Into the Cold

Caleb stopped and wiped the slushy snow off his goggles. He’d made it to the crash sight in good time despite the incline of the hill and its thick covering of snow.

Seeing the size of the debris field, and the violence with which the plane impacted, he was amazed that Amelia had managed to survive at all.

Her seat, which looked to have sheared free when the craft struck the treeline, was a good one hundred yards away from the main body of the crash.

Searching the wreckage, Caleb found the pilot.

“Damn,” he said under his breath, recognizing him. “Billy.”

After digging a shallow grave due to the frozen state of the ground, he collected Bill’s wedding ring and wallet, knowing his widow would want them. With a short prayer, he placed the pilot in the ground covering the spot with large pieces of the plane to keep animals from digging him up.

When that was completed, he strapped everything he thought could be useful, and a few things that weren’t, to his sled and began the walk back down the mountain. Halfway down he’d seen the clouds rolling in towards the valley below. Pulling out his compass, he found his bearings and trudged on, redoubling his efforts to make it back before the storm hit.

Cresting a low hill, his eye was caught by a bright spot to his left. Squinting, he could barely make out the roof of his cabin through the blowing snow.

‘Clever girl,’ he thought as he adjusted his heading and walked the last hundred yards home.

Amelia was so engrossed in the photographs and papers she’d found, she didn’t hear the door open behind her.

“What are you doing?” Caleb boomed, standing in the darkened opening.

Amelia stood quickly, scattering the pictures and letters that had been sitting on her lap.

“You made it!” she cried, embarrassed at being caught snooping, but also delighted he’d returned safely.

Dropping his rucksack at the door, Caleb shouldered past her and began scooping up the papers.

“What gives you the right to go through my things?” he demanded.

Amelia got down on the floor with him, trying to help collect the mess she’s made.

“Don’t touch them,” he said fiercely, pushing her hands away.

“I’m sorry Caleb,” she said, touching his shoulder.

“You had no right,” he said, choking back a sob as he looked down at a picture of the infant.

“Please,” she begged. “Let me help.”

Nodding curtly, Caleb allowed her to help him stack and re-tied to bundles. When everything was restored to their original places and the lid closed, Caleb leaned against the trunk, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

Amelia stood and dragged the bags Caleb had left on the porch, closing the door behind her. She then returned to kneel in front of him, clasping his shaking hands in her own.

“Caleb, I am so sorry,” she said sincerely, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You had no right,” he sighed, the sobbing subsiding.

“If I could take it back I would,” she said, earnestness radiating from her being.

“I know,” Caleb said, finally looking at her with red rimmed eyes.

Trying to change the subject, Amelia gestured to the bags.

“I see you found the crash,” she said. “How bad was it?”

“Pretty bad,” he sighed, taking a seat at his now clean table. “You were really lucky you made it out alive at all.”

“Was there anything useful?” she asked, not wanting to relive the crash, but trying to take the focus off of her prying.

Knowing what Amelia was attempting to do, and inwardly thanking her for it, Caleb pulled the largest, most battered bag over and unzipping the top.

“The plane’s beacon was fried in the crash, so no help there. I did find the survival kit,” he said, pulling things out. “There’s two weeks of MRE’s, which are awesome to have, not so awesome to eat. I think we should save these until we are desperate.”

“I’ve never had them, so I’ll take your word for it,” Amelia said with a small laugh.

“There was also a nice emergency medical kit, some fishing tackle, a really nice knife,” he said, unsheathing it and showing Amelia the gleaming edge. “Lots of matches, some signal strobes and smoke markers, two very useful mosquito head-nets, the hatchet and snowshoes were bent to hell and splintered, so I left them behind. There were also a couple of sub zero sleeping bags and some heavy wool blankets.”

“Wow,” Amelia said, staring at the growing pile of treasure.

“Not done yet,” Caleb smiled, reaching back into the bag. “I also found a hacksaw and three extra blades, a pack with about thirty feet of snare wire, an ice chisel, a collapsible snow shovel, three flashlights and extra batteries, and last but not least, I found the pilot’s stash of liquor.”

“Liquor?” Amelia asked, her eyes widening. “Are you telling me the pilot was drunk?”

“No, ma’am,” Caleb said, “Billy was a better man than that.”

“Billy…” she mused. “Yes! That was his name.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Billy was an excellent bush pilot, but he was a terrible businessman. He was never good with money, so he came up with a way to make lots. He’d buy bourbon, gin, whiskey and the like down in Anchorage or Juneau and whenever he took a passenger to the oil fields he’d pack as much of it as he thought he could into the hold and sell it to the riggers.”

“Aren’t there stores up in the fields for the workers to buy from?” Amelia asked sitting down on the side of the bed.

“Not so much,” Caleb replied, looking across the room at her. “You see, most of the companies have bars where their workers can drink, but they keep tight leashes on those guys, you know, making sure everyone shows up to work sober. So Billy got the idea of buying it cheap and selling it high.”

“And he was going to do this on my trip?” Amelia asked, dumbfounded.

“Seems like it,” Caleb said, nodding. “From the looks of it he overloaded the hold and bang, down you went.”

“So,” she asked, trying desperately to clarify. “We crashed because Billy was trying to make a quick buck!?”

“Looks that way,” he said, rubbing his hands on his knees as he stood.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Amelia breathed, hugging herself.

“Hey,” Caleb soothed, sitting next to and embracing her. “You made it out… alive. And in about six months, the plane that brings my supplies will arrive and take you home.”

At the thought of getting onboard another plane, Amelia’s composure broke and she began crying uncontrollably turning into Caleb’s strong embrace.

“It’s alright,” he cooed, pulling her close. “You will be alright.”

After several minutes, she was able to regain control of herself and began taking deep shuddering breaths.

“I’m not usually so emotional,” she hiccuped.

“Are you kidding?” Caleb chuckled, looking down at her in surprise. “I honestly expected you to break down long before now.”

“You did?” she asked, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“Yeah,” he replied, laughing at the smear of snot she’d left on her face.

“What?” she asked unaware of how she looked.

“Nothing,” he said, still laughing. “You just reminded me of a glazed donut that’s all.”

“Wha…?” she asked, touching her face.

“Oh God,” she said in disgust, her hand coming away covered with snot.

Rising, Amelia went to the basin, grabbing a rag, wiping her face.

“Well,” she sighed, “that was embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Caleb chuckled. “Who am I gonna tell?”

With another sigh, Amelia turned and pointed to the bags they had yet to open.

“How about those?” she asked. “What’s in them?”

“That one is just the slip covers for the plane,” Caleb explained indicating the bag on the left. “Not necessarily useful right away, but they’re rated to protect a plane from Arctic storms when it’s grounded, so I thought they were better to have than not.”

“Good idea,” Amelia said, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“And the last bag,” Caleb said, lifting it and handing it to her, “is yours. The contents were scattered all over the place. I picked up as much as I could find.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said, pulling it open.

Inside were her thick wool socks, long johns, a pair of jeans and three sweaters. She also found underwear and a mismatched set of flannel pajamas. Digging deeper, she found her heavy winter gloves and rabbit fur earmuffs. At the very bottom was her spare set of snow pants and thermal underclothes.

“This is wonderful,” she sighed, feeling as if Caleb had brought her a pirate’s treasure trove when she found her toiletries bag. “I can finally brush my teeth!”

Clearing his throat, Caleb pulled a small pouch out of his jacket pocket.

“I also collected Billy’s wedding ring and wallet before I buried him, to give to his family when you get back to civilization,” he explained, sliding it across the table to her.

Taking it reverently, Amelia held it to her heart for a moment, then placed it in her bag of clothes.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure his wife will be very grateful to have these.”

“Good,” Caleb said, getting to his feet. “Now we just need to figure out where to store all this stuff.”

“I found a couple of extra bins when I was cleaning earlier,” Amelia said, pointing at the spot where she had stacked them.

Looking around, Caleb finally noticed how different his cabin looked.

“You cleaned?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Amelia admitted. “I couldn’t sit still while you were out there alone, so I cleaned up a bit.”

“Your shoulder?” he replied, gently touching her arm.

“I was careful not to use it too much,” she explained, his touch making her feel odd.

Caleb moved to the table and looked at his skinning knives.

“How did you get these so shiny?” he asked.

“I used some vinegar, baking soda and a lot of elbow grease. I scrubbed as much of the rust off as I could,” Amelia said, sitting back down to look through her pile of loot. “After they dried I rubbed them with a little bit of oil I found in that blue tin up there.”

Caleb stiffened.

“That blue tin?” Caleb asked, pointing to the one on the shelf.

“Yeah,” Amelia said from the floor where she was trying to organize her clothes.

“Dammit!” Caleb breathed, doing his best to control his anger.

She’d gone through his things, rearranged his house, and worst of all she’d used the bear grease he kept for cooking.

“Did I do something wrong?” Amelia asked, hearing the anger in his voice.

“No,” he lied.

“It’s just that this oil,” he continued taking the tin off the shelf, “is very hard to come by.”

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said, standing up quickly. “I just used the smallest of dabs, honest.”

Caleb took a deep breath and turned to look at her.

“You can’t waste stuff like this okay?” he said with a tired voice.

“I didn’t know about the oil, I’m sorry,” she said, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. “And I honestly didn’t mean to pry into the trunk either, I was just trying to do something useful.”

“I know,” Caleb said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “And thank you. Now, let’s get this stuff put away and make something to eat.”