Winter Study by Nevada Barr Page A

her
penchant for avoiding the cold at every opportunity, was cognizant. To
convert snow to water robbed the body of so many calories that the heat
transfer could lead to hypothermia.
Anna
used the water she’d carried inside her parka next to her body. When it
was hot enough to pass muster, she stirred in cocoa, twice as much as
she would normally use. Backpacking in winter burned three times a
person’s baseline calorie requirements. To stay warm, a woman Anna’s
size needed nearly five thousand calories a day.
“Drink this,” she said and handed a plastic insulated mug to Katherine. Metalware was useless when the cold got serious.
Katherine shook her head wearily. “No thank you. I just want to sit for a minute.”
“You need to drink it,” Anna told her. “It’ll make you feel less tired.”
Katherine took the cup between her mittened hands, and Anna was put in mind of a seal trying to clap with its flippers.
“Hold it tighter than you think you should,” she cautioned.
Katherine began to sip.
Anna slipped off her mitten, stopped her hand halfway to her nose, then put the mitten back on.
The
tent was up. Robin handed out hot drinks and candy and granola bars
while Anna started another pot of water for their dinner of
freeze-dried pasta, peas and chicken. Robin unwrapped a block of
cheddar, cut it into four pieces and said: “Hors d’oeuvres.”
They
ate in silence as the light dimmed to nothing. The snow, mean and
sparse all day, showed no sign of changing, and Anna was glad. On the
Great Lakes, changes in the weather were usually heralded by high
winds. The balmy sixteen degrees they’d enjoyed in the heat of the day
was going with the light. Had there been wind, what scant warmth the
food generated would have been quickly stripped away.
When it was too dark to see the cups in their hands, they put on headlamps and blinked at one another.
“The
lights of Marfa,” Anna said. Maybe the others knew of the Texas town,
famous for its mysterious UFOs. Maybe they didn’t. Nobody had enough
energy to say either way and she hadn’t the energy to volunteer an
explanation.
Dishes
were scraped and wiped. Washing was out of the question, but since no
self-respecting bacteria could survive in such cold the health risks
were minimal.
When they’d finished, Robin announced “Jumping jacks!” and Anna feared for the young woman’s sanity.
The jumping jacks were to warm them before they crawled into their sleeping bags; calories and layers alone would not suffice.
“Pee,”
Robin suggested after they’d run around the tent and jumped like mad
things for several minutes. “Your body has to work harder keeping extra
fluid warm.”
They separated in four directions and bared various parts of their anatomies to Jack Frost’s kiss.
“No mosquitoes,” Anna told herself, trying for a scrap of good cheer.
Then it was bedtime. It wasn’t yet seven p.m.
Retiring
was a miserable process. Food for the following day’s lunch was
retrieved from packs; full water bottles were dragged into the tent. To
keep these precious items from freezing — or to thaw them out for the
next day’s use — meant they would spend the night in sleeping bags with
the campers. The bags’ stuff sacks were turned inside out and boots put
in and stowed between the knees to keep from freezing overnight. Parkas
and what outer garments wouldn’t fit into the bags were piled on top.
Thus cocooned, neck scarf and balaclava still on, Anna switched off her
headlamp.
“Good
night,” she said to the black nest filled with her fellow larvae. Even
to her own ears, her voice sounded so gloomy that she laughed.
“It’ll be okay,” Robin whispered. “You’ll sleep.”
Anna said nothing, but she took comfort.
“Leave your nose alone,” Robin said.
The biotech was freakishly intuitive. Anna pulled her hand back under the covers.
“Don’t
breathe in your sleeping bags.” Robin’s voice filled the cramped space
though she spoke quietly. “It’ll