then raised it again, turning to the right as much as the pain from her ribs would let her. About fifty feet away was a small wood house. A tattered American flag flew from a pole in the front yard, and dead flowers lined the side of the house she could see. The building was dark and silent under the evening sky.
Goosebumps rippled down her skin as the cold wind swept over her. Get up. She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as her ribs screamed in protest. Get up. “It hurts.” she whispered to the uncaring sky. Get up, now. Or you’ll die here. She bit down on her lip and carefully turned onto her stomach. From there she got to her hands and knees, and then very slowly to her feet, using the dead antelope for support. By the time she was upright full night had fallen and she was sick with agony. By the light of a half moon Nowen could see the shadowy outline of the house against the black landscape. She began to pick her way over the stony ground toward it.
Nowen walked in a cold-and-pain fueled haze. The tiny breaths she was forced to take made her feel light-headed. The rough earth cut her bare feet and the light snow froze them. The fiery ache along her right side throbbed with every careful step she took, and the wind whipped itself into a frenzy that wrapped her in a bitter shawl. She stumbled over something hard, saving herself from a fall by wind-milling her arms desperately. Raising her head, she saw that she was finally at the house. Three low steps rose up to a worn wooden door. She tried the door-knob; it was unlocked, and the door swung open on a cold, dark interior.
All her limbs trembled with exhaustion and icy tears froze on her cheeks but a tiny piece of self-preservation exerted itself. She found a light-switch just inside the door and flipped it, hoping against hope for the miracle of light. No luck. She tried to yell but couldn’t make a sound louder than a gaspy whisper. She settled for slapping her hand against the wall and waited for a response.
There was no sound, no movement from inside the house. I’m going to collapse. I have to take a chance. Nowen stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. Her eyes burned for a moment, and then her surroundings became visible to her, all the colors faded in her sight. The house smelled stale and musty, as if it had been closed up for some time. Her eyes lit on an old couch that sat against one wall of the room and she made her tortuous way over to it. A blue-starred quilt lay across the back, and as Nowen sunk onto the shabby cushions she pulled it across her icy body. She huddled beneath the quilt and listened to the wind.
Chapter Eleven
Now
Nowen leaned on the ski poles and glared up at the fading sun. Her breath was visible in the cold air, pale streams that disappeared in the wind. She untied her heavy parka from around her waist and pulled it on as she watched dark clouds spill like ink across the sky. Withdrawing several folded sheets of paper from an inside pocket she studied them, the strengthening breeze tugging at the map pages in her hands as she tried to determine where she was.
I vastly overrated my skiing ability, Nowen thought, as she traced her route with her finger. Since she had left Laramie yesterday morning she had only covered about twelve miles. The easy mile-or-less trips she had made on fresh powder back in Laramie had not prepared her for long slogs through slushy snow and over icy ridges. Maybe I should have taken I-80 East. According to the road atlas she had liberated from an abandoned car, there were two main routes out of Laramie. One was a major highway, I-80, that led east to Cheyenne. From there she could follow I-25 south to Colorado and Ft. Collins. The other way was shorter but the road, US 287 according to the map, seemed to be an older highway and would perhaps be more treacherous than I-80, but also less populated. Her desire to reach Exeter as fast as possible and the chance of avoiding
Goosebumps rippled down her skin as the cold wind swept over her. Get up. She took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as her ribs screamed in protest. Get up. “It hurts.” she whispered to the uncaring sky. Get up, now. Or you’ll die here. She bit down on her lip and carefully turned onto her stomach. From there she got to her hands and knees, and then very slowly to her feet, using the dead antelope for support. By the time she was upright full night had fallen and she was sick with agony. By the light of a half moon Nowen could see the shadowy outline of the house against the black landscape. She began to pick her way over the stony ground toward it.
Nowen walked in a cold-and-pain fueled haze. The tiny breaths she was forced to take made her feel light-headed. The rough earth cut her bare feet and the light snow froze them. The fiery ache along her right side throbbed with every careful step she took, and the wind whipped itself into a frenzy that wrapped her in a bitter shawl. She stumbled over something hard, saving herself from a fall by wind-milling her arms desperately. Raising her head, she saw that she was finally at the house. Three low steps rose up to a worn wooden door. She tried the door-knob; it was unlocked, and the door swung open on a cold, dark interior.
All her limbs trembled with exhaustion and icy tears froze on her cheeks but a tiny piece of self-preservation exerted itself. She found a light-switch just inside the door and flipped it, hoping against hope for the miracle of light. No luck. She tried to yell but couldn’t make a sound louder than a gaspy whisper. She settled for slapping her hand against the wall and waited for a response.
There was no sound, no movement from inside the house. I’m going to collapse. I have to take a chance. Nowen stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. Her eyes burned for a moment, and then her surroundings became visible to her, all the colors faded in her sight. The house smelled stale and musty, as if it had been closed up for some time. Her eyes lit on an old couch that sat against one wall of the room and she made her tortuous way over to it. A blue-starred quilt lay across the back, and as Nowen sunk onto the shabby cushions she pulled it across her icy body. She huddled beneath the quilt and listened to the wind.
Chapter Eleven
Now
Nowen leaned on the ski poles and glared up at the fading sun. Her breath was visible in the cold air, pale streams that disappeared in the wind. She untied her heavy parka from around her waist and pulled it on as she watched dark clouds spill like ink across the sky. Withdrawing several folded sheets of paper from an inside pocket she studied them, the strengthening breeze tugging at the map pages in her hands as she tried to determine where she was.
I vastly overrated my skiing ability, Nowen thought, as she traced her route with her finger. Since she had left Laramie yesterday morning she had only covered about twelve miles. The easy mile-or-less trips she had made on fresh powder back in Laramie had not prepared her for long slogs through slushy snow and over icy ridges. Maybe I should have taken I-80 East. According to the road atlas she had liberated from an abandoned car, there were two main routes out of Laramie. One was a major highway, I-80, that led east to Cheyenne. From there she could follow I-25 south to Colorado and Ft. Collins. The other way was shorter but the road, US 287 according to the map, seemed to be an older highway and would perhaps be more treacherous than I-80, but also less populated. Her desire to reach Exeter as fast as possible and the chance of avoiding
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