Page 117 of These Tears

Just like he told me, I straighten the straw. Turn the heater on. Straighten the straw again. Every few seconds, my eyes flit towards the cabin beyond the wall.

Make yourself useful. Be calm. Be good.

The words arrive with the movements, and my insides twist when I realise I’m already learning his tune.

I lose track of how long I’m in there, but once I finally step outside, a soft pink haze is brushing the edge of the horizon. The air has that brittle clarity of morning now.

Where the fuck is he?

Then—

A faint, rasping sound. Like…

An engine?

My head snaps northwards. I freeze. My heart stutters.

Traffic? Out here?

And as the first ray of sun kisses the white expanse, my eyes land on it—

A footprint in the snow.

Another. Then another. All leading away from the house.

My lungs collapse as hope rushes in with the cold.

I forgot: he’s gone to get the animals.

As though being set alight, I rush back into the cabin, tear open the picture frame and yank my phone.

Turning it on, I hope to the gods of electricity there’s some battery still left—

Yes!

Forty percent of pure bliss washes over me.

I could cry.

But then, the signal bars – or lack thereof – push me right back down into hell.

Not a single one. Not a single answer to my prayers.

I snap the flap back into place, power the phone down and pocket it.

My camera sits silently atop the desk.

Almost accusingly.

My chest clenches because I can’t take it with me, but beggars aren’t choosers. I’ll buy another one as soon as I’m back in civilisation.

On my way out of the room, I head for the sink, eyeing the tap, then glance at the clock.

It’s almost eight.

He said not to use the taps until an hour after the generator kicks in or risk a flood.

The generator only started itself half an hour ago.