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“You? You stay here,” I said, steeling myself. “I… am going to go for help.”
“You’rewhat?” she shrieked. “Gabe, no. You cannot go out there. You’ll freeze to death.”
“If I don’t, we’rebothgoing to freeze to death. At least this way, we have a chance.”
We argued for a few more minutes, but I knew pretty quickly that she knew I was going to have to go before the doors got snowed shut.
I ended up walking for about a mile, feeling like my nose, fingers, and toes were all going to fall off, when a snowplow happened to drive by and saw me waving. I navigated him back to Hannah, and the lifesaving man gave all three of us a ride into the nearest town, where the diner had remained open because they, like us, hadn’t expected the storm to hit out of nowhere and block everyone in. They were kind enough to let us (and Jasper) wait out the storm until the roads were clear and we could get our car free of the snow. We ended up missing Christmas dinner, but after that, Hannah and I felt closer than ever at having been through something like that together.
Until we didn’t.
The weather had been a lot like this, though I would expect that kind of weather in upstate New York more than here in central Georgia. I hadn’t planned on going into survival mode this trip, and certainly not into emergency repairman mode.
Though every step was like walking against a wall, I kept going until my feet hit something slick and I had to windmill my arms to stay upright. As I did so, however, I felt the ground beneath my feet give way with a loudcrack, and I sank several inches into the freezing water at the edge of the lake.
My boots and socks were soaked, and I knew I needed to work quickly before they froze and frostbite could set in. It was already sending jolts of pain up my legs just from the chill in the water.
I turned, setting myself back in the direction I thought was right, and kept walking, doing my best to ignore the way the snow and ice clung to my face, the way my feet felt heavier with every step. Finally, after what felt like forever, I made it to the door of the shed. I reached out to try the handle, but it took several tries as my gloves slid right off the frozen metal. Much to my horror, it was locked.
I let out a sound of disbelief and saw my breath come out like a thick fog. I tried to smash the handle off with my hand, but it was too cold and I was too numb to do much. I turned, trying to think of anything that might help, when my mind drifted back to the stump and the ax buried in it.
The trip back to the stump wasn’t as much of a struggle as the walk to the shed had been, since the wind was behind me, but it nearly blew me over, face-first into the snow more than once. The final of those times, I stumbled and my face nearly came into violent contact with the yellow handle of the ax.
I caught myself on it before I slammed into it, then gripped it as well as I could, but my gloved hands kept slipping off the smooth surface.
“Dammit!” I cried out, my voice completely drowned out by the wind.
Knowing I was likely putting my fingers at risk, I pulled off my gloves and tucked them into my pockets, then grabbed the ax and yanked as hard as I could, thankfully freeing it.
I rushed back to the shed, now able to follow a path I’d made in the snow—not the same one that had put me into the lake. I raised the ax and smashed the lock with a loud bang. Then I opened the door and flung my body inside, closing myself in and away from the blistering wind.
Inside it was still freezing, but without the gusting snow, it was less brutal, and the difference almost made the bitter air feel downright toasty. But the slight tingling as I started to lose sensation in my fingers told me I couldn’t get too complacent. If I went hypothermic, my only hope of survival was inside the house which was rapidly filling with snow.
I set the ax by the door and looked around, hoping for anything that might help me repair the window, but the first thing I saw was a shelf of canned goods.
“At least there’s that,” I said to no one but myself.
I looked through and found some cans that might be okay eaten cold or cooked over a fire just in case. There were jarred peaches, likely homemade given where we were. I dug through a bit more and found some beans, canned vegetables, some Chef Boyardee, and, if things got really dire, some Vienna Sausages.
I opened my coat and stuffed in as many things into the interior and exterior pockets as I could fit, but knew it wouldn't mean a damn thing if I didn’t get that window boarded up. I ventured deeper into the shed and, to my delight, found a workbench, complete with several sheets of plywood, a large blue tarp, and a cordless drill with some screws lying beside it.
“Yes!” I practically shouted. Of course, the difficult thing now would be transporting everything back to the house. It would take multiple trips, and I was already feeling the effects of the cold getting to me.
Well… no use worrying about it, I decided. It wasn’t like I could do anything else, and if I didn’t, I may as well lay down in the snow, since that was what would eventually happen inside.
I stuffed the tarp and the drill down into the front of my coat, then pulled on my gloves to carry the largest piece of plywood. Against all odds, I realized I was going to make it in one trip.
Assuming I made it at all.
I pulled my hood up, tightening the strings to keep it as close around my face as I could, then, with a deep breath to steel myself, I walked back out into the blizzard.
I followed my tracks first to the stump, then back to the door, but I didn’t go in. I knew, if this fix was going to hold, it would have to be done from the outside so it couldn’t be blown in. I felt my way along the side of the house to the broken window.
And now came the hard part.
I pulled out the tarp, hoping it would be sturdy enough to withstand the gusts long enough for the next step, and reached up to the top corner of the window, letting the tarp overhang the size it needed to be. I took a screw out of my pocket and promptly dropped it into the snow.
“Shit!”
