Cold Spell

Chapter 5

It was seven p.m. by the time Frank got back to the camp, and he was exhausted.

The walk to and from the pond, although not really that far, had worn his hungry body out more than he'd expected, and he wondered how his brother was doing. Joe had a lot further to walk on this disagreeable terrain.

For one brief moment he pictured the blond teen stepping into a deep crevice and breaking his leg or something, but he hastily shoved those thoughts from his mind. He needed to give his younger brother a little more credit than that!

If he didn't, Frank would just go mad with worry.

Joe will be okay, that's the only thought that he'd allow. He wasn't too concerned about his own safety, as he had the burrow to hunker down in, and it would be even warmer tonight with the addition of Joe's makeshift door.

Glancing at his watch once again, Frank's dark brown eyes scanned the horizons looking for any sign of a blond head and brown bomber jacket, but he saw nothing. Sighing, he hoped Joe would be back soon, as he'd been gone almost seven hours now…,

Fingering the small whistle safely nestled in his parka pocket, Frank resolved to give his brother another three hours, max, and then he'd start tooting on the whistle.

Scratching the 'bandage' on his head, the older boy then decided he needed to take care of it; grimacing as he thought back to a bloodied face adding to the madman's reflection in the pond!

Knowing that it would be easier to clean away the blood with warm water, Frank set about relighting the fire. However the gusting winds kept blowing the matches out, and after he'd lost two to the wind, and not wanting to waste any more, he realized he'd just have to use cold water.

Sighing, he took a 'bowl' of water into the burrow, placed it on the ground and then sat down on one of the seat cushions. Carefully unwrapping the improvised bandage from his head, the teen inspected it to see how badly he'd been bleeding.

The bandage was actually one of the sleeves from Joe's shirt, hastily hacked off to dress the injury. This reminded Frank again that his brother was severely disadvantaged, clothing-wise, and he absently hoped that Joe found his own parka while looking for the kits.

The younger teen had tossed it into the back of the plane in exchange for his bomber jacket before they left Qaanaaq.

If not, then he'd insist they switch sweaters when Joe got back – at least Frank's sweater had two sleeves!

There was a fair amount of blood on the bandage but Frank wasn't too concerned, as he knew that scalp injuries did tend to bleed a lot as the blood vessels are close to the surface; the blood loss was not necessarily in relationship to the extent of the injury. Besides which, he was feeling a lot better, his headache having almost completely gone now.

Taking off his watch, Frank flipped it over and used the metallic back to get a glimpse of the revealed wound. The image was distorted and required quite a bit of handling to get a half decent view, but in the end he could see that the gash, while a couple inches in length, wasn't deep…just bloody.

So soaking the clean end of the bandage in the water, Frank started to carefully pat at the blood, intent on cleaning it up, and then gasped and swore a bit colorfully when the cold cut right through him.

Sure, he knew the water was going to be cold…he just had no idea exactly how cold, especially on an open wound!

Hissing from a combination of cold and pain, Frank continued diligently, and was shivering by the time he was satisfied that he'd done the best he could. The water in the bowl was tinged pink now, but his face and cut were much cleaner, and he'd been relieved to see that the cut had scabbed over and wasn't still bleeding.

Being careful to toss the water away from the burrow, Frank quickly scurried back inside, letting the flaps drop down behind him. The wind was so strong and biting now, he didn't want to be outside any longer than he needed to be!

Sitting in the semi-gloom of the lair, the boy closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh. He was hungry, tired and worried. He tried to distract himself by thinking about anything but being stranded in the middle of nowhere or about his brother. There was nothing he could do about either right now.

The trip to Greenland had been great.

Of course their friends – particularly the girlfriends - thought they were nuts to be going somewhere with ice and snow when they could be home enjoying a fantastic Bayport summer, particularly the bikini parts! But never ones to turn down a chance for an adventure, both Frank and Joe had enthusiastically accepted the invitation to visit.

Major Norman Fields had gone to school with their father, and he and Fenton had stayed close over the years. A closeness forever cemented when the investigator tracked down the man who had murdered Norman's wife fifteen years earlier.

Norman had been devastated and left to raise two young sons. But it was only thanks to Fenton, he had gotten that privilege!

In the beginning the young Air Force pilot had been the number one suspect. And it was only when his friend stepped in and started his own investigation that he was cleared and the real murderer was caught.

An ex-boyfriend, of all stereotypical things!

So every couple of years they tried to get together, and this was one of them. Fenton had gone to Greenland with his sons but come back a week earlier to help Sam tie up a case.

The brothers had followed a week later…or had tried to.

Glancing down at his watch again, Frank decided he'd try to catch a few hours' sleep. If Joe wasn't back by the time he woke up, he'd start signaling, although as he heard the wind whistling outside the burrow, he doubted his brother would ever hear the sound.

Deep down, he was hoping that Joe had found the rest of the aircraft and had decided to stay there for the night. He'd rather that thought than the idea that his younger brother might be out there somewhere, trying to make his way back in this wind storm.

But regardless, Frank would still signal. He'd never take the chance that he was wrong….

Pulling his parka hood up over his head, the teen lay down on the cushions and wrapped his arms tightly around his body. Closing his eyes again, he quickly drifted off with the sound of the wind singing him to sleep.

Joe was running…but no matter how fast he ran, he would never be able to run fast enough….

Frank ran towards his brother…but he would never get there in time….

Screaming in horror, he could only watch….NOOOO!

Faster legs, faster, Frank commanded….He had to try….

Joe was getting closer…just a little bit further….

NOOOO!

He was not fast enough….

Frank heard his brother's scream…a long piercing sound that cut right through his heart…

And then the blood.

Bolting up, Frank panted, "What the hell—" His voice cut off as he heard it again.

It was Joe's scream!

Not fully to his senses yet, and his heart pounding from the intensity of the nightmare, the older boy lurched towards the burrow opening and then outside, half expecting to see his brother's body writhing in agony….

But he didn't.

He didn't see anything….

And then he heard it again – Joe's scream from his nightmare.

However, as his muddled mind cleared, he recognized the sound for what it really was.

Not his brother…thankfully.

But a new nightmare nonetheless.

Wolves.