Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [27]
At the next hump, I lost sight of the fence line and I rolled to a stop when I realized way out here the mounds of snow covered the fence completely. Being surrounded by the intense whiteness was like being trapped in a glass of milk. I cupped my hands around the digital clock on the dash to check the time. A half hour had passed. I still had a third of a mile to go, according to the odometer.
Or . . . I’d driven over the fence and was going the wrong direction. Only one way to find out. I uncoiled the rope and hopped out of the truck cab. The flakes stung, cutting exposed skin like tiny daggers. My body weight had as much impact as a feather against 90
the thick crust of snow. I tied one end of the rope to the door handle in a quick release knot and the other through a belt loop on my coat.
Wind lashed and blew through the multiple layers of clothes.
Fuck, it was cold as a witch’s tit, a well-digger’s ass, a banker’s smile, and all those creative colloquialisms we out here in the frozen lands tossed around regularly. I started to walk in what I thought was a straight line. I kept my face pointed down, trying to look to the left for anything resembling a fence post. The scarf covering my mouth became soggy from my warm breath getting trapped in the icy wool. I couldn’t feel my skin where my cheeks were exposed. I’d only counted fifty steps and I was already frozen to the bone.
And the wind kept howling.
Never-ending wind could drive a person crazy; I knew that from spending most my life in South Dakota. Wind wasn’t a new phenomenon. Historical documents detailed the isolation of Dakota Territory pioneer settlers. Stuck for months on end in raging blizzards, alone on the vast prairie, where the biggest dangers weren’t starvation and Indian attacks, but the persistent wind. Murder of entire families was commonplace, stories with the “wind told me to kill them all” theme. Some folks chose to follow the wind’s shifting voices and were found frozen mere feet from their homestead during the spring thaw.
I stopped to catch my breath. Smoker’s lungs, plus 91
a 50-mph headwind, and dragging ten extra pounds of snow-caked boots? Not good. Not a comfort that the most devoted gym rat would be sucking air just as hard as I was right about now.
By placing my hands on my knees and bending
over, I hoped to force air into my lungs and block some of the goddamn Gulf Stream, if only for thirty seconds. Somehow I lost my balance. The wind provided an extra push and I rolled down the incline like a runaway log. The damn rope didn’t yank me back. No, I skidded to a stop on my face. A razor-sharp ridge of ice sliced my cheek and peeled the scarf from my mouth. My teeth dug into my lips, even as my lips dug into the crusted snow.
I laid there breathing hard. Freezing. I thought about burrowing into the drift like an Iditarod sled dog and napping until the storm blew over. I thought about my Viking ancestors hunkering down in warm furs inside snowbanks. Piece of cake. If I went to sleep, I’d probably just wake up refreshed. Alert. Ready to climb Everest. I closed my eyes. The wind crooned a special lullaby just for me.
S s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s - s l e e p , ssssssssssssssssssssssssss-sleep.
I was tired. My leg cramped up and I jumped at the sharp pain. My mouth smacked into the snow; I licked my lips and tasted blood. Yuck. Where else was I bleeding? Did blood turn purplish-black when 92
it solidified in such extreme cold? Or did it stay bright red? Maybe it crystallized. Mmm. Like the red sugar sprinkles my mom used to decorate Christmas cookies. That’d be pretty. Blood on snow. Vivid red on such pristine white. I remembered candy canes and velvet ribbons draped on a flocked evergreen tree. Red ink swirls on crisp white paper cards. Mounds of canned whipped cream sprayed on Cherries Jubilee.
The white knuckle of my father’s fist becoming bloodied after he’d hit me.
My body spasmed and I jerked awake.
Jesus, Julie, focus.
As I lay there, tired, cold, half-pissed-off/half-delirious