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Dear God! I wish I’d worn ear muffs!
The words came out with an accompanying cloud of white as his breath crystallized in the bitter air. But in truth, it wasn’t the cold that bothered Cal’s ears, it was the noise.
“Scrrrreeeeeeeeeee”
The sound of the sled runners scratching along the barely ice covered pavement.
Cal stopped just before the bridge and dropped the rope that had attached him to the sled he was pulling. His gloved hands stretched up and down, working to restore a bit of circulation that had been cut off by the rope digging deep into the fabric of the gloves. Taking a deep breath which was exhaled as another plume of smoke, Cal gave himself a nod.
Just a bit further.
On a different day, in a different light, Cal might have stopped to enjoy the beauty around him. But not this day, not this sight.
Retrieving the rope, like a convict picking up his chain, Cal began the trudge across the bridge. The scratching sound of the sled runners changed to a higher pitch as he began to cross the more porous bridge. The sound now echoing in the amplification chamber created by the under side of the bridge and the ice covered stream below.
The new sound gave Cal a burst of energy, and he rushed across the bridge to relieve his ears of the God Awful racket. The end of the bridge was also the end of the pavement, at least for Cal. The road turned to the west, and meandered through the picturesque snow covered woods. But a small dirt track angled to the east. This path had not been cleared of the ice and snow which marked just the beginning of winter. The going got tougher as the sled moved into the snowpack, but the sound, that awful sound, finally diminished, reduced to the almost comforting low grumble of the snow reluctantly being pushed down by the runners, and Cal’s own footsteps.
One more hill.
His toes clenched and unclenched, scratching the bottom of his snow boots as he prepared to make the final climb. It wasn’t like it was a BIG hill. Just the low rolling foothills, a long way from the mountains themselves, but even a foothill can be Mt Everest when you are tired and encumbered.
Eyes closed, breathe in, breathe out, calm, collected, now PULL!
The sled lurched forward as Cal’s boots dug into the snow with a vengeance. It was slow going, and a bead of sweat glistened Cal’s brow in spite of the cold, but he finally did it. He finally reached the crest. Relief and Expectation warred in Cal’s mind as he looked down, down the slope of the hill and to the edge of the lake below. The hard part was done now. The next part should be fun.
Time for a ride!
Turning to the sled, Cal made some minor adjustments to the large lumpy bag on top of it. His ministrations making what appeared to be almost a saddle in the middle of the bag. With a chuckle at some inner image Cal put his left leg over the bag and seated himself in the divot he had created.
Cal’s feet dug into the snow on either side of the sled, searching for purchase from which to push off. Back and forth, crushing the snow with uncaring brutality, until he had the traction he desired. His legs tensed as he rocked slightly back and forth, ensuring that the sled runners were moving freely. Finally, once satisfied that all was in readiness, Cal muttered to himself.
Three, two, one…. GO!
With a violent push of both legs against the packed footholds he had created, Cal got the sled moving down the hill. Picking up speed, the biting wind rushing against his cheeks as he, his sled, and cargo went whipping down the hill.
After an almost too short rush of speed, the ground began to level out under the sled, and the momentum began to wane. Sliding to the edge of the lake and out onto the icy surface, finally coming to a stop about ten meters from the shore.
Went a bit further than I expected. The extra weight must have made a difference.
Cal climbed carefully off the sled and onto the sheet of ice. He was still well clear of the mental line he had drawn at which the ice grew thin enough to be perilous. Looking back to the shoreline, and out toward the middle of the lake, Cal judged his distances, and quickly determined he could take the sled a bit further. Back to the rope, and pulling quickly across the ice. His boots nearly betrayed him as the slippery surface attempted to lure him into a face plant. But Cal had practiced this already, he knew what he was doing, and the slips were quickly corrected.
Reaching the spot he had determined to be “as far as the sled can go” Cal stopped, dropped the rope, and turned his attention back to the bag which held his cargo. With a tremendous grunt of effort Cal lifted the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder.
Now for the Hard Part.
His steps became shorter, and much more carefully placed. His burden weighed nearly as much as he did. At this point, a wrong step and a fall MIGHT be enough to break through the ice. That could be hazardous considering the temperature of the water below.
Cal looked back to the shore once again, making mental calculations. Just ahead he saw the crack in the ice which had been as far as he dared go the day before. But then he had not been burdened by his cargo. He wasn’t sure he could make it that far with the added weight.
Looking back to shore, and out to the crack, back and forth his view tracked, before finally deciding to split the difference. Adjusting the weight of the bag on his shoulder one last time, Cal stepped forward a few more careful meters, before picking his spot and ever so carefully bringing the bag down to lay on the ice.
Cal removed an ice chisel from where it hung on his belt. Picking his spot a meter or so from the bag, he began to work on the ice. It was thicker here than he had anticipated, but the chisel was sharp and capable, and after a few minutes a small hole had formed. The hole grew larger as Cal worked outwards, widening the opening. Snow began to fall from the dark grey clouds above. That had been anticipated as well.
This part has to be fast.
The temperature was at a point where his hole would try to freeze back over as soon as he stopped chiseling. Cal cut the hole a bit wider than he needed in anticipation of that, but he really didn’t want the hole to be open long anyway.
Standing to look over his work, Cal bent back with a few cracks as his spine adjusted. Another nod to himself as he decided that he had done his work well, he turned to the bag.
Rip and Dump.
He edged the bag closer to the hole. Right to the very edge. Taking one last moment to rehearse the next action in his mind, Cal removed a small pocket knife from his coat, revealed the blade and swiped out to cut the cord which had tied the bag closed. The cord fell to the ground forgotten, as Cal pushed the bag over toward the water, the opening widening like a gaping maw, as the icy water waited to receive its gift.
So long mom.
The body of a middle aged woman with pale dead skin and blue lips fell from the bag into the waiting water. Her dress collected enough air to hold her to the surface for just a moment before her weight pulled her under. Cal used the chisel to push the body away from the hole so that when she floated back to the surface she would be under the thicker ice.
Standing and taking the bag in hand, Cal looked to the sky and the impending storm which would effectively cover his tracks, and re-seal the hole without a trace. Whistling to himself, he returned to the sled, picked up the rope, and began the trek back, up and down the hill, through the woods, across the bridge and back toward home. With any luck, the body would not be recovered until the spring thaw, and at that point investigators would believe she had simply fallen into the lake and drowned.
Cal would be long gone by then. Probably to a non-extradition country. Preferably someplace warm. At least until the urges struck again...
Writing Prompt Contest #7 - https://steemit.com/writingpromptcontest/@dbzfan4awhile/writing-prompt-contest-7-the-great-cold