Eric Dimbleby - White Out

She paused long enough to soak in the upper half of the house. The lower half was invisible now, awash in piling drifts. A steep incline led up to the second floor window, to their bedroom. That would be the best bet if she was even able to take those final steps. Her energy was depleted to the point that her vision was wavering in and out. She’d once read about Mount Everest climbers, each claiming that the final steps to the summit were the most difficult, when it was easy to claim victory even though it hadn’t been actually achieved. She felt the same on the occasions she went jogging around the neighborhood, cutting off the last few steps at her turnaround point, pronouncing to herself, “Close enough.”

But this wasn’t close enough.

Not until she had her baby in her arms again. In fact, she wanted both of her babies, if the older one would still have her. She felt she’d paid for her sins, tenfold, but that wouldn’t mean much to Christian. He was better than that. And for that, she admired him. She didn’t deserve him.

Lifting her aching legs over the hull of the snowmobile, her body screamed for respite, to rest for only an hour if the world would allow it. The storm had eased off during the last stretch but it was picking up momentum again. With every ebb, there were two bouts of flow, composed of snow, ice, wind, blustery madness. Such was this new world that they lived in.

Once she had her family by her side, how long would they survive? A month? Two months? Maybe longer, if the temperature rose even ten degrees. Her mind drifted, though she just wanted to forge ahead: How long did the original Ice Age last? A million years? She wasn’t sure, but it certainly wasn’t a blink of the eye.

Every torment she’d endured sang inside of her bones as she trudged through the snow, her eyes fixated on the window to their bedroom. The climb was steep, but doable.

She dug her fingers deep into the frosted surface of the incline, feeling the horrid chill through the gloves. It felt more and more like the gloves held little consequence against the subzero temperatures. If she survived, they (whoever the hell they were) might have to amputate some of her fingers from the frostbite. It seemed dramatic to give in to such worries, but it was still a possibility. Anything was a possibility at this point.

Impossibilities, in fact, were no longer impossible. And they never would be again.

Impossibilities were everywhere, living and breathing and reminding the world of their existence—like when the window opened and an unexpected man hung his head out. His ruddy cheeks were covered with dark stubble and his mouth was held agape. It wasn’t Christian—that was her first and most obvious instinct. It was a man she’d never seen before, and so her stomach sunk deep into her bowels.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t this a blessin’ from the Lord? Come on in here and let me warm ya’ up.”

With the last bit of energy that remained, she reached out her hand.

She had a hard time understanding what the man was saying. It sounded like he was speaking from underwater. A brash ring still hummed out in her ears, driving her brain into a frenzy. This, added to the sheer exhaustion, made this all seem like some kind of odd dream. For a moment, she considered the fact that she had passed out beside her snowmobile and that she was just imagining that she was at home. A bit of wishful thinking could go a long way inside the world of dreams.

It wasn’t possible though. This was her kitchen that she was standing in. The man was sitting across from her, on a stool, chewing on some beefy looking hunk of meat from their food stash. Had Christian given him the food? He chewed it in such an obnoxious way that she knew that wasn’t true. He’d gone down into the basement and retrieved it himself, without even asking.

“You must be hungry,” he said, in that swimmy, distant voice that seemed to bounce off of every inch of her eardrum, confused as to how it was supposed to be interpreted. She hoped her hearing would return to her, and soon. It was frustrating, even more frustrating than finding an intruder in one’s house.

He introduced himself as Edgar, but she didn’t feel any requirement to tell him her name. It seemed likely that the ruddy-faced man (with the vapid eyes that reminded her of a baby doll’s) already knew her name. She didn’t trust his face, right from the get-go. There wasn’t anything outwardly alarming about the man, other than his unexpected presence. He presented himself with a warm smile and a calm tone. Polite, almost to a fault.

What bothered her was the manner in which he carried himself, as though he’d always lived here. As if he owned the place.

When she asked where Christian and Paulie were, “Paulie’s downstairs, taking a nap. He’ll be so dang happy to see you. Been talking about you all day. Misses ya’ lots.”

Her heart leaped inside of her chest.

Paulie was okay.

“And Christian?”

The man carefully considered his words. His response was curiously slow. “He left for supplies just the other day. He’s not back yet. Expectin’ him any time now, though.”

She shook her head, unable to hide her doubt from this man who called himself Edgar.

None of that sounded right, completely unlike Christian. He wouldn’t have been so irresponsible, no matter how dire the circumstance. To leave Paulie behind with a total stranger… no, she would not accept that. It was an outright lie. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t sound like him at all,” she said now, suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must have looked to this man. Her face was coated in streaks of blood, from her run-in with the merry band of rapist vagrants, and her clothes were torn to shreds. Her three layers of pants were frozen solid, clinging to her body, and her face must have looked like a bright pink pimple from the icy cold she’d endured.

“He said he’d be back in less than an hour, so I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Annie refused to believe this. “And so, he just left my kid with you?”

“I reckon.” He grinned now, with something just short of amusement.

“You reckon. I see. And how long have you been here? In my house?” she asked. His face transformed, looking quite hurt by the insinuation in her tone and the cold stare that she couldn’t keep at bay. She’d been through enough bullshit the past few days and she wasn’t ready to listen to any more of it. She’d dealt with a pack of two-legged wild animals, so Edgar was nothing in comparison.

He cleared his throat, staring at the fog that came out of his mouth as he breathed. “Only been here a few days. Came in from the road cause your husband is a kind fella.” He paused, taking a tug from a bottle he retrieved from the countertop. That liquor belonged to her husband. “Listen up, sweetheart…”

“ Don’t call me sweetheart, ” she shot back, wondering who this person was, contemplating whether she would ever trust another adult male again, after the hell they’d put her through at The Purple Cat. Maybe—just maybe—Edgar was a completely harmless person, just trying to survive like everybody else. Maybe she was just being a royal bitch to him. It wouldn’t have been the first time in her life.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Here and there,” he said, snickering as he spoke.

She inched a bit closer to him, touching at the gun tucked into her pants. The look of the thing would be enough to send him scampering off into the subzero evening air. She had one bullet left, judging by her count. Two were used on The Chuckle Machine, two were used on Shiny and Yeti, and then the accidental kill shot on Shiny. That left one bullet. And if she needed to use it, she wouldn’t think twice. The Annie that would have hesitated was gone now. Gone forever.