Page 29

September 2016

The cold was incessant now. Though Matthew had tried to hold it at bay earlier, his lagging energy gave it a space to crawl through, and it was taking up residence. His fingers were numb, and he knew color had drained from his face, his lips a telltale shade of eggplant. A mantra played on repeat in his mind: Up, breathe, kick, repeat.

There was nothing to do now but push through, past the cold, past the screaming from his lungs, past the ache in his shoulder. Any other option would be drowning.

I’ll warm up once I get into some dry clothes and start moving. It can’t be far now.

The predawn horizon had broken to a bloodred sky. Is that it? Hard to see the shoreline. The contours here seem right. There’s a break in the tree line over there. That should be the campsite.

His strokes were slow, weighed down by his headache and the demands of cold water.

His rhythm stuttered and jilted, like a rag doll on the waves. He missed a breath; his legs struggled to kick regularly, offering only counterbalance to the pull of his arms. Exhaustion was crumbling the wall he had built in his mind, and thoughts of Sarah and the kids skittered through the openings.

The cold was at his throat now, squeezing against his windpipe. For the first time since he entered the water, Matthew questioned whether this was beyond him.

Damn!

The thought was flung away as his shin slammed against a rock. With a terrifying certainty, he knew he would not have been able to swim any farther. Though no sound came out, a chuckle filled his head at the irony of being afraid to drown.

Matthew dragged his numb legs across the muddy bank. Staggering, he immediately noticed something was terribly wrong. Water streamed out of his wet suit—far more than he’d ever noticed before—and sloshed at his feet. In the first sips of dawn, he dropped to a nearby boulder and understood. Bleach-white skin flared through small slashes in the wet suit.

“What the—” His body shivered; the words were a clenched shudder. His beaten and cold-stunned mind couldn’t process what he was seeing.

The sun was coming up finally. He hadn’t remembered noticing the sky lighten, only it had. The light remained shadowy under fat gray clouds.

I’m going to freeze if I sit here. God, I’m shivering.

He breathed in scents of pine and wet earth.

You can do this. Just need to get up. Get moving; get in the tent. Warm up.

At some point in his swim, the rain had stopped, though Matthew only noticed the absence when it started again. Rain splattered against his wet suit, the sound ricocheting off his aching head. His body felt none of it. He propelled himself into the surrounding woods. The sun was fully up now, though still beneath thick clouds.

Matthew walked, no longer anchored in time. Minutes, seconds, hours were all the same. How long had he been walking? Shouldn’t the tent be here? Where was the path? It didn’t matter. There was an objective, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

It’d help if this goddamned rain would stop.

It hadn’t let up all morning. His body stopped. A faint echo in his mind told him to keep moving.

“I just need to rest,” he said. Get my strength back. Maybe just sit here a bit, against this rock. Get out of the wind. The logic was irrefutable.

I don’t understand. I should have reached it by now. It should be right here.

Though he no longer remembered what he was heading toward.

Jesus, it’s cold. How long have I been here? I must have drifted off. Need to get moving. I’ll just rest a few more minutes.

Finally, there’s the sun, it’s coming out of the clouds. About time. That should warm me up. I can feel it against my skin.

God, it’s hot now. Too hot. Need to get this wet suit off. I’m burning up. Won’t make it in this heat.

Matthew saw a shape ringed in shimmering heat come out of the trees. It walked toward him, with an enormous, emaciated body and a grotesque face, yet there was something welcoming and familiar in the shadow’s gait. A remembrance stirred in his mind, an Indigenous legend of a creature that hunted in these forests. On the wind, he heard a child’s laughter—bright and clear.

“Charlie, is that you? What are you doing here? Where’s Mom?” Where’d he go? He must be here.

“Charlie? Where are you, buddy? Come here.”

He’s not here, is he? It was too much. What I tried to do. Too much. It wasn’t supposed to be this cold in September. I’ll just rest. Close my eyes. It’s getting better now. The shivering’s gone. I’ll get going soon. I’ll just rest a bit more—

The last sound he heard, off in the distance, beyond the arc of his fading consciousness, was the distant trill of a cardinal.