Snow Day, part 8

[rabidsamfan]

"Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul," Gonzo sang hoarsely, "With a corncob hat and button pipe and two eyes made out of coal."

"I don't think that's the right words," Stanley interrupted crankily. "It's a button nose. And corncobs are too little for hats."

"So let's sing something different, then," Gonzo agreed, amiably. He was pleased that Stan had noticed the mix-up. It's not easy to test someone's coherence when they're walking behind you.

"I'm tired of singing," Stanley said. "And your voice is going."

"Well, I'm thirsty," Gonzo admitted. "Is there any water in the bottle?"

"I dunno. Hold still." Stanley fumbled through his pockets and came up with the bottle. "Oh, bother."

"Oh, bother, what?"

"I forgot to put more snow in it." Stanley bent down to stuff the bottle with snow and lost his balance, going down on one knee. "Ow."

"Maybe we should stop for a while," Gonzo said. "I'm pretty tired."

"I thought we were going to try to get to the cabin before I black out or something," Stanley said, fighting his way back onto his feet. "If we can just get to the plowed part, you can find your way along it with a stick."

"Yeah, well, I'm too tired to keep on walking until I've had some rest. We can eat another chocolate bar, if you have one."

"I've got one." Stanley didn't sound like he cared much for the idea. "Well, if you think we should stop, there's a bunch of rocks near the side of the road that might be a good place to sit out of the wind."

"Lead on, MacDuff," Gonzo said, and let Stanley take the lead for the short distance to the rocks. They found some low ones to pad with plastic and clothes and sit on, and Stanley dug out the space blanket to wrap around Gonzo. "Thanks, Stan," Gonzo said, and tucked the blanket a little closer before holding his hands out to an imaginary campfire.

"What are you doing?"

"Pretending we've got a fire. Trying to think warm thoughts." Gonzo shuffled his feet a little. "I'm getting colder, I think, and I'm not sure what we can do about it. I wish I had a lighter."

Stanley shrugged. "I've got a metal match, but I don't know how to use it. And the only thing we could burn is the clothes from the bag."

Gonzo nodded agreement, and huddled into the blanket. Then his brain analyzed the words again and he sat up. "What do you mean all we could burn is the clothes in the bag?"

"Well, they're the only things that are dry. All the trees have snow all over them. Not that I could cut down a tree with a jackknife."

"But there are pine trees, aren't there? I mean, I can smell them."

"Certainly. But I don't think they would be any easier to cut down."

"But isn't there squaw wood?" Gonzo asked. "We could burn squaw wood."

"What kind of tree is squaw wood?" Stanley asked. "I've never heard of it."

"Squaw wood isn't a tree. It's the dead stuff that's still on the tree under the green part on some kinds of evergreens. It's almost always dry, so the squaws would collect it for kindling when it rained -- at least, that's what I got told at camp." Gonzo fussed with the ski mask, "I wish I could just show you."

"Well, don't," Stanley said. "We don't have any more gauze pads, and I don't want your face to get infected." He looked around at the trees wearily. "I see some of it. But even if I build a fire, won't it melt into the snow?"

"Not if you build it on a rock," Gonzo said, feeling pleased with himself for thinking of it. "And if we make a lot of smoke, then somebody might notice and come to see where it's coming from."

"That would be good." Stanley tugged the candy bar from his pocket and dumped it into Gonzo's hands. "You eat that while I get some wood." He dumped the clothes out of the bag in order to have something to carry the wood in and got up. "I'll be back in a little bit."

"Stan?" Gonzo called as he started away. "Keep talking or singing, will you? I'm not sure I want to sit here all by myself in the dark."

"All right," Stan said, looking back at the forlorn huddle and feeling protective again. "Is whistling okay?"

"Yeah, whistling's fine." Gonzo said unhappily. Stanley had been right about not mentioning the concussion earlier, Gonzo realized, because it did make things worse for Gonzo to have to sit alone and wait for Stan to do something when he was all knotted up, listening to see if Stanley would collapse. He wanted to rip the bandages off of his eyes and see for himself what was happening, and he would, too, if Stanley blacked out. But until then all he could do was sit and wait. And eat the candy bar. That would be a good distraction.

Stanley waded through the snow to the nearest spruce tree, and was surprised to discover that the dead wood broke off easily in his hands. It really was quite easy, although most of the sticks were so small that even when he had gotten everything he could reach it made almost no difference to the shape of the bag hanging on his shoulder. He started for the next tree, whistling "The Bridge Over the River Kwai" in short bursts of notes. The trees smelled good, and the work was easy, and it was hard to keep track of why he as doing it. He was surprised to hear Gonzo calling "Stan! Stan! Come back!" as he was surprised to discover that the bag was almost full.

"I'm coming!" Stanley shouted, and turned around to follow his own trail through the snow. He had come a fair distance, he realized, and downhill, since he had to climb back toward the flash of color that was Gonzo. He took one of the bigger sticks to use as a cane and made his way up the shallow slope. As he came clear of the trees, he paused to look over at Gonzo, and saw a long, tan shape huddled at the top of the rocks near the road. Like icy water, adrenaline washed away the fuzziness in his head. It was a lion.

"No!" Stanley breathed, too frightened for a moment to move. The big cat was crouched half a dozen feet behind Gonzo, who was blessedly unaware of his danger. From where Stanley stood he could see a long red welt along the cat's ear and shoulder, but whatever had happened, it hadn't impaired the cat's hunting technique. It was staring over Gonzo at Stan now, measuring him with yellow eyes.

It was, quite possibly, the longest minute of Stanley's life, and a terrible clairvoyance swept over him. The cat could easily maim them both, or even kill them, and leave behind almost nothing for anyone to find. He imagined the curved claws ripping like scalpels through Gonzo's back, and the fangs meeting in the blinded man's neck, while he, Stanley, stood helpless to prevent it; saw himself running away, and being pursued by the nightmare, to fall, and die, or reach safety and live forever tormented by what he had witnessed.

The cat was still staring. Stanley let himself sink toward the snow, gathered two handfuls and pushed them together into a tight ball. He was almost ready when Gonzo's patience ran out.

"Stan? Stan, if you don't answer me I'm going to take off this stuff and come find you!"

The cougar recoiled and snarled, surprised by Gonzo's shout. It forgot about Stan and raised a claw-studded paw to swipe at the wounded man it had hoped to make dinner. Then Stanley's snowball hit it in the face, and it screamed with rage.

"Leave him alone!" Stanley screamed, running toward the rocks, the bag bouncing on his shoulder as he waved the stick he had been using as a cane.

Gonzo, who had had no clue about the cat, curled up and put his hands over his head, finding the ground and huddling while he yelled.

The cat was still shaking its head free of the snow and had half decided to forget about humans, who made loud noises and stung when Stanley got up close enough to throw the stick at it. The piece of pine hit the bullet burn from the night before and the cougar leaped sideways and away. Better to leave before something went bang.

Stanley had thrown the stick and was trying to swing the bag up as a weapon when the cat seemed to give up and run away, so he dropped the bag and went to his knees, making snowballs and throwing them in the direction of the retreating tail, and yelling every curse word he had ever heard in the Emergency Room after it. He only stopped when Gonzo found him and grabbed his arms and hung on.

"Stanley! Stanley! What was it? Stan?" Gonzo gave up trying to get sense out of Stanley and pulled off his ski mask. He was working on the bandages when Stanley gave a great hiccuping wail and caught his hand.

"No! It will all be for nothing if you do that! I've got to get you back to John in one piece, I've got to; he needs you. He'll never forgive me if I do it wrong. They never forgive you if you do it wrong, it doesn't matter how much you do right, you don't understand. The lion can eat me, I'm not important, nobody even knows I'm alive, but I've got to protect you and make sure your hands are all right, you're a surgeon, you've got to have hands and eyes," Stanley was babbling.

"Lion?" Gonzo asked, trying to pull out the important parts. "Stanley, was that a lion?"

"Uh-huh," Gonzo didn't need to see Stanley's hapless nod, he could hear it in his voice. "It had big claws and a long tail. A mountain lion." Stanley began to rock back and forth, "It was a lion, a real lion, and it had these big claws..."

Gonzo didn't know what to do first. A mountain lion was seriously bad news, but Stanley was falling into pieces. He tried to get more sense out of Stan.

"Where did the lion go, Stanley?" he asked, very clearly.

"It ran away. I threw a snowball at it and it ran away."
"Can you see it now?"

"No..." Stanley's voice cracked a little. "But I don't know how to keep it from coming back."

"Did you bring the wood?"

"Wood?"

"The wood, Stan. Mountain lions are afraid of fire."

"Right. Fire. That's good. I'll make a fire." Stanley seemed to steady a little with a definite task in hand, but his voice was still high and he was breathing way too hard for Gonzo's peace of mind.

"Remember you've got to build it on a rock," Gonzo said, resigning himself to giving detailed directions. He'd much rather take off the stupid bandages, and live with the consequences, but after trying it this time he was pretty sure that he wouldn't just be risking his own eyesight, he'd also be snapping the last thread that was letting Stanley function at all. For Gonzo's safety, Stanley would keep on trying, and fighting, Gonzo realized. But if Stanley stopped having a ‘patient' to care for, he was likely to fall apart entirely. And Gonzo knew that, blindness aside, he himself was no condition to be able to drag the pair of them the rest of the way. He was too tired, too cold, and in too much pain. He needed Stanley. "Do you have any small stuff, like grass or cloth for tinder?"

"Tinder?" Stanley had pulled them both upright, and was working his way back to the rocks. "No. I have a metal match, and a jackknife and steel wool. John said I needed steel wool, but I don't know why. "

Gonzo sighed with relief. "Because it burns, Stan. It makes it easier to start a fire."

"Good," Stan said. "It's better if it's easy."