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“Ah, there’s the Farmer I love to hate,” I retort, waiting for his head to pop through the window.
“One can say the same thing,” he begins, his voice strained, and in a moan, I imagine he has a more challenging time being farther to the ground and needing to climb up the width of my car. “Anyway, you’re the only person who knows how to get to a place of shelter, so I needyou to live for meto live.”
There’s silence, and I stand far enough back as to not get hit and smashed by my hundred-thousand-dollar car. “You have anything else you need me to grab in the back seat, Xan?”
There’s a better time to become annoyed by him shortening my name. And for some reason, maybe because we’re in life and death peril, I don’t care. But it’s more. There’s a familiarity there, and right now, I need any connection with the only other person who is as scared as I am.
“I should have a duffle bag with gloves and a scarf. I hate to sound like a nag, but the sooner you can get out of there, the sooner we….”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I’m coming.” He doesn’t sound winded anymore, and a light dusting of snow is kicked up near me, shielding my eyesight for a second. His voice is now closer. I turn to my right, and he’s next to me, two backpacks and a duffle bag in his hands.
“Do we have cell coverage?” He’s hopeful, handing me my coat and belongings as he slings his backpack over his broad shoulders. He sifts through his bag while I take my jacket, place it over my body, and grab for the hats and gloves I packed.
“No, we don’t. But I have extra gloves and a hat. Micah is always forgetting his shit. So be sure to thank him the next time you see him for being an airhead.” I hand him a beanie and a large pair of gloves. I look upon him with a poor excuse for a non-Minnesota-proof coat. “Is that all you’ve got?” I point up and down.
“My large winter one is in the trunk.” And with the trunk taking the brunt of the fall, I know it’s a lost cause.
“Here, take this.” I remove my jacket because it’s bigger. “I have a smaller one that won’t fit over your shoulders.” In the very little light of the night, I expect him to argue, but he takes it. Great, now I’m thinking of his large and broad shoulders. “Why are you so fucking big?” I ask, knowing I’m not a tiny man either.
“Genetics. But let’s walk and talk. Discussing my genetic makeup won’t help us if we get stuck out here.”
I stare up from the ditch and attempt to figure out how to pull us out so we’re on the main road and not in a ditch full of snow already past our shins.
“Have a clue how to get out of here?” he asks.
I don’t, and I doubt that we can climb out. “I think this ditch becomes even with the road in a quarter mile.” My own teeth are chattering.
“Okay, lead the way.” We’re shoulder to shoulder, and I’m not in front of him, but he follows my lead.
We’re quiet for ten minutes, and I doubt we’ve walked as far as we typically could if it weren’t for the snow.
“Do you think we’re halfway there?” he asks, pulling my coat closer to his body.
“Hate to say it, but we’re not even a quarter of the way.”
Each step is challenging, with the snow up to the highest part of my shin.
“Shit, my muscles are shutting down on me. But with the snow and its ability to stick, it’s no colder than thirty-two degrees.”
He lets out a loud snort. “Fuck, even in a life-or-death situation, you find a way to come across as a tool, quoting weather patterns.”
“Takes a tool to know a tool, asshole.” It’s a lame reply, but it’s too cold to think on my feet with a witty return.
His laugh is louder. “The cold must be doing something to your brain if you call that a comeback.”
I don’t reply, and with each step we take, we’re getting closer to even ground, and if we’re lucky, someone driving by will be able to see us. However, the last half mile to the Rogers’ family cabin is off the main road, and up an incline. “We’ll be turning off this road soon, Clark, but keep your eyes trained for a car beforehand.”
Our steps slow, and with a peek at my watch, we’ve been outside for almost a half hour. “Can you still feel your toes, Xan? Because I can’t.”
“Just keep moving, we’re almost there.” He doesn’t know how far we are. We’re not almost there, but worse, I fear the heat and water are turned off at the Rogers’ cabin.
“Do you know how to get into this cabin, or will we just look from the outside in?” His voice isn’t full of sarcasm as it typically is.
“They keep a spare key under the mat. Not really original if you ask me. But Devin Rogers and I would sneak around at night. When we became teens, it was easier to come up without parents, so….”
“Do you think it’s still there? The key?” His voice sounds strained.
“Not sure, but at this rate, I’m not above smashing a window and paying for the repair later. If I remember, they would keep some wood inside to use immediately if they came up and it was snowing or wet. I sure as fuck hope that’s still the rule of the house.”
