Snowed in for Christmas

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Benjamin

“EVERYTHING IS FINE,” I lie.

“Are you sure?” Dad asks. “I’ve been looking at the weather. It looks bad, Benjamin.”

Yes, just like I told you . I bite that back. Arguing will not melt several feet of snow, and I don’t want Dad freaking out about this. He’s worried enough as it is that Jett and I are trapped here, which is why I received this frantic phone call.

“I’m sure,” I say. “I brought groceries with me. I cataloged everything so that I know exactly how quickly we can use them. Besides, the snow should melt soon, right?”

Dad doesn’t respond. We both know this much snow isn’t going to melt quickly, but neither of us want to say it out loud. It’ll only make the situation more real. Maybe if we keep pretending this is a small storm and the sun will take care of it in a day or two, it’ll save Jett and I from the worst.

Speaking of Jett, he hasn’t made a sound in far too long. It’s taken me until now to realize that the house is quiet and peaceful for once. Maybe he’s sleeping, but sometimes he’ll even do that with music on, so the silence creeps me out more than it reassures me.

“We might be able to get some supplies in tomorrow,” Dad is saying.

I tune back into the conversation. “No, don’t do that.” My voice is harsh. I’m too accustomed to having to yell at Jett for wasting our supplies already. I soften it as I continue. “Please don’t try to get over that pass, Dad. It’s crazy dangerous right now. Even if they open it back up, you probably need chains or snow tires to get through. It isn’t worth it for you to get hurt trying to help us. We’ll be okay here, I swear.”

Dad sighs, but gives in. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. You don’t have a truck, and neither does Charlotte. It would be incredibly unsafe for you to try to reach us.”

“You’re right,” Dad says, “but sometimes I really wish you weren’t. I’m supposed to be the parent here.”

“You are the parent,” I say. “I’m just the biologist.”

Dad chuckles. “My genius boy, saving the world before he’s even graduated. I’ll trust you, but please call me if you need anything. We’ll figure something out.”

“I will, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you, Benny. Stay warm.”

We hang up, and I breathe a sigh of relief at having forestalled his rescue efforts. We’ll be fine here as long as Jett doesn’t demolish our supplies. I need to keep him under control and everything will work out.

The silence hits me again. Where the hell is Jett? Something in the back of my mind prickles. I suddenly understand why parents are so suspicious of silence. A rambunctious child can’t be up to anything good if they suddenly go quiet.

I rush downstairs, throwing open the pantry door. I half expect to find Jett sitting there in the dark like a goblin, his hand buried in our singular box of cereal so he can scoop it directly from the bag to his maw. But there’s nothing in the pantry except the tidy groceries I left there. From the looks of it, nothing has disturbed the supplies in hours.

I creep back upstairs, tip toeing up to Jett’s bedroom and pressing my ear against the door. Silence. Utter, eerie silence. I hold my breath, but nothing stirs on the other side of the door.

Taking a chance, I creak the door open as silently as possible. I open it only enough that I can peer inside, but a narrow glance at the room reveals nothing. Clothes on the floor. Dirty dishware that once held instant noodles.

I open the door wider as cold dread seeps into my chest. The sheets on the bed lie rumpled but empty. Clothes and shoes are strewn about on the floor. But I don’t find his cell phone. And I don’t find Jett.

I rush to the window, throwing open the blinds. Footsteps mar the perfect sheet of snow coating the town. The steps lead away from this house and down the block, then disappear around a corner.

I curse under my breath and throw the blinds closed. Rushing back to my room, I gather up my heavy coat, a beanie, gloves and boots. It isn’t true snow gear, but it’s probably worlds better than whatever Jett is out there in. What the hell is he thinking? Did he get so bored that he decided to leave? Is he just stupid?

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what his reasons are. He’s out there in insufficient gear, stumbling around with no idea where he’s going. I could be wrong about that, but I doubt I am. Neither of us have ever been here before, and Jett did not seem like he was studying the map. Even if he had, the snow has obscured everything. He might have a map app on his phone, if his fingers aren’t too frozen for him to use it, but if he does, it should be telling him that he’s miles away from town, much too far to walk in this awful weather. There’s simply no version of events in which Jett isn’t wandering around in the snow while lacking the right gear to stay warm.

Which means I have no choice but to go find him.

Bundled up, I put my phone and keys in my pockets. I want to travel light. I have no idea what state I might find him in. Either he’ll curse me out and tell me to screw off, or he’ll be in real trouble. I don’t have hand warmers or anything else I can bring with me to help him. My best option is simply to get him back inside the house as quickly as I can.

I push the front door open and start off into the snow.

I can follow Jett’s trudging footsteps down the driveway and onto the street. Neither of our cars are getting out of here any time soon. Nor is anyone else’s car. Nothing passes on the street ahead, not even an emergency vehicle or snow plow. There is no one out here to find Jett before I do.

I wish I knew how old these footsteps are, but that’s beyond me. The air is still. No snow falls to fill in the footsteps and give me a hint to how long ago Jett passed through here. I have no choice but to hurry and hope I’m not too late.

My heart is pounding too hard against my chest. Perhaps it’s the exertion of walking through the thick snow, but my heart’s fluttery pace puts the lie to that. It’s more like … panic. Fear. Why the hell should I worry about Jett, though? He did this to himself. If he gets frostbite, it’s his own fault. I shouldn’t even be out here looking for him. I could get myself into just as much trouble as he’s likely in. I’d be better off calling 9-1-1 and leaving this to professionals. Yet I can’t bring myself to head home and wait for someone else to handle this. The moment I saw those footsteps in the snow and realized what he must have done, the urge to rush out here and rescue him gripped me.

I reach the end of the residential street. I can tell Jett paused, unsure where to go. Did he seriously not even check a map? The footsteps wander around for a bit before veering off in one direction. He chose correctly, for whatever it’s worth. He is or was heading toward the town, but that town is still miles off, so it barely matters.

I keep going, moving faster, sure now that he can’t be far. A bridge lies ahead, and a figure sits huddled near one end.

It takes an effort not to break out into a jog. Jett doesn’t even notice me coming. He’s wrapped up in hoodies, but lacks a real jacket. I can’t see his feet, but his jeans are soaked from trudging through the snow. He wraps his arms around himself, shivering even as I watch.

“Damn idiot,” I snarl, but if I’m being honest, it isn’t anger spurring me on.

I walk right up to him before he finally notices me. He blinks as though he doesn’t recognize me, then understanding opens his face. His eyes are wide as he gapes up at me.

I pluck off my glasses and breathe on them to clear the fog that built up during my walk. It offers me an opportunity to catch my breath and slow down my racing heart.

“What are you doing here?” Jett says.

“You’re welcome,” I drawl.

The confusion hardens into anger. Jett jerks to his feet, pushing himself up with a stick. One end has been whittled into a vague, blocky shape, and I almost shout at him. Did he sit here whittling when he gave up trying to get through the snow? How did he think that was going to help him?

“Seriously, what are you doing out here?” Jett says. He tries to sound stern, but it’s hard when his teeth are chattering so hard I can see it.

“Come on,” I say. “You need to get back to the house.”

I grab his arm, but he yanks himself free of my grasp.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he says.

“You didn’t have to,” I say.

His face bunches up with anger. “I’m not a child. I don’t need you to come save me.”

“Clearly you do.”

I wave at the thick drifts of snow, at the biting wind, at his soaked pants and likely soaked feet, at his paltry hoodies that can’t possibly insulate him against the weather.

I grab his arm again, but he shakes me right back off.

“Fuck off,” he says.

The tip of his nose is red. His eyes are watery from the wind and cold. He visibly shivers even as he resists me.

I blow out a sigh. “Jett, please. You could get frostbite out here. I know you’re cold and you hate me, but let me get you home. I don’t want you to freeze.”

Something shifts in his face, some of the anger dropping away. “You don’t?”

“Of course I don’t, idiot. We may not get along, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt or lose a toe.”

“Wait, lose a toe?”

“That’s what happens when you have frostbite, yes. I presume you’re wearing sneakers under there?”

I peer down, finally getting a look at his terrible shoes. They even have mesh on the top. His feet must be soaked through to the bone.

“Seriously, Jett, this is really dangerous. Come on, I’ll help you.”

This time, he lets me take his arm and start leading him away. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t snarl, doesn’t call me a nerd or a dork or an asshole. He’s strangely quiet as he shambles along at my insistence. It seems like he needs both his walking stick and my arm to help him along, which deepens my fears that his feet are in nasty shape. We’ll need to get him warm as soon as we can, but the fact that he’s up and moving is a good sign. It’s far better to have the blood circulating rather than letting him sit there in the snow.

We walk in silence back toward the house. I almost don’t realize how quiet Jett has gotten, my mind already whirling through all the things we should do to get him warmed up before there’s a real risk to his extremities. Then I hear a quiet voice beside me, a mumble hardly louder than the wind.

“Thank you,” Jett mutters.

I don’t dare respond and break the spell.