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I rush into the cabin, abandoning my task so I can warm up.

Except getting the generator took what felt like hours. And the old cabin must be poorly insulated, so all the precious warmth that remained inside has already flown the coop.

My dad only came up during the fall hunting season, not the dead of winter, so it’s not properly equipped to avoid heat loss.

It’s more important than ever that I get the generator working now.

I find my gloves and with shaking hands manage to get them on my icy cold fingers after three tries. With a deep steadying breath, I go back to the porch, cursing myself for not making this setup my first priority when the weather was somewhat more tolerable.

There’s a pull string on the generator, so hopefully all I need to do is… pull it?

But when I do, nothing happens. It doesn’t crank, doesn’t make any kind of sound at all.

The display is foggy from the cold, and I scrub at it with my glove, tears filling my eyes at the arrow resting on E to signify an empty gas tank.

Even if it was full, the gas would be old and unlikely to work.

And for some reason, I didn’t think to bring any fuel or stabilizer with me.

My mind is racing, and I keep telling myself that it’s fine. I’ll be fine. All I need to do is move on to the next course of action.

Plan B. Or is it C or D or E by now?

I need to get the fire going or else I’ll have to sit in the SUV until the gas runs out. I could risk driving down the mountain and back into town to stay at a hotel that I can’t afford, but that would be certain death.

Okay.

It’s fine.

This is fine.

How hard can it be to start a fire that stays lit? Lots of people do it. Even kids do it.

After I get it going, I just can’t sleep tonight since the fire will be my only source of heat and light for the foreseeable future.

And it seems that I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

I dash back into the cabin, but my hands are so cold that they’re useless. It takes me way too long to get the kindling piled in the woodstove.

The logs I put in are not burning, but they’re hot. Too hot to safely remove. I need to somehow get the fire started around them and hope that they eventually burn, too.

I should have watched some videos about how to start a fire and a generator. Survival isn’t something that you can just make up on the fly. It’s a skill and one that I clearly do not possess.

I was so concerned about getting enough food and supplies that I didn’t consider anything practical, like freezing to death and having no need for everything I painstakingly collected.

And I didn’t even get the right things.

Emotion burns my throat and threatens to pour down my cheeks. But I can’t just curl up in a ball with tears frozen on my face while waiting to die.

Maybe I can call 911.

But is being too dense to start a fire an emergency? The police, firefighters, and paramedics are likely dealing with serious collisions and people in grave danger. I have shelter and a vehicle, so everything is going to be fine.

Fine, fine, fine, it’s the word of the day.

The temperature in the cabin continues to drop – or so it feels – while I struggle to get the fire started. The kindling lights and crackles around the logs, but they don’t catch on fire, and eventually what is lit burns out.

I guess that I should have gone to Girl Guides instead of reading Harlequin romance novels as a tween.