Shelf Life (23 page)

chapter forty-one

I don't even stop to think. Before my brain catches up with my body, I'm stumbling out the door while pulling on my boots. In the barn, I find what I'm looking for—Dad's ax. It might not be in the best shape, but it'll get the job done and doesn't require gas that might freeze up in this weather. I also grab my First Aid kit and a flashlight. Thank goodness Dad harped at me to tune up the ATV and keep the tank full—less likely to freeze that way. It's still warm where Sarah sat on it not five minutes ago. It revs to life beneath me, and before Mom or anyone else can stop me, the headlights diffuse in the falling snow. They almost make it harder to see through the icy mix coming down in glaring sheets.

The lack of trees is the first thing I notice as I approach the Leaher farm. The next thing I notice as I shut off the ATV is the sound of cows in distress. I mean, any time you get a huge industrial-size number of cows together, there's going to be noise, but this is a fevered pitch. These cows are scared. And
scared cows tend to get careless and stampede at the slightest provocation. I steer clear of the barns and turn left toward the house.

Just as Sarah said, there's a huge tree bisecting the back. The electricity is out, making it pitch black except for my headlights. Every couple yards, they illuminate the silhouette of a cow wandering aimlessly in the cold.

I pull up as close as I can to the house then jump, snagging my First Aid case and flashlight in the process.

And trip over something large and solid. It makes a squishing noise when my elbows make contact, warm liquid hitting my face. I blink, shake my head, and aim the flashlight at the ground as I scramble back. Beneath me is the trampled carcass of a Holstein. The tastes of blood and bile fill my mouth as I wipe my face. My sleeve comes back dark with blood. Its metal smell follows me as I step around the body toward the back door.

It’s completely blocked by the tree. On my way around to the front of the house, I bend over and throw up in the snow. I grab a clean handful and scrub it over my face and hands, trying to wash away some of the smell and taste. It’s so white and pure, the opposite of me. My heart races as panic tries to take over. This whole night’s been bat-shit crazy, but I can’t afford to fall apart now.

I climb the five steps to the porch and try the front door. It's locked. Mr. Leaher isn’t around so he must have gotten in somehow. That is, assuming it was Jay driving their pick-up truck.

I can't bring myself to break a window, so I stumble my way back to where the tree crashed into the house. I’m careful to make a wide circle around the cow carcass.

There's a gaping hole in the back left corner of the house. If memory serves me, that's where the master bedroom is, with Jay's being on the other side of the second floor. There's no noise, nothing. Weird as it sounds, I'd been hoping for some cries for help or
something to guide me, but it's completely void of anything. Silent nights aren't as holy as some would have you believe.

Lumber and siding hangs in midair where it was ripped away from the house, while a few random items float through the air on the freezing wind—a small towel, a piece of paper, a curtain. It flutters as if blown by the breath of a child with a birthday cake.

Rough bark digs into my already frozen hands as I try to maneuver my way up the trunk and past the jagged debris jutting from the gaping hole in the wall. Even roof shingles are dangling from the second floor where the top of the tree gouged its way in.

"Hello?" I yell, not really expecting an answer.

"Dad? Over here!"

Shit, that wasn't Jay in the truck, it was Mr. Leaher and Jay is still inside.

"Where are you?" I yell back. Surely he can stop being an asshole in an emergency.

"Who the hell is that? Are you a paramedic? Get over here now! She's bleeding
bad! I can't get her to wake up!" Jay's voice cracks, and I can only assume he's talking about his mom. Seeing your mother bleeding and unresponsive would bring any man to his knees.

I push past the crap lying all over the kitchen floor and turn on my flashlight. With one hand following the wall for guidance and the other tightly wrapped around the flashlight, I sling the handle of the First Aid kit over my wrist.

The inside of the house looks a lot like it did when I was little, but there's no time to take in the scenery except to note that although it's warmer in the house, the cold air is quickly making its presence known. The stairs seem completely intact, but I still test each step as I go up to the second floor. At the top, I turn left and stop to get my bearings.

"Jay?"

There's no answer. "Jay, where are you?"

"In the bedroom."
I follow his voice to the end of the carpeted hall. One of the doors to another bedroom has blown open and cold air swoops through the second floor. I peer in and see the entire exterior wall is caved in, so I close the door behind me and continue to the end of the hall. The floor begins to creak and groan, but there's no turning back now.

"I need help!"
Comes Jay's voice again.

"I'm here." With that, I push open the door and stop dead in my tracks. On the floor near the bed is Mrs. Leaher, her legs twisted at funny angles.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the scene away as the walls close in.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jay's question snaps me out of my brief panic.

"I'm here to help, asshole, what do you think?"

"Go home. My dad's getting help," he says, the cords in his neck bulging.

"No, there's a big tree—bigger than this one—blocking the road. No one can get past it, not your dad and not even an ambulance. He'll probably be back any minute."

"You're lying!"

"You really think I'd lie at a time like this?” I motion toward his mom. “Let me take a look at her."

"Hands off, Twig."

"Come on, you can't really think I came all the way over here in this goddamn storm and I'm just going to turn around without helping. Don't be a hero, Jay."

"Like you know anything."

I point to myself. "Training to be a livestock veterinarian. Doomsday prepper. I know a thing or two about injuries and First Aid."

"On cows, maybe."

"Principals are the same, Jay. How long has she been out?"

"I don't know. Thirty minutes?"

That's a long time to be unconscious. "How much blood loss?"

"Don’t know, but her legs are broken, right? I mean, look at the way they're bent."

I nod. "Yeah, definitely. But the main issues are shock, hypothermia and head injury. Let's start at the top and work our way down."

Slowly, I approach Jay as if he's a wild animal, ready to strike if I move too quickly or pose a threat. With all the cold air coming in the gaping hole, it's nearly freezing in here, and I'm dressed for the weather. Mrs. Leaher is in her nightclothes. They're flannel, but they don't provide much protection against these temperatures. I pull the bedspread off the bed. A corner is stuck under the tree, so it takes a few tugs to get it loose. I gently lay it over her body, careful not to move her at all and to keep it free of her face. Jay cradles her head in his lap, her blood turning his jeans a reddish-purple.

Inside the First Aid kit is a roll of gauze, but I don't think it's enough so I run into the attached bathroom and grab a washcloth. Back in the bedroom, I gently lift her head and place the washcloth underneath. I'm glad to see she's not actively bleeding anymore. She moans a little, and I let out the breath I've been holding. Next, I take her pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. Then I flash my flashlight in her eyes and see that her response is mostly normal.

When I look up, Jay's eyes are on mine, asking what he can't say out loud.

"She's alive, Jay. She’s got a concussion and I’m afraid she’s in shock and has hypothermia, but for now there’s not much we can do except keep her warm. Here, put one of these under each of her armpits.”

I hand him the warming packs I’ve pulled from my emergency bag. He eyes them suspiciously but lifts the blanket and does as I instructed.

Just then, a noise downstairs catches our attention.

"Dad must be back," Jay says, and I can see his face visibly relax.
Looks like the big, tough football player isn't so strong after all.

After a series of stomps, Mr. Leaher appears in the doorway.
"Figured it was your old man. Didn't expect to see you here," he says to me. "That you I passed on the road?"

"Yes. I would've waved you down and told you the road was blocked, but you were going too fast."

"Yeah, you can see why," he says, gesturing toward his wife. "We'll have to do the best we can. She probably won’t make it, anyway."

chapter forty-two

Jay's face gets even whiter than the snowflakes drifting into the room. "We have to try!" Jay blurts out, but he winces and drops his gaze away from his father. The sudden tension is even squickier than falling on top of a trampled cow.

Mr. Leaher shrugs. "Keep her warm. If she wakes up, she'll probably pass out again from pain. I've got some vodka downstairs we can give her."

"Jesus, Dad, this isn't the Wild West! We need an ambulance. Screw it, I'll drive her to the hospital myself!"

"You'll do no such thing, boy."

“You want her gone that badly?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, you little bastard. Didn’t I just drive through a storm to try and get help?”

I can't stand to listen to them bickering any longer. Time is of the essence because eventually, she's going to wake up, and if she stays here any longer, her shock will get worse, and she can add severe frostbite to her list of injuries. "Let's get her downstairs. I can take her to my house with the ATV. We'll have to secure her, or rig some sort of sled, but she can't stay here in this cold. My parents heard the sound of the tree falling and were debating on coming over here themselves except they couldn't, so I know they'd want me to bring her back to our place."

"We don't need your charity, Twig," Jay says. "Go
back home to your whacked out mom and dad and leave us be. We take care of our own."

"That's the stupidest thing you’ve ever said," I reply, looking to Mr. Leaher for back-up. He’s busy inspecting the damage to his bedroom wall.
Unbelievable. “Mr. Leaher, can you help me move her?”

“Hmm?
Oh, sure. Part of the metal roof came off the barn when the trees fell. I can attach it and we can use that as a sled of sorts. Be right back." With that, Mr. Leaher strides out of the room and we hear him bound down the steps. The whole house groans under the duress of his steps.

I don't know what to do with just me and Jay in the room. We stare at each other awkwardly, and I seriously consider following Mr. Leaher outside, but I want to be here if anything changes with Mrs. Leaher. Jay's so emotional he wouldn't be any help at all.

Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, Mr. Leaher's voice cuts through the night. "Boys, bring her down. I've got it ready."

We look at each other for a long minute before moving. "Let's wrap her in the comforter. It'll keep her warm and help stabilize her. If she wakes up, she won't be able to move and hurt herself. You have any duct tape?"

"I am not duct taping my mom, you sick freak."

"If we wrap it around the comforter, it'll keep her snug. You want her to wiggle off the sled and end up in the field between our houses? Stop fighting for once and work with me. I'm trying to help you. Even your dad can see that."

"My dad doesn’t give a rat’s ass. When this is over, it doesn't mean we're friends or that I can even stand being around you."

"Point taken.
And you're welcome."

Jay shakes his head and slowly moves out from underneath his mom. He gently places her head on the floor, and we both move to wrap her up. He doesn't say anything about duct tape, so I raise my eyebrows.
"The tape?"

"Don't have tape, but I've got twine."

"That’ll do. I still remember my Boy Scout knots."

"Glad one of us does," he says.

In five minutes, we've got Mrs. Leaher bound tight and she only moaned a couple times. Getting her down the stairs is difficult, especially since we don't want to touch her injured legs, so Jay supports her head and torso while I walk sideways and cradle her butt and the backs of her knees as best I can. This lady is one tough broad.

Outside, Mr. Leaher delivers. He's got a section of the metal roof tied to the hitch of the ATV. It's a bit narrow, but it's long enough so that her legs don't hang over. That's the most important part. He's also got a length of rope in his hands. "Slide her on, boys," he says, pointing to the makeshift sled. We do, and Mr. Leaher wraps the rope around her body and the sled several times.

When he's done, Mr. Leaher claps me on the back so hard I stumble. "Go to it, boy. We'll follow in the truck." He crooks his finger at Jay, who gives me one last glare before following his Dad. I hop onto the ATV, pray it starts, and exhale when it does. The noise has roused Mrs. Leaher a bit, her head moving back and forth, but she doesn't scream or cry. Slowly, I turn the vehicle toward my house and try to figure out the smoothest way back. Thankfully, the snow is sticking on top of the ice, which will cushion the ride. I'll have to avoid the stover field and go through the orchard.

Slowly, with headlights piercing the dark, we inch forward. Every bump and scrape sets my teeth on edge. Not sure if it’s the cold or my death grip on the steering wheel that’s made my fingers numb. The lights reflect odd shapes ahead. At first, the trees loom dark and mysterious, but the closer we get, the more they begin reflecting light. I don’t understand.

Crunching noises under the ATV’s wheels draw my attention, followed by long, thick crystalline strands reaching from the trees’ branches to the ground. The ice forms finger-like prisons around each tree until we appear to be entering a frozen forbidden garden. It’s dark, it’s cold, and I’m not sure we can make it through.

“Hold on, Mrs. Leaher. It’ll be a miracle if we make it.”

With that, I step on the gas and pray our wheels find traction. At first, they spin, but soon they catch and the ATV jerks forward, the makeshift sled bumping behind. Halfway through the orchard, the headlights illuminate a solid wall of ice spanning from one line of trees to the next, directly blocking our path. Thank goodness I’ve still got Dad’s ax with me. With mostly numb fingers, I pick it up and aim for the middle of the ice wall. The crack echoes over the whine of the engine, bouncing off the darkness that threatens to pull me under if I don’t remain calm.

I try again, and this time the ice cracks. One
more hard whack and it splits. I use the handle to chip away the weak spots, then kick it to topple the rest.

My foot slips. The ground comes up and my head goes down, the back slamming into the fucking frozen tundra. Still tender from my fall earlier in the day, I yell as pain radiates from my skull, down my neck and into my shoulders. For a few seconds, I do nothing but stare up at the snowflakes tumbling straight at my face from dark heights.

It’s tempting, this urge to give up. I could just lie here until the cold makes everything numb. It would be a welcome change to have no worries, no responsibilities, no one’s life in my hands. Stay here and dream of the future I was supposed to have instead of the reality that’s robbed me of all semblance of peace of mind.

The snowflakes continue to tumble down, stinging my open eyes as I stare at their infinite progress from the heavens to this hell below. Their ability to freefall makes me envious. Just like people, each one is unique, yet they have the same purpose and meet the same end. They’re formed by chemical bonds of hydrogen and oxygen, and during their short or long lives, they sometimes go it alone, and sometimes form bonds with others of their kind. Alone, they don’t accomplish much, but together, the possibilities are endless. Beautiful, deadly, delicate, yet—

“
Ehhhhn!
” Mrs. Leaher’s cry tears through the night, breaking my trance. After a few blinks, I tell my muscles to push us off the damn ground, but they won’t obey, so I begin by wiggling my toes and fingers. After moderate success, I bend my elbows, bring up my arms and wave them above my head to get the blood flowing again. They tingle, as do my legs when I manage to bend my knees. After that, I roll to my side and tamp down my gag reflex when the world spins. Guess I hit my head pretty hard. An inappropriate laugh works its way out when I think that no wonder Jay is such an idiot. All those knocks to the head playing football messed with his brain. Just two and I’m a laughing maniac.

His mother’s gone silent by the time I reach her, eyes closed with snow in her blood-matted hair. My laughter dies. The dizziness remains, and a half-mile separates us from the house.

I climb back onto the ATV, grip the handlebars, and guide us past trees frozen solid, praying no more obstacles lie ahead.