Page 52 of Home Town Advantage
The temperature has dropped, and the wind has picked up, but the snow hasn’t started just yet. I got a notification on my phone that the power is out at Finn’s cabin and the generator hasn’t kicked on.
It looks like I have a few hours before the supposed storm of the century hits. Meteorologists are warning that the snowfall will be at historic levels. I have no idea when else I’ll be able to get up to the cabin and am afraid to wait. If the temperature inthe house drops and the water in the pipes freezes, the place will flood when it warms up again.
My father is out making sure heaters are working everywhere. Despite my mother’s protests, I decide to head up to the cabin about an hour away. I’m hoping it’s a quick fix and I can turn around, getting me back home before the storm gets too bad.
I grab a handful of tools and throw them in a bag. I also throw in a box of granola bars and a few cans of soup on the off chance I need to ride out the storm up there. My Girl Scout group motto was to hope for the best but prepare for the worst.
VANCE
I look up at the sky as I help my father ensure all the animals are fed before the snow worsens. The storm hit earlier than projected and is coming in super-fast. We already have eight inches on the ground with no end in sight. And it’s unusually cold, much more so than a normal storm. I don’t ever remember a storm this bad. It’s being called a bomb blizzard.
I got home last night. My season ended earlier than I thought it would. I was in the process of moving when I saw a bad storm was coming to my hometown. I knew my father would need me. I hopped on the first flight out of Philly, which ended up being the last one they allowed to land in Helena before they shut down the airport indefinitely.
Over the deafening sounds of the hurling wind, I yell out, “Dad, we should get back to the house.”
The man is in his mid-sixties. He shouldn’t be running around in this weather. The well-below-freezing temperatures are dangerous for anyone, let alone a man his age.
We make our way to the main house and walk inside. Iimmediately remove my sweater, which got wet and is practically a frozen icicle, leaving me in a T-shirt and damp jeans.
MeeMaw greets me at the door and holds her hands out. “Give me that sweater, tiny Vancer. I’ll throw it in the dryer.”
I hand it to her as I chuckle at the new nickname. She has an endless supply of them. “Thank you.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Thank me in a few hours. I’m making your favorite snow day meal.”
I smile. “Your special chili?”
She winks and does a little dance. “I loaded up on Tums and Gas-X. Be sure to take a few. I don’t want you farting while we’re snowed in. You’ll stink up the joint.”
I can only shake my head at her while I hear my mother on the phone, saying, “Keep us updated, Nancy. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
She hangs up and walks toward us with a worried look on her face.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
She turns her head toward me with concerned eyes. “Nancy is worried about Frank and Sulley. They’re not home.”
My eyes widen. “Where the hell are they?”
“Frank is being Frank and making sure every heater in the town is working properly. Sulley went up to the cabin. There was some sort of power issue, and she wanted to fix it before the storm came in. The snow has started, and she can’t get hold of Sulley. You know there’s no reception up there. Nancy is worried sick.”
“Where are my keys?”
She shakes her head. “You can’t drive in this Vance. Your old truck won’t make it up there at this point. The roads are covered in ice.”
I find my keys, grab my jacket, and head right out the door to the loud protests of my family. What if she got stuck and is freezing to death? I can’t sit here and do nothing.
A little over an hour later, I see thesnow-covered sign for Beartooth Mountains. I smile thinking of my favorite Miley Cyrus song and the fact that Sulley remembered it. The sign means I’m about a mile out from the cabin.
Suddenly, my truck makes a few weird noises and then stalls out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I try everything to get her up and running but have no luck.
Do I try to walk the last mile or try to fix my truck? If I stay and can’t fix it, I could very well freeze to death out here. I make the decision to walk the last mile through what must already be nearly two feet of snow.
Forty-five excruciating minutes later, the cabin finally comes into view. I’ve never been this cold in my life. My clothes are wet and icy. My hair has icicles hanging from it. Actual icicles. I can’t feel my fingers or toes. I think I’m minutes away from hypothermia setting in, if it hasn’t already.
I see her car. At least I know she made it here in one piece.
I just need to make it to the cabin. The door approaches, but my vision begins to blur. That’s when everything goes dark.
