THE LAUGHING CROW: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Blizzardness

Kane couldn't see. And it was pissing him off.

Usually, the snow descended in stilted patterns, pleasant. Two mornings ago, he remembered marveling over the slow fall outside his bedroom window, sipping on a coffee, assured in his ability to maneuver a part of nature. He had called Paul, and they'd agreed on a hike before real winter threatened. It was only October, after all. What fools they'd been. Real winter was waiting for them all along, hiding.

For the twentieth time, he removed his glasses to wipe off flakes. Sweat lined the lenses, further impeding his ability to see. Not that much was visible in the white wasteland he and Paul currently blundered across.

Stupidly, he'd skipped lunch, which spilled over into skipping dinner. His stomach bloated into knots of hunger and fear, and he couldn't figure which was worse.

"I'm so hungry, I could eat my elbows," Paul lamented, nearly tripping as his foot sank into a snow drift.

"You and me both," Kane chuckled.

Paul's country phrases always amused him, especially as they contrasted nicely with Kane's. They had grown up in different worlds, like the city and country mouse. If they hadn't shared the same class in ninth grade, they probably never would've been friends.

"What would you eat, Trash Can?" Paul wanted to know.

The name brought with it memories of jello mixed with meatloaf, and then milk. Sometimes pizza sauce. When he had gulped down pee, his legend as Trash Can was born. The dares had always been an easy way to make money, because no one thought such combinations edible. But Kane knew better.

"I dunno, ya got five bucks? I'll eat tree bark."

Paul chuckled, digging in his pockets. His held up empty hands. "Sorry, man."

A flash of onyx flitted between the trees. Kane shook his head and focused, but all he could see was white brilliance. He almost nudged Paul, but thought better of it.

They trudged on, with pins and needles spiking through Kane's limbs. He wondered how much longer until one of them admitted what they both knew. The path had disappeared hours ago. Neighbors in this corner of Georgia were few and not at all in between. Another thirty minutes, and the daylight sank, casting a grey haze over the once blindingly ethereal landscape.

Finally, Kane couldn't take the numbness anymore. He leaned against a tree, panting.

"What are we gonna do?"

Instead of answer, Paul stared at what Kane assumed was nothing. There was nothing for miles, just trees, rolling hills, and more trees. Stupidly, they had packed two trailmix bars, and those had been consumed a while back. Hunger still knotted up and down Kane's insides, and he knew Paul had to be just as weary as he was.

While still gazing ahead, Paul said, "Snow. The only time '8-10 inches' has been associated with something white."

Kane assessed his friend, trying to figure what had been said. When the joke struck him, he barked out a laugh, instantly regretting it for the freezing exposure it brought to his coarse throat.

"Seriously man, what are we gonna do?"

Paul was the planner. When he wanted to hang out, he'd add the event to his phone calendar weeks in advance. Kane usually made plans a few hours ahead, like the hike. He worried his friend would realize who was at fault for their predicament.

"We sleep." Paul set his backpack down.

The thought struck Kane as crazy. "Sleep in this?"

But Paul was already rifling through his pack. "We've got the sleeping bags, might as well use 'em. Plus, we don't wanna be going through the white in the dark."