The Empty Cold

Ice and snow crunch beneath the cleats of my hiking boots. Cold wind bites at my face, the only part not covered by the my heavy winter clothes. In front of me stretches out the empty white expanse of the frozen lake. Mist blurs the edges of my vision, obscuring the trees of the winter forest beyond.

How long have I been walking this icy expanse?

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I had been camping. Friends and myself, enjoying the early winter by breathing the crisp, clean air and disconnecting from the modern world for a week.

Everything had been fine. Until the snow had come. A blanket of frozen alabaster that covered the forest around us. It hadn't made sense. We'd checked the weather before we left and nothing like this was expected.

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The bite of the frozen wind as it howls against my ears breaks me from my reverie. The ice cracks beneath my foot as my cleat digs into it the surface, a jagged snap that echoes in the frigid air.

My gaze darts downward to where my foot his disappeared into the gaping maw of the whole in the ice. It takes a matter of seconds (minutes?) for me to realize that the icy water is lapping at my boot and seeping into the ragged seam around the sole.

The water ripples and splashes as I yank my foot free, stumbling backwards and falling hard. My tailbone cracks louder than the ice when I crash down.

I lay there, listening to the ice creak and groan, echoing the groan in my stomach as I'm reminded of how long it's been since I last ate.

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We huddled around the flickering campfire to try hoping the struggling heat can push back the cold. We had brought supplies for a week. But the blizzard has left us stranded for two. We rationed them between the three of us but they could only last so long.

It was Jason who broke first. The hunger? The cold? The isolation? Perhaps all of them. First it was sobs. The sound of desperation coming from behind the scarf he had wrapped around his face. Like the whimpers of a wounded animal.

Keith and I didn't know what it was at first. But there was no question when Jason's sobs turned into a snarl of rage. In an instant he was up and lunging toward Keith, shouting that coming had been his idea. That it was his fault we were going to die.

I jumped to my feet to try and separate them. Jason's fingers were locked around Keith's throat. Gloved fingers dug into flesh and choked gasps of pain filled the air.

An elbow dug into my ribs and hurled me backwards into the snow.

The next moments are a blur.

My hands wraps around the base of a burning branch from the fire.

The crack of wood against bone and flesh as the air is filled with blinding sparks.

Red splashed across the white snow, steaming in the frozen air.

And screams. My screams.

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I pick myself up from the ice. My ankle throbs, sprained by the force of breaking through the ice. My calf and shin burn with the jagged scrapes and cuts through my pants that had drawn blood. Even now I can feel it dripping down, bringing some measure of warmth down my leg. A contrast to the cold pooled around my foot from the water that had seeped through my boot.

Water splashes and ripples in the hole in the ice, as if it would rise from the hole and spill out in search of me. The prey that escaped it.

Wavering on my feet, I struggle to find my footing. And then I begin to walk, giving the hole in the ice a wide berth. My warms wrap around myself, limping slowly as I continue on across the ice.

The lake creaks beneath my feet as I walk, a growl of ice rumbling around me as cracks spread from the hole.

Slowly I leave the hole behind, unsatisfied by my escape from its jaws. The walk is harder now, but I have to keep going. I need to keep going.

Cold gnaws at my exposed skin. My face has long since gone numb. My leg where my pants were ripped by the ice grows frigid, the blood that had run down my flesh freezing over and crunching as I move. I've lost the feeling in my wet foot.

And the hunger in the pit of my stomach only grows all the more.

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The fire sputters its last gasps. Cold stalks in its wake, wrapping me in its coils. I'm left shivering on the fallen log I've been seated on.

Keith lays on the ground to my right, his head twisted sideways since his crushed throat was unable to support its weight. To my left, is Jason. The blood that had run from the jagged gash across his scalp had long ago frozen over, crystals glinting in the dying firelight.

The crimson that had spilled over his leg had come later when the chunk of flesh had been carved from his thigh.

It hadn't been enough, however. The strength had been sucked from the marrow of my bones. I could barely move. My limbs had long since gone numb.

Beyond the remains of the fire, I could see the lake spread out before me. A frozen sheet of white. Open and unending. Anything had to be better than this, right?

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The ice crunches and cracks beneath my feet again. I stumble to the side quickly, hoping to avoid going into the water again. I can see the cracks forming in the frozen surface. They chase after me. The cracking roars in the air around me and I know that with my wounded leg I won't be able to escape.

The chasm opens in the ice beneath me, jagged teeth of ice opened on either side as the dark water rises up around me. I don't have the voice to scream as the cold washes over me and sucks me down into the icy maw.

Slush and ice fill my throat and my lungs as darkness closes around me, the roar of water rushing across my ears.

And with that the lake consumes me.

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Three bodies rest around the long-cold remains of a campfire. Ruined tents lie buried beneath the snow.

One lays on the ground, his throat hollowed beneath the crushed windpipe.

Another lays near the fire, caked in blood.

The third sits on a fallen log, frozen upright and staring across the lake.

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Ice and snow crunch beneath the cleats of my hiking boots.