Cold Spell
Chapter 8
Joe slowly opened his eyes, blinked and looked around. Glancing down at his watch he was surprised to see that it had only been an hour since he had fallen asleep.
"Not too bad, I guess, since I only intended to close my eyes for a moment," he grumbled, forcing himself into a sitting position and wincing a bit, although his head was feeling much better. In fact, he actually felt pretty good considering he hadn't been asleep very long. "An hour lost…could be worse."
He glanced over at the wolf, and the carnivore yawned and stretched as it stood up. "You could have woke me, you know! I didn't mean to fall asleep—"
And then he paused and looked around – something wasn't right….
"Uh, Pup," he started slowly, "Where'd this fog come from?" His alarm grew as he realized his clothes were very damp, and his blond hair was plastered to his forehead in a very unflattering fashion.
Confused, he stood up. This didn't make sense! The last time he'd checked his watch it was seven…but if it was only eight now, then how'd he get so damp in only one hour?
And he'd had enough head injuries to know that how he was feeling now, was a lot better than one hour of sleep normally made you feel….
Joe's heart gave an unsettled lurch – was it possible he had actually slept over twelve hours and it was eight in the morning instead of eight in the evening?
Wildly, he whipped his head around but could tell nothing from the gloomy mist that hung over him.
His watch had an AM/PM setting but it hadn't been working since they got to Greenland. Not a big deal then; Joe had decided to wait until he got back to Bayport to get it fixed – the setting just didn't move. It gave all times as a PM time!
But now it had become extremely important to the stranded boy. He had no idea which day this was, or how long he'd been gone from camp now; he became increasingly agitated, not knowing whether it was day or night!
What if he had actually passed out, instead of being asleep, and been unconscious for longer than twelve hours? Was it possible that he'd been out of it for more than twenty-four?
Exactly how long had he been gone?
Joe was starting to panic. For some reason, it terrified him not to know what day it was. The time he knew…just not the day.
And then he took a couple of deep breaths and slowly let them out. "Whoa, big fella," he said shakily, "What's with the hysterics?….It's only time…nothing more, nothing less. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is getting this stuff back to Frank!"
Brave words. It took him a few minutes to put away the surge of panic and convince himself of that. His nerves were shot – that's all he knew – stretched to a taut limit by this never-ending day, and loneliness.
Joe was a people person – he needed to be around people, or at least one person, Frank. And the incessant solitude and total helplessness of their situation was starting to wear him down, no matter how much he tried to kid himself.
In fact, if it wasn't for the wolf – and he shot him a look to make sure he was still there – he was sure he'd have lost it completely. He craved company and was willing to take it any way he could.
Joe wondered how Frank was doing by himself. But then he sighed. His big brother was the strongest person he knew – he didn't need anyone. But even as Joe was thinking it, he knew it wasn't true.
Frank's emotional needs were just different than his, and the older boy dealt with things in his own way. He tended to chew them up like tough little pieces of meat until they were soft enough to swallow…unlike Joe, who bolted his food, sometimes choking on the bigger pieces. But Frank was always there to give him that pat on the back whenever he did….
One thing Joe was sure of, though; Frank would not be near losing it just because he didn't know what time it really was!
Regaining his composure, Joe looked down at his supply laden 'sled' and frowned. Glancing back up at the fog, he squinted his eyes, but still couldn't see anything much further than fifteen to twenty feet away.
And then he looked back at the wolf, and that's when he realized for the first time that the large predator had come a lot closer to him than before. He was no longer keeping the 150-foot distance.
"Guess you can't see me, then," the boy commented, as for some reason he felt it reassuring that the wolf was interested enough to do so. He had gotten over his concern that Pup was going to eat him, as so far the animal had shown no aggression, whatsoever.
The wolf yawned again.
"Crap," Joe muttered, rubbing his forehead and wincing as his mittens brushed his forgotten bump, "I can't very well head back to camp in this! I'd be walking in circles for days, if I even made it back. AHHHH!" He shouted in frustration. He really hated the idea of being stuck when he didn't know what was happening back at camp or when this fog was going to lift!
It was one thing when he was only supposed to be gone for a few hours, maybe a night, tops – but now, not knowing exactly how long he'd already been gone, and how much longer it would be before he could start back, Joe chafed under helpless agitation.
The only thing he knew for certain was that it was at least a four hour walk back, longer pulling the scavenged plane door.
"THIS SUCKS!" he yelled again, and then spent a few minutes stalking around to burn off his angry energy, until finally he sat down on the edge of the 'sled' and sighed, "I really hate this."
The wolf just watched.
Two and a half hours later, things had not improved.
"Okay, I am REALLY beginning to hate this place now!"
Joe paced, alternating between swatting the insects that seemed to take special pleasure in tormenting him, and complaining.
According to his watch it was either 10:30 PM or 10:30 AM – the fixated boy couldn't decide and started referring to time as PAM.
So it was 10:30 PAM!
He was bored out of his mind. So far, he had inspected every piece of wreckage in the immediate area and gone through and repacked his own duffle bag, twice! Even stopping to read through all the visitor pamphlets for Greenland, he had thrown in at the last minute for his Mom and Aunt Gertrude, desperately wishing he had brought a book back with him to read.
He had brought a book – but when Major Fields' older son, Erik, had expressed a desire to read it, Joe had left it behind, and the other boy had promised to mail it to him.
Although to be quite honest he wasn't sure if he would feel like reading Alive by Piers Paul Read, right now anyway. It was the true story of the rugby team that crashed in the Andes – Frank's copy actually….
His brother thought it was pretty funny that Joe brought that particular book along; telling him it would jinx their flight.
Now Joe didn't know what to think.
Did it jinx their flight because he brought it with them…or because he left it behind?
Well, first you had to believe in jinxes, and than it was all in one's perspective, he had supposed miserably, after finishing the last pamphlet.
He didn't touch Frank's duffle bag, though. That was his brother's personal stuff, and even a bored Joe exercised some restraint.
It was very hard on him, passing time like this. Normally a very energetic person – too much so at times if you asked his brother – the same fidgeting that made him a trial on stakeouts, now kept him pacing and talking to a wolf.
Joe was in constant motion – he couldn't sit still for very long and felt himself winding up but he had no idea what to do to calm down. Every passing moment mocked him as it kept him pinned under a blanket of gray.
Rubbing his neck where a nasty little bloodsucker had just given him a painful nip, he decided to inspect the survival and first aid kits – he had nothing better to do….
Sitting down on a flat rock, Joe spread out the contents of the orange knapsack and shook his head as did so.
"Okay," he said, "five high energy protein bars…that's good. One empty packet of coffee - yup Frank's gonna love that. Hmmm, wonder if he can boil the packet…" his voice trailed off as he imagined his caffeine-deprived brother boiling the small empty packet to try and get some sort of fix, and then chuckled and looked at the wolf. "Forget boiling it, he'll probably just eat it, package and all!"
The wolf, which had been lying down and watching him pace, lowered its head onto his paws and continued to watch, his ears flickering every now and then as he did so.
"Ooh goodie, let's see what's in here."
Joe opened a small, crumpled-up brown bag and pulled out little condiment packages of ketchup, salt, sugar, pepper, vinegar, and soy sauce. It also had a couple of packs of moist towelettes and a handful of napkins.
The boy sighed in relief when he saw the napkins; it would beat moss any day!
He looked at the box containing a small red flare gun and six flares.
"Good. We better be able to use that!"
There was a waterproof match box with matches, half of which were missing….
A multipurpose Gerber combo tool provided about ten minutes of entertainment value as Joe inspected – played - with it before giving his nod of approval. Anything sharp was good. This thing was sharp, and also had many other little sections, not unlike a Swiss Army knife, including a ruler stamped onto the faceplate.
He picked up the collapsible shovel and grinned, looking at Pup. "Cool…we can entrench!"
The wolf didn't look impressed.
There was a pot with a lid…a lid that was a couple sizes too big, and Joe just shook his head wondering what happened to the original lid….
Illuminating candles, glowsticks and whistle all got the once over.
The signaling mirror gave Joe his first personal glimpse at himself since the crash and he grimaced at the reflection.
"Man, I hope there's no girls with the rescue team," was his only comment before he put it back down with the whistle and flaregun.
Picking up the survival fishing kit, Joe grinned, "I think we can now add fish to our vegan diet!"
The metal camping KFS was missing the knife; the four packets of water were past their expiration date (not that Joe was going to be that picky!); and the water purification tablets were old and stuck together.
Picking up a small latex condom, Joe just shook his head, "Who the hell packed this kit?"
There were two plastic rain ponchos, an empty 2-quart water bag, a plastic orange panel about 6 feet x 6 feet and a large red-handled Robinson screwdriver.
He had already removed the nylon rope to use as a harness.
The other stuff spread out on the rock impressed him about as much as the condom:
A pack of gum with only one piece left.
One can of baked beans.
More napkins…this time from McDonalds.
The packing list, which Joe was sure would be hilarious to read as he suspected that most of this stuff was NOT on the list.
A Survival/ First Aid manual that had, at some point gotten wet, and all the pages were stuck together.
"Oh well, at least it will burn," Joe mused aloud, thinking that would be about its only value right now!
A tattered woolen blanket had replaced the foil ones that were pretty standard in these kinds of kits.
Medicated lip balm, which Joe had a sneaking suspicion had already been used!
And a magazine.
Joe picked up the magazine and started to chuckle. The chuckle intensified, and within moments the teen was doubled over howling in laughter.
He laughed so hard, tears were streaming down his face and he fought to keep his breath….
It was a True Crime magazine….
A True Crime magazine featuring an in-depth interview with none other than THE Fenton Hardy!
Joe finally stopped laughing and stretched out on the ground, staring up into the gloom, mindless of the cold and dampness beneath him.
He snorted, "We have crashed, in the land God gave to Cain…and now we have a Survival Kit that appears to have been packed by a moron! Can this get any worse?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Joe regretted them.
And as if on cue, Pup rose to his feet, the hair on his hackles raised, and started to walk towards him, stiff-legged and growling!