I’m free of the beam. My feet are free. I can walk. My wrists may still be bound, but it won’t keep me from getting out of here.
Sliding my boots back on, I get to my feet. I have to stand there for a moment when the room shifts, then rights itself. For the first time, I wonder how much blood I’ve lost. Or is this feeling from the head injury? I know it bled, I can feel it crusted in my hair, and my wrists and hands are streaked with blood from the cord cutting into them.
I hate that I can’t put my hands in my coat pockets. They’re already a pale blue color under all the blood. They’re going to be most vulnerable to the cold and wind. Along with my face and ears.
My hope is that I’ll be able to see some lights or something outside. Some beacon I can head toward for help, but the second I open the door, that hope fades. It’s nothing but white. A house or car could be five feet from the door, and I wouldn’t be able to see it. I could be in the middle of a neighborhood or the middle of the forest. My shoulders slump and sobs shake my body. There’s nothing out there for me but death.
I’m free but still trapped.
Before the blizzard hit, I watched the weather report, and it was forecast to rage all night. It won’t pass until early morning at least. There are a few things around me that might burn, but I don’t have a lighter or any way to build a fire. A frenzied search of the shed only produces disappointment. The only thing that might be useful is the small pile of deflated snow tubes. Rubber can trap heat and covering myself with them might help. It might buy me some time. I can’t imagine it’ll be much.
With no other choices clear, I drag them over to the part of the shed with the least amount of holes, away from the unstable part of the roof. I’m well aware that another foot of snow may still bring the roof down on me, but there’s nothing I can do.
Leaning against a pile of pallets, I cover myself in the dusty, cracked rubber as well as I can. I tuck my tied hands between my thighs, under the rubber, and fight back more tears as they ache and tingle at the tiny bit of warmth.
I don’t want to give up, but I’m out of ideas. I can’t make the storm stop. I can’t leave here until it’s over. My only plan now is to hide under the pile of rubber and get up and walk around occasionally to keep the blood moving through my extremities.
For the first time since I woke here, I allow myself to face the fact that I may not survive. This might be the end. I’m surprised to find little fear in the prospect, only an overwhelming sorrow for everything I’m going to miss out on.
I won’t get to see Caden grow up, go to school, become the person he’s going to be. I won’t be there for Axton or Dani when they need a friend. And Axton. I can’t bear the thought of how he’ll take it. No matter our conversation last night, I know he loves me. He may not want to, but he does. He’s already had so much pain in his life, so many things that already fuck up his chance at happiness and now I’ll be added to that.
He’ll blame himself for letting me go, for not making sure I had security with me, for not wanting me, when none of that is his fault. Leaning my head back, I let myself cry for all of it. For all of us.
A scuffling noise catches my attention, and I sit up, listening close. It was probably just snow sliding off the roof or something. Then I hear it again, followed by a low whine.
Something is outside the shed. A million horrible possibilities run through my head; cougars and bears, coyotes and wolves. With my wrists bound and no weapon, I’m helpless against predators and whatever I heard definitely isn’t human.
My muscles protest as I struggle back to my feet. I didn’t think it was possible to feel any colder until I see the snout poke through the hole under the wall, where the ground has been dug out. Whatever has done that has obviously returned and likely won’t be happy to find me here.
A moment later, a head pokes through the hole and two sharp blue eyes study me. Not a wolf or coyote, but a dog stares at me for a long second, then whines. Paws scrabble at the ground until he’s cleared enough space to squeeze in under it.
It may not be the wild animal I feared, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be friendly. If it’s not, I’m done for. There’s nowhere I’d be able to get away from it if it was feral or starving badly enough to want a taste of me.
As it takes a cautious step toward me, I can see the curious look in its eyes. It’s a male, and a pretty good sized dog—or he would be if he were fed. The lack of collar and his scraggly thin condition says he’s been a stray for a while.
“Hey boy,” I say softly, holding my hands out for him to sniff. “Did you get lost in the storm?”
Intelligence shines in those eyes, bright Husky eyes, although he looks more like a German Shephard. Probably a mix. He approaches me and sniffs my hand, then licks my fingers, his tail wagging, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I hope it was just you out there,” I remark, returning back to my pile of rubber. He follows and lies down right on top of the rubber over my legs. For being out in the snow, he isn’t particularly wet. Maybe he had another place for shelter too.
He lets me scratch behind his ears and lays his head on my arm. His fur is a bit dirty, but thick and warm and it doesn’t take long for me to realize how much warmer I feel with him close. Not to mention, I’m not alone. At least I won’t die alone.
He’s so underfed I can feel his ribs when I pet him. His head pops up to watch me when I awkwardly dig in my coat pocket to get out the two packages of snacks that I keep for Caden. The sight of the animal crackers and Caden’s favorite peanut butter cookies puts a lump back in my throat. Using my teeth, I tear open the cookies and spill two in front of the dog.
He wastes no time scarfing them down and looking to me for more. I give him two more and eat the last one. I’m not one bit hungry, but I feel so weak I know I should eat something. After we finish the cookies, he lays his head back down on my lap, his gaze alternating between the pack of animal crackers and me.
His not at all subtle plea makes me laugh. Why not? I’ll freeze way before I starve. “Just be warned, this might be considered cannibalism,” I say, chuckling at my own joke as I dump out the animal crackers and watch him eat. Are there dog shaped animal crackers? I might be losing it a little but having him for company is comforting.
After the cookies are gone, he burrows under the rubber to lie on my lap, and I tuck my freezing hands under his warm body. If he stays close like this, will it be enough to keep me from freezing to death? The urge to sleep is getting stronger but I know that’s not a good idea.
Instead, I talk. “Caden would call you a woof, so that’s what I’m going to call you for now,” I inform my new friend. “He calls all dogs woofs. Boy, would he love you. If by some miracle, I’m not a permanent block of ice, and I manage to find my way to some help tomorrow, you’ll have to meet him.”
It’s the first time I’ve had hope since I opened that shed door. Alone, I didn’t have a chance of making it through the night, but with the shared body heat between us—that’s getting trapped between the rubber and the frigid air—there’s a chance, however small.
It’s maddening not to know what time it is, how close the dawn is, or when the storm might let up. No way to count down how much longer I have to suffer. Eventually, the weakness, from shivering or the head injury, or maybe just fear and stress takes over, and I lie down.