{ 15. Big Freeze }
Clouds rolled over the forest. The fire was drowned by rain, forcing the group inside the trailer. Maneuvering by candlelight, they changed out of their dirty day clothes and into slightly less dirty night clothes before settling into their sleeping bags. They slept two to a bag for warmth; Sam and Tony to one, Steve and Bucky to the other. The bags sat side-by-side on a tarp, spread out on the rotting plywood floor of the main room. This room was probably a combination kitchen/living area before it was gutted and turned into a lab.
Rain beat down on the metal roof, leaked inside here and there. Tony was snoring minutes after he finished off his flask, Sam racing against the shrinking candle to finish his book.
Steve stared up into the darkness. His mind was burdened with the future, the well-being of his friends, curiosity about the world outside and how it faired in their absence. Bucky lie on top of the sleeping bag without a blanket, still wouldn't accept one for anything. The rain turned to hail as the air froze and the sound was cataclysmic against the roof.
Turning to Bucky's ear, Steve whispered above the noise, "It's freezing, Buck. You really wanna suffer like that?" Bucky lie on his back, stiff as a board. He was quiet for a long moment. Steve figured he'd gone mute again until he replied,
"Sleep is cold."
Steve furrowed his brows, propped himself up on his elbow. "What?"
"Sleep is cold," Bucky repeated flatly. As if he wasn't heard, as if that should make perfect sense.
"It…It doesn't have to be," Steve told him, still uncertain and confused. The brunet looked at him like he'd spoken another language.
Of course sleep was cold. That's how it had always been as far as Bucky was concerned. He woke up when his old handlers needed him, then after his service they put him in the cold and he went to sleep. Sleeping any other way was forbidden, impossible.
Steve added, "You don't have to do this to yourself just because you can survive it. You…" He paused, tried to choose his words carefully. "You deserve a little comfort. You've suffered enough."
The dying candle illuminated Bucky's face as he turned to Steve, staring back through the bold shadows. They shared a silent moment, then the room went black as the flame was drowned in wax. Sam muttered a curse under his breath and Steve heard him toss his book on the floor.
"Guess that's it," said Sam. "'Night, Guys."
Steve sighed a little and settled back down into his bag. "Good night."
The hail slowed to a quiet pitter-patter above. It still sounded like chaos to Steve. A growing anxiety was consuming him and the whole notion of sleep seemed like a joke. How much longer would they live like this? How much longer could they live like this? Holed up in the wilderness, never to be seen again?
The worst part? Steve knew he'd go on like this for as long as it took. He could do this all day, every day, for the rest of his life if it meant standing up for what he believed in.
He believed in Bucky. It was a damn shame, he thought, that so many didn't.
xXxXxXx
Sunlight beamed through the grimy windows. Steve was the first to wake, wincing at the blinding white void outside. The space beside him was empty and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Scrambling to his feet, Steve slipped his shoes on and flew out the door. He left a short trail of footprints about 2 inches deep before stopping beside the firepit.
There was Bucky, casually stoking the flames to life. He was dressed appropriately for the snow—unlike Steve, who had run out here in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The blond man let out a sigh of relief, wandering towards the fire. He picked up a loose stick on the way and tossed it in, said, "I guess it's officially winter, huh?"
Bucky barely glanced at him, simply grunting in response. He was dressed in layers of flannel and a red wind-resistant coat with the left sleeve cut off. A black ushanka covered his head. Steve went back inside and it was no warmer in the trailer than it was outdoors.
The bathroom was hardly bigger than a closet, even with the toilet and sink ripped out. Steve's clothes were hanging over the shower curtain to dry overnight, now stiff with frost. He shook them out and shivered as he put them on: long johns, jeans, and a heavy hooded sweatshirt over a long-sleeved shirt.
His body heat would warm the fabric eventually. Steve wasn't too concerned about freezing to death out here, not after surviving 70 years as a human Popsicle, though what didn't kill him was still uncomfortable. There was no shortage of scrap metal scattered around the trailer when they arrived and Tony fashioned some of it into a makeshift grill. When Steve left the trailer again, Bucky was placing it over the firepit. It was simply a metal grate standing on four rickety legs.
Among the scrap were some metal pails. Bucky took one, Steve took two, and they headed down to the creek to fill them. It was only a 5-minute walk down a trail littered with garbage. When they first arrived, one of the first things Steve did was fish the syringes and beer cans out of the creek so Sam and Tony wouldn't step on them.
They filled the buckets and boiled them over the fire. Steve cracked open the trailer door and called, "We got water! Get it while it's hot!" Sam and Tony groaned as they forced themselves out of their sleeping bags. They took the steaming buckets into the bathroom, stripped naked and stepped into the rusty tub together.
"If we ever return to civilization," Tony began, "let's agree to never speak of this again…"
"Deal," replied Sam, then they dipped cloths in the soapy water and scrubbed away 3 days' worth of sweat and grime. They were all letting beards consume their faces for now, both for warmth and disguise.
Tony picked up the second bucket, free of soap, and poured half of it over Sam to rinse. Sam did the same for him until the bucket was empty, then it was a race to dry and dress before their body temperatures dropped too low. Super-soldiers could survive these conditions, but Sam and Tony wouldn't if they weren't careful.
Steve boiled rice, throwing in canned carrots to add what little nutrition he could. Bucky took a bunch of bananas and protein powder from the metal footlocker and set about making his own breakfast.
Since last week, hunger pain became background noise in Steve's life. It put all of them at risk every time Sam left for supplies and Steve was well aware that he and Bucky chewed through rations the fastest, so he tried to conserve. Steve was surviving off calorie-dense nutrition bars and Bucky's protein powder. He never thought the day would come when he craved an MRE.
He drank water straight from the creek, saving the purified stuff for the others. No parasite was burly enough to survive Steve's immune system—at least none that he'd swallowed yet. He filled a plastic gallon-jug, the water inside slightly discolored and gritty with sediment, and drank about 4 of them each day. Like everything else, it didn't kill him, but he didn't feel his best after drinking it either.
Tony and Sam ate the rice while Steve crammed down a nutrition bar and set to work chopping firewood. They never did get their hands on an axe, so he used the edge of his shield instead. Stabbing into each piece of loose wood the others dragged in from the forest, Steve had the strength to simply pry them apart.
He swore the wood was getting a little tougher each day.
xXxXxXx
Twelve days off the grid and the snow hadn't gone anywhere.
It only piled up more and more, now sitting at 10 inches. It was still falling this morning as Steve and Bucky brushed it off of the firepit. Tony and Sam hid indoors from the bitter wind until Steve managed to spark a strong enough flame to keep the blaze alive.
"If we take one of those tarps off the roof," suggested Tony, "we can bring the fire inside." Steve was skeptical.
"But if we let the elements in, what's the point?"
Tony shrugged. "That's how the Indians did it."
"Native Americans," Sam corrected him, then let out a ragged cough as he threw more sticks on the flames.
Steve looked at Sam with a wrinkle between his brows. "I don't like that cough," he said. Waving a dismissive hand, Sam assured him,
"The air's just dry. I'm fine." The last word barely left his lips before he coughed again, burying his face in his sleeve.
"Sam…" Steve began, then he fell silent and still. Tony quirked an eyebrow and queried,
"What—you hear something?"
"Shh," Steve hushed him, listening closely. All the others heard was the crackling fire and the wind in the trees, but Steve's keen ears picked up a droning noise far in the distance.
After a moment, Bucky craned his neck up towards the sky. The sound was getting closer and now he could hear it too. He froze for a moment, then cried, "Kill the fire!" before kicking big waves of snow onto the flames. Sam and Steve joined in without protest, but Tony had to ask,
"Woah, woah, why? What's going on?"
"It's a chopper," explained Steve. He pointed to the trailer. "Go inside—you too, Sam!" Without another word, Tony and Sam scrambled into the trailer, watching from the window as Steve and Bucky buried the firepit in snow once more, then they joined the others inside.
Between layers of gray clouds, snowfall, and the filthy window, it was nearly impossible to see anything. The helicopter was close enough now that even Sam and Tony could hear it, like a droning ghost hiding somewhere in the weather. They listened silently, unconsciously holding their breath as it passed overhead.
"MH-6M," Bucky murmured, deciphering by sound alone. "Observation model. Attack capabilities." Tony and Steve exchanged looks and Sam quickly added,
"American Military chopper. We call 'em 'Little Birds'. Must be important if they tossed one out in these conditions."
"Think they're looking for us?" asked Steve. Sam opened his mouth to speak and coughed instead, hacking away into his elbow as Steve rubbed his back.
"You sound like shit, Wilson," mentioned Tony. Sam ignored the comment and rasped,
"Military has no business with us. Not unless S.H.I.E.L.D or Hydra or whoever gave 'em incentive to."
The clouds shifted in the wind, exposing a black dot in the sky. Steve guided everyone away from the window and they sat in darkness against the back wall where kitchen cabinets used to be. The linoleum floor was coated with dirt and pine needles, chipped and peeling away.
They sat there and anxiously listened to the helicopter fade away until the only sound left was rustling branches. Steve turned to Bucky and asked,
"How'd you know what it was?"
Bucky's face blanked. He hesitated to answer because he wasn't even sure himself. Sometimes complex and obscure skillsets came to him as naturally as breathing.
"Training," he answered vaguely. Steve cocked his head, opened his mouth to ask—then shut it and decided he didn't really want to know.
xXxXxXx