Time passed so slowly that minutes seemed like days. The routine was always the same; sleep, try to find more fuel for the ever-diminishing fire, heat up and drink a little more of the slowly defrosting water, reminisce about their childhood and the predicaments they'd gotten into. Sometimes Bart was more responsive than others. Just as Bret would think that his brother was improving, the intense shivering and shaking would start all over again. The only thing that kept Bret from giving up was the realization that his surrender would mean the same fate for both of them.
At the moment, Bret was holding his brother tightly as he shivered. The wind had changed direction and was now blowing into the cave, making it even colder inside. Their saving grace was the second blanket that Bret's horse had managed to dry with its body heat. It wasn't much but was better than nothing; at least it was keeping them alive.
But Bret didn't know how much longer they could go on like this, especially Bart. As if his brother had read his mind, Bart suddenly spoke.
"Bret?"
"Yeah, Bart?" It was hard to even speak, they were so cold.
Bart tried to say something else, but he hesitated, his lowered body temperature confusing his mind; for a moment, he wasn't sure where they were, actually thinking that they were children, in the last old story that Bret had just told him.
"Yeah, Bart?" Bret repeated, trying to force his brother to talk to him.
"I'm...so...cold," was all that Bart could say.
Bret sighed. "I know, Bart. It'll be warmer soon." If the wind ever stops! he thought.
"When?" Bart shivered, almost reading his mind.
"I wish I knew," Bret said. He looked over at the cave entrance and saw that the wind was still blowing around.
"Can't...take this...anymore," Bart said. The long hours of shivering was causing deep aching in his muscles, as if the cold wasn't bad enough.
"I know," Bret said. "It has to change soon...it has to."
Almost an hour later, it finally did. The wind not only changed direction again—away from the cave—but its speed lessened too; Bret could see that the falling snow's intensity had greatly diminished. It looked like the storm was finally winding down, and Bret couldn't have been more relieved.
Bart was out again; whether asleep or unconscious, Bret wasn't sure. Despite the instinct to wake his brother up, Bret didn't have the heart to do it and make Bart suffer in the unbearable cold, so he simply held onto him, keeping the blankets over his brother's head with an open space for him to breathe through.
They stayed that way for hours, with Bret rocking them back and forth like a mother with a newborn. Maverick stubbornness was the only thing keeping them alive right now. All Bret could think of through his own muddled mind was how he used to do this every day with Bart when he was a baby, singing him the lullabies that their mother had taught him…childishly off-key and with the wrong words when he forgot—he used to make up his own words sometimes—but not a day passed that he didn't hold his baby brother.
Oh, but there was a time: Bret remembered a day that he was sick, asking to hold the baby and mama had said no. He'd burst out crying, but when mama said that Bart would catch it, Bret had instantly stopped crying and wouldn't go anywhere near the baby until mama had said that it was safe. Staying away from baby Bart broke little Bret's heart, but he'd been afraid that he could die if he got sick. The next thing that Bret thought of was baby Bart's first word...it had been his name: Bret. He'd been thrilled. It had sounded more like 'Bwet', but it didn't matter; it was still his name.
It was awful when mama died. Bret was little more than a baby himself, and now he had a baby brother that needed him even more.
Little Bart was too young to understand what had happened, and kept asking where mama went and when she would be home. Bret didn't understand why it had to happen to their mama, and when Bart had finally realized that he would never see mama again, he had been inconsolable.
Bret would never forget how their pappy had looked that day: like a broken man. His grief and Bret's were bad enough; pappy didn't know how to handle Bart's too. Bret had gone over and pulled Bart out of their pappy's lap, and rocked him for literally the rest of the night. Bart eventually fell asleep on him, and that's how they'd stayed until well into the next morning.
It had all happened so long ago, but Bret remembered it clearly as he continued to rock them.
"Bret?"
Bart's sudden voice made Bret jump, breaking his sad reverie. "Bart?" he answered.
"Where are we?"
Bret hesitated. He'd been so deep in thought that he almost felt like he was living his memories in the present. He'd almost said 'Texas'. "We're in a cave, Bart, in the middle of a—" he looked towards the mouth of the cavern and saw that the snow had stopped. "—blizzard."
"Are we…alive?" Bart asked.
Bret was so shocked that the snow had stopped that it took him a moment to answer. "Yes," he said. "We are."
"How long…have we…been here?" Bart whispered, shivering.
Bret wasn't even sure. It was daytime when they'd arrived, and it was nearly dark now...but wait, it'd been dark before, too..."A day and a half, I think," he told him.
"Can we get out?"
"Not yet," Bret answered. "We'd never make it through the cold in the shape we're in…especially you." He suddenly noticed that he was still rocking Bart, and his brother wasn't protesting one bit.
"I'm…fine."
Bret barked out a short laugh. "No you're not. Neither of us are."
"I can't…I can't…my feet. Can't feel them," Bart said next, sounding like he was drifting off again.
"I know what you mean," Bret said, with a sigh.
"Or my fingers," Bart added.
Bret reached up with one numb hand and moved the blanket a little so he could see inside. "Keep them between our bodies," he told him.
Bret felt Bart shift a little before settling again with a groan.
"I can hardly move," Bart told him next.
"Just rest," Bret replied. Bart had never been a complainer when things were serious...it showed how much his lowered body temperature was affecting his mind.
"Do you remember…mama?" Funny how both their minds had gone to the same place and time to remember things.
"Of course I do. What about her?" Bret wondered where Bart was going with this.
"Did she love us, Bret?"
"Yes, Bart, she loved us both," Bret assured his brother.
"Then why did she leave us?"
Had Bart forgotten that it wasn't by choice that mama had 'left' them? Had his mind drifted so far back that he didn't know what happened? Or could he just not remember, as affected by the cold as he was?
"It's my fault she died," Bart said next.
If Bret had been standing up, he would've fallen over. "What?!" he exclaimed. "Why would you think that?"
It took a moment for Bart to answer. "I was sick before she was. She caught it from me."
Bret remembered; Bart had come down with a terrible fever, but their mama had it at the same time..."No, Bart, mama used to take you with her when she went visiting her friends, you probably both caught it from the same person. A lot of people had it...some died, some didn't."
"Why not me? Why did it have to be her?"
Bret sighed. "I don't know, Bart...but I'm glad that it wasn't you."
Bart didn't know what to say.
"Come on," said Bret. "No more talk of bad memories. The storm is over; things can only get better now."
"Hope so," said Bart. "This has been an awful long run of bad luck."
Bret shook his head with a humorless half-grin. "That's an understatement."
With the wind gone and the storm no longer raging, it had grown very quiet outside. Suddenly a coyote howled, and it sounded much too close. Maybe it'd been caught in the storm too?
Bret felt Bart stiffen at the sound, and he didn't blame him one bit. There was nothing stopping a coyote from coming into the cave.
The horses heard it too, and they were equally disturbed, so much that they both got to their feet and huddled in a far corner. Thank God the wind had stopped blowing; at least Bret didn't have to get up and go after the mounts. He pulled the blankets tighter around them and momentarily released the hold he had on Bart. His brother started to slide out of his arms and Bret realized that once again Bart's consciousness had been claimed by the cold. If the temperature didn't start to rise soon they'd both be dead one way or another.
The coyote howled again, sounding even closer. The horses started whinnying and pawing at the ground; they smelled the coyote and the coyote smelled them.
The howling stopped and a small shadow appeared at the door of the cave. The coyote. He took one look at the frightened horses and slunk in, paying no attention to the brothers by the fire.
Bret's heartbeat quickened and he slowly pulled back the hammer on his gun, trying to be as quiet as possible. Quickly, he raised his weapon and fired towards the mouth of the cave, not wanting to risk shooting one of the horses accidentally. The sound and startled the coyote into dashing back outside. Unfortunately, the animal wasn't the only thing that was startled; Bart's entire body jumped as he was rudely jolted back to consciousness.
"Where—what?" Bart sputtered.
"Shhh, Bart, it's all right. I shot at something."
"Shot—shot at what?" Bart asked, squirming as if trying to see.
Bret moved the blanket so Bart could peer out. "We had a visitor, but it's gone now." He didn't want to tell Bart what it was, and alarm him when he wasn't even all there in the head.
"A coyote?" Bart guessed.
So Bart wasn't currently as slow on the uptake as Bret thought. "Yeah, a coyote. It's gone."
Bart relaxed, with a sigh. A moment passed before he said, "When are we getting out of here?"
"Soon, Bart," Bret said. "Very soon." Either they'd find a way to survive until they could leave, or they would die…either way, they'd be out.
TBC
