Ice clung to my beard, turning my face
into a glassy portrait. I only needed to travel one more mile to the
base camp – warmth- but this wasn't exactly a Sunday stroll around
the local park.
No, this was Alaska. The winters up
here do their best to kill you. Fuck.
I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'd
signed up for a summer shift on the rig – a last minute
cancellation and the promise of triple my salary kept me around as
the seasons changed. Of course, what they lavished on my, they
skimped on my equipment – so here I am, busted truck twenty-some
miles behind me, camp tantalizingly close.
I knew I had to keep going, but my body
objected at every step. “Warmth!” it cried out. “Fire!”
My will, never one to stand up to a
challenge, finally left me. I curled into a ball, shivering, dying
beside the road.
Less than a mile from safety.
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