Catching Cold

It’s cold, and it’s pitch black. That’s all he knows. Fuck, he couldn’t see his hand if he stuck his finger in his eye, and it’s so cold. He hates the cold. He’s from LA for fuck’s sake. The cold is so deep it makes his teeth chatter. Moving doesn’t help; it just stirs the air around. If he knew where he was, maybe he’d feel better. Why is he here anyway? He doesn’t remember anything. God it’s so cold. He exhales sharply, and his breath freezes midair, like a last testament to the cold.

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A girl stumbles and curses under her breath. Taking a minute, she inhales the fresh mountain air. Well, it was a nice walk, stupid dog. Carefully, she begins the march across the treacherous terrain, picking her way across the frozen forest floor, but her foot falls through the surface of the snow, soaking her jeans and filling her boot with ice.

"Rudy!” she calls, irritated with the puddle of cold water forming in her boot. A rustle in the bushes startles her. “Rudy? Is that you?” the girl whispers coarsely. She edges toward the sound. A large black Rottweiler growls and digs furiously into the earth. What has gotten into her dog? “Rudy. Come ‘ere boy.” The dog ignores her command and continues to dig in the snow. Suddenly, he backs up, growling and yipping. He spins around, black eyes gleaming and breath coming raggedly. A gasp catches in the girl’s throat and she doesn’t know if she should be scared of her dog or what he’s found.

Peering around Rudy, she spots what looks like a toe, torn from the foot it belonged to. The girl shudders but slides her gaze across the ground until her eyes find the frozen Popsicle of a foot that her dog was gnawing on, and farther up: the rest of the body. She holds her hand out to brush the leaves away from the frozen man’s face. The hiker girl recoils, clutching her hand to her chest. She stumbles back and scrambles across the slippery ground as fast as the ice will allow. Rudy follows closely. The girl and her dog leave the body and its toe far behind.

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The call comes in the middle of the night. His wife answers it before he can. She snaps at the person on the other side; the sound of her voice less intimidating than usual, seeing how it’s thick with sleep.

“John,” She hits him to jolt him awake, “It’s for you. Some girl found a dead body in the woods, says her dog ate it.” The man wrinkles his nose in disgust. This job never sleeps. He just wonders how she got this number. Bob. It’s always Bob’s fault. He takes the phone.

“Okay. Sweetheart, just…”

“C’mon John, I know we’re close but you’re a married man.” John moves the phone away from his head and whispers to his wife,

“I thought you said it was a girl?” His wife glares at him with an annoyed, tired gaze.

“I’s just telling you what was happen’n.” Now John is frustrated. It’s too late for this, or is it early? Hell, he doesn’t know.

“Woman! You could at least tell me who I’m talk’n to!” She flops back under the covers with a huff. It’s the most pleasant conversation they’ve had in months.

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“Okay Ricky. What’s goin on?” The young officer grins against the phone.

“Well hon, d’you mind if I call you that? Or is it too soon for pet names?” Ricky teases. The Sheriff growls over the line, snapping Ricky into work mode. “This girl came in. She said she was out hiking with her dog. The dog ran off and she followed. Found a dead body buried under the snow. The dog got a few bites in before she could check it out, and she lives about a half-hour out of the way.” John is silent.

Ricky assumes he’s thinking. The older man does that often, pauses when he should be talking. Ricky glances over at the young woman shivering in one of the chairs along the wall. Her long brown hair is matted from the wind, and her eyes are glassy and fearful, but Ricky still admires the flush under her icy skin. Probably, soft to the touch. Not that he’s thinking about touching her cheeks. No, he’s not thinking that, nor is he thinking that damsels in distress have a particular appeal.

“It’s too late to look for this body so let’s send out a search party tomorrow.

“Well, it should keep. She said he was frozen solid.”

“Just make sure the girl gets home. Okay?” It’s all John says. He’s been around a while. Though a frozen body may be interesting to Ricky, for him it’s just part of the job.

“Sure, sure,” Ricky says before the phone clicks off. Looking at the girl, he can see she’s really not doing well. Her lips are practically blue.

“Fuck, it’s cold. I hate the cold,” she mumbles shakily.

“Doncha live in the mountains?” He asks with a confused chuckle. She looks up at him as if to respond, but her glassy eyes shake, and her wordless sigh freezes into a cloud of ice. It hovers in front of her mouth before she crumples to the floor. “Miss!” Ricky yells, jumping across the desk to the aid of the fallen girl. He turns her face over. The touch of her skin wracks him with shivers and he yanks his hand back. “Like ice,” he whispers as he hugs himself, desperate to hold onto the warmth fleeing his body.