I push on through my woods. Trees slide past in a blur. My lungs settle into my pace, my chest rising and falling in customary rhythm. Puffs of steam escape my lips into the frigid air. My feet land on the familiar trail, my legs stretching over downed branches without thought. My body has run this path so many times it no longer needs my conscious thoughts to guide it. My mind is free to roam into the darkness. I struggle to keep my thoughts on the path, to skirt the empty abyss that beckons.
My property consists of three-hundred acres of heavily forested woodlands. When I first came here, the woods seemed to stretch forever, an expansive embrace of trees and wildlife. Now I quickly reach my property line and make the turn back towards the cabin, following the remnants of snowy footprints from my last run.
My only companion, my gray and white husky, Indy, knows the path well, too. As we make the turn towards home, he bounds ahead excitedly, kicking up snow and leaves with his fast feet. Indy stops suddenly, several paces ahead on the trail. He raises his nose to the air and catches a scent. The rabbit flashes across the path and Indy gives chase.
He shoots into the brush, his gray fur flashing against the white of the snow. I watch him go, wondering if I should follow, but I run on. Indy can take care of himself in the woods better than I can. He'll come home when he's had his fill of fun.
The music in my earbuds blasts the last of my dark thoughts about death and life away. I match my feet to the beat and plunge forward one step at a time, eager to get home before darkness falls.
A sharp bark intrudes over the music. I slow my pace, turn the volume down, and Indy barks again.
I pull an earbud out. “Indy?” I call into the trees. A whine and a yelp echo in the stillness.
Panic spurs my feet, and I crush into the brush. One earbud hangs from its wire, bouncing against my chest in a staccato of fear. My breath claws at my chest, hidden branches cling to my feet.
Indy's paw prints lead to a frozen pond and continue onto the thin sheet of snow blowing across the ice. Several yards away, Indy scrapes the edge of an icy hole, desperate to draw himself out of the frigid water.
He yelps in fear, his bright blue eyes pleading for help.
The ice moans beneath my weight as I take cautious steps towards my dog. A crack zigzags in front of me, and the ice gives way. The shallow water bites up to my knees. Gasping against the icy pain, I push on, breaking the ice with clenched fists. The water crawls up to my thighs. Drowned branches and debris pull at my numbing feet.
Indy watches my slow progress with helpless eyes. The water climbs to my crotch, knocking the air from my lungs as it reaches the sensitive skin.
A few feet away from him, I stretch my arms across the ice, strain to reach the thick fur of his neck. It fills my gloved hand, and I pull. Indy yelps and claws at the ice. One paw catches hold, and combined with my pulling, he slides out of the water.
He crouches on the ice, instinctively spreading his weight on his four paws. He scrambles to the bank and shakes off most of the water. Now that he's safe, he paces the bank of the pond, barks anxiously, spurring me on.
Numbness settles into my bones, making my return to the bank heavy and slow. A submerged branch catches my running boot, tripping me. Icy water clenches around my belly, but I catch myself on the edge of the ice before sinking lower.
Freeing my boot from the branch, I lunge for the bank, pushing hard with my other leg. A hidden scrap of metal slices my foot, the sudden warmth of blood burning against the cold water. Ignoring the pain, I push again for the bank.
I land face down in the dirt and snow, then belly-crawl out of the water. Indy pushes his nose against my face, urging me on with his warm breath. My vision fuzzes, and I shiver in the wind. Using my unhurt foot, I try to stand. My numb leg wobbles, crumples, and I land with a humph. The cold seeps from my soaked legs up to my chest. It slithers under my coat and wraps icy fingers around my lungs.
I will my legs to move, too cold to obey, my muscles only twitch. With my gloved hands, I pull myself through the dirt like an animal. Fallen branches reach out from the snow to scratch my face.
Indy whines and shoves me with his nose, urging. Shadows dance around his broad face, as the sun sinks low in the sky behind him. I manage to drag myself a little farther, then lie panting against the dirt. The cold seeps from my chest into my shoulders.
Indy whines against my cheek. I can barely see his blue eyes in the falling darkness. Behind him, three familiar balls of light appear, and I turn away from their approach.
"I just need to rest," I tell my dog. “Give me a minute.”
Music sings softly from my earbuds dragging along beside me. "Dust in the Wind" carries along with the snow on the breeze.
As I have every day for two years, I fight the battle to survive. I don't give in. I don't give up. The cold strikes back, a valiant competitor.
“Maribeth, you have to move,” Bryson’s voice blocks out the music.
“I can’t,” I explain to my husband. “Too cold.”
“Get up!” he commands. I open my eyes and meet his face.
"You need a haircut," I tell him nonsensically. "You should have gotten one before."
“You say that every time,” his warm smile makes a heat flutter in my frozen chest.
“Mom, it’s dark,” my son, Benny, says from somewhere nearby. “I don’t want to be here in the dark.”
“I know, baby. Sorry. I stayed out longer than I intended.”
“Mom, get up!” My teenage daughter, Lilly, demands. Always headstrong and to the point, she doesn't give in now.
I manage to roll onto my back, and the three of them shimmer above me. The empty branches dance behind them, through them.
“Indy’s cold,” Bryson says. “You have to get him inside the cabin.”
My dog shivers next to me, a crinkling sheet of ice frozen over his thick fur.
“I can’t,” I whine to my family. “I’m too tired.”
“That’s the hypothermia talking. Damn it, Maribeth, move!” In our 17 years of marriage or the last two years, I’ve never heard Bryson cuss at me. “Get your ass in gear and get up!”
I don't like his tone and anger surges through me. When I try to move my leg, it obeys. "That's it, Mom. Screw this shit and move!" Lilly chimes in.
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” I snap automatically. Adrenaline pumps against the cold, and I force myself to my hands and knees.
"It's getting darker," Benny fusses, consumed by his fear. "Get us inside."
Even Indy gangs up on me, pushing against my rear. I pant on my hands and knees, crawl a few steps towards the trail. “Why won’t you just leave me alone so I can join you?” I plead. “If you had stayed away, I could be with you now.” Tears of frustration burn my frozen cheeks.
“You have things to do yet, Maribeth. Now get going.” Bryson urges. “Don’t let the kids see you like this.”
That works more than the harsh words. I crawl a few more feet, then pull myself up on a tree. My cut foot stings as I step down gingerly. “Pain is good,” Lilly says. “Do that again.”
As blood pumps through my frozen extremities, the skin tingles and burns. “The sooner you get to the cabin, the sooner the burning will stop,” Bryson urges.
I pull myself straight and step away from the support of the tree. My cut boot flaps in the snow, but I keep moving, each step agony.
“Good girl, keep moving,” Bryson says.
Panting and exhausted, I stop to catch my breath once I’m back on the path to the cabin. I want to sink to it, want to curl up and sleep.
Bryson senses my hesitation and tries another tactic. "Chica and Rizo need their dinners."
“My pigs can eat the grass,” I point out.
“It’s winter, there’s no grass left. They need you.”
I look up the dark path where the pigs and chickens wait for my return.
"Just give me a minute," I tell my family and lean against a tree. I dig my pack of smokes
from the inside pocket of my coat, and fish out a cigarette. It's squished, but miraculously dry. I fumble with the lighter through my gloves until a tiny flame finally appears. The hot smoke warms my tired lungs.
I take a few drags, summon the last of my energy, and march on.
My family follows, cheering me, pissing me off, whatever they can do to keep me going.
The solar light on my porch finally winks through the trees.
Benny runs ahead, "Come on, Mom, we're almost there."
My pace quickens once the cabin comes into view. In my haste, I trip over a fallen log. Bryson moves to catch me as I fall, but I tumble through his outstretched arms.
After all, he's not really here.
Find out what happens next, get “Marked by Darkness” today.
Message of Murder 04-Message in the Snow Page 12