," she sternly remarked, as she put her weight into the woven harness and pushed against the snowshoes adorning her boots.

She made a grunting noise, as it took all of her strength just to break the sled free from the binding action of the snow. But once it started moving, she quickly settled into an easy pace. The sled glided almost noiselessly along on the carpet of snow, as I lay on my back and stared up into the darkened treetops. Within a short time, the rocking action of the sled in combination with the steady swishing sound of the runners through the snow caused me to doze off. I slept soundly and peacefully, as a baby in a cradle. Some time later, I awoke. The sky was dark, though the moon had risen, because of a heavy cloud cover. There were no shadows, and we weren't moving.

Straining to see into the darkness, I felt the cold hands of panic clutching my chest, slowly squeezing tighter, and making it increasingly difficult to breathe. I couldn't see Sandy anywhere. But even if she were standing right next to the cot, I probably wouldn't see her in the pitch dark of the night that surrounded me.

"Sandy," I weakly croaked, my throat parched and constricted from the fever I was running.

From off to my left, and less than three feet distant, came a soft, scuffling noise. When her comforting voice came to me, it came from a lower position than my own, and I realized that she was lying on the ground resting. In the snowsuit, the cold couldn't reach her.

"It's all right. I'm right here," she answered softly. "How are you feeling? Would you like some water?"

"Yes, water," I rasped, immensely relieved to hear her voice. "Throat dry."

Without realizing that she'd moved, she was suddenly leaning over me, as she knelt beside the cot and gently put the jug of water against my lips. I drank greedily; eagerly sucking in the frigid liquid, while savoring the way it flowed down and soothed my dry throat. When I drank as much as I could keep down, I pushed against the jug with my mouth.

"Feel better?" she asked softly, her voice almost a whisper.

"Yes. Thank you. Where are we?"

"I'm not sure. We have been making good time, but I'm afraid that I never was very good with distances and directions." Jokingly, she added, "I would have made a lousy boy scout."

The cloud cover was growing thicker, more ominous and threatening. Even a city-boy could see that a serious storm was imminent. Looking up at the swirling darkness, I said, "If the moon ever breaks through the cloud cover, I'll be able to determine the direction that we need to take. If not, we'll have to wait until morning, when the sun comes up."

In a voice that was unable to hide the deep fatigue that she was feeling, she said, "I can't see where I'm going in this dark anyway. If you're hungry, we have boiled potatoes and bouillon to eat."

"No, thanks. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to keep it down," I answered her truthfully.

"So, that's what you think of my cooking!" she replied, feigning offense at my remark.

"You know I don't feel any such way," I wearily rebuked her. My strength was draining fast from just the exertion of carrying on a conversation.

Sensing my fatigue, she offered, "Get some rest then, if you're not hungry. I'll wake you if the sky clears enough for us to travel tonight."

Almost before she'd even finished the sentence, I was unconscious. Although I wasn't hungry, and would have been unable to keep food in my stomach, the delirium that I had experienced during the day had passed. It was a feeling that I didn't want to experience again anytime soon. It seemed like another miracle had happened to me in the way the fever had broken almost as quickly as it had started. My feet were in bad shape, and I had broken the scar tissue by walking on them, but the pain was more than bearable. Even though the scar tissue wasn't the same as skin by any stretch of the imagination, it had been keeping in vital fluids, while keeping out infection.

Although I fell asleep almost immediately, in the dim awareness that lingered for a few moments, I thought back to the pile of bloody bandages that Sandy had removed. At the time, I was too delirious to make the connection between them and my feet, beyond the fact that she had removed them from only my left foot, leaving my right intact. I wondered why she hadn't mentioned them to me. Or why she had only changed the bandages on my left foot, when I was sure that I had seen blood and pus oozing through the bandages on both.

Was it possible that she saw the futility in her efforts after seeing the deteriorated condition of the left foot?

The thought conjured up images of disgusting proportions, and I suddenly wondered what she found beneath the bandages. But I was too tired to speak. My questions would have to wait until later, after I had a chance to rest and get my strength back.

Yet, I couldn't deny the keen sense of disappointment that I felt because she was holding back from me. Having already been to the point where I was prepared to lose my feet, if not my life, I thought she knew that she could tell me anything, regardless of my condition.

### **15**

It was just getting light when Sandy woke me with a gentle shaking of my shoulder. Although the sun hadn't reached the horizon yet, the sky was turning gray, and all evidence of the stars that normally splashed the midnight sky were gone. The eastern horizon was easily distinguishable by its sharper silhouette against a lighter gray background.

"John. Wake up, John. The sun's coming up and we need to get moving." Groggily, I opened my eyes to a cold dreary dawn. Even with the rising sun, the day felt cold and forbidding. It would have been easy to just shake her off and go back to sleep. "Here's some water," she said, putting the lip of the jug against my mouth. While I drank, she asked, "Are you hungry? I'll give you some potatoes; you can chew on them while we travel. There isn't time to fix a real meal."

While drinking greedily of the water jug, I slowly grew aware of yet another sensation. To my embarrassment, spreading outward from my crotch was the warm feeling of wetting myself. It wasn't easy to accept the fact that it didn't matter, and that my pants would dry. We had more important concerns than simple incontinence to worry about. Moreover, Sandy knew that when she tied me to the cot, she had made it impossible for me to stand upright, and thus, impossible for me to pee like a normal man. Although I could have rolled over on my side and hung it over the edge of the cot, even that seemed like a lot of extra effort for naught, and would have required Sandy to undo all of her intricate knots beforehand. Despite the temporary embarrassment, it was better that I just go in my pants.

To my good fortune, though I knew that Sandy was aware of what had happened, she didn't tease me or otherwise mention it. Her indiscretion was just one more reason that I loved her as much as I did.

After placing the water jug back among the rest of the supplies suspended beneath the cot, she placed a half-baked potato in each of my snowsuit's breast pockets. They were intended for me to chew on, should I get hungry before our next break.

"If I appear to be getting off course," she said seriously, "I'm going to be counting on you to let me know. Other than that, you just get your rest and enjoy your spuds."

"If you vary in the least, I'll let you know," I answered her earnestly.

Leaning over me, she bent down and gave me a kiss before saying, "I'm sure you will."

There was a grave look of concern in her eyes. Whether it was because of me, or the wolf pack, I wasn't sure. But after an awkward moment, she stood and walked around to the front of the sled. Picking up the harness, she quickly shrugged into it. After checking that it was tight against her body in just the right places so as not to inflict unnecessary pain or a blister, she leaned first to the right, and then to the left. By doing this, she was able to rock the cot from side to side, effectively breaking the ice-hold on the runners. When the runners crunched and creaked, and the cot rocked up before dropping back into place, she leaned forward and strained against the harness. With a start, the sled lurched forward. Within a few feet of where it started, the runners were scraped clean by the friction of the snow beneath them, and the sled was sliding forward with a minimum of resistance.

With the aid of the snowshoes, she pulled the sled at a fair pace. When going down slight declines, she even had to jog for a short distance to avoid being run into by the moving sled.

But when she ascended even the slightest incline, I could hear her deep panting, and the lurching of the sled with each forward placed snowshoe. Yet, if the wolves didn't bother us, I felt confident that she would pull us to safety.

Lying on the cot, my view was strictly limited to the treetops, unless I strained my head against the padding to see the higher ridges outlined against the sky. Every so often, when traversing the side of a ridge or hillock, the cot would lean over to one side or the other, and I would get a good view of the countryside.

For the most part, though, we were working our way through tree-covered mountainous forests, which consisted mainly of Douglas fir and some lower growing Spruce and Junipers. Occasionally, I would doze off, only to be rudely awakened by the harsh glare of the sun in my eyes. With the exception of an occasional cloud or two, this was the rule when crossing open meadows.

Sandy's breathing was labored but steady over the soft slap of the snowshoes dropping forcefully against the virgin blanket of white. Fainter still, could be heard the steady swishing of the well-waxed skis, as they rode gracefully over the shallow impressions left by the snowshoes. The soft slapping sound of the snowshoes proved hypnotic after a while, and I continually dozed off, only to be quickly reawakened by either the movement of the sled, or the nightmares lurking on the fringe of my subconscious.

Sandy was doing a fine job of keeping us on course. She was much more adept at it then she had previously implied. Whether she had feigned helplessness for my sake, or if she was just lucky staying on course this time, I wasn't sure. And it bothered me to wonder why she would feel she had to pretend ignorance or ineptitude. Because I felt as deeply toward her as I did, I wasn't willing to let silly doubts penetrate our relationship. After all, what was there to doubt? She's put herself in harm's way for me! Even if the wolf pack never had her scent, she could easily have left me on my own. She didn't have to pull me into her cabin, and out of danger.

The more I entertain this train of thought, the angrier with myself, I become. Sandy doesn't warrant this doubt in our relationship. We're closer than that! Whether she intended it or not, we have a history together.

Occasionally, she would find herself skirting a thick stand of undergrowth. But after circling it, she would unerringly get us right back on track.

It was after one of these extended detours, when I was lying awake on the back of the cot looking up at the sky, that I grew even angrier with myself. It happened when I caught myself wondering if she'd told me the truth that time she mentioned never having been a boy scout.

Around mid-afternoon, we crested a small rise and stopped for a minute so Sandy could catch her breath. We took turns drinking from the jug of thawed snow, while Sandy sat looking down at an expansive clearing that spread out before us. It went on for at least a mile and a half, possibly closer to two, with a gradual downward slope that didn't appear broken by obstacles. If it were any steeper, Sandy could have climbed on the cot with me, and we could have just glided down to the lower side. But even so, with Sandy's unwavering stamina, it wouldn't take us long to traverse. And once we reached the shelter of the trees on the farther side, we could begin looking for a place to lay low for the night.

Unfortunately, the grade wasn't quite inclined enough for the sled to slide down of its own accord, even with the combined weight of the supplies and myself on it, adding to the natural inertia of the slope. But the slope, even as slight as it was, would make it considerably easier on Sandy.

"It looks like it's going to be easy going for the next few hours," she said absently, staring out over the clearing.

"If it was any steeper, I would offer you a lift," I teased her light-heartedly.

When her breathing stabilized, and her heart rate returned to normal, she knelt down beside the cot and pulled two boiled potatoes from the supply cache underneath it. After replacing the one from my pocket that I'd already eaten, she offered me the other. When I shook my head in the negative, she turned back toward the clearing and started eating it herself. For the first time since I'd met her, she seemed despondent and out of sorts. Since nothing relevant had happened recently, her behavior was both puzzling, and a bit disturbing. Because it bothered me to see her acting so distant and detached, I felt obligated to pry into her thoughts.

"What are you thinking?" I blurted.

She jumped, startled out of her reverie by the sound of my voice. Without thinking, she nervously blurted, "Nothing, I guess. I was just daydreaming."

"You looked as if you were in another place, far away from here," I said softly, consolingly. When she didn't answer me, I added, "I didn't feel welcomed there, like I did in your cabin." When she still didn't say anything, I said, "It's okay, if you don't want to talk about it. But if you do, you can share your thoughts with me."

"I was just thinking that if...."

"If, or when?" I interrupted her, reading ahead of her thoughts.

"Okay," she admitted, almost irritably, "When! When, we get down off this damn mountain. What happens then? What becomes of us? Even if we can convince the authorities that we were almost killed by a pack of hybrid killers, and that others have already died, we have no proof!"

She was growing more agitated by the minute, while I listened in silence.

"We'll look like a couple of fools, when we try to tell them what Fred and his accomplices are doing up here. How can we convince them that Fred is training hybrid wolves to hunt down and kill innocent people, just so he can keep their rent money, when he re-rents their cabins? It sounds so ludicrous, I'm not sure that I even believe it!"

When she finally stopped, I said, "Sandy, I really don't care whether anyone believes us or not. I'm sure our accusations alone will bring enough victims' families out of the woodwork that the police will be forced to investigate. But in truth, I don't really give a damn. All I really care about is us. Just you and me and to hell with the rest of the world!"

She slowly turned toward me and leaned over, kissing me warmly before saying, "Then maybe we should get going before you go and die on me. If that should happen, I know they would put me in a loony bin and throw away the key."

"Have you forgotten?" I said jokingly. "We're both up here because of our emotional stress, remember?"

Smiling, she got back to her feet and picked up the woven harness. Stretching stiffly, she slung it over her shoulders and leaned to the left and right, breaking the runners free before putting her weight into it. Because the snow was heavy from the warmth of the sun, it slid forward with ease.

The terrain wasn't quite as smooth as it appeared from the top of the knoll. At one point, the sled almost slid into the backs of her legs, and at another, she almost fell into a shallow ravine before pulling hard to the left. The sled was difficult for her to turn because of the length of the skis, and the weight placed upon them. Yet, she managed to keep it and me from sliding over the edge, and very possibly ending up hopelessly stuck at the bottom.

She followed the top edge of the hidden ravine until it widened, flattening out enough so that she was sure she would be able to pull me up and out the other side. By that time, the sun was beginning to near the western horizon, and we both knew that we would be lucky to make it to the shelter of the trees by nightfall. We couldn't spend the night stranded out in the open. Without any protection from the harsh wind and snow, we risked being buried alive by a snowstorm. Almost invariably, the clouds will roll in during the night, and dump several inches of snow on everything, and by early morning, there won't be any evidence of them.

As we reached the slight incline leading out of the ravine, Sandy's foot slipped out of the binding on the snowshoe, causing her to fall face down in the snow. Breathing hard and cussing through clenched teeth, I could hear her roll over, presumably onto her back. Though I tried to raise my head up off the padding high enough to see her, she was just below my line of sight. No matter how hard I fought against the bindings and my own physical limitations, I couldn't look down at the area immediately in front of the sled.

Panicked, I cried out, "Sandy! Sandy! Are you all right? Answer me!"

Her heavy breathing abruptly quieted, as she took a deep breath and held it in. I immediately grew frightened by her lack of action, and the ensuing silence. But before I could question her again, she broke the silence, anxiously whispering, "Quiet! Listen up, I thought I heard something."

Hearing the alarm in her voice, I immediately stopped my infantile squirming, and listened attentively for something, anything. At first, all I could hear was the soft breeze sloughing across the crystalline surface. Not hearing anything else, I wondered if she wasn't just hearing the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears. She had been exerting herself for going on two days now, if you didn't count the last day at the cabin that she spent cutting firewood. It was very possible that she wasn't even aware of her own fatigue.

Then, slowly at first, I thought I heard something too. A new sound was gently assailing my ears. Unlike the arrhythmic sloughing of the breeze, I detected something more rhythmic. Instinctively, my eyes shot upward, looking to the sky in search of an airplane. And then, just as suddenly, it dawned on me that I recognized the sound. It was a snow tractor, and it was coming our way!

"Can you see it?" I asked eagerly, my heart starting to race in my chest.

"No. It's in the trees across the clearing," she said excitedly, beginning to rise in anticipation of waving her arms and signaling to it.

Just as she reached her feet, I shouted at her, "Sandy! Get down!"

Glancing down, confused by my sudden outburst, she dropped to one knee, her eyes flashing toward the distant trees, and then toward me. But the confused look stayed firmly affixed to her face, as the noise from the engine grew steadily more audible by the second.

"John, I don't understand. That tractor can get us down off this mountain in no time. Why don't you want me to signal to it?"

"Have you forgotten everything we've discussed?" I asked her incredulously. "If it turns out to be Fred coming back to check on his wolf pack's handiwork, the wolves will hear him coming, and show up, also!"

Defensively, yet still trying to get me to change my mind, she weakly replied, "I have the gun, John."

"Sandy, I guarantee if it's Fred, he won't get anywhere near enough for you to use the gun. And then, to make matters worse, we'll have tipped our hand to him. Not only will he know that we fooled his wolves, he'll also know where we are." Exhausted by the debate, I breathlessly added, "Besides, you don't have enough bullets for that many wolves."

I'd been speaking hurriedly, not taking time to breathe, and I gasped to catch my breath. It was extremely important that she understand the situation fully, before taking it upon herself to wave down the snow tractor.

Looking up into her face, I saw her indecision still lingering there. She knew my condition was bad and that time was working against us. But she also knew that if I were right, she would be throwing away our chances of surviving.

In a final effort to sway her, I desperately pleaded, "At least wait until we can see whether it's Fred or not."

Logic dictated that I was right, and she knew it. With a loud sigh of resignation, she openly admitted as much.

Meanwhile, the sound of the laboring diesel motor combined with the clattering and clanking of the wide steel tracks, grew steadily louder as it drew closer. Sitting just below the edge of the shallow ravine, the sounds echoed off the surrounding hills, an ominous portent of trouble quickly approaching. Even though we were as far below the edge of the ravine as was humanly possible, it was so shallow at this point that even if we were to lie flat in the drifted snow, we wouldn't be completely out of sight from the driver's higher vantage point in the snow tractor. Our only hope at not being discovered lay in the possibility that he wasn't looking in our direction as he crossed the clearing.

Although there wasn't any need to remain quiet, since the snow tractor would drown out any sounds that we might make, I was hesitant to speak for fear of giving our tenuous position away. I wanted to tell Sandy, just to ease her thoughts, that there wasn't any reason for the snow tractor to swerve this far off course, since he wouldn't have any difficulty crossing the ravine wherever he desired. Because of the capabilities of the snow tractor, the ravine wouldn't even slow it down at its steepest and deepest point. Yet, I sat silently, unmoving, afraid of drawing the driver's attention.

It was our good fortune that the ravine happened to be where it was. If we hadn't veered from our course because of it, we would have been caught out in the open when the snow tractor first arrived, with nowhere to run or hide. Although the ravine, such as it were, didn't offer much in the way of concealment, it was far better than nothing.

Looking down at Sandy, I noticed that she had assumed a prone position, the length of her body pressed flat into the ravine. She was staring intently toward the sound of the approaching snow tractor, poised and ready to jump up and signal it, if it turned out not to be Fred.

Lying atop the converted cot, I felt exposed and vulnerable. Even with the sled pushed into the center of the ravine, my body was even with the surface of the surrounding lay of the land. Moreover, there wasn't time for Sandy to undo all of the intricate knots securing me to the cot so that she could camouflage it, and me, in the drifted snow. Before she can untie even one of the knots, the snow tractor will be upon us, or past us.

"Keep the gun handy," I said softly, as the snow tractor suddenly came hurtling out of the woods, and breaking into the clearing.

Immediately, my heart sank in my chest, and I felt my breath escape me. Painted clearly across the sheet-metal sides, I saw the familiar colors and markings of Fred's snow tractor. Even before the loud contraption had cleared the trees and shot out into the open, I suspected that it would be none other than our ex-landlord. Yet, for Sandy's sake more than my own, I had held out the hope that it would be wearing unfamiliar markings. Or even better yet, if the markings had to be familiar, it would have been nice if they had been the insignia of the local sheriff's department.

The distance was still too great to make out the driver as anything more than just a dark shape behind the tinted safety glass. But as sure as, I had been about the snow tractor, I was just as sure that it was Fred sitting behind the controls.

"Do you think he'll see us?" Sandy nervously asked, the fear and worry already etched into her beautiful face.

"Just don't make any movements that might catch his attention. He probably has excellent peripheral vision, even if his attention is focused straight ahead." I spoke as calmly and confidently as I was capable of, considering the circumstances. My intention was to keep her calm and relaxed, yet ready, if we had to take evasive action in a hurry. "He will probably pass through the ravine more than three hundred feet back of us, up there, if he stays his current heading," I said, nodding slightly toward the direction from which we had just come.

"He won't see our tracks, will he? And what do we do if he does? They lead right to us," she said anxiously.

"Trying to outrun it, will be out of the question," I answered her, as my mind raced forward to the scenario, and came up empty. "For now, we just stay put and pray he doesn't. By the way, have you ever used a handgun before?"

"No."

"Don't move now, but he's about to reach the ravine. If he swerves in this direction, I'll need you to hand the gun to me."

"And what do you propose to do with it while lying flat on your back?" she asked sarcastically.

"I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor," I quickly replied in a hushed tone of voice, while still mimicking her. When she smiled back at me, I added in a more serious tone, "Don't worry, I'll think of something."

I had thought of something, but I was hesitant to share it with her. Even though she was a tough girl, what I had in mind might not set too well with her. And I surely don't want her to hesitate, if I have to ask her for the gun.

In order to come up with my plan, I had to analyze all the possible scenarios, which in this case, were few. In fact, there was only one that mattered. Then, I had to judge how the individuals involved would react to the stimulus acting upon them. As a writer, this was the easy part. All I had to do was treat the players in the scenario as characters in a book, and simply play their respective roles out in my head beforehand. Since there was only one possible scenario that would have a dramatic impact on us, it took me very little time to run it to its conclusion in my mind, and then determine the best way to jog it off track. Or at least, change something that would have a favorable impact on it for our sakes.

The main scenario went something like this, and it was based upon Fred seeing us first. If he didn't see us at all, this was a moot point. But when he sees us, his reaction will be a gut level response, putting his body into motion before he considers the end result. Without thinking, he'll simply turn the snow tractor in our direction while accelerating to maximum speed, and then try to run us down. He will be operating on nothing more than impulse, simply, and predictably. If he's successful, he'll grind us up in the steel treads, crushing us beneath the weight of the machine, and leave our carcasses behind for the wolves to feast on.

In that chain of events, I see only one option; only one plan that will have a positive outcome for Sandy and me, and derail Fred from his ultimate goal. It's so simple, that it isn't really a plan at all. It's based on the whole idea that when he sees us, he will turn the snow tractor in our direction, and come charging across the meadow. When he gets close enough, I intend to shoot him through the windshield, long before he can reach us.

Because I realize the folly of this idea, not to mention the cold-blooded and calculating nature of it, I cannot share it with Sandy. The minute the tractor veers in our direction, Sandy will convince herself that Fred isn't coming to do us harm, but only to our rescue. The moment that thought lodges in her mind will be the moment that I need her to hand me the gun. And when she hesitates, Fred will run us over and chew us up beneath the massive weight of the snow tractor. I don't plan to give Fred that moment of hesitation, while we argue with each other over his intentions, as he comes boring down on us.

Although I've never killed anyone in my life, and I'm not relishing the thought of having to kill someone now, it isn't just my life that's involved. This goes way beyond me, and way beyond Sandy. The man in the snow tractor is responsible for quite a few deaths, if my theory is correct.

Having done a lot of target shooting with the magnum, I am very familiar with its latent power. I have no doubt that its steel jacketed bullet will shatter the tempered glass windshield with a minimum amount of deflection. I am also aware that a thirty-eight special would simply ricochet off that same pane, unless it struck at precisely a ninety-degree angle of impact. Silently, I thanked my lucky stars that I had remained faithful to my first impulse to buy the magnum, and not allowed my friends to dissuade me by talking me into the lower powered thirty-eight.

The tractor continued moving across the snow-covered meadow without pause, slowing only as it reached the ravine. Though I wanted to watch, I felt sure that my stare would attract the driver's attention just as surely as waving my arms would. Yet, I had to know what it was doing.

Using furtive glances, I kept the snow tractor's progress in the corner of my eye, willfully not making direct eye contact with it. When it dipped into the ravine, and then roared up the other side, I realized that the driver was too preoccupied with the cabin that lay directly ahead of him. From his vantage point high up in the cab of the snow tractor, there wasn't any other explanation for his not seeing us.

My confidence bolstered by the fact that the machine was beyond the ravine and moving steadily away from us, I raised my head and studied the cab's single occupant. Immediately, I recognized him as Fred, our ex-landlord. To our good fortune, he was so intent on where he was going that his eyes never strayed from the course directly ahead of him.

Almost as quickly, as he had appeared in the clearing, he reached the far side, and disappeared into the trees. There was no mistaking that his intended destination was Sandy's cabin, as he entered the trees in almost the same spot where Sandy and I had come out just hours earlier.

Looking toward Sandy, I immediately recognized my own relief mirrored in her face. But what I said next had to be said, even at the risk of upsetting her. "When he gets to the cabin and sees that you're not there, his first assumption is going to be that the wolves flushed you out. Although he will assume that the wolf pack is taking care of you, he'll still check around the cabin for signs so that he can follow their track, and make sure you're properly disposed of. Once he sees the two separate trails that we left, he'll know that you're not alone. Or at least, you weren't alone when the wolves showed up at your doorstep." I paused to catch my breath. Although Sandy had been doing all the work, as of late, speaking was difficult for me. "Then, he's going to panic, because he doesn't know who you've been with, and why you didn't stay together. Unfortunately, our ruse won't take long for him to figure out. Because no matter which set of tracks he follows, it will only be a matter of minutes before he reaches the juncture of our trails. It might take him a little longer to figure out why his hybrid killers didn't follow either of our trails. But then, he'll quickly overtake us, and it won't matter anymore." When she didn't say anything, he quickly added, "When he catches up to us, he is going to try killing us. It won't matter whether we figured out how to distract his wolf pack, only that we did, and that means in his estimation, we know too much!"

"Then we better get going," she firmly stated, as she stood and put the harness over her shoulders.

"Right, but not necessarily away from him. That's what he'll expect us to do; especially when he figures out that one of us is dragging the other."

"Then what are you suggesting? We dig in and make a stand?" she asked incredulously.

"Something like that. But first, we have to get to the trees so that we aren't caught out in the open. If he catches us out in the open, I'm afraid we won't stand much of a chance against him in that snow tractor. Do you think you can get us there before he comes back looking for us? If you can do that, I'll think up a plan."

Without a word, she turned and put her weight into the harness, her determination evident in the harsh jerk of the sled as she pulled it out of the ravine and continued down the slight descent of the meadow. She continued on at a pace that was limited only by the bulky awkwardness of the snowshoes.

While she struggled to remain on her feet and not trip in the bulky bindings of the snowshoes, I wracked my brain for a plan. But though I tried to come up with something more elaborate than what I already had, I kept drawing a blank. I also kept my ears open for the sound of the snow tractor. But to our good fortune, Fred was spending more time at the cabin than I had thought he would. Although I didn't want to underestimate him, I almost laughed aloud when I envisioned him puzzling over the second set of tracks, and the strangeness of their shape.

When we entered the shelter of the first thin stand of trees, we still hadn't heard the roar of the diesel from the snow tractor. Huge white plumes of condensation were erupting from Sandy's mouth, and I knew she couldn't go much farther. And though I tried to come up with a better plan, I was still drawing a complete blank.

In amongst the thicker stands of trees, the snow tractor would be much less maneuverable. But with me confined to the sled, the advantage was almost mute. If we were to have any chance of setting up an ambush, I needed my mobility back. Sandy was pulling the sled jerkily along, her exhaustion almost debilitating; she couldn't go much farther without stopping to rest. The day was also growing tired, as long shadows were being shot through the trees, making it increasingly difficult to distinguish individual objects. It would be dark before much longer.

"Hold up, Sandy," I called over my shoulder. "It's going to get dark soon. If he were coming, we would be able to hear him by now."

"What do you think he's doing?" she asked, breathlessly, sinking down to her haunches and leaning against the front of the cot, for both support, and to be near my head so we wouldn't have to raise our voices.

"I think he decided to spend the night in your cabin, rather than try to find us in the gathering dark. It's our good fortune that he doesn't know how close we are."

"So now what?" she asked between deep breaths.

"If you're able, we need to get deeper into the trees. Then we need to set an ambush that we can spring on him when he shows up in the morning."

"I'll keep going for as long as you want me to, but what if he doesn't show up in the morning? What if he had no intentions of hunting us down?" she asked half-heartedly, almost hoping that I might agree with her.

As she stood and got ready to start pulling again, I said, "Then my theory is full of holes, and we don't have anything more to worry about than how long it will be before the search and rescue teams arrive to take us down off this mountain." Then, as she put her weight against the harness and jerked us back into motion, I jokingly added, "When we get down off this mountain, I think I'm going to become a wild animal trainer. If only you could have seen the way I had those wolves eating out of my hand!"

Night was quickly approaching by the time we found a site that looked like it had potential. There was still a fair amount of heavy gray in the sky, and the western horizon was shot through with pinks and oranges, but in the mountains, we would be plunged into darkness within minutes. Since we hadn't heard the snow tractor, I felt fairly confident that we had the night to ourselves. Despite Sandy's fatigue, and my disabilities, we needed to use the night to our advantage. If we didn't, we might not live to see another.

### **16**

"This looks good," I said hoarsely from the back of the cot.

At the sound of my voice, she abruptly halted, and after pushing the harness from her shoulders, let it fall unabated to the snow. Moving stiffly from exhaustion and fatigue, she back-stepped out of the snowshoes, and then sank to her knees, facing me on the cot. Despite the strain that she was under, in the shadows of the dying day, she looked beautiful.

"You did well," I said gently.

"And you better have come up with a decent plan," she said breathlessly, if not a bit sarcastically.

Unfortunately, the idea that I came up with wasn't much different from the one that I'd been harboring all along. Except for one detail, it didn't require much preparation, and it wasn't very complicated. However, because Sandy was still mobile and I wasn't, it required exposing her to a dangerous situation. And although I knew she wouldn't hesitate, I didn't personally relish the idea; my plan called for her to be the bait. Since I couldn't run after the snow tractor, or otherwise chase it down, we had to draw the snow tractor to us, and that chore fell to Sandy.

It would be asking an awful lot of her, since there wasn't any reason that she couldn't just continue on down the mountain without me. As I told her before, she could easily avoid the snow tractor, if she didn't have me in tow.

The place that she brought us to was a small, tree-lined clearing situated in the center of a shallow depression. Because of the tight spacing of the trees, it was a natural enclosure, of a sort. From one side of the clearing to the other, the trees were never more than fifteen feet apart. All we had to do was draw the snow tractor into the clearing through the same gap in the trees that Sandy had just pulled us. Once within the boundaries of the trees, Fred wouldn't have any other choice but to back the snow tractor out the same way that he went in. The trees grew too close together to even allow the tractor to spin on its axis, because it was longer than it was wide. And even if he did manage to turn the machine after entering the clearing, he would have to maneuver back to the same angle that he entered in order to get back out.

Although such maneuvering was quite possible, it would take precious time to perform; time in which he couldn't run away. Not even from someone as slow and immobile as myself.

The whole idea is hinging on whether or not Sandy can draw the snow tractor into the clearing. And if she can, then getting out of its path and behind the safety of the trees before it can run her down. If she succeeds without getting run over by the steel tracks of the machine, then Fred will be right where I want him.

Whenever I got to this part of the plan, I grew excited and anxious. It wasn't easy to plan the murder of another man, even if it meant our survival. If I could find a way around it, I would. Or if Sandy's life wasn't depending on it, I might not be able to do it. But her life is depending on my success, and that means a man has to die. Moreover, my success means that we get control of the snow tractor, and that equates to getting down off this mountain within hours, and not days.

After laying out my plan to her, she quickly agreed to be the bait. Nevertheless, she was clearly hesitant about my having to kill someone, especially in what seemed to be a cold and callous way of doing it. In addition, all the arguments that I gave her in support of killing the driver of the snow tractor while we had the chance did little to diminish her feelings against it. But then, that was why I found her so attractive.

With regard to the rest of the plan, she was in full agreement. In fact, she was almost too confident that she could trick Fred into turning the snow tractor within the confines of the trees, and thus buy me the time that I would need to perform my part. Her attitude suggested that she intended on taking whatever risks were necessary to bring that about. But she was adamant that she didn't want me killing him, at least not without giving him the opportunity to surrender.

When I didn't have the strength left to argue with her any longer, I finally gave in, and promised that if the opportunity presented itself, I would offer him the chance to surrender to us. But I was equally adamant that I would only offer him terms of surrender if it were possible to do so without putting her in any extra danger!

"Above all else, Sandy, I want you to be careful," I said sternly. "If he catches you between those iron tracks and a tree, well, I don't even want to think about it. I know you'll have to play it close in order to draw him in, but don't underestimate his ability with that machine, or worse, the speed it's capable of."

"I'll be careful," she humbly agreed, sounding optimistic.

With all the details of our plan worked out, and no sign of Fred, the wolves, or the snow tractor, I decided that it was safe enough to build a small fire. From lying still for such a long period of time, a cold chill had crept into my spine, sending shivers up and down the length of my body. Sandy dragged the cot and me to the rear of the clearing, and then gathered together enough twigs and small sticks for a warm blaze. It was dark, with only the light of the stars to guide her, yet she found sufficient material to provide several hours of light and heat. By moving to the rear of the clearing, she had also positioned us underneath the overhanging limbs of one of the larger fir trees in the area. If it snowed during the night, we would be fairly protected.

Within minutes, the fire was burning brightly, lighting up the immediate area of the clearing, and reflecting back off the surrounding trees. Although I could feel the heat of the flames against my face, the tight cords binding me to the cot restricted me from getting near enough to draw any real comfort from it. And yet, I had a feeling that no matter how close to the flames that I could have gotten, it wouldn't have been close enough to rid my body of the penetrating chill. I was suffering from hypothermia, and it was being compounded by a loss of blood through the open wounds on my feet. Unfortunately, their condition was beyond any care that we could give them. My feelings in this regard were only reinforced by Sandy's lack of mentioning to change the dressings. Even from my awkward position on the cot, I could see blood soaking through the bandages faster than the cold could freeze it.

Before I considered what I was saying, I said, "Would we be better off if we allowed my feet to refreeze?"

Sandy's mouth dropped open and she gasped in surprise and shock. Before she could collect her thoughts enough to speak, I calmly stated, "I've been tossing the idea around, kind of weighing the pros and cons of the consequences, and I think I've settled on just leaving them be. If they freeze in the bandages, I won't lose anymore blood, and the doctors can do their magic with them when we get down off this mountain."

Even while I rambled on, I realized that I should have kept my thoughts to myself, and not worried Sandy about it. She had enough things to worry about as it was.

"Don't you ever talk like that again!" she suddenly cried out angrily. "We're going to get you down off this mountain tomorrow. All I need from you is a little co-operation. Is that too much to ask?"

Her anger turned to frustration and tears, and I suddenly wanted to kick myself. What had made me speak in the first place? Was it delirium? Was I losing my mind?

"I'm sorry," I stuttered, not sure, what to say that might make things better.

Enlightenment suddenly brightened her eyes, and she stopped crying, wiping at her tears with the backs of her hands, before asking, "Are you concerned because I haven't changed your bandages? Is that what this is all about?"

Before I could begin to reply, she saw the surprise on my face, and knew that she'd assumed correctly. Her voice flooded with relief, as she cried, "Oh John, I'm so sorry. I should have said something sooner."

Misunderstanding her, I quickly replied, "It's all right, you don't have to explain. I can live with the fact that they're beyond hope. You really don't need to explain."

"Oh John, you silly man," she said endearingly, almost laughing. "It has nothing to do with your feet; we don't have any fresh bandages!" Seeing the relief on my face, she smiled, while quickly explaining, "Because of the extra weight and bulk, I decided not to bring any extras." Sheepishly, she added, "I honestly didn't think we would be up here long enough to need them."

Smiling back at her, I confidently stated, "We won't be."

Using sticks to support them, Sandy heated several parboiled potatoes in the open fire. Since we didn't have any kettles, she split them open and sprinkled the interiors with crushed bouillon cubes. It wasn't exactly gravy, but the flavor was delicious.

When we'd finished eating, she surprised me with a cup of hot coffee. Although she'd foregone the heavy kettles, she had brought our mugs, and after melting snow in them, simply added the black grounds. It made for a chewy blend, but it was the moral boost that we both desperately needed.

Unfortunately, the warm food and coffee did little to alleviate the spreading chill within my body, or the chattering of my teeth.

When the coffee was gone, Sandy suggested that we should sleep together on the cot, to conserve our body heat, as well as keep us off the cold snow. I quickly agreed with her, even feeling a little amorous at the idea, despite my present condition.

"That sounds wonderful, just don't expect to get much heat back from me."

Rising, and placing the rest of the gathered materials on the fire, she undid the cords securing me to the cot while saying, "You just let me worry about that."

Without undressing, she hurriedly slid under the blankets and wrapped her arms around me. The cot was intended for one person. But because I had lost so much weight since the beginning of this ordeal, and because Sandy wasn't much larger than a young child was, by hugging each other close, we managed to not fall off.

We argued briefly and dispiritedly over who should sleep on the side by the fire. Against her argument that I needed the heat of the fire more than she did, I finally persuaded her to take the side nearest the fire. To me it only made sense that my frigid body shouldn't draw down her core temperature as well.

She was exhausted from the day's exertions and fell asleep almost immediately. I, on the other hand, remained wide-eyed and alert. My mind refused to stay in the present and simply enjoy the nearness that I was sharing with Sandy. Instead, it kept racing forward to the morning, and what lay ahead for us. I knew my plan was risky, but I also knew that if we didn't get control of the snow tractor, there was no way that we were going to make it down off this mountain alive. Moreover, because Sandy had exhausted herself dragging my dead weight all day, she was too fatigued to outrun the wolf pack or the snow tractor, even without me as a burden. By taking me along, she had burned that bridge of escape; in her present state of fatigue, Fred or his wolf pack would easily catch up to her long before she could reach help.

When Fred first discovered that Sandy had escaped his hybrid killers, he may not have been too worried. But when he discovers the second set of tracks leading away from the cabin, he'll realize that Sandy has help. Fortunately, he doesn't have any idea in what condition that help is. Or, that it isn't really any help at all, but more of a hindrance.

Unfortunately, he's going to grow extremely anxious to stop her and her unknown partner before we can reach civilization. Even if all we know about the situation is that there are wolves after us, the attention that we will surely receive from the press might very well bring the whole scheme crashing down.

My mind quickly grasped onto this thread of thought, and I suddenly wondered what it must be like to be the one that has to tell the next of kin when someone is killed. It was probably very difficult informing them that their loved one had been killed by a tragic accident on the mountain. After all, you can never know how someone's kin will respond.

Yet, it must have been easy giving the impression that it had been an isolated incident. For the most part, details would be very sketchy, at best. If they looked in the paper to see what the press had written about the mishap, they might not find much more than a single sentence, a short statement glossing over the details describing how the deceased had died, and that would be in the obituary column.

But he knew, as well as any others involved that if even just one of these little mishaps made much publicity, it would snowball into a real big problem for all of them. It was imperative that he stop us before we get too much farther.

The night passed slowly for me as I stared over Sandy's shoulder and into the dying embers of the fire. Although I'd been resting for most of the day while Sandy dragged me along on the converted cot, I had pushed my weakened body beyond its physical endurance. The cold had taken a hold of me clear to my core, and no amount of boiled potatoes and bouillon broth was going to warm me. Except for an uncomfortable and disquieting tingle that originated in my knee joints, I had lost all feeling in my legs. Below my knees, life ceased to exist; I didn't need a doctor to tell me that my heart was being strained, and not only by the sheer exhaustion of my body, but also by the poisonous toxins that were slowly working their way through my veins. If I didn't get some serious medical attention within the next forty-eight hours, I would probably be dead. In all likelihood, I was probably very susceptible to pneumonia in my presently weakened and defiled condition. But even if it were working its way into my lungs at this very moment, it would be too late to be my final killer.

I knew what my situation was and I should have been devastated by it. Yet, oddly enough, I was more worried about the effect that it was having on Sandy, than I was about myself. She had a hard row ahead of her to hoe, just to escape this mountain. The last thing she needed was to have to drag me along, slowing her down.

I was considering what a burden I was to her, when it came to me that, if my plan for the morning doesn't work out, I must still find a way to relieve Sandy of one more burden, me. If I see that our chance of taking over the snow tractor is quickly declining toward the point of failure, I will find a way to assure that my life doesn't continue either. The only outcome that I find truly disturbing about my plan is the outcome that leaves Sandy injured, or worse. Above all else, I cannot let that happen.

While Sandy slept fitfully on the cold cot and John worried about the upcoming showdown, Fred is nervously pacing Sandy's abandoned cabin. Like John, he too is nervous about the upcoming day and what it might bring.

Foremost on his mind, is why there isn't any sign of his wolf pack. Except for the large number of old tracks, which were already filling in with sun-hardened snow, it was as if they had vanished. This might be expected with a pack of wild creatures that had no human ties or loyalties, but his wolves were almost domesticated animals, and they were much too well trained to just wonder off. He had spent a lot of time working with them; they would never just wander off.

In addition, he couldn't afford to lose another leader of the pack so soon. He'd just lost one less than three weeks ago when a freak avalanche occurred above the writer's cabin. He still hadn't found the poor creature's body, or the man's either that was leasing the cabin, for that matter; it wasn't something he liked to dwell on. In the short time that he knew the man, he hadn't grown particularly fond of him. But his money was good, and according to the boss, that's all that really mattered.

Also, everything was pretty much buried under twenty feet of snow. Maybe in the spring, when the snow wasn't quite so deep, he would go probing around up there. If he did happen on the man's body, he would just dispose of it as he had all the others. Very few bodies were ever recovered for their next of kin, due to the extent of the mutilation suffered by the fangs of the wolf pack. And what they didn't dispose of, smaller and more numerous rodents usually took care of. But because it was an important aspect of his job to make certain that bodies never showed up unexpectedly, he would make a point to look around when the time came.

Fleetingly, he wondered if maybe the second person at the woman's cabin might not be the man from the cabin that was now buried under twenty feet of snow. Yet, he only entertained the thought for a moment, as he was confident that he would find the man's frozen body come spring. After all, no one could have survived such a horrific avalanche. Especially not if several of his wolves had been unable to escape it. Of course, there was the possibility that the man wasn't anywhere near the cabin when the avalanche happened. But that made little sense, since the man was clearly a city dweller, and wouldn't know the first thing about traveling across this rugged country on foot.

He was less surprised to discover that there weren't any supplies left behind. It was a frugal habit of his to only bring enough food to last one person for one month. Even if the second party had brought in supplies of their own, her supplies could still be gone by now. After all, he was due to show up next week.

Although he had never felt any remorse with regard to the other tenants, he truly regretted having to do this to Sandy. From almost the day after he had dropped the pretty and petite woman off here, his wife had been after him to scent the wolf pack on her. But he constantly made excuses, putting off the inevitable for as long as he could. On several occasions, he actually told her that he was setting out to do her bidding, only to come back and explain that he had a change of plans, and scented the pack on one of the other cabins instead. Because there didn't seem to be any shortage of new tenants, he didn't have any problem keeping the pack on the move, but never to this cabin.

When he stepped up the timeframe on the writer, he never expected to lose his lead animal in an avalanche. Yet, it gave him the perfect excuse to postpone bringing the pack here.

When his wife wouldn't listen to any more excuses, he finally had to bring the wolf pack here. It was the first scented attack for the new lead wolf, but he had no doubts that it would do what it had been trained it to do. Fred knew he had a knack with animals; he was good with animals, even if he didn't care for or get along with people.

Although he knew what he had to do, in a small secret way, he was glad that the girl was still alive. At one time, not so long ago, he had considered keeping her a prisoner in the cabin, while telling his wife and the others that the pack had done their duty, and that the job was done. He thought long and hard on the idea, it appealed to him tremendously, but he finally convinced himself that the risk was too great.

It also meant, and this was the part that convinced him even more so than the risk, that the cabin would remain occupied and unavailable. When his wife booked the cabin in the future, he wouldn't have the luxury of scenting the wolf pack to them. Instead, he would have to kill them before they ever laid eyes on the cabin that they leased. He would have to either kill them outright on the way to the cabin, or abandon them in the wilderness, leaving them to die from hypothermia and exposure, or any other number of slow and dragged out calamities. Either way appealed less to him than his need to keep a woman prisoner. Not so much because he had a use for other human beings, because he didn't, and he never alluded himself otherwise. But rather, he didn't have the courage to actually kill another by his own hand.

It was easy enough for him to turn the wolf pack loose, knowing that some poor soul was going to be torn from limb to limb. It never even bothered him on the many occasions when he found the mutilated remains of their victims. But to actually shoot someone, or stab a person while looking that person in the eye, he simply couldn't do it. In fact, he wasn't sure he could do it even if it was a matter of his survival over theirs. Just like now, he knew because of his procrastination, he was going to have to kill the pretty young woman himself.

If he's lucky, when he goes looking for her in the morning, he'll find her out in the open, and be able to run her down with the snow tractor. That way, he can close his eyes at the last minute, and not have to witness her demise at his hands.

Yet, a small voice, deep down inside him, won't be silenced so easily. Although, he openly declares to himself that he doesn't have the courage or fortitude to kill another with his hands, when the time comes, if he has to slit her throat and cut out her tongue out with his Bowie knife to keep her silent, he will do just that. And although it scares the Hell out of him, he knows deep down in that putrid hole where he keeps his secret thoughts that he won't hesitate to do what needs doing when the time comes.

Dawn is still an hour away when Sandy rolls off the cot and starts gathering twigs from beneath the nearby trees. Within a matter of minutes, she has a large, smokeless fire burning. Next, she packs our mugs with snow and sets them next to the flames, heating the water for our morning coffee. Although I'm awake and watching her every move, we don't say anything to each other for fear of what might be said. While I'm worrying and fearing that each minute might be my last with her, she is afraid of inadvertently telling me something about my condition that I am currently unaware.

This tension is further underscored by a mutual concern and anxiety toward our future together, or the possibility of such after the morning's coming events. Our future is riding on our success or failure to hijack the snow tractor. If we fail, there is no future, short term or long.

The fire is large enough that I can feel the heat against my face from where I lay on the cot, more than six feet away. This fire, too, is part of the plan. When the sun rises, we will add moist materials to create smoke. Until then, we will keep it burning high and bright, a beacon, as it were. If Fred sets out from Sandy's cabin early, hoping to catch us asleep, we want to make sure he drives straight into the clearing before he figures out that we set him up.

Having repacked our mugs with snow and set them next to the fire to heat, Sandy busies herself setting up decoys. Working in silence, she is making it appear as if two people are sitting by the fire with their backs facing in the direction from which we expect the snow tractor to approach. In the darkness, the likenesses she is making look pretty convincing, even to me. It doesn't matter that they won't move when Fred barrels down on them with the snow tractor, by that time, we will have Fred right where we want him. At that precise moment, Sandy will step out from behind a tree to his left, appearing as a helpless target. When he makes his turn toward her which I'm convinced will be a reflexive action by him, I'll jump up on the track from his blind side and point the gun at him while ordering him to stop.

Having turned within the confines of the clearing, there will be no way for him to get the snow tractor back out, unless he maneuvers in reverse between the close-growing trees. If he attempts that, rather than stop at my commands, I will have no choice but to shoot him before I am thrown off and churned up beneath the weight of the steel tracks.

From having watched Fred drive the snow tractor while being chauffeured to my cabin, I understood the basic mechanics of it. In addition to steering it by use of a joy stick similar to what you would find in an old airplane, the driver is required to keep pressure on both peddles in order for the machine to go forward. If your feet slip off both peddles, the machine will quickly grind to a halt. If I am forced to shoot the driver, theoretically the machine will stop moving before it can throw me off the tracks. At least, I am assuming that after I shoot the driver, he won't be able to keep pressure on the foot pedals.

I am putting a lot of responsibility on myself, considering my deteriorating condition. I know also that if I fail, I am not only failing myself, but Sandy too. Nevertheless, I am well aware of the fact that everything is riding on this, and I am prepared to walk to Egypt on bloody stumps, if that's what it takes.

Sandy had the stick figures draped with blankets and was adding coffee grounds to the hot water in our mugs, when the first light of the new day sent streaks bright through the cold night sky in the East. I was just beginning to wonder if Fred was going to follow our trail, when there's the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine, as it ground its way through the trees across the meadow. It was still a long ways off and echoing across the snow-covered meadow, when we met each other's gaze. With a profound sadness mixed with relief, we both realized that the time of reckoning was upon us and we had better get ready for it. What I heard next sent a shiver down my spine.

Coming ahead of the sound of the roaring diesel engine was the high pitched yelping and howling of a wolf pack hot on a scent. To my dismay, I realized that while we were sleeping and planning, Fred hadn't wasted the night either; somehow, he had recalled his wolf pack and given them one or both of our scents to hunt. Reading the fear in Sandy's eyes, I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but I was helpless to do so. The wolf pack was a contingency that neither of us had given any thought. Under my breath, I cursed myself vehemently for being so foolish, as to think that we had seen the last of the hybrid killers.

"My God in heaven," she said softly, continuing to stare at me. "What do we do now, John?"

Abruptly, my helplessness and fear turned to rage. I suddenly seethed with anger and frustration at my helplessness, my loss of Amy, and at the wolves that threatened to separate me from the best thing that had ever come into my life. But even more so, I grew angry at the chain of events that I had no choice or say in, but could only endure and abide. I'd had enough; I wasn't going to take anymore!

"We're through running, Sandy. Now we show them what we're made of. It's time that we fight the bastards!" I said with hysterical determination.

Sitting up on the cot, I glanced briefly down at the blood soaked rags tied around my feet. Without giving them another thought, I swung my legs over the side and planted the bloody rags firmly down on the snow-covered ground. Although I expected the pain to be more than I could endure, it felt like nothing more than a dull thump to my senses. I was thankful for the small blessing, despite what the lack of pain might imply, but I made no mention of it to Sandy. For the time being, I felt that it was better if she just assumed that I was enduring tremendous pain.

Standing upright, the blood rushed from my head and I swooned forward, almost losing my balance. Sandy quickly jumped forward and stepped in front of me, wrapping her arms around my chest to support me and keep me from falling.

We held each other tightly for a moment, and I heard her crying softly, as she murmured into my chest, "I love you so much, John. Please, there must be something else we can do. Why can't they just leave us alone?"

"There is only one thing left for us, Sandy," I said softly, yet sternly. "We must kill them, and him, before they can kill us. There is no other alternative. There are only four bullets left in the gun, I will be sure and save one for that demon driving the snow tractor!"

She abruptly pulled away from me, and without taking her eyes from mine, declared, "We both live, or we both die! One of us isn't getting down off this mountain without the other!"

I had expected her to protest the killing of Fred, and not the statement she made. It caught me off guard, and I took a second to gather my thoughts. When I did, I grew more determined than ever. "Please, Sandy. I love you more than life itself. Don't let my death be in vain. You must make it down! If for no other reason, you must survive so that you can expose the bastards to the world. You have to make it, Sandy, for my sake, and the sake of all the others that they've killed!"

"You bastard! Don't you be a martyr on my account!" she screamed furiously at me.

Suddenly, she huffed in exasperation and turned on her heel. Without another word, she marched stiffly through the snow towards the tree line on the left of the clearing. When she'd almost reached the trees, she stopped and bent over, picking up a piece of wood about the size of a baseball bat.

Turning back to face me, she smiled and called out, "You better get a move on it if you plan to surprise him."

Nodding in acknowledgement, I still didn't move, as I stood transfixed, watching her take up a position of concealment behind a large tree. Only after she disappeared from my field of view, did I bend over and retrieve the harness to the cot/sled. Every labored movement brought on a new set of aches and pains, each exposing new weaknesses while awakening old ones. Yet, I can be one determined bastard when I set my mind to something! I'm not going to die for naught. Becoming a martyr is the farthest thing from my mind; I have every intention of living!

Bending over, I was shocked by the bright red crimson stain soaking through the caked snow adhering to the bandages swaddling my feet. The first thought that entered my mind was that the frost hadn't penetrated as deeply as I had first suspected. Then, from somewhere in the back of my mind, I briefly wondered why the pain wasn't more debilitating than it was. If my feet weren't frozen, then I should be able to feel them!

But just the same, I didn't have time to dwell on the phenomena. Instead, I was thankful that I could only feel a slight tingling below the knees accompanied by a stiffening and soreness in my thighs and hip joints. In fact, to my amazement, walking wasn't much different than wearing platform shoes. I could almost ignore the fact that my feet were severely frost bitten; it felt as if I'd strapped wooden blocks to the bottoms of my legs, since there wasn't any feeling at all below the knee joints. Even more surprising was my adept sense of balance. So long as I thought out each move before picking up the foot and pushing it forward, I could walk with relative ease, albeit slowly. The only excuse that I could use for my suddenly renewed mobility was adrenalin, because I definitely wasn't a superhero.

Dragging the homemade sled a short distance beyond the first stand of trees, I suddenly wished that I had remembered to grab a mug of coffee. Both mugs were sitting next to the smoldering fire, temptingly hot and ready to drink.

While I stumbled around behind the trees, making sure that the sled couldn't be seen from the clearing, I considered going back to retrieve one of those mugs of coffee. It seemed like a terrible shame for them to go to waste. But realizing the foolishness of the thought, I quickly forced it to the back of my mind, and worked my way back toward the clearing, and the tree that was most in line with the entrance. It wasn't the largest tree surrounding the clearing, but it was the most well positioned, giving me a clear line of sight at whatever, or whomever, approached. It was also large enough to conceal the entirety of my body, so long as I stood up straight. But since I couldn't bend my knees anyway, it was the best-suited tree for my intentions.

The sound of the wolf pack was growing louder by the minute, but the diesel engine of the snow tractor remained a constant and distant rumble. Although the high-revving roar of the engine gave the impression of a fast moving vehicle, it had not been built for speed so much as stability and traction. Hence, it would be following behind the swifter moving wolf pack.

Judging from the increasingly high pitched yaps and howls coming from the pack, it was fairly obvious that they were hot on a scent and running full out to overtake their quarry, namely, Sandy and me.

Looking to my right, in the direction of Sandy's position, I felt a tinge of disappointment when I realized that I was unable to see her from my angle of view. Thinking of her and the way that we'd parted company, I suddenly missed her, though she was just a few feet away. I felt a renewed determination not to die, especially now, after finding Sandy, and having her come into my life. If we fail to capture the snow tractor for our own use, we won't have the chance of a snowball in Hell of making it down off this mountain alive. Yet, if I have to die, I don't want to go leaving her angry or disappointed with me.

Although it was equally as stupid of an idea as going back to the fire to fetch my mug of coffee, I was on the verge of leaving my concealment and going to her. It suddenly seemed terribly important for me to go to her and apologize.

I was already lifting my right foot and turning away from the tree, my mind focused on Sandy, when I saw the wolf pack break out of the trees across the meadow. Spread out behind the leader, they came at an angle across the sloping meadow, adhering to the same veering route as Sandy and I had taken. It was obvious from the way they spread out that only one wolf in the pack was actually following our trail and that the rest were just loosely following him. Yet, it didn't matter to us whether one wolf was following our scent, or the entire pack, since there wasn't any way of eluding even one wolf.

They were coming on fast and would be entering our little clearing within a matter of short minutes. As quickly, as I thought of confronting the leader of the pack, I just as quickly discarded the idea; the ineffectiveness of such a stunt this time would only hasten my death. Briefly, I thought that I should let Sandy know how close they were, but quickly thought better of it. In less than two minutes, the leader will be entering our small clearing trailing the rest of the pack close on his heels; I could never reach Sandy in time. And even if I managed to get to her before the wolves, there was little more that I could do for her there, than I could do from right here.

My next instinct was to pull out the gun and start shooting. But with only four bullets, that isn't a viable option. If I have to, I will use the gun to protect Sandy. However, I am determined to save at least one bullet for the operator of the snow tractor. Because we have to contend with the wolf pack, in addition to everything else, I can no longer take the added risk of capturing Fred alive, not even for Sandy's sake. I no longer have that luxury. Instead, I must find the courage to kill the man that has caused so much pain and agony.

While holding the gun in my right hand, I wielded the axe that we had been using for splitting firewood in my left. Sandy had a hefty limb that I'd witnessed her pick up on the way to the tree, in addition to a butcher knife, and another long bladed kitchen knife that she'd slid point-first into her boot, between the liner and the rubber outer.

The lead animal came swiftly through the opening in the trees. It was the same wolf that I'd tricked before, and he was hot on our scent. Without breaking its stride to investigate the decoy stick people, he charged straight at me, his teeth snapping furiously, the fur raised on the back of his neck. Raising the axe above my left shoulder, I braced myself against the tree for balance, and readied myself to swing in the fashion of a baseball player. Unlike the typical ballplayer that was hoping to land one over the fence, though, lives were depending on my hit; I desperately needed a homerun!

With only ten feet separating us, the beast launched itself at me, its fangs hungry for my throat. There was no more time to think; only actions could save me now. With all of my remaining strength, I swung the axe.

The sharp yellow fangs, dripping with saliva, blurred and faded into the surrounding scenery. Only his yellow, balefire eyes stood out against the darker, blood red backdrop. The heat of his sour breath washed over my face, mixing with his vile intent and my own fear, settling like dank sewage in the back of my throat.

The axe struck the side of the malevolent animal's head amidst a wet plopping sound, crashing through the creature's skull, and penetrating its brain cavity. Death was instantaneous. The head of the axe, connecting just below the animal's right ear, had only stopped when it met the resistance of the handle against flesh and bone.

While the creature's momentum carried it forward, the force of my swing through me off balance, and I staggered to my right, simultaneously driving the beast to my left. The tree was suddenly in my path, blocking my progress, and then striking me sharply in the face and chest. But I remained upright and alert. Turning, I saw the bashed wolf with the axe handle protruding awkwardly from the side of its head. Without thinking, I leaned over and grabbed it, jerking furiously to tear it loose.

It was wedged solidly, and wouldn't budge. Acutely aware that more danger was rapidly approaching, I leaned against the axe handle, and using the stability of the tree to steady myself, pushed off. Pivoting on my left foot, I worked the handle around and back toward my left. The head rocked on its axis within the cavity of the wound, but it wouldn't come free.

The rest of the pack was in the clearing, and a second wolf was closing in, approaching from my left. The scent of fresh blood was thick in the air, further driving the bloodlust of the pack, stirring them into a thoughtless frenzy. With no thought for its own safety, it charged my exposed side, sensing an easy kill.

Hearing its breath and the clicking of its snapping teeth, I frantically ripped the axe free and spun around, swinging the axe as I turned. Too late to stop or turn aside, the attacking beast recognized the danger. With deadly force, the blunt side of the axe skidded across the top of its head, catching the rise of its cranium, and coming to an abrupt stop with a dull thud. The wolf let out a high-pitched yip before falling unconscious at my feet, and a third came in low and fast.

He was coming too fast. There wasn't time to raise the heavy axe for another blow before the oncoming wolf would be on me. Without thinking, but acting on an impulse born out of a need to survive, I pointed the gun at it and squeezed the trigger.

The wolf dropped in its tracks, the bullet tearing a deep, bloody furrow along the top of its head. The fur along the top of its skull was split like a fresh plowed furrow in a cornfield. The bullet followed the curvature of the animal's skull, starting at a point midway between its eyes, and continuing until reaching the top of its head, before sailing off into space. The poor creature wasn't dead, but it was out of the action, and no longer a threat. It would be quite a while before it regained consciousness, and then it would have one hell of a headache.

My breath was coming in ragged gasps as I raised the axe in anticipation of another attack. I was both startled and relieved when I looked up and didn't see any directly in front of me. But my relief quickly turned to dread, as I caught movement out of the right hand corner of my eye. One of the wolves was on top of Sandy, pinning her to the snow-covered ground with its powerful front paws, while trying to jerk her arm off with the tremendous strength of its jaws. Her left arm was clamped in its jaws and I could see the stuffing, stained with her blood, as it flew away from the shredded sleeve of the snowsuit. With each shake of its massive head, more bloodstained stuffing and nylon littered the surrounding snow. I couldn't let it continue!

Still holding the butcher knife in her right hand, she was trying vainly to stab the beast in the side. Even while I stood by, too shocked to move, another wolf had sensed an easy kill and was closing in to assist the first. The smell of blood was thick in the cold morning air, driving the remainder of the pack into a mindless frenzy.

Two wolves were busy attacking and shredding the stick people that Sandy had made, despite the fact that they were only blankets and branches. Leaning back against the tree to steady myself, I took control of my breathing, taking deep, calming breaths. Raising the gun until the wolf's head was lined up behind the front sight, I gently pulled back on the trigger.

But the creature was moving too fast and erratically. Although, I wanted to shoot it in the head, guaranteeing a quick kill, I couldn't risk missing it, and possibly even hitting Sandy. With time quickly running out, I lowered the sight until I could see the heaving, fur-covered chest. Relaxing, getting my arm in rhythm with the wolf's movements, I finally squeezed the trigger.

The beast dropped straight down on top of Sandy with all the finesse of someone imploding a building, effectively pinning her to the bloodstained ground by its sheer weight.

The second wolf, startled by the sudden immobility of the first wolf and the echoing blast of the magnum, stopped in its tracks. Sensing that there was something seriously wrong with its comrade and not sure what it should do, it turned and ran. With its tail tucked between its legs, it bolted headlong out of the clearing and across the mountain meadow, back in the direction from which they had come.

Their sense of danger and fear suddenly overriding their bloodlust, the two remaining wolves in the clearing raised their noses to the air and sniffed. They were undecided about what they should do. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and they hadn't whetted their appetites yet. Would they join their retreating comrade, or would they continue their frenzied hunt for flesh?

Not waiting for them to decide, I swung the axe downward, cleanly severing the front paw from the unconscious wolf. It was unconscious, oblivious of its surroundings, and if I lived through the next few minutes, I would make certain that it never woke again. Being careful not to throw myself off balance, I flung the bloodied paw at the two decoys.

They jumped back a foot, but quickly regained their bravado, and then stepped forward to sniff the fresh blood. For only a moment, they were even more confused than before. But, after smelling the blood intermingled with the indigenous scent of their brother, a primal fear of self-preservation took control. Turning, they quickly gave chase to their other comrade, who was already almost half way across the meadow and showing no signs of slowing down.

As I watched them running through the deep snow, I realized that I still couldn't see the snow tractor, even though the sound of the diesel seemed to be drawing nearer. Looking toward Sandy, I saw with relief that she was sitting half upright, though she still had a leg pinned beneath the carcass of the wolf. She was also holding her left arm tight against her chest with her right hand, as she planted her left leg against the side of the wolf, struggling to drag her right leg out from under it. Even from this distance, I could see a lot of blood soaking the remnants of the snowsuit's left arm, turning the dark blue nylon black, and the white interior lining, a bright red.

I was immediately torn between running to her aid, and standing my ground. But the sound of the snow tractor made me believe that it would be entering the clearing at any moment. If the driver saw me before I got back behind the tree, our trap was sure to fail.

Raising the axe, I quickly brained the two unconscious wolves. Satisfied that they were dead and no longer a threat to us, I staggered around the side of the tree, using it for support. When I was out of sight from the opening to our little clearing, I anxiously looked over toward Sandy. To my immense relief, she was standing. Although she looked pale and rumpled, seeing her standing gave me new hope. It also reassured me that she didn't have any other injuries beside the obvious one.

Leaning back against the tree for support, I raised my hand to her, smiling encouragement. She nodded in acknowledgment, even forcing a slight smile in return. I wanted to do more for her, but the roar of the diesel engine in the snow tractor suddenly drew my attention. It sounded angrier and hungrier than any pack of wolves ever could.

### **17**

I had barely ducked back behind the tree, when the snow tractor came into sight. Instead of coming across the mountain meadow as the wolves had done by following our trail, Fred had cut across the top of the ridge on the far side, and then turned to follow the tree line down the nearer side to us. It quickly explained why I had heard the machine for such a long time, but had been unable to locate it. All the while, he was running along the top of the ridge, the diesel engine had echoed out across the meadow.

Even if he hadn't seen the events unfold within our little clearing, he had to see the remaining three wolves racing out of the opening in the tree line with their tails tucked between their legs. But because he slowed down, turned the machine into the little clearing, and then followed the back trail of the retreating wolves, I could only assume that he didn't suspect a trap, even if had seen what happened.

Yet, I didn't believe that. Nor did I believe that he had heard the report of the gun. If he had, despite the safety of the cab, he wouldn't have been so brazen.

Although, he couldn't see me standing behind the fir tree directly ahead of him, he must have seen two other things as he gunned the snow tractor. One of them was what was left of the two stick people the wolves had shredded, and the other was Sandy standing innocently off to his left. Whether he realized that the decoys were nothing more than sticks and blankets, or if he suspected they were human remains, mutilated by his wolf pack, I had no idea. Whatever was going through his mind, I had to judge by his actions that he didn't suspect a trap.

Entering the clearing, he immediately gunned the machine into high gear, obviously hoping to run over our decoys before they could move out of his way.

Even as he charged over the broken sticks and torn blankets, further shredding them in the steel tracks, he glimpsed Sandy out of his peripheral vision. Without hesitation, he swung the snow tractor hard to his left, aiming to pin her between the heavy sheet metal cab and the tree that she had stepped out from behind.

As the machine kicked up snow from the flailing treads, I suddenly worried that Sandy had put herself too far out in front of the tree to safely dodge behind it before the raging machine could reach her. Standing directly in front of it, she was making herself as tempting of a target as she possibly could.

Fred drove the roaring snow tractor like a demon possessed, pushing the high revving diesel to even higher speeds, as the tracks bit into the frozen ground, kicking up a mixture of torn rags, powdery snow, and clods of frozen dirt. In the brief instant that it took the snow tractor to accelerate over the last few feet separating Sandy and the snow tractor, she had already begun to move. But instead of jumping to the right as we had planned, and drawing the snow tractor toward her, she dodged quickly to the left, away from the tree.

But she moved too slowly, because of the clumsy bulk of her injured arm. Yet, I instinctively understood what she was doing. My speech regarding the impact force of the magnum versus a lighter caliber gun hadn't been lost on her. She was setting herself up to give me a better shot, at the risk of the bullet glancing off the flat rear window. And she was taking away any opportunity for me to get near enough to the snow tractor to give the driver a chance to surrender!

As he saw her dodge to the left, he did the predictable thing, and pulled hard on the controls, steering the snow tractor in a tight arc that kept Sandy directly in front of him.

Suddenly, her foot slipped on the frozen snow, and she went down hard, landing flat on her back just feet from the crushing pads of the snow tractor's treads. Without thinking, I immediately screamed out, futilely trying to draw the driver's attention, though he couldn't hear me over the roar of the racing engine.

I was overcome with helplessness, as I looked on from across the small clearing, watching her try to squirm away from the rapidly approaching machine. The steel tracks were churning up an ugly mixture of dirt and snow in their haste to overtake her.

The gun suddenly grew warm in my hand, and I realized that I had just one brief opportunity to save her. There was no time to relax, or to even breathe. With a shaking hand, I raised the magnum and jerked the trigger, hoping beyond hope that the bullet would penetrate the rear window of the cab and not glance off, killing the driver. All I needed was for the driver's foot to relax on the clutch pedals and the machine would come to a sudden halt.

But the gun went off in my shaking hand, even before I saw my target beyond the front peep sight. It was unintentional and unfortunate, and I probably wouldn't get a second chance.

The recoil rocked me backwards, and the gun ripped loose from my weak grasp, landing in the snow to my right. But I was unaware of my own plight, only that I had failed Sandy.

The bullet went wide of Fred's head by several inches to the left, as the back of the machine was still swinging to the right. Because I was unprepared, I hadn't compensated for the machine's movement, and now my ineptitude had cost Sandy her life.

Yet, the impact of the bullet took out the rear window, shattering inward and showering the driver with glass. But not all of the magnum's velocity had been spent on the rear window, and the copper jacketed bullet, only slightly mushroomed, proceeded onward, through the front windshield, leaving a hole the size of a quarter on the far left side.

The overall effect from the sheer un-expectancy of it was enough to make the driver flinch. Subconsciously ducking to the right, for the just the slightest fraction of a second, he jerked the control stick in the same direction. To Sandy's good fortune, that fraction of a second was just enough for the snow tractor to line up directly with her prone body, as it proceeded to drive over the top of her.

Reaching down to the snow, I was suddenly overcome with dizziness. The gun, just inches from my hand, suddenly swam out of focus, making it difficult to retrieve. But since I knew it was there, I closed my eyes and grasped for it. The warm steel filled my palm and I hurriedly straightened up. There wasn't any time to relax and take a deep breath, or any of the other hundred things that I should do before taking my next shot. Yet, I waited for what seemed like all of eternity for my eyes to focus. In the background, I could hear the frustrated roar of the snow tractor as the driver worked frantically at the controls, trying desperately to turn it around.

I was quickly running out of time. At any moment, the treads might inadvertently strike Sandy, accomplishing Fred's first chore, and taking away my purpose for living. I didn't have the time, so I reacted solely out of automatic motion, as I thumbed back the hammer in slow motion.

My vision cleared, and I watched in horror as Sandy's prone body disappeared beneath the heavy steel machine. Another part of my mind screamed in agony for her, while the part that controlled the gun suddenly grew cool and calm.

With acute visual clarity, I raised the magnum and took careful aim, following the movement of the back of Fred's head with the front sight of the gun. He was aware that there was more than just one rabbit in this hole, and he was looking frantically around the clearing while crazily shifting gears and directions to no avail.

Then something strange happened, and Fred's eyes found what they were looking for. Our gazes met, and we looked into each other's eyes. While he saw a cold-blooded determination and anger, I saw fear. Each bead of sweat on his forehead and brow glistened in the early morning light. He was panicked, and trapped within the confines of the cab. He was staring dumbly down the barrel of the gun, and seeing the hate and anger in my eyes staring back at him.

A lifetime passed before I felt the recoil of the magnum kick against the palm of my hand. His head jerked sideways, spinning his body around with the momentum. Blood splattered against the crystallized front windshield, and his head slumped out of sight, his body stretching out the length of the seat.

Though the engine continued racing, the snow tractor lost its momentum, and slowly came to rest. It took only a moment to realize that I had just killed a man for naught. Because my first shot had missed, Sandy was mercilessly crushed beneath the steel tracks. I had failed her when she needed me.

Dazed and sluggish, I slid the gun into the front pocket of the snowsuit, and stumbled away from the tree. It suddenly seemed terribly important for me to find her, to go to her, and apologize for letting her down. Every movement brought on new aches and pains, but I was immune to them. Until I found Sandy's body, nothing else mattered. I was subtly aware that I was slipping into shock, but that too, would have to wait. Everything was piling up on me, and my strength was quickly fading. Feelings of loss, guilt, and horror were overwhelming me.

Slowly and painfully, I worked my way toward the snow tractor, acutely aware of the racing engine, as it drowned out all other sound. Yet, as unlikely as it seemed, I was sure that I could hear voices. Although I knew it was impossible, I thought I could hear Sandy crying out to me for help. But as unlikely as that could be, I disregarded the wailing sounds as nothing more than the changing pitch and whine of the highly revving diesel.

But her voice didn't let up. And though, I was feeling extremely guilty for having let her down, I felt also that she was being unfair, and that she should give me back my piece of mind. After all, I had confronted the guilt and admitted to it.

Afraid that her surreal voice would drive me crazy if it didn't stop, I stood still for a moment, and then shook my head from side to side, hard enough to make myself nauseous and dizzy. When I still heard her calling out to me through the dizzying waves of discomfort, I started wondering how her voice could be so clear, how it could sound so real. The thought of being eternally haunted by her voice took the edge off my diminished mental stability, and I began to wonder if I was hallucinating.

The snow tractor abruptly appeared directly in front of me, and I suddenly felt too weak to stand. As if someone had let the air out of me, I slumped against the cold steel track, only slightly aware of the vibration of the engine penetrating my cold body, and harmonizing with the frazzled ends of my nerves.

With my head only inches from the gap between the cab and the tracks, I suddenly heard Sandy's voice calling clearly out to me, and I wasn't imagining it! Sandy was beneath the snow tractor, and she was alive!

My mind quickly imagined the worse, as I was sure that the tracks had chewed up and mutilated her legs. Or I would find her pinned beneath them, and when I moved the snow tractor off her, she would die a horrible death, just as it always happened in the movies.

Pulling myself along the side of the tracks, I frantically worked my way around the front of the machine. Dropping down to the chewed up and frozen tundra, I leaned into the cavity beneath the machine and came face to face with Sandy.

She was still lying flat on her back, unmoved from when I saw her last, just before she disappeared from sight beneath the machine. Yet, miraculously, the machine hadn't touched her. When my first bullet startled the driver, he had veered just enough to line up the machine directly over her horizontal form, a track running along on either side of her. If he had turned even the slightest one way or the other, he would have chewed her up beneath the tracks. But to our good fortune, he hadn't.

Her smile stretched from ear to ear at the sight of my face, and there were tears running from the corners of her eyes. Shouting to be heard above the roar of the engine, I said, "I love you! I'll be right back."

Sliding out from beneath, I quickly climbed up on the right hand track, all thoughts of pain and fatigue momentarily forgotten. I briefly considered climbing into the driver's seat and backing the snow tractor off Sandy, but quickly disregarded the idea as too dangerous. What Fred had failed to do by trying, I might inadvertently accomplish through inexperience. Instead, I reached in through the door, and while being careful not to get too close to the bloodied corpse, thumbed the kill switch on the engine. It immediately revved down and grew silent.

Backing out of the cab, I turned around on the track, and dropped into a sitting position. Although my first impulse had been to simply jump from the height of the cab, I hadn't forgotten the lacerated condition of my frozen feet, and instead, lowered myself gently to the frozen ground.

Back on the ground, I hurriedly shuffled around to the rear of the machine and got down on my knees again. "Sandy," I called softly, my voice sounding loud in the looming silence of the still clearing.

"Yes," she quickly answered, her voice shaking with fear.

"I'm going to grab your ankles and drag you out. If you can do anything to help..."

"I'll do what I can," she anxiously replied.

Grabbing an ankle in each hand, I leaned backwards, using my weight to make up for my lack of strength, and pulled her toward me. She sensed my effort, and instantly began to squirm, doing what she could to assist my efforts without using her arm.

"Please hurry, I don't like it under hear," she said anxiously as I slowly dragged her out from under the machine.

The bottom of the machine was lined with heavy steel plates to protect the engine and undercarriage from snow-covered rocks and stumps. Because there was barely enough room beneath the machine for her body to squeeze, if the ground hadn't been frozen as solidly as it was, and the tracks had settled any deeper into the snow, she would have been crushed to death. Fortunately, she wasn't, even though she was suffering from a mild case of claustrophobia.

When her head finally broke out into the morning sunshine, I quickly let go of her ankles and crawled up next to her. Overwhelmed with joy, my lips searched frantically for hers. She was visibly shaken and pale, but she was smiling and her lips were eager, as they hungrily meshed with my own. It was a long, hard, passionate kiss, and it was long overdue.

Elated, yet exhausted, I regrettably pulled away from her. Unable to keep my head raised, I slumped to the ground beside her, completely done in. I couldn't remember ever being so happy in all my life.

"John?"

"It's all right," I said breathlessly, suddenly too tired to move. "Just want to rest for a minute. I didn't sleep too well last night."

Closing my eyes against the glaring sun, I suddenly felt a growing tightness within my chest. It was gradually becoming more difficult to breathe. When I tried to take a deep breath, my ribs hurt, and I couldn't suck in enough air. Yet, I couldn't remember injuring my chest or ribs.

Although I wasn't aware that she'd moved, Sandy was suddenly leaning over me, a look of fear and concern on her face as she held my wrist in her right hand. She was checking my pulse, and the result made her grimace. It was only then that I saw her lacerated left arm dangling uselessly at her side. The arm of the snowsuit had been almost ripped clean off, leaving only a few colored threads matted with fresh blood. Her left hand was covered with blood, and blood flowed freely from the fingertips, despite the cold. She needed immediate medical attention. We needed to stem her blood loss.

I tried to rise, but I was too weak.

Sandy lowered my wrist, while saying, "I think you might have just suffered from a small stroke, John. Just lie down for a while and rest."

I tried to rise again, and she quickly pressed me back down with her good hand. "It's all right; I can take care of myself. Just relax," she said weakly, reading the concern in my eyes.

All color had drained from her face, and I tried to tell her that she was losing a lot of blood, but my breath only caught in my throat like a lump of gravy. Slowly, I breathed in and out. The air was crisp and cold and it tasted of copper. She leaned over me for a minute, too weak to stand. I used the opportunity to take a closer look at her left arm and gasped at the sight of the teeth lacerations showing through the torn and shredded material of the snowsuit. The wounds were deep and ugly, and the blood wasn't showing any sign of letting up. They were serious wounds, and she needed medical attention as badly as I did.

When my breathing normalized, I nodded toward her left arm and whispered, "That doesn't look good."

"It doesn't feel too good either," she answered wryly, yet weakly, while keeping her eyes closed, which caused me concern.

"Would you help me up, please," I said, putting as much strength into my voice as I could.

Startled by the sound of my voice, she jerked as if awakening from a shallow sleep, and abruptly and sternly said, "You stay right where you are."

Stiffly and awkwardly, she got to her feet, only to put a hand on the snow tractor to keep from falling over.

"Are you sure that you're not hurt anywhere else?" I asked, watching her lean against the snow tractor while blood continued dripping profusely from the ends of her dangling fingers.

Just when I thought that maybe she hadn't heard me, she took her hand off the snow tractor and standing upright, calmly stated, "No, I don't think so."

"There's a first-aid kit in the cab, if you can reach it."

Walking stiffly, she went to the open door of the cab, and leaned in. I was suddenly afraid that she couldn't reach it without climbing onto the tracks, and then just as suddenly, I heard the metal case bang down on the top of the treads. I waited in silence for what seemed like a long time, and then I heard her footsteps crunching along the side of the snow tractor, coming toward me.

"Here," she said, dropping a heavy blanket on the ground next to me.

Looking up, I noticed that her arm was still bleeding, but not as severely. The blood was congealing, losing its glistening sheen. This was good.

Stiff, feeling as though someone had just kicked me in the chest, I grabbed an edge of the blanket, and roughly pulled some of it over me, while leaving a place for her to sit. She made little grunts and groans of agony, as she lowered herself down to the blanket, the first-aid kit tucked under her right arm. Settling herself on the blanket next to me, she set the metal box of bandages and medicines next to her. Opening the lid, she found a small vial of aspirin, and by using her teeth, pried the top off.

"Here," she said, dumping some into my palm. "I heard this is supposed to be good for what ails you."

Without benefit of water, I popped them into my mouth and swallowed. It did me good just to hear her voice. Scratching the ground on the side away from her, I found a solid chunk of ice and stuck it in my mouth. If we didn't have the snow tractor, and had to rely on our remaining strength to get down off the mountain, I would never have done such a foolish thing.

But we did have the snow tractor, and I was counting on it to get down off the mountain. First, though, we had to tend to Sandy's wounds.

Pulling out a roll of gauze bandaging material, she said, "I might need your help tying this around my arm. But first, I'll cut off what remains of the sleeve."

With a small scissors that she found within the kit, she worked quickly, leaving her mutilated arm hanging limply at her side. Although the bleeding had almost stopped, it looked even more gruesome exposed. Moreover, the skin that I could see on her hand was turning a dark, purplish black from lack of oxygen.

Seeing me staring at her discolored flesh and not wanting me to worry anymore than I already was, she quickly said, "When I slipped and fell down in front of him, I thought it was all over. The tracks were coming right at me and then, at the last instant, they swerved and the machine went right over me. He must have heard me screaming my lungs out. I couldn't believe how close he came to crushing me!"

While she spoke, she worked deftly with her right hand, wrapping and tying off the gauzing.

"Don't worry," I said calmly. "It's over and we're both still alive."

"He's dead. I saw his body when I got the first-aid kit," she said solemnly.

"Yes. He didn't give me any choice," I answered her equally solemnly. "We'll have to put his body on the back rack. We can't just leave it up here."

"Why, John?" she asked, a look of incomprehension clouding her beautiful face.

At first, I thought she was asking me why we had to take the body back, and not just leave it here for his hungry wolf pack to find. But then I realized that she was asking why someone would do what he had done. Cold bloodedly, he had tried to run her down, and he had almost succeeded; his act had affronted her sensibilities, leaving her slightly traumatized.

"I don't know, Sandy, I really don't know," I said slowly and evenly.

"He doesn't even know us", she started, her voice growing increasingly angrier. "And yet, he meant to kill us. He tried to run me down!" she continued, her voice growing animated with anger and excitement. And then she suddenly broke down, her voice cracking and the tears starting to flow. "He would have succeeded, if not for you! And now he's dead. Why? It doesn't make any sense, John. How can anyone be so cruel?"

"I wish I had the answers you need, but I don't. I don't know the how's or why's of human nature."

Her arm was bandaged, and it was time to get moving. If the snow tractor sat for too long, we might not get it started again.

After throwing all the stuff back in the tin kit box, she tiredly said, "I'll go get the sled."

"Leave it!" I said, my voice sounding sterner than I intended. "There's nothing of value that would make the effort worth it," I quickly and gently added.

She slowly rose to her feet, her arm hanging limply at her side. It was probably broken in several different places, and it must hurt like Hell. Yet, she didn't complain, not even a whimper.

Leaning against the side of the snow tractor for support, she waited until her head stopped spinning, and then leaned down, offering me her good right hand.

"Are you ready?" she softly asked.

"As ready as you are."

I grasped her hand in mine, and leaned forward. She pulled, leaning backwards against the snow tractor to keep from falling if our hands should come apart. With much grunting and groaning, I slowly rose to my feet, or at least, what was left of them.

Once again, I was surprised by the lack of pain that I felt. It didn't make any sense that they could look so ugly and not hurt like Hell.

Leaning forward, I planted my hands on the side of the snow tractor for support, and noticed that Sandy was teetering to the side, her eyes fluttering in the backs of their sockets. She was fainting from the effort.

Moving as quickly as I could, I placed a hand under each of her armpits, being careful not to strike her injured arm. Leaning against her for balance, I could feel the weight of her body slowly settling into my arms, and then abruptly, she slumped forward, her head falling against my chest.

"Sandy," I said breathlessly, afraid that I couldn't hold her much longer. "Sandy, wake up!"

Her eyes slowly opened, and her body grew rigid with life. Raising her head, she looked into my eyes and smiled, momentarily having forgotten where she was.

Remembrance and recognition quickly replaced the moment of tranquility, and she steadied herself.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," she said evenly, content for the moment just to remain close.

Afraid that my strength was close to failing me, I said, "We have to get moving."

"Yes, I know," she replied without making an effort to move. Just as I was about to remind her, she suddenly turned serious, and said, "John, I haven't been completely honest with you."

From standing, my legs were starting to quiver, and I was getting sensations of pain from below my knees. My head was pounding, and I felt nauseous. If I didn't get off my feet soon, I was going to fall.

"Can this wait?" I asked, almost pleading with her.

"No, it can't!"

When I didn't respond, she quickly continued, "I'm not the woman that you think I am."

"Really, Sandy, that's not important right now. I know you well enough to know that I love you. We can work out the details later, once we get in the snow tractor."

When I started to collapse, she suddenly realized the urgency of my situation. Yet, she didn't respond like the woman that I thought her to be. Instead, she slipped free of my clinging arms and stepped to the side, letting me fall back to the blanket.

The sky suddenly turned dark, and my vision blurred. My head was pounding excruciatingly, and now I felt my feet.

While I lay curling into a ball from the pain, I was vaguely aware of Sandy stepping past me, moving along the side of the snow tractor. I turned, trying to follow her movements, confused by her sudden strange behavior.

"Sandy," I croaked weakly.

My vision cleared a little, and though everything appeared cloudy, as if I were seeing it through a dense layer of fog, I could see Sandy dragging Fred's body out of the cab with her right hand. She was having difficulty getting him over the sill, as his coat kept hanging up on the raised lip. Then he came free, and she dragged him across the top of the track until the weight of the body carried it over the side, and it fell with a heavy thud to the frozen ground at her feet.

My eyes started watering, and I blinked them clear. She had grabbed him by a foot, and was dragging his body clear of the snow tractor. When she had it almost five feet from the track, she turned toward me. Her breath was creating large steam plumes in the crystal cold air.

She was suddenly standing over me, looking down at my shivering form.

"John!" she snapped. "I can't do this alone. I need your help."

What is she talking about? What help can I be to her?

Bending over, she hooked her good hand behind the collar of the snowsuit and pulled upward, her voice cutting through the haze and pain. "You have to help me, John!"

She wanted me to get to my feet, but I couldn't, the pain was too great. "Leave me," I weakly groaned.

"No! You're coming with me. Now get up!"

There wasn't any clemency in her voice; she was dead serious. Realizing that I was too weak to argue, I determined to push myself as far as I could. She had made up her mind, and she wasn't going to leave me behind to save herself. Yet, I was still confused by her earlier words, and what she meant when she said that she wasn't the person that I thought she was. Then who was she? Or had I just imagined that? Had she really said something else, altogether?

Slowly, painfully, I rolled over and got my knees beneath me. With Sandy lifting on the back of my collar, I slowly rose to my feet. Leaning against her, we carefully stepped along the side of the snow tractor, using the track for support. When we were in line with the door, she turned me to face it.

"Now comes the hard part, John," she said, her voice sounding exhausted, yet gentle, no longer hard and unforgiving.

Or had I just imagined that, too?

"You have to leave me, Sandy," I groaned softly, not sure she heard me.

"No one is leaving anyone!"

The sternness was back; I hadn't imagined it at all.

"How can we do this?"

"It's going to be easy. All you have to do is exactly what I tell you to do."

I heard her take a deep breath. My vision was blurring in and out. My head lolled to the left, and I saw a bright crimson oozing through the gauze on her left arm.

"Lean onto the track," she said, her voice sounding out of breath. When I had done what she asked of me, she said, "Okay, now roll to your right, onto the track, and I'll push you up from behind."

"Please, just leave me," I pleaded weakly, only wanting to close my eyes and sleep.

"Now!" she suddenly commanded, ignoring my request.

Feeling her pushing against my left thigh with her right shoulder, I felt compelled to do what I could to help her. To my amazement, I was suddenly atop the track.

Elated by our progress, I turned my head to look at her. But instead of sharing in our little victory, I was shocked to see her staggering backwards, away from the snow tractor. Without thinking, I quickly grasped at the receding front of her snowsuit with my outstretched fingers. Her right hand suddenly shot out and locked on my wrist. She stood there, our eyes locked on each other's, neither able to do anymore.

And then she slowly regained her balance, and leaned forward. Her face was even paler than before. It was taking all of her stamina not to pass out.

She spoke first. "You're going to have to get into the cab on your own."

Saving my strength for the task ahead, I simply nodded, and slowly dragged myself into the cab. Once inside, I turned around, sitting in the foot well on the passenger's side facing out. Sandy hadn't moved from where she was leaning against the track.

Reaching out, I grabbed the collar of her snowsuit in both hands, and said, "You have to help me."

Our eyes met, and I knew immediately that she would do what she could. I prayed that it would be enough.

Using her good right hand, and kicking with her feet, we got her onto the track, and then into the cab. Since I had entered first, it was only natural for me to slide over to the driver's side to make room for her. We sat next to each other on the hard bench seat, leaning against each other for support, but too breathless to speak. My head was pounding, and my vision was still fading in and out, but I remained conscious.

"Seatbelts."

The sound of her voice startled me.

"First we have to get it started, and then we have to figure out how we're going to drive it. You only have one good arm, and I don't have any good feet."

Smiling, she said, "We make a fine pair, don't we?"

"Yes, we do," I confirmed.

"We have to talk, John," her voice, though tired, had taken on a serious note.

"It'll have to wait."

"If I don't make it, John, I don't want you to hear this from someone else. Because if you do, you might think that everything we had was a lie, and that's not true."

Staring into her eyes, I said, "I will never believe that what we have is a lie."

"Then listen to me, John."

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for a minute, I said, "Okay, I'm listening, but make it quick."

"I'm not up here because of a drinking problem, or a hit and run accident. That was just my cover story. I was actually sent up here by the company that I work for to do undercover work. It has been my assignment to pose as a client to 'Mountain Retreats LLC'. I'm an insurance fraud investigator. The company that I work for has been paying 'Mountain Retreats LLC' repeatedly on suspicious deaths. They decided that it was time to do a little investigating."

She paused to catch her breath, her eyes never leaving mine. She was trying to read me, to see how her story was affecting me. She couldn't know that I wouldn't think any less of her, or that I couldn't stop loving her, even if I tried. It was easy to forgive her for not telling me the truth sooner; it was her job.

When I didn't say anything, she continued, her voice noticeably weaker. "Everyone that leases a cabin through the company of 'Mountain Retreats LLC', as a matter of course, buys an accidental death policy, naming 'Mountain Retreats LLC' as the beneficiary. My company has paid out millions of dollars in benefits with no way of proving that the deaths were anything but accidental. It surprised me to meet someone that already had it figured out. I wanted to tell you that you were right. But it was too soon, I wasn't ready to reveal my true intent."

"What about us now?" I asked.

"I love you John. Do you need to know anymore?"

"Yeah, why didn't your company at least give you a global positioning system and an emergency locater beacon in case you got into trouble?"

"They did. But if the rest of my hunch is true, it will only be alerting the man in my company that is working with Fred, as to our whereabouts."

She paused to take a breath, her body starting to shiver from cold and shock. I knew what she was going to say next, so I finished for her. "That would be like signing our own death warrants."

"Exactly. We have to get to the authorities without tipping our hand."

Facing forward, I flipped the ignition switch to on and depressed the preheat button. After fifteen seconds, I released the preheat button, and stepped on the starter switch. The engine turned over sluggishly for almost fifteen seconds, and then refused to continue.

"It didn't start," she said weakly, her voice betraying her fear.

Lying to her, I quickly said, "It's okay, I just primed it. It'll start this time."

Roughly, I flipped the ignition switch on and off several times. Then, leaving it in the on position, I held the preheat button down, but only for a few seconds. The batteries were already weak, and the pre-heaters only drained them further. Releasing the button, I stamped down on the starter switch with my bandaged foot. The engine swung over faster than my first attempt, and then caught. With a huge cloud of exhaust, it roared to life.

Reaching forward, I raised the throttle lever on the dash until the tachometer was in the operating range. The fuel gauge fluttered and then stabilized on just less than one half tank. Due to the roar of the engine, any further conversation was out of question.

I was looking down, studying the different gear arrangements, when Sandy bumped my shoulder. In her right hand, she held out the right half of the seatbelt. Immediately, I understood her intent, and reached behind me on the seat and found the other half. With her holding one side, I pushed and locked in the remaining side, and then cinched it tight across our laps. It was one long seatbelt that included everyone sitting on the bench seat. It was necessary operating equipment when crossing mountainous terrain. Especially when there was a risk of someone losing consciousness and falling out of the cab.

After giving Sandy a smile of confidence, I selected the mid-range gear, and pressed on the two clutch pedals. The machine lurched forward, rocking us back in the seat. Immediately, I let up on the pedals, and the machine bounced against the large fir tree that Sandy had stood by earlier. Putting the transfer case in reverse, I stepped down on the left pedal while leaning the joystick to the left. With a jerk, the machine spun a quarter turn to the left.

Easing off on the left pedal slightly, I then slowly pressed down on both of them, and the machine shot backwards, barely missing Fred's corpse. It stopped with a thud, as it slammed up against the tree that I had taken refuge behind just a short while before. In the small clearing directly ahead of me, lay the mutilated remains of Sandy's decoys, along with our smashed coffee mugs and the ashes of our fire.

My driving was rough, unsteady, and my feet were not up to the task, but we were facing in the right direction; the entrance to the small clearing lay directly ahead of us.

Lying just off to our right was Fred's corpse. It hadn't been my intention to leave it behind, and I was equally sure that Sandy's intentions were the same. But even if we had wanted to, it was physically impossible for us to load it on the snow tractor; we were just too physically emaciated for the task.

Glancing at Sandy, I saw that her eyes were closed, and my heart missed a beat. But then, I saw the slow rise and fall of her chest. Since I need only one hand to drive the machine, I drape my right arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to steady her.

Our journey down off the mountain will be a long hard ride. Moreover, our journey through the next few weeks is going to be difficult and trying. There will be never-ending hearings leading to a long and drawn out court proceeding. We will be asked to explain exactly what became of Fred, including why I felt it necessary to shoot and kill him. And even when the wolf pack is finished with his corpse, there will be the forensic evidence, not to mention the gargantuan task of locating the remains from all the other victims. And then, Sandy will have to prove who the insider in the company is. Whether he is a friend of hers or not, or if she has even met him, I have no idea. But that is one task that she will have to do alone; I cannot help her with that.

We are both going to survive. Whether Sandy will ever regain the use of her left hand and arm, I have no idea. Nor do I know if I will ever walk again or not. But there is no denying the condition of my feet, and it's a miracle that I can even use them to drive the snow tractor. I never would have believed it possible when I was being helped onto the track just a short while ago. But the human body can show extreme determination and will when provided the right motivation. There can be little doubt that we will have to endure many surgical operations followed by an even longer time in rehabilitation. But we have the best motivation in the world; we have each other.

### THE END

More by Will Decker

If you enjoyed this story as much as I have enjoyed bringing it to you, then I implore you to check out the following list of my other works currently available here. Thank you, Will Decker

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WITSEC FAIL

And if you're in the mood to make your own books, try this Do-It-Yourself Manual:

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed. 2009

Includes many tips and tricks to save you money on everything from Printing to Assembly! Great for turning that downloaded eBook or Digital file into a paperback.

PS-If you received this eBook gratuitously, please consider leaving a review on Amazon at the following link-Thank you:

<http://www.amazon.com/dp/B002ECFN7W>

Authors live or eat based on reviews, so please, from the bottom of my stomach, I beg you to leave a review. An honest review if at all possible. Thank you,

Will
