Shelf Life (21 page)

chapter thirty-seven

Turns out she wasn’t exaggerating. The yard is a goddamn skating rink, complete with pools of ice in the low spots and branches down in the orchard. Next year’s crop is doomed. We’ll be lucky if a single tree survives. The pump house roof leaked, meaning the pump is encased in ice and we’ve got a limited supply of water. No wonder she jumped in the shower so quickly. She’s using the last of the hot water as I stand here.

The sun sits low in the sky, casting the yard and fields beyond in a gray cloud of spray and ice. I turn in a circle, taking stock of all the things that could go wrong if the temperature drops a few more degrees. With everything so wet and the rain still falling, this is a disaster in the making. I’ve seen ice storms before, but never have branches begun falling even before the rain turns to ice, and never have I known of a storm this early in the season. These things happen in the spring all the time, but I’m totally unprepared to deal with this now.

Bennie runs up with feathers sticking out of her mouth.
What the…?

“Show me, girl.” She takes off at a trot but her hind legs slip and she wipes out on her belly. After that, she walks more gingerly. We pick our way across the pasture to the field of
stover. She stops behind the equipment shed. At her feet is the frozen body of a hen, missing the wing that’s not stuck to the ground. There’s not even any blood, indicating she’d been dead and frozen long before Bennie discovered her. Hoping there’s something to salvage, I bend down and attempt to free her from her ice-encrusted grave.

After a few unproductive tugs, I work my fingers under her body. I can’t feel anything with these gloves on so I slip them off and tuck them into my coat pocket. Her head isn’t important, so I begin at the other end, using the heat of my skin to melt just enough ice to slowly work the body free. Within seconds, my fingers are numb. I continue working, determined not to let her death be in vain despite the threat of frostbite. Because I can’t feel anything, I must overestimate the pressure I’m exerting because the hen’s body suddenly pulls free of the ground with a
crack
, leaving her other wing stuck to the grass. I fall backward on my ass, my jeans immediately soaked. Bennie yips.

“Calm down, girl. It’s just a—” But she’s not paying any attention to the wingless chicken in my hands. Instead, she’s prancing in place and licking her paws, so I scoop her up, too. With a mutilated chicken tucked under one arm and Bennie in the other, I stumble around the corner of the shed, past the maple trees. I cut through the pasture and just when I think I’m going to make it to the house without incident, the ground shakes as a huge branch from one of the sugar maples crashes to the ground, inches from the path we just took.

Bennie leaps from my grasp, landing on her feet, but she soon loses her footing and flops onto her belly again. She attempts to get up, but she falls once more, this time letting out a small whine when she hits the ground. I don’t think she’s hurt, just scared.

I scoop her up a second time, but it’s my turn to hit the ground. My head bounces off the frozen earth and all the air leaves my lungs in a
whoosh
. My chest tightens and I need to cough, but the air won’t move, my lungs paralyzed. For a second, I imagine my mom or Lindsey finding me here in the morning, sprawled on my back with a fucking wingless chicken at my side and Bennie matted and frozen, gnawing on my ear in an attempt to survive.

After an eternity, my burning lungs begin to cooperate, pushing air in and out. I wipe the rain out of my eyes, noting that there’s ice on my brows and lashes. Even my damn nose hairs are brittle. I finally get to my feet and stumble past the barn, past the chicken coop—I’m beyond caring if the other chickens have made it inside—past the frozen pump
house and to the front door. Mom’s there propping it open as Bennie pushes past my feet, impatient at my pace.

“What on Earth?” Mom asks, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

“Ice storm coming. Bennie found this one frozen to the ground already.” I toss the chicken into the sink. “If you process her now, she’ll probably still be okay to eat, but you better cook her soon. Power might go out at any moment.”

Mom raises an eyebrow. “You think I can’t cook without electricity? What do you take me for, some city chick?”

“While I’m sure there’s a bad joke about chicks in there,” I start, gesturing at the chicken in the sink, “we couldn’t afford to get the propane tank filled so you’d have to use the fireplace. Now, I’ve got to check on the girls and make sure the barn’s okay. I’ll work on the pump house after that.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Mom asks.

“Frozen solid.”

“Well, crap,” she says. “I can cook without electricity, but not without running water, too. I’ll have to break into the reserves. Okay, you go do that, and I’ll get this poor dear ready to eat. Biscuits sound good with it?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

She shakes her head but smiles. “Go.”

I’m halfway to the barn when I remember to look at my watch. Lindsey will be done with work in an hour. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her drive home in her rear-wheel drive, piece-of-shit car. With tingly fingers, I send her a quick text: “Ice is bad. I’ll pick you up in an hour. No arguments.” Realizing that’s sure to piss her off, I tack on, “Please?” I add a smiley face and hit send.

All three of the girls are fine, happily munching on hay, oblivious to the
shitstorm brewing outside. I give them more feed, make sure their water troughs aren’t frozen over, pat their rumps, and out I go, literally skating on thin ice. My pants and the back of my coat are stiff from when I fell and got wet. It takes a bit of effort to extract the keys to the SUV from my pocket, and even more effort to pry open the door. It cracks as the ice gives way. Inside, it’s dry but cold. I pray to Henry Ford that the engine turns over.

It doesn’t.
Because that would be too easy. After taking a second to bang my forehead on the steering wheel, I try again. This time it catches. I crank up the defroster and switch the stereo from CD to the radio, hoping for a weather update, not that there’s much to say other than, “Hey, it’s shitty and dangerous outside. Don’t be a chump and drive anywhere.”

Normally, I’d be one of those people making fun of the morons who think they can beat Mother Nature and wind up in a ditch or wrapped around a telephone pole.
This evening, not so much. My heart is three miles down the road and it won’t stop racing until I’ve got Lindsey safe and sound. By the time I scrape off the windshield, there’s a text waiting. “Closing early. Going to try to get home. Thanks anyway.”

“Oh, hell no.”
I tap out a reply: “STAY PUT. LEAVING NOW.”

Why do girls have to be so stubborn? That’s what goes through my head when I throw the Explorer into drive—not overdrive—and slowly pull onto the road. These tires needed replacing months ago so a little traction is too much to ask for. There are small branches down here and
there, including along the fence line that runs our property.

I’m so busy taking stock of the damage that I’m not paying attention and the Explorer fishtails. My first reaction is to grip the wheel tighter and correct my course, but my training takes over and I loosen my grip, take my foot off both the gas and the brake, and shift the SUV into four-wheel drive. She responds immediately. I pet the dash, murmuring, “That’s my girl. We’re almost there.”

And then I see the Monte Carlo.

chapter thirty-eight

W
ell, the front of the Monte Carlo sticking out of the culvert on the south side of the road. Its headlights pierce the freezing rain now pelting from the sky in sheets. I barely feel the cold as I throw the SUV in park and leap out. The car’s buried to its back axels in frozen slush, but fuck the car. There’s precious cargo inside, and from what I can tell, that cargo’s not moving.

I pound on the window, but Lindsey doesn’t respond. Of course the
door’s locked. I let loose a string of words my mother would not approve of while making my way to the passenger side, holding onto the front bumper for support. Thank goodness, the car’s old enough that it doesn’t have automatic locks and this side’s open. Lindsey’s purse and its contents are strewn all over the floor of the car, while Lindsey sits perfectly still with her eyes open.

Swear to God, for one whole, long-ass second, I’m afraid she’s dead, but then her hands begin twitching.
Rhythmically. I unbuckle her seatbelt and pull her to me, practically dragging her into my lap while yelling, “Lindsey! Snap out of it! Talk to me. Are you hurt?” Once again, I’ve abandoned my First Aid training and moved an injured victim, but at this point, I’m concerned with the twitching going on.

My fingers search through her hair, but they come out clean, no trace of blood at all. Okay, so no lacerations. That doesn’t rule out a concussion. I take
a quick look at her blank eyes. The pupils are the same size, thank God. So what the hell’s going on? I’m just about to call an ambulance when she takes a big breath, squinting and blinking rapidly as if confronted with a bright light.

“
Linds?” Her answer is a gurgling sound. “Lindsey, can you hear me?”

Her fingers tighten around mine. Angels sing in the distance—which is a
helluva lot better than the grim reaper. “Lindsey, you were in an accident. Does anything hurt?”

She swallows a few times. I watch her throat work, willing her to look at me or say something. She doesn’t.

I reach for my phone to call an ambulance. Just as my hand closes around it, a thunderclap echoes through the trees, followed by a
whoosh
. Snow and ice kick up a cloud. When it settles, a giant maple tree sprawls across the road to our east—the direction of Crestlane. With the next town a good twenty miles west and the roads getting worse by the minute, we’re effectively stranded. No ambulance could get through and who knows when someone will come by with a chain saw, because in pieces is the only way that motherfucker’s coming off the road.

“Okay, it’s you and me,
Linds. I need to move you to the Explorer. Can you walk a little?” She nods and her teeth begin to chatter. Whether from the cold or shock, I don’t know. She’s practically dead weight as I drag her out of the front seat and into the freezing rain.

If I weren’t so scared, it would actually be pretty. Each branch and blade of grass is encased in ice,
giving the woods the feel of a glass forest set against a charcoal sky. Unfortunately, my passenger door is also frozen over. I don’t have a lighter. I set Lindsey down on the slick pavement then search her pockets. Empty.

The driver’s side is stuck, too, but the ice isn’t as thick. Dad’s going to kill me for ruining the paint job, but I flick open my utility knife, jab it through the ice, and push, using the blade as a lever.

The door cracks a little. I move up and down the door, repeating the process. Finally, after what seems like an hour but it’s probably only a couple minutes, the door gives and I’m able to pull it open. I slip in, crank up the heat, and throw myself at the passenger door.

No luck. I can’t leave Lindsey out there on the ground any longer. Somehow, her ass freezing to the ground isn’t as funny as a dead chicken’s
wing.

She’s practically blue. “Lindsey, we’ve got to move to the other side of the truck. Climb on my back.” I bend down and pull her hands over my shoulders, but she can’t even curl her fingers enough to get a hold.

Shit.

That’s when I know it’s really hitting the fan and this is go-time. I dead-lift her over my shoulder and carefully pick my way around the Explorer, my hand on the warm hood for stability. I’ll get no points for grace, but I manage to dump her into the driver’s seat then lift and push her over into the passenger seat.
Fucking console. Once she’s buckled, I aim the heat vents at her, take off my crusty barn coat and drape it over her lap. She closes her eyes and leans against the door.

“Oh, no you don’t. Keep your eyes open, Lindsey. We’ll be home in just a few minutes.”

Which is a total lie since the road is now a fucking obstacle course.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Mmmm," she says. Her eyes are moving in more than one direction now, but they're still a bit unfocused.

"Does anything hurt?" This time she wobbles her head the slightest bit. Lindsey's had problems in the past and I know about her alleged brain damage (not that I've seen evidence of it), but this makes me wonder if something else isn't going on. Of course, I could totally be flipping and trying to deny that she hit her head when she crashed the car. Which came first? Did she crash because something happened, like a seizure? Or did she have a seizure because she was under stress and crashed the car? All I know for sure is that I don't have time to figure it out.

Job number one is to get us out of here, somewhere warm, and get Lindsey medical attention. I know how to take care of animals, but dealing with a human is a whole lot different than birthing a calf or treating cracked teats.

The road ahead is a solid sheet of ice and the freezing rain hasn't let up. It wouldn't be so bad if it
were snow, but this ice is lethal and tricky as hell to drive on. Doesn't help that the county isn't so great about keeping up the street lights in these parts. Thank God I know the area well. With one hand on the wheel and one on Lindsey's leg to calm her—okay, to calm
me
—I slowly edge the Explorer back onto the slick pavement. The tires grind a few seconds before they find traction. Once again, I take it out of overdrive and slowly creep into the middle of the road. I mean, it’s barely two lanes as it is. No one else is stupid enough to be out in this so that's the silver lining—that we have the road to ourselves and don't have to worry about hurting anyone else. Still, it would be nice to see a First Responder or hell, any somewhat-trained adult out here.

Then it hits me. I
am
a trained adult.
Me
. No degree, no certificate, but damn if I haven't been doing this my whole life. Kind of hard not to when your dad was in the Army and tells tales of the disgusting injuries he saw. Plus, watching and assisting a cow give birth to a calf is not for the faint of heart. And yet, nothing can prepare you for seeing your best friend, the person who means most to you in the world, incapacitated. Hurting. Confused. She isn't the only one confused.

She makes a sound that draws me out of my head and back into the cab of the Explorer.

"You okay, Linds? Can you talk to me?"

"Yeah," she says. It's the best goddamn thing I've heard all day.

"You know what happened?"

"What?"

"What happened? I texted you and told you to wait for me at work, that I'd come pick you up. You know your piece-of-shit Monte Carlo can't handle this weather."

"Sorry," she says, but it comes out more of a mumble.

"I'm just glad I found you when I did. God, if I weren't so worried, I'd be pissed at you, you know that?"

"
Mmm," she says again. Which isn't her MO. By now, she'd normally be jumping down my throat, and not in a good way. I'm being an ass for berating her, but I guess I'm trying to get a reaction out of her. It's not working.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we, Lindsey?"

"Car?"

"Yeah, but who's car?"

After a few seconds, she says, "Huh?"

"Okay, let's try something else. What's my name?"

She slowly cranes her neck to look at me. What I see makes the frost bite from being outside seem like a freaking sauna compared to the chill running down my spine.

Her eyes are blank.