Page 76 of Something Like Winter
Chapter Seventeen
Cold. No matter how fast he walked—even when sprinting up a hill so fast it left him dizzy—Tim was cold. With no sense of time, he didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but now he was sure he’d been close to town when he wrecked the snowmobile. Judging from the way the snowmobile tracks weaved back and forth, he was drunker than he thought, probably since breakfast had been his last meal.
Something else was wrong. Tim’s right arm was soaked, the inside of his sleeve drenched, but not in sweat. He was sure he was bleeding from his wound, but didn’t dare strip off his jacket to check lest more of winter’s death touch his skin. Snow brings silence, and as Tim slipped and fell more and more often, he was sure that silence was coming for him.
Reaching the valley nearest the cabin, Tim picked up the pace, his breath shallow, hardly showing in the air as heat anymore. When he crested another hill and saw the cabin, he made a joyous croaking noise, feeling like his mother had finally noticed him crying with a scuffed knee and picked him up. Tim fought off a wave of exhaustion, his thoughts barely making sense anymore. All he knew was that he needed to get inside the place of light and warmth.
Tim hit the door in a panic to get it open, terrified that he would be locked out. The door opened and he stumbled inside, struggling with choices. Fireplace. Hot tub. Sauna. Shower. That last one sounded the best. Tim stripped as he walked toward the bathroom, every part of him numb except his arm, which screamed with pain. He glanced at it once his jacket was off and saw a mess of dried and fresh blood, but he refused to look further. Not until he was warm and the blood was washed away.
The shower water felt hot to his frozen skin, even when he first turned it on, but as soon as he saw steam he stepped beneath the flow. He ached as sensation returned, blood flowing again and his arm stinging because of the open wound. He tried to keep it sheltered from the water’s direct impact while he cleaned it. The wound was worse than he had imagined. The stick hadn’t just punctured him; it had left a five inch tear in his skin. Even as water washed away the blood, more was still flowing.
Tim felt dizzy, on the threshold of passing out. He pressed against the shower wall until he was steady again. Then he shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and barely patted himself dry before wrapping it tightly around his upper arm to slow the bleeding.
Please let there be a first aid kit! Tim had seen a freaking apple corer in the kitchen. If they had that, then surely they also kept bandages or something here. He checked the medicine cabinet, which was empty, then under the sink, where a white plastic box with a red cross on it became the world’s most valuable treasure. He grabbed it and shifted through the contents, finding antiseptic. How infectious could a tree be? Instead he went for the gauze, covering the wound with every bit before wrapping it around with cloth bandage. He made sure this was tight to stop the blood flow before he taped it.
Tim stared at the bandages, waiting for red to seep through. When it didn’t, he looked in the mirror and nearly flinched at his reflection. His nose was puffy and swollen, blood and dirt still crusting the edges. Hell, he felt like each nostril was stuffed full of that combination, but he was too tired to wash anymore. Heading for the nearest bedroom, Tim slipped beneath the down comforter. Toasty. Warm. Safe.
When he woke, the day was bright and the birds were chirping their pretty little heads off. Tim was shivering, but the comforter was still wrapped around him. Despite the chill, he was sweating, his head burning hot. His throat felt like he had swallowed hot powdered glass, so he forced himself from bed to get a drink. Shoulder and arm throbbing, he glanced blearily at the bandages which were dark now. He had probably slept on it and made it bleed again, but he was sure the dressings were tight enough to stop the blood flow.
Tim cupped his hands under the bathroom faucet and managed four handfuls before he decided he wasn’t done sleeping. Just a little more rest, and he would get up and pull himself together. He probably needed to eat, but the thought of food turned his stomach. Crawling back into bed, he covered his head with the extra pillow to shut out the light. When he opened his eyes again, the pillow was gone and the room was dark. The birds had fallen silent.
Night already? But Tim had bigger concerns. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He threw off the blanket and started shivering, his arm throbbing like it had a heart of its own.
“I’m so fucked up,” he said to the room, but he couldn’t hear anything except the television downstairs, still on after, what? A day? His mind reeled in confusion. Was Travis sitting down there watching TV? Tim nearly called out when events caught up to him. He lay in bed, his breath labored as he tried to make sense of his situation. The cabin had seemed a sanctuary when they first arrived, warm and full of potential. Now the room around him had grown dark and alien.
He would die here if he didn’t get help. Tim felt sure of it. If he could get downstairs to his phone, he could call someone, but first he needed to build up his strength. Tim braced himself to get out of bed but instead dozed off again. When he jerked awake, outside was still just as dark, but he heard tires on the gravel drive.
Travis had come back! Sorry for their fight, sorry for the things he had said, Travis had turned around and come back. Tim would forgive him, give him another chance, do anything he could to make it right, and this sickness would flee his body to be replaced by love.
“Tim?”
The voice wasn’t right. When it called out again, he realized he hadn’t answered and shouted a reply, his throat aching. Footsteps on the stairs, a light in the hallway. A silhouette filled the door before the lamp above him switched on. Then he saw the face he wanted to see most, the one who could make everything right again.
Eric.
“Are you okay?” Eric pressed a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”
“I’ve felt better.”
“Can you sit up?”
Tim nodded and grunted with effort, the blanket slipping off his chest and exposing his arm. Eric’s face registered shock, and when Tim followed his gaze, he saw the black cherry color beneath the bandages and the crust of blood surrounding them.
“What happened to you?”
Tim smacked his lips, mouth like sandpaper. “I had an accident with the snowmobile. I think I’m sick.”
Eric’s laugh was manic. “We need to get you to a hospital! Can you make it to the car?”
Tim thought so. Now that Eric was here, his head felt clearer and he realized how fucked up he was. Taking a walk through the cold, even getting cut, that didn’t make a person sick. Not like this.
“Tim?”
“Huh? Yeah. I can make it. But stay by me.”
Tim managed to stand. Eric left the room when he saw Tim was nude and returned with a bathrobe and slippers. As soon as Tim was covered, Eric put an arm around him and walked him down the stairs. Tim was doing okay. He could stand on his own. He just felt like complete shit.
“I’ll bring the car around to the door,” Eric said, seating Tim on the shoe bench in the entryway.
