One Way Or Another

Vernon hated his father. But this was something different. Despite constantly supervising the old man's most basic activities on a seemingly minute-to-minute basis, the ageing hunter had vanished into the snow. Vernon sat behind the wheel of the pick-up, parked at the junction, facing straight up the valley along the length of the freezing lake. Although it was late afternoon, the latitude meant it was dark as night. The moon only emphasized how little street lighting there was.

His cell-phone rang. "Hey. Who's that?" he snapped.

"Hey Vern. No news?" It was Beth.

"No. I thought you might have heard something." He looked at the junction in front of him. "I was going to drive back up to where you are at the house. See if he's stumbling down the road here in to town."

Beth sighed. She was struggling to maintain her interest in her husband's problem. "We have no idea how long he's been gone. For all I know he might have run out straight after you left for the office at lunchtime. That could be hours."

"I asked you to look in on him just after lunch," he replied carelessly. "You might have seen if you hadn't taken so long."

"Hey, Vern." She stopped his rant dead. "I said I wasn't coming. You asked again and I said I'd look in. Don't pin this on me. If he's walked out of his own house into a snow-drift it's his own decision."

"Sorry," he said. "He could be anywhere. Did you check around? What about the ice house?"

"It's the first place I looked," she sighed. "Hey, an old Eskimo gets a chill? The first place he goes is the igloo."

"Thanks for checking at least. Did you see any tracks? I don't think he would have been careful about hiding where he went."

"Seriously? What bit of 'frozen waste' don't you get yet? If you want sniffer dogs and magnifying glasses, you can call one of your detective buddies up from Labrador City to do all that leg work for you." There was a faint sound of breathe being drawn in. Beth was smoking in his father's house, not something he would normally leave unmentioned.

"That's not such a bad idea, Beth." He looked left up the track, back to the tiny township and his father's house. It was possible the old man had stumbled down this way and back into the town, possibly looking for the nearest bar, or his drinking buddies, or both. If he had left early enough, Vernon would have not have seen him. It was also possible his disoriented father, half-senile, had taken the other turn in the half-light relying on a sadly redundant instinct, and stumbled off along the hunters track. There was literally nothing along the track, no lodges or shelters, and even the pot-holes ran out after a few miles because no-one wanted to drive that way.

"Okay Vern. Much as I like to hear you staring into space, I'm going to go now. Good luck with your father. Let me know how you get on." Beth hung up without further discussion. Vernon hated it when she did that. He had wanted her to stay at the house, make a few calls. Now he would probably have to do that himself. He looked up the bleak track and decided that there would be little chance of finding any person… alive.

Having decided, he drove swiftly up the township road half-expecting to see the old man stumbling down the road toward him, but the bumpy track was clear and crisp and the only movement came from the circling birds and the shelves of snow falling randomly from spring-loaded branches. About fifteen minutes from the house, Vern spotted Beth coming the other way, clouds of snow churning up around her wheels. She was clearly in a hurry and did not stop as the two vehicles passed.

A little annoyed that his own wife had blanked him on the road, Vern continued up to the township and pulled up in front of his father's house. A few lights were still on in the building, but they did not suggest that anyone was at home. He parked carelessly in the lot and entered the single storey building, not in any particular hurry.

"Father!" He shouted randomly, sure that there would be little response. Even if the old fool had been there, he might not have replied. Vernon did a quick sweep of the house, reassuring himself of Beth's assessment. The old man was gone, but with nothing obvious to assist him out in the cold, no food or drink. He checked the boot closet and recalled that a very old but thick fur had hung there. His father had probably taken it for its ritual significance rather than its warmth, but that at least was fortunate.

The lights in the kitchen were still on and Vernon noted the two coffee mugs on the counter by the sink, possibly one used by his father, the other by his wife, each drinking hours apart. In the sink was the ash from Beth's cigarette that she had barely attempted to wash away. He went to the telephone and called the bar that his father frequented with his sometime cronies.

"Traders!" chirped a manly voice. Although he longer drank himself, Vernon still recognized the barkeep's voice.

"Solly? Hey there. It's Vern from across the way."

"Hey Vern. How are you doing these days? Come on over for a drink. We miss you."

"Thanks Solly. I'm not sure how to take that."

"Just messing with you, Vern. We can still meet. That little place at the airstrip serves awful coffee though."

"Always with the funny, Solly. Sure. Let's get an espresso some time. I just need to know if my father has been in today. Maybe he met some of those other drunks? He was talking about going up for the sunrise in a couple of days."

"No. No sign of him for weeks, Vern. I can see Atka in the corner with a couple of the others. Shall I ask them if they're planning anything?"

"Maybe later. For now I need some help to find the old man. He seems to have wandered off. Maybe into the snow by himself. It could be serious. Keep an eye out for any of the trappers who might be hanging out."

"Sure Vern. And you might be in luck too. I heard a couple of detectives flew in to town this morning."

Vernon was unsure if this was a piece of luck or something a little more sinister. The timing was completely unrelated to what had happened. He rinsed out one of the mugs and finished the coffee from the pot. It was surprisingly good and made his head feel a little clearer. Stepping out into the back lot he looked over to the snow-house he had helped his father build a couple of nights previously. It was longer and lower than the kind of igloo that a child might have drawn, more like a small grey submarine. He had managed to smooth out the lines with little streams of boiling water that had frozen quickly to a glassy shell.

He made a quick circle of the snow-house and noted again the overlapping footsteps in the foot-deep snow-pack. The activities of the disastrous overnight expedition were mashed together, his own steps hurrying back and forth, the feeble stumbling of his father near hypothermia, the firm impression of the part-time medic arriving and helping to take the old man into the house. Vernon stood over at the end furthest from the house, the end where the small tunnel allowed entry to the snug shelter. He could make out where Beth had stood with her small boots looking carefully into the gloom, half-expecting to see a body, maybe even half-hoping to see one. There was even a tiny flicker of ash off to the side to confirm her brief moment of conscience.

But Vernon turned back to the biggest crossing over of footsteps where all the commotion had taken place. All the snow was broken down and pitted, muddy and icy. But just beyond it, perhaps six or seven feet away from the house, heading away from the house, was a dull shadow on the surface of the ice pack. He stepped up onto the shoulder of snow, looking up the valley up the length of the lake, his feet sinking into the crumbly edge. There was another little shadow a little further away on the snow. He stepped forward again into the snow pack and his foot sank down again. Leaning forward he dusted the first shadowy patch with his cold fingertips. It was rough with a regular criss-cross pattern.

Footprints. Feet wearing hand-made snow-shoes. Vernon felt such an idiot. He had let his own vehicle driving habits cloud the obvious other options. His father had walked straight out the back of the house into the garden, past the snow-house and hopped carelessly onto the snow-pack to head up towards the lake. He still did not know how long ago this had happened, but now he had a trail to follow.