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ChapterOne
Augustine
Creed, my all white Siberian husky races across the light flurry of snow covering the ground for the baseball, tearing after it twice as fast as his grey and white brother, Flurry. It’s fucking cold out, but the dogs need their exercise. Creed wins the race for the ball, but Flurry ain’t one to let his brother have all the fun so fetch quickly turns into a fight and it’s easy to almost lose sight of the dogs messing around in the snow, even if it’s light. Huskies have near perfect camouflage up here and the dogs are gorgeous to watch as they play around.
I stand in what passes for a backyard up here in Alaska – it’s covered in snow all but a few a few months outta the year – and it’s hardly enough time for any of the grass or the plants to grow. It’s plain white up here most of the year. White. Dark. And very fucking lonely. I wish I still chewed on days like this. At least I still have beer and liquor.
Flurry yelps as Creed gives him a good bite in the thigh, dropping the ball as he fights back. Creed grabs the ball again and the two dogs race towards me as fast as humanly possible. It’s hard to keep myself steady with all the beer I’ve had already. Maybe it was stupid to take the dogs out. Their bodies blur as they sprint towards me. Barking follows and my head aches. I know they want to play, but I settle for throwing the ball out again, pitching as fast as I can.
The dogs go nuts, especially Flurry, determined to win this race for the ball.I love those fucking dogs.
I wish I wasn’t too drunk to run out in the snow and play around with them, but I’ve had… I count out the drinks on my fingers to keep track. I promised myself after the last stupid incident that I would keep track.
After a few seconds, I get done counting. Fuck. I’m fucked. Pretty sure I finished the thirty-rack of Coors. How the fuck is that even possible? I count the cans on the porch again, shocked I remember so many cans.
Twenty-nine. And there’s one in my hand. Man, I’ll be out of beer tomorrow at this rate. I’m already in the goddamn danger zone with how much alcohol I’ve consumed.Not again.The snow picks up around me, signifying that playtime is almost over. The snowstorms up here are fucking crazy.
I’d better get the dogs in before the snow gets out of control. I’m too drunk to care much about the storm beyond getting the dogs in. All I have to do out here when I’m not working is play with the dogs and drink. Ten years ago when I moved out here, my mom warned me I’d regret moving out here to the wilderness without a woman.
She promised me with my gruff, solitary temperament and controlling ways, I would never find someone.
Yeah, my own mother said that to me. I can’t really get offended, because she’s right. I moved out here ten years ago and I still haven’t met a woman who stirred my spirit. Fuck, I haven’t even met a woman who has all her teeth in her mouth. I’m getting too old to meet a woman anyway. My mom is getting too old to have hope that I’ll give her grandkids. I don’t call her enough.
I’m too… Fuck, I think I’m just too drunk.
“Creed! Flurry!” I call their names and whistle. The dogs are well trained since I raised them both as puppies rescued from the same litter that some shithead backyard breeder out here who didn’t know what was good for beautiful dogs like these. I stumble after the dogs as I let them through the front door. They sit patiently near the mat, careful not to wait for me and not to track too much dirt and snow into the house.
Getting the dogs clean is much harder with so much beer in my system. I’ve been drinking since we got news of the storm in the morning, and it’s been my tradition since moving here to get absolutely hammered anytime there’s a snowstorm. Cutting back never works. I always tell myself liquor will land my ass in a lot of trouble someday, but that doesn’t do shit to help me quit.
It’s a good thing I have a lot of money, because I spend a fucking ton of it on beer. Lucky for me, I’m not picky about what I drink.
I barely remember getting the dogs clean once I get them inside. All I remember is the cold. My fingers can hardly move. Fuck, I don’t remember much of anything after I get the dogs inside.
Maybe I drink more.
I think I pass out.
What wakesme up is the cold – bitter, Alaskan cold. I’m outside.
Why the fuckam I outside?
“AUGUSTINE LOCKWOOD. CAN YOU HEAR ME?”
My body stiffens, and not just because of the cold. That’s Mr. Finnegan’s voice.Oh fuck. This is the second time he’s found me like this.
I groan, despite myself.
“PASSED OUT IN THE DRIVEWAY AGAIN, EH? MAYBE YOU NEED SOMEONE TO HELP YOU OUT HERE, KEEP YOU OFF THE BOTTLE.”
He’s not carrying a megaphone, despite how goddamn loud his voice sounds. It’s cold. My lips can’t move and my body aches all over.Fuck.I hate when I let this happen.
“Shit,” I groan, my head throbbing. “I’m up. I’m up.”
I barely feel awake. Fuck, I barely feel alive. But Mr. Finnegan won’t let me lie here in the snow and let the cold take me. I don’t know when I stopped giving a fuck if I would live or die. Sometimes I tell myself that Creed and Flurry need me, but they go hunting when I let them out sometimes. They don’t need a fucking soul and maybe Jim Finnegan would take care of them.
“Get your ass out of the snow, you lonely motherfucker! What the hell were you thinking?”
I was thinking that it was still summer. That maybe there was some chance we weren’t about to plunge into the deep, long darkness. Alaskan winters are indescribably brutal. There’s nothing quite as dark and lonely as an Alaskan winter. I don’t even care that liquor makes it worse. Liquor helps me survive. The only other thing that keeps me going is chopping trees.
