Chapter 2 - The Sled and the Mountain
The first mile was the hardest.
Tyler’s legs felt like heavy columns of poured concrete, unresponsive and freezing from the inside out. The wind on Route 14 was a physical wall, pushing against him with every step, trying to throw him back over the edge of the mountain.
Seth was a silent, heavy weight on his back, his small face buried deep into the collar of Tyler’s flannel shirt. Every few seconds, Tyler could feel the boy’s tiny body shudder against his spine, a rhythmic trembling that kept Tyler moving. If Seth stopped shivering, it meant his body was giving up. Tyler couldn't let that happen.
Behind him, the rubber mat hissed softly as it slid over the fresh snow. Luke was quiet, curled into a tight ball inside the oversized corduroy jacket, his small hands clutching the nylon strap that Tyler had wrapped around his wrist. The drag of the sled was a constant, dull ache in Tyler’s shoulder, pulling at his joints with every stride.
"Tyler?" Luke’s voice was a tiny, muffled sound from the sled. "I can't feel my feet."
Tyler stopped, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps that froze instantly in his hair and eyelashes. He turned his head, his neck stiff and aching.
"I know, buddy," Tyler said, his split lip cracking open again, a small bead of dark blood freezing on his chin. "We just have to keep moving. There's a... there's a warm place just ahead. I promise."
It was a lie. He had no idea what lay ahead. There were no houses on this stretch of Route 14, only pine forests and sheer rock faces. But he couldn't tell a five-year-old that they were entirely alone in the middle of a mountain whiteout.
Tyler dug his duct-taped boot into the snow, but the tape had finally failed. The sole of his left boot had peeled away entirely, allowing the freezing, wet slush to pack directly against his thin sock. Within seconds, his foot went completely numb, a dead weight at the end of his leg that he had to drag forward by sheer force of will.
He looked down at his right hand. The skin of his palm, torn from the car door handle, was white and bloodless, the edges of the wound blue. He knew what that meant. Frostbite. If he didn't find shelter soon, he would lose the hand.
But then he looked at the boys.
Seth’s tiny fingers were tucked into Tyler's collar, cold as ice but still moving.
Nobody is coming for you, boy.
Dale’s voice echoed in his head, cold and mocking. Tyler gritted his teeth, a surge of hot, furious anger cutting through the freezing numbness of his body.
"You're wrong, Dale," Tyler whispered into the storm. "I'm coming for them."
He took another step.
The wind howled, a deafening, continuous roar that filled his ears and made his head spin. The whiteout was so thick he could only see three feet in front of his face. He kept his eyes locked on the faint, dark line of the guardrail to his right, using it as a guide to keep from wandering off the road and into the abyss.
Hour after hour, the torture continued.
Tyler’s mind began to drift, the early stages of hypothermia painting strange, warm illusions in his mind. He saw his mother, a woman he barely remembered, standing in a sunny kitchen, holding a plate of warm cookies. He saw a fireplace, its red flames licking at dry split pine, the heat so real he could almost feel it on his frozen cheeks.
"Tyler!" Seth’s voice was a sudden, sharp cry against his ear. "Tyler, wake up!"
Tyler blinked, realizing he had stopped walking. He was leaning against a snow-covered pine tree, his head resting against the rough bark, his eyes half-closed. The snow was already starting to pile around his legs, a soft, white blanket that felt incredibly warm and inviting.
"Don't sleep," Seth sobbed, his small hands patting Tyler’s cheeks. "Don't sleep, Tyler."
Tyler shook his head, his brain feeling slow and heavy inside his skull. He looked down at Luke. The little boy on the sled was silent, his eyes closed, his face dangerously pale.
"Luke!" Tyler gasped, dropping to his knees. He grabbed Luke’s shoulders, shaking him gently. "Luke, open your eyes! Look at me!"
Luke’s eyelids fluttered, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused. "I'm... I'm sleepy, Tyler. The bed is soft."
"No, Luke! You can't sleep!" Tyler cried, his voice breaking. He grabbed a handful of fresh snow and rubbed it gently against the boy's pale cheeks. The cold shock made Luke wince, a small, weak cry escaping his lips.
"Stay awake, buddy," Tyler pleaded, his own tears freezing on his eyelashes. "For me. Please."
He stood up, his body screaming in protest. Every joint felt as though it were filled with broken glass. He adjusted the strap on his wrist, the heavy rubber mat dragging behind him once more, and forced his wooden legs to move.
Two miles. Three miles. Four miles.
The storm did not let up. The snow fell faster, heavier, burying the road under two feet of fresh drifts. Tyler’s steps became shorter, his progress slowing to a crawl. He was no longer walking; he was dragging his body forward by pure instinct, his mind focused entirely on the simple, repetitive motion of his legs.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
Behind him, the roar of the wind was joined by another sound.
A distant, low rumble.
At first, Tyler thought it was thunder, or perhaps another avalanche sliding down the upper peaks. But the sound was too steady, too rhythmic. It was a heavy, mechanical throb that vibrated through the frozen ground beneath his feet.
He stopped, turning his head toward the east.
Far down the highway, through the swirling white curtain of the blizzard, a faint, yellow glow appeared. Then another. Then dozens of them, cut through the dark storm like the eyes of angry beasts.
May you like
Headlights.
And with them came the unmistakable, earth-shaking roar of seventy-four heavy motorcycle engines, fighting their way up the frozen mountain pass.
