Page 19 of Saddles

Why am I slowing down?

Because I can’t make my thumb work anymore.

If I lean forward, I can just push the throttle with my elbow.

When the dump of adrenaline wanes, an overwhelming exhaustion starts to tug at me.

I’m so damn tired.

At least the cold makes the pain fade.

There isn’t another tree in sight. If I just close my eyes for a second, I can coast for a little bit.

Damn it.

I’ve stopped. Must have slipped off the gas.

Once I start moving again, I can see the dot is so freaking close on the tiny screen, but feels like it’s still miles away.

I can’t sleep, even as the fatigue clutches at my vision, gnaws at my focus, and tries to drag me into the quiet darkness.

The whine of the engine gets louder.

Fuck, I’m going too fast!

I sit up, but not in time to avoid a huge pine tree.

The skis run up one of the thick roots, launching me, and the snow machine, into the air.

When I land, all the air is knocked out of my lungs, and stars burst behind my eyes.

I can still hear the motor screaming in the night.

My arms and legs don’t listen to my inner pleading to get up.

Maybe I broke my back and I’m paralyzed?

Nothing hurts.

Just kind of a warm lulling sound of my heart beat as the snow starts to gather on my face shield.

This isn’t so bad.

I feel fuzzy.

A little nap won’t hurt, will it?

Heat swells through my body and I feel like I’m floating.

Only a tapping sound echoes from the distance.

The deep voice sounds like it’s coming through water. “Who are you?”

Tiny stinging snowflakes land on my cheeks, rousing me just enough that I can squeak out two words before the void takes me.

“Help me.”

Chapter 7

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