Frostbite

Engulfed in the midnight blizzard, I was nothing but another snowflake in the wind.

The unrelenting cold enters every pore of my body. Even through three layers of clothing there’s no way to stop it. All I can do is keep moving and hope the exertion will slow down the inevitable long enough to find shelter from the storm. The screaming wind, howling in my face, turns the icy snow into shards of glass that could break through exposed skin, or thin clothing, like tiny bullets. Looking down at my shredded gloves, I can feel the throbbing cold in my fingertips and know it’s only a matter of time before frostbite sets in. I need to find shelter and I need to find it now.

But it’s getting harder to walk now; it feels like the blood in my legs is thickening like setting jelly. Each step feels like a marathon to my heart but I have to keep moving. I don’t know how long it’s been since I first saw the light in the distance. Hell, I can’t remember anything before this storm. Like a computer losing battery power, my brain feels like it’s shutting down from the cold.

Why is that light not getting any closer? Every time I look up it’s still in the same place– just over the horizon. I don’t know why but I know I need to get there. There’s warmth there, I can sense it. I can feel that light pulling me forward but there’s something about it that brings fear to my heart.

There’s something, just at the corners of my mind, tickling a truth to the surface. But I can’t think of that now, I need to get out of this mind-numbing cold.

What’s that? Just off the road to my right. Is that some kind of man-made structure? Shit, it is! It looks like a farmers out-building in a stand of dead trees. I can just make out its shape through the blowing snow. Thank god, finally a place to wait out this storm. But how the hell will I get across that open field without getting lost and freezing to death. Here on the road, at least, I have the guard rails to guide me but there must be at least a thousand yards of white-out between me and that building. I have no way of knowing how deep the snow is out there or even worse, what’s underneath it.

My toes are throbbing like my fingers now. It feels like a hundred tiny needles penetrating my feet– giving off that weird burning feeling of frostbite approaching.

I have no choice. I have to try and get there or there won’t be any more decisions to make. I might be able to keep going without my fingers but if I lose my toes, I’m screwed.

They say every journey begins with one step, so here goes. Oh, thank god! It’s only ankle deep, the snow must be frozen underneath. The wind is letting up. I can see the building much clearer now. It’s nothing more than a falling down shed but it looks like a five star hotel in my eyes. The door is frozen shut but it’s no match for my shoulder as I crash through and fall into complete darkness. Getting to my feet it feels like something is biting at my legs but I need to get up. I can hear the wind picking up again; it’s fighting against me as I jam the door closed. I can sense the smallness of this space. It feels like I can reach out and touch the walls– I need to be careful as it’s as dark as a tomb in here.

What’s that? There’s something in front of my feet, stopping me from moving forward. Shit, it’s too heavy to push aside. It feels like a bag of something. It feels both hard and soft. It feels like what it is– a bag of sand. Falling to my knees with my arms out, I can feel the sand bags all around me. Jackpot! The farmer must use these to stave off flooding on the property but I can use them to build a shelter inside a shelter.

Lying here now, in my improvised bed of sand bags, I can feel the warm touch of hope rising as the storm bellows and wails against the walls of my sanctuary. I feel safe in the knowledge that if I can make it through the night maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will dawn a better day and I can make it to the light.

***

Awakening comes slowly, like a storm dying down. What’s happening? Where am I? I need to get up but I can’t move. It feels like there’s something holding me in place. It’s so hard to breath with this weight on my back. It’s almost like I’m encased in something– almost like I’m buried. Oh shit! I am! The snow must have seeped into the shed as I slept.

No, that’s not right, it’s not snow. I’m not cold, I’m hot!

The Memories are bursting through like a freight train now. I’ve awakened from a bad dream into a living nightmare. It’s not snow, it’s something else. I can feel it in every orifice of my body. There’s no sound, just a parched silence as my ears fill with hot sand. My tongue is swollen and feels like I’ve been licking tree bark. The sand feels like tiny shards of glass under my eyelids. Everything hurts, my legs feel like their being eaten and my hands feel like they’ve been bitten by frost.

But I remember it all now; I remember the explosion and being thrown from the helicopter in a ball of fire. It’s not frostbite but fire-bite. My hands were burnt trying to protect my face from the sudden onrush of flame.

Clara’s face, that’s the last thing I remember after the explosion. She’s here with me; I can hear her soft voice in my ear as clearly as I can taste the sand in my mouth.

I know she’s not really here; I’m not that crazy yet. At least I don’t think I am. But even though I know she’s back home, thousands of miles from this sandbox of death, I can feel her. I remember her tears on the day I shipped out as clearly as if it was yesterday.

Afghanistan, what a shit-show this has turned out to be. I could be home in her arms right now but, no, I wanted to be a war pilot just like my crazy-ass father. I wanted those medals on my chest. I wanted to be a hero just like him.

But look at me now, face down in the sand wallowing in my own blood and shit, while my co-pilot, Mike, is probably scattered over several miles of desert. The RPG came out of nowhere and struck dead center on Mike’s door, blowing him to pieces and sending the Blackhawk into a death spin to the desert floor, before I even knew what was happening.

It’s my fault. I know it. I was flying too low, trying to show off my skills. Mike knew it too, he told me to get up but I didn’t listen. He always said I was too cocky and it would get us killed someday. I guess today is that day. Fuck! I’m so sorry Mike. All I had to do was follow orders and fly a thirty mile radius around the base at the right altitude. Just high enough to be out of range of their weapons’. But I had to try and be a super hero. I had to try and get revenge for Tommy. That kid was only nineteen years old, for Christ sake. The IED tour him to pieces and now what was left of him, was going home to his family in a box. All I wanted to do was blow some of those fuckers away.

No, that’s not true. You selfish prick! With only four days left in your tour, all you really wanted to do was go home with a medal on your chest.

Clara! I’m sorry honey. I know all you ever wanted was to build a family with me. I know you’re counting down the days. Four days until you can jump into my arms, with tears of joy, and welcome me home. But now as the desert wind blows the sand from body, I can see the truth.

There will be no jumping into arms or tears of joy, when you meet me at that airport.

The pain in my feet is a phantom pain. There’s nothing below my knees but blood. Blood that’s exiting my body with every slowing beat of my heart. I’m getting cold now, so cold that I’m starting to tremble.

As the blood slows to a trickle and my heart searches, in vain, for something to pump, my mind reveals a cold reality.

Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.