I found the depression in the snow where the Jeep had been. This must be a boat launch in the summer, I thought. Now, how long did we have to drive down here once we left the main road?
I headed straight down the access road. In the dim light it was no more than a narrow opening in the trees. My feet were numb. My hands were hurting. I didn’t know which was worse.
I lost my footing and fell into the snow. When I got up, I wrapped the pants more tightly around my neck and kept going. What did that article say about the next level of hypothermia? You get the “umbles.” Fumble, stumble, mumble, grumble. Is that me yet? I kept walking, rhyming the words in my head. Fumble, stumble, mumble, grumble, bumble, rumble, crumble.
At least the snow isn’t as deep here. And the wind isn’t so bad. It’s downright balmy, isn’t it? I do believe I’m starting to feel quite warm here. This would make a lovely vacation spot.
I fell down into the snow again. I pushed myself back up to my knees and stopped.
Get up, goddamn it. Get on your feet. If you stop, you’re dead.
I got up. I kept going.
Just keep walking. Straight ahead. The road is this way. Get to the road.
Bumble. Tumble. Trumble. What’s trumble? It’s the name of a street. But it’s spelled Trumbull. Michigan and Trumbull. Tiger Stadium is on the corner of Michigan and Trumbull.
Keep walking. Get to the road.
Things to do when I get back home. Take a hot bath. Sit by the fire. Drink some hot coffee.
I fell down again.
Get up. Get up or die.
I got up, snow clinging to my face.
Move to Florida. Lie on a beach. Get a suntan.
I kept walking. One foot and then the other, through the snow, straight ahead through the trees.
How long did we drive down this road? I don’t remember. How long have I been walking? I don’t remember starting. I’ve been walking in the snow all my life.
God, my hands hurt. God, my face hurts. My feet aren’t numb anymore. My feet hurt now, too. This is how Bruckman felt. Curled up there in that shack. Waiting to die. I wonder if he felt that water when he went in.
Humble. Lumble. Is that a word? Jumble.
Finally, I came to the main road. There was only a few inches of snow. It had been plowed recently.
This is it, Alex. This is the main road. Where’s the rescue party? Where’s the receiving line? Where’s the man with the big trophy and the beauty queen ready to kiss you on the mouth? Sorry, ma’am, my lips are frozen.
Which way? Right or left? Which way did you come? Which way did you turn when you came in? If you turned right then you gotta go left. If you turned left then you gotta go right. Or is it the other way around?
Fuck, like it matters. Like it makes any difference. Just keep walking. Or don’t. Just lie down right here and wait for them to come get you. They’ll be here any minute.
I’ll walk. Might as well. It’s such a lovely night. I’ll go this way. There seems to be a little more light this way.
What’s that, headlights? Here they come. I see headlights.
No, false alarm. Just your eyes playing tricks on you. Eyes are funny that way. Always playing tricks.
You know. Maybe I’m crazy. I don’t even feel that cold anymore. My hands aren’t cold. Wherever they are. My hands. I’m sure they’re here somewhere. I hope I didn’t leave them somewhere.
Headlights. Here they come. For real this time.
Nope. No headlights. I keep seeing lights. Down the road. But not headlights. Maybe it’s a UFO. That could be it.
The trees. On the side of the road. All that snow on them. They look like monks wearing white robes.
What’s that music? It sounds like a saxophone.
I should lie down here. Take a nap. I’m sleepy. What time is it? It must be late.
No. Keep walking. Alex. Alex.
The music is getting louder. It’s too slow to dance to. Just as well. I’m too sleepy to dance. I should lie down.
No. Alex.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.
This snow is soft. I’m going to lie down now.
What is that music? I know this song. I hear it every night.
What is that light? It’s a UFO. I was right. The aliens are here. I’m going to lie down now.
I’m lying in the snow. It is so soft.
The aliens are here now. The machines are next to me. One on each side. The aliens are looking down at me. One big eye in the center of their heads.
Welcome to the planet Earth. I hope you like it here. We call this white stuff snow. It’s very soft. Perfect for lying on. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I spent two more days in the hospital, the same hospital I had gone to after Bruckman-make that the late Lonnie Bruckman-and his friends did their number on me. The same doctor shined a light in my eyes, asked me what the hell was wrong with me. I was supposed to go home the last time and rest for a few days.
“I missed the hospital food,” I said.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” he said. “You’re also lucky to have your fingers and your toes still attached to your body.”
A couple snowmobilers had found me, a man and his son. The man was a scoutmaster and a volunteer fireman, one of those guys who are ready for anything at any time. He had the emergency heat packs. He had the electric hand warmers that connected to the snowmobile battery. He even had the pad on the seat that warmed your ass while you were riding.
“Those snowmobiles are amazing machines,” the doctor said. “Do you own one?”
“No,” I said. “Not at the moment.”
“You need to get one,” he said. “They’re a lot of fun, too.”
When the snowmobilers got back to Paradise, they called the sheriff’s office. An ambulance was sent out to bring me to the hospital. My core body temperature was eighty-seven degrees, three below the severe hypothermia line. They applied heat to my neck, armpits and groin on the way to the hospital. When I got there, they put me in a full body wrap. My temperature came back up, about two degrees an hour.
“Ninety-six degrees,” the doctor said, looking at the display on the thermometer. “How do you feel?”
“I still feel cold,” I said.
“You’ll feel better,” he said. “You’re still dehydrated from the vasoconstriction.”
“The vasoconstriction,” I said. “Of course.”
“We were concerned about all the blood,” he said.
“The blood…” I said.
“You were a mess,” he said. “But you didn’t have any bleeding injuries. That wasn’t even your blood, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “It’s a long story.”
“Somebody else’s blood,” he said, shaking his head. “Do me a favor. When you’re ready to tell the story to somebody, make sure I’m in the room. This I gotta hear.”
I did tell the story to Sheriff Brandow, and I did make sure the doctor was there to hear it. Brandow listened to everything I said and wrote it down without saying a word, then he sent his men out to find the ice shanty.
“They’re going to find two dead men in their underwear,” I said. “I don’t know what you guys are going to do about Bruckman.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “we can just wait until spring. If Champagne and Urbanic want him now, they can go in after him themselves.”
I passed those exact words on to the agents when they came by to see me. They weren’t happy.
“Let me get this straight,” Champagne said. “We’ve got two of Molinov’s men. Dead. We got Bruckman. Dead, and under the ice somewhere. We got no live bodies. We got no bag.”
“You’ve still got each other,” I said.
“It’s a good thing you’re in the hospital,” he said. “Because you’re going to need some type O in about one minute.”
I caught Urbanic’s eye. He was trying not to smile. After Champagne stormed out of the room, I asked him how he could stand having a guy like that for a partner.
“You were a cop once,” he said. “You ever had a partner you couldn’t stand?”