It was snowing and must have been for some time.
The ground appeared fuzzy, with a thin layer of snowflakes sticking. She squinted at the strange, faded light. A tight feeling expanded in her chest. It was far too dark for early afternoon. Lissa glanced toward the top of the garden wall, where the sun was supposed to be, only to see thick, stacked gray and black clouds. She shivered as the wind whistled over the top of the wall. She picked up the pace further still, wanting to finish and return inside, but not before completing her final preparations.
The snow fell thicker, while the gusts intensified, whistling past the top of the wall and along the eaves of the house above. She stretched her neck from side to side, her muscles tight. Even protected from the worst of the weather, and despite her rushed activity, she grew chilly. Stopping only long enough to add an extra layer, she continued. With the garden done, she trottedinside, returning with her blue five-gallon water containers to refill at the well.
With wood, food, and water, she could wait out any storm inside.
Annoyed at herself for neglecting her chores all week, Lissa peeled off her work gloves to open the empty containers. Usually, she filled a jug as soon as she emptied one. Now, all but one were empty.
Inside the well-house, she stuffed her red, icy hands inside her fleece-lined gloves as she lowered the well’s bucket. This time of year, the water wasn’t far below the edge, and she scooped a full bucket of water before rewinding the rope using the hand crank. She poured the contents carefully into the plastic tanks, trying not to spill.
It took about six bucketfuls per jug and was cold work. Despite her care, her jeans grew soaked and stuck to her in frigid patches. She glanced at the sky every few minutes as she continued dealing with the water. Visibility dropped. She’d pulled a moving dolly from the garage and hefted the first jug onto it. Wishing she could stay, she rolled it into her warm room. She lifted the heavy jug and stacked it beside the door.
While inside, she threw another thick chunk of firewood onto her fire and hurried back outside to finish. She filled three additional water canisters and brought them inside before returning outside one final time. She hurried quicker on each trip, feeling as though she was racing the storm. Best to have the maximum amount on hand.
After spending five previous winters here, she’d learned it was best to prepare for a week or longer at a time. These storms could rage for days.
When she finished, she tossed a blanket over the blue plastic jugs and went to check if she’d covered the well properly. Inside the insulated well-house, the water seldom froze except in thecoldest weather, but she couldn’t be too careful. Water was precious.
By the time Lissa returned, the wind whipped snow pellets in all directions, stinging her face. From the pantry doorway, she watched the snow swirl, weaving through the cold air. The ground already wore several inches of snow. It was really coming down. The walls around her house were lost in a world of white. She squinted upward, covering her ears for protection from the roar of the wind. Out in the open, it had turned into a blizzard.
This storm was here to stay. Lissa stamped the snow from her feet as she returned inside, stuffing the old towels she kept in the kitchen under the base of the outer door to block the draft and got to work prepping inside too.
By the time her preparations were complete, she was warm, and her shirt drenched from her exertions. Her muscles thrummed, and she’d worked up an appetite. She slid Mira over on the couch and stroked her sleek black fur. Luna had disappeared again. Probably hunting somewhere in the house. While her cats went outdoors in pleasant weather, they were content to be inside much of the time in the winter.
Lissa glanced around the room, making sure there was nothing else beyond wood and water she needed to deal with. She had a feeling she’d be spending the bulk of her time here for the next several months. Trips into the basement for supplies could wait. This storm felt serious enough to be the start of winter. She added another piece of wood to the blazing fire, her mind snagging on something that had been bothering her since the flurry had started.
The nagging thought hit like a sucker punch. The man in the tent must be having a difficult time. At the rate it was snowing, he’d be half-buried by now. She swallowed. He’d have a rough night of it out there. If he survived. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, her thoughts strayed to the stranger while she readand cooked in her cozy room. Perhaps when the storm let up, she should risk a trip abroad to check on him, but with the driving snow and harsh wind, it wasn’t safe for her to help right now.
He’d have to survive on his own.
From the continued roar of the wind, the blizzard raged. She’d be a fool to risk her neck for a stranger. Plus, once the storm stopped, she didn’t want to leave an obvious trail through deep snow and give away the location of her home. Not for him, not for the Slains, not for anyone. If the man hadn’t found shelter, it was too late anyway.
Lissa turned in early that night, both cats curled up on her quilt nearby as she drifted uneasily toward sleep.
Chapter 7: Cam
Cam awoke, his mouth parched, his body in pain. For a second, he was disoriented as he struggled towards consciousness. Four solid walls and dim lighting, but not his bunker. Reality came crashing down. He wasn’t at xTerra but waiting out a mid-October blizzard. He sat up and winced. Even this normal movement sent shooting pains stabbing through his leg and injured foot.
Taking a breath, he pushed up farther, easing out of his sleeping bag on the cold floor. The air in his room was cool, but not so frigid that he worried about freezing.
The previous days came flooding back as he adjusted to the pale light of his candle lantern. He only had one more new candle—he hadn’t intended them to be both heat and light around the clock for days in a row. Without windows, he didn’t know how long he’d been here or what time of day or night it was. Based on his hunger and thirst, he guessed he’d been here for roughly three days. With the raging storm and his pain, it had been easier to sleep than to be awake with little to occupy his mind.
While he’d rather rest, he had urgent needs. There was no way he could jam his swollen foot back inside his boot. Still, he needed to test his mobility.
With care for the tight swelling, he added an extra wool sock over his tensor bandage to keep his toes from freezing, wincing every time he jostled his ankle. Everything took longer than it should, and he struggled to focus. Not only that, but moving around, even with his makeshift crutch, was agony. He only had another three days’ worth of food. With his ankle fucked, he couldn’t walk home, nor could he forage to supplement his dwindling supplies.
His head ached, and his brain remained foggy—already feeling the effects of thirst. Wearing his thickest jacket, he hefted his canteen, sloshing the meager amount—only a few mouthfuls remained. Pain or no pain, he urgently needed to locate water. Today.
If he cut his food rations further, he could survive for a while. A few missed meals wouldn’t hurt him long term. Without water, he had three days. Tops. He needed to explore this house and hope he found something.
Otherwise, tomorrow might be his last day.
Once upon a time, many rural houses in remote areas had wells for their water. Even if an electric pump wouldn’t operate without power, it was possible that the plumbing in this place might work. Or there could be a hot water tank he could drain. He was desperate. Seven-year-old rusty tank water. Yum. He’d have to filter and purify anything he found to drink, but at least he wouldn’t die.
He licked his dry, cracked lips. Mustering his remaining energy, he forced himself upright, bracing himself with his crutch and the wall. His head swam. He closed his eyes, leaning against the beige paint until the world ceased spinning. He collected his light from the desk, because the rest of the house would be dark with its shuttered windows, then slipped into the dim hallway outside his refuge. From the front of the house,toward the entrance, the covered windows rattled. Outside, the wind still howled.
Cam hobbled deeper inside, coming to a T in the dusty corridor. He turned left, locating bedrooms on either side of the hall. To the right was the largest bedroom with a king-size bed and a private bathroom. Swatting strands of cobwebs from the doorway, he stumbled inside and headed for the ensuite. He twisted the taps on the sink. His shoulders slumped when nothing happened. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed.
