I moved over to the second man. It was harder to unbutton the shirt this time. My hands were getting worse. Not a good sign. He was the heavier of the two, so I had to strain to lift him, working the shirt off his body. I put it on over the other shirt.
Okay, Alex, you’re all set now. You’ve got three shirts on now, one wet with water, the other two with blood. Now you’re all ready to freeze to death.
Do I take their pants, too? I could stuff them inside my shirt.
Yes, Alex, you have to.
“I hope you gentlemen will excuse me for what I am about to do,” I said. I took the boots off of each man, unzipped their flies and then pulled the pants off them. I stuffed one pair of pants inside my shirt, between the frozen fabric and my skin. The other pants I wrapped around my neck.
This is much better. Now I might live for a whole hour.
That smell again. Cigarettes. The shirts, the pants. They all smell like cigarettes. And when you smoke cigarettes, you have matches. Or a lighter.
I felt the pants around my neck, felt for the pockets. I took a wallet out, threw it aside, felt around for anything else. Nothing.
I pulled the other pair of pants out from under my shirt, felt the pockets. Another wallet. And something else. I reached inside with numb fingers.
A lighter. One of those little butane lighters you see everywhere. God bless you.
I can break up the bench, maybe pull some wood off the walls if I have to. Just a few minutes of fire, that’s all I need.
Better make sure it works. I put my thumb on the little wheel, tried to give it a turn. Nothing. Damn it, I can barely feel what I’m doing.
I blew warm air on my right hand. Come on, thumb, don’t fail me now.
I gave it another try. Nothing.
Another try. Nothing.
I blew on my hand again. Come on, baby. Who wrote that story, Jack London? The guy who had to start a fire to save his own life. I think he had matches, though. Not a fucking piece of shit lighter that wouldn’t light.
I gave it a good turn. Nothing.
I shook it. I didn’t hear anything. Does that mean it’s empty? Why the fuck would he be carrying a fucking empty lighter in his pocket?
I cranked it again. And again. And again.
I can see the spark, Goddamn it. I know I’m doing this right. I’m giving you the fucking spark, why don’t you light already?
Crank. Spark. Nothing.
Crank. Spark. Nothing.
I gripped it like I was going to throw it, then stopped myself. Hold onto it. Give it another try in a few minutes. Maybe it’ll work.
I put my gloves back on, then found the nearest corner and sat down against it, drawing my knees up to my chest. I rocked back and forth slowly, riding a wave of shivers.
I breathed warm air on the lighter. Hell, maybe that’ll help. I took my glove off, gave it a try. And then another. And then one more.
And then I dropped it.
Okay, so I’m not going to build a fire. I’m as warm as I’m going to get here. Which isn’t a hell of a lot. Goddamn it, I’m cold. Am I supposed to wait here until morning? I’ll never make it. I’ll just sit here all night with two dead bodies on the floor. In a little while I’ll start hearing Bruckman knocking on the ice, trying to crawl his way back up.
If I move, I’ll feel warmer, right? I’ll generate body heat? Or will I just use up my energy faster? But if I can make it back to the main road, maybe somebody will see me. Maybe. If I make it that far.
I pulled myself up off the floor. “Okay,” I said. “Okay, okay. Here we go.” I went to the door. “Don’t get up, guys,” I said. “See you around.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the snow. The cold air attacked me, seeking every inch of my body. “Oh, this was a great idea,” I said. “I am such a fucking genius.” I started making my way over the lake, back toward where the Jeep had been parked. I looked in all directions as I fought my way through the snow. The surface of the lake disappeared into total darkness no matter where I looked. There were no lights, no sign of life anywhere. Lacking any other idea, I would have to try to make it back down the access road. I had no other choice.
I kept my hands tucked under my arms as I stepped through the snow. Even with good gloves on, I could feel my fingers growing more and more numb. I tried to follow whatever trail we had made coming out to the ice shanty. Molinov must have come back the same way, as well, but the wind was filling in the deep footprints.
Keep going. The road should be here somewhere. You’ll get a little more shelter from the wind.
I looked back at the ice shanty. It was just a shadow. I tried to remember how long we had walked on our way out. Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen? It felt like more than that already. The lake should have ended by now. I felt the panic rising through my body, starting in my stomach. I’m going to get lost and wander around in circles on the lake. They won’t find me until the spring.
This was a mistake. I should have stayed in the shack and taken my chances. You can’t do anything right, McKnight. Now you’re gonna die out here because you’re such a fucking idiot.
No, wait. Up ahead, I began to make out a dark band. It had to be the edge of the lake. I kept going, fighting through the snow, keeping my head down as the wind picked up again, blasting me with a million tiny bullets. The insane howling of the wind rang in my ears.
When I got closer to the shoreline, I looked for the opening where we had come through. All I saw were trees.
Goddamn it, I can’t waste energy like this. I’ve got to get to the main road. Where did we come through?
I walked along the edge of the trees, looking for the opening. The snow hung on the branches, making a solid curtain. I tried walking close to the trees, hoping they would shield me from some of the wind.
Down here, a few more yards, then you gotta double back. You can’t get lost. You cannot get fucking lost here or it’s all over. Is that it there? No. Wait, maybe. Yes, there it is!
I found the depression in the snow where the Jeep had been. This must be a boat launch in the summer, I thought. Now, how long did we have to drive down here once we left the main road?
I headed straight down the access road. In the dim light it was no more than a narrow opening in the trees. My feet were numb. My hands were hurting. I didn’t know which was worse.
I lost my footing and fell into the snow. When I got up, I wrapped the pants more tightly around my neck and kept going. What did that article say about the next level of hypothermia? You get the “umbles.” Fumble, stumble, mumble, grumble. Is that me yet? I kept walking, rhyming the words in my head. Fumble, stumble, mumble, grumble, bumble, rumble, crumble.
At least the snow isn’t as deep here. And the wind isn’t so bad. It’s downright balmy, isn’t it? I do believe I’m starting to feel quite warm here. This would make a lovely vacation spot.
I fell down into the snow again. I pushed myself back up to my knees and stopped.
Get up, goddamn it. Get on your feet. If you stop, you’re dead.
I got up. I kept going.
Just keep walking. Straight ahead. The road is this way. Get to the road.
Bumble. Tumble. Trumble. What’s trumble? It’s the name of a street. But it’s spelled Trumbull. Michigan and Trumbull. Tiger Stadium is on the corner of Michigan and Trumbull.
Keep walking. Get to the road.
Things to do when I get back home. Take a hot bath. Sit by the fire. Drink some hot coffee.
I fell down again.
Get up. Get up or die.
I got up, snow clinging to my face.
Move to Florida. Lie on a beach. Get a suntan.
