Page 1 of Snowed In With the Snow Queen
December 24, 2006
Randy
It’s Christmas Eve, but my brother, Robert, never stops working. He’s got us both out here driving around the county in the freezing ass cold picking up “Christmas presents.”
I love my brother, but you can’t tell him anything. His wife is a cat lady, not a horse lady. She’s so incredibly uncomfortable around all the big animals at the ranch, but that still hasn’t stopped him from spending the last decade trying to get her to like them as much as he does. There’s going to be hell to pay when she realizes the “presents” we are picking up are actually horses for her and their two oldest boys, Zach and Zander. I’m glad I don’t have to be there for that conversation.
I’ve driven this road a million times, but today it feels never-ending. It’s misery by a million tiny cuts: the radio doesn’t work, the heat only blows cold air, and every single solitary bump and pothole on these dilapidated back roads rattles the entire vehicle.
I’ve hauled things since before I was old enough to drive, but this load is testing my patience. The horses I’ve got in the trailer are like brothers in the backseat of a car–they harass each other the entire trip. The trailer is constantly swerving from side to side with their movement.
My truck with actual heat and a radio is in the shop at the moment, so I’m stuck using dad’s old ‘79 Chevy to haul stuff around. You don’t realize how spoiled you are until you have to drive something with crappy suspension. Besides just being a piece of shit, it always smells like shit, too.
I should be more grateful. After all, it runs, and it gets me where I need to go, but this truck has definitely seen better days.
I let out a long breath as the trailer swerves for the millionth time, and let off the gas to slow down. I wish I could pull over and yell at the horses, but it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m sure they’d go right back to fighting. The trailer straightens, and slowly, I put my foot back on the accelerator, picking up speed, only to have to slow down as it swerves again with their movement.
I’m really starting to have my doubts about these horses. Robert can work magic with any animal he meets, but these two horses are jerks. As I drive, I have to flex my fingers and toes to bring the blood flow back to normal. We could have been warm in partial shift this whole time, but in addition to hating each other, these horses don’t like wolves. Go figure.
I check the side mirrors for any sign of Robert. It’s so fucking cold, I’m determined to beat him. We have a standing rule: the last one to the gate has to get out oftheir truck and open it. We may be grown ass adults, but sometimes when it’s just me and him, it’s like being seventeen all over again. Today is no exception.
Three seconds ahead of mile marker five is my turn. The gate to our family’s ranch is easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. I slow down, turning into the empty gravel drive, beating Robert by a good minute. Winning this race isn’t that big of a deal when we’re shifted, but when we’re stuck in our human forms and it’s cold, having to be the person who opens the gate sucks. The lock is ice cold–so cold sometimes that it sticks to your hands.
I sit in the truck for a few minutes, then consider just opening it myself. It’d honestly be warmer if I just went ahead to the barn.
Just as I’m about to jump out, he pulls in behind me at last, then comes around the side of the truck, flipping me off with both hands as I laugh. He’s just reached the lock when he stops and turns. My whole truck shakes in place. I check the rear-view mirror only to see the dumbass horses fighting yet again.
I shove hard against the old door and hop down as the truck shakes again. The ice cold air hits me and I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep warm.
“Knock it off,” I yell at the horses. They ignore me, nipping and kicking at each other as I make my way to the back. I’ll leave the truck and trailer here and walk one of these idiots inside if I have to. There’s enough room that Robert can just go around. My hands reach for the lock of the trailer just as the whole thing shakes one last time, then begins to roll forward.
Time slows down as I watch the truck roll forward and press Robert to the fence post.
He doesn’t even cry out.
I stand frozen, at a complete loss. My eyes and my knowledge of reality don’t seem to align.
I stumble forward, slowly.
For a moment, I’m sure Robert’s already dead.
Then he moves.
“Randy?” he calls to me. He sounds…
Like he’s drowning.
It takes me three attempts to dial 911 properly.
“Don’t move the truck!” the lady on the other end demands, but honestly, I can barely move myself. Her voice is in my ear, asking a million questions, but the words don’t make sense. I don’t answer. The phone slips from my hands and lands in the dirt with a thud.
I am the worst brother for so many reasons, the biggest of which is this:
I don’t move.
Not until he reaches out a hand toward me. Compelled, I take slow, hesitant steps toward him. Robert leans in as close as the pickup will allow him to move. His hand comes up to grab onto my upper arm, his grip ridiculously strong.
“Randy? I-I-I-need you to promise me something.” Blood drips down his chin and my eyes are drawn to it. I can’t stop staring as the trail of blood traces a crimson line, dripping onto his shirt.
