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“Are you telling me we’re lost?” My voice grows louder, riding on a wave of panic.
“No,” he responds tersely, refusing to make eye contact. “I’m telling you, we should keep moving. I don’t have an exact location.”
My legs are like lead. I can feel the cold gnawing at my fingers. The snow is deeper than it looked from the plane, each step sinking in and making the next even harder. A chilling wind whips up, catching us off guard and sending an icy shiver down my spine.
“Keep going,” Noah encourages.
Hours seem to pass. I can feel my strength waning. All of my layers are no match for windchill. The frigid air is quickly becoming too much. My feet are numb with cold, and I am exhausted. I let my eyes wander over the landscape. There’s something serene and pure about the snowy vista. The silence is profound, broken only by our footsteps and the occasional gust of wind. It’s beautiful in a stark and unforgiving way. Maybe it’s the hypothermia setting in, but I find myself appreciating the untouched beauty of this desolate place. I consider taking out my camera, capturing the moment for prosperity, but the thought of stopping makes me shudder.
Without warning, Noah halts. “What is it?” I pant out, grateful for the chance to catch my breath. He doesn’t answer immediately, scanning the horizon with a focused intensity. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for him to speak. Has he seen something? Are we actually close? He motions to a large dark figure in the distance.
“There,” he points with a gloved hand.
“Moose,” I smile when I see it.
“Got many pictures of them?”
“I have some,” I reply. “Magnificent creatures.”
“We’ll take a wide berth,” Noah says and starts walking again.
Chapter six
Noah
She’s kind of a pain in the ass, but she’s got spirit, I’ll give her that. Every time she stumbles in the heavy snow, she picks herself up and keeps going. Most people would have given up by now, but not her. The woman even insisted on bringing her camera along, which I thought was foolish at first, but now I respect her for it.
“We’ve been walking about two hours,” I tell her.
“I’m not sure how that information helps me,” she snaps.
She’s too cold and tired to care about anything besides survival. I get it. It’s all about putting one foot in front of the other.
“I’m guessing we’ve probably gone a mile, maybe two,” I explain.
“We’re not even halfway there,” she groans.
I understand her dismay. I feel it, too. I just need to get her to the cabin. She’s keeping pace beside me, her breath coming out in short, visible puffs in the cold air.
“Does your friend live out here full time?”
“No. He stays here a week or two at a time when he’s working.”
“How do you contact him when he’s here?”
“He has a radio and a SAT phone,” she answers, slightly out of breath.
“Good. How does he get around the area?”
“He usually drives a snowmobile.”
“So, there will be a way out,” I nod.
“You don’t think you’re going to be able to fly out?” she asks with concern.
I chuckle, but the cold makes me cough. “Eventually, but if I need a new fuel filter, I’ll need a way to get to town. And I’m hoping I can get a ride back to the plane. I don’t want to walk this route again.”
“Good point.”
