Nick stood outside, watching his father fight against the small jacket. His father looked like a badger with the fluffy hood around his face. Nick didn’t understand why they had to come to this snow-covered hell. He didn’t want to understand.
“Go get another jacket on, Nickie. We’ll be out for a while.” His father turned around and starting stacking equipment onto the sled. Nick nodded and ducked back into the tent. He grabbed the tan one. He had decided to leave it behind because it had holes in the armpits, but he wasn’t going to argue with his father.
“Where are we going again, Dad?” Nick asked. He knew where they were going, but Nick thought that if his dad repeated it, maybe he would change his mind. “We’re going to that small cabin over the ridge. There’s an old man that needs a cast for his arm.” His father cinched his hood a little tighter, looking staunch in his determination.
They started their trek across the snow plain, leaving two sets of mismatched prints behind them. Nick gripped the heat pad as if it was his life source. Wiggling his toes, he felt the ones in his socks moving with his stride. He wished that he could string one to his nose. That would keep him comfortable. His next step was caught by the sled behind him.
“Sorry, Nickie. Can you walk a little faster?” his father asked. His voice was starting to shiver.
“Ok.” Nick picked up his pace, and soon they were almost to the front of the cabin. As they approached, Nick saw that all the windows on one side were broken. The logs had slashes all along the window panes. Nick started to feel sick in his stomach, without really knowing why. His father had tried to keep him from being too yellow, but sometimes it creeped out in the worst of times.
“Nick. Stop.” His father quit pushing the sled and walked around to stand by Nick. He started digging through the duffel bags until he took out a signal flare and his Colt 1911. We sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to pick out a sound from the cabin over the whirlwind. His father crept up to the door, with Nick a few steps behind. The door was ajar, so his father peaked in. A stench wafted out. Nick closed his eyes. His father sighed and stood up. “Nick. Go back to the sled. There’s nothing for you to see here.”
“Dad, what is it?”
“Are you sure you can handle it?”
His question came out very slow, and Nick wanted it to be true. “Yes sir.” His father motioned to the door, with an undefinable emotion taking over his features. Nick peaked his head in, only to yank it back. Inside the cabin was an old man with a very pale face. He was laying flat on the floor, with dried blood caked around deep gouges in his neck and stomach. Nick decided he would never question his father ever again. They turned around and started their walk back to the campsite.
Sheetal Tadiparty
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