Double-Coated Boy
By Brett Pribble
The blizzard crept behind them like a floating corpse. As Marcus piled together twigs and leaves, his boy played in the snow. No foxes fed. No rabbits ran. Just silence swallowing the sun. Darkness rose from the earth, and a ruddy hue covered the boy’s chapped face. The woods swelled blacker and blacker until its trees melted into night.
The wind transformed from chill to piercing, alerting Marcus. He frowned at the encroaching tempest. “You remember the way home?” he asked.
“Yes. We did it already,” said the boy.
“I know. But can you make it there on your own?”
“Yes,” said the boy. “You taught me.”
Marcus ruffled the boy’s hair. It was wet from droplets of snow. As the flakes fell thicker and damper, Marcus caught them on his hand and touched his tongue. The cold was gentle in his mouth as a deeper freeze surrounded them. He tossed more sticks on the fire, but its heat was just a rumor. Curls of smoke drifted on them, and the boy inhaled it, making him cough.
“Are there any wolves out here?” asked the boy.
“They are with their families. Hunting. Surviving,” said Marcus.
“Will they eat us?” said the boy.
“No. It’s very rare for wolves to attack humans.”
“What if they’re hungry?”
Marcus tossed a branch on the fire. “We all do what we have to.” He laid out two loaves of bread and opened a can of black beans. “Here, put this loaf in your jacket. You’ll need it tomorrow.”
“But then you won’t have any bread.”
“I’ll be all right. I’m bigger. Got more fat in my belly.” He patted his stomach.
“Why didn’t you bring more?”
Marcus reached to the sky and caught more ice, which was dropping harder. “I thought we had more time.”
The boy sprung up and plopped himself down in the snow. “Let’s make snow angels.” Lying on his back, he placed his hands at his sides and stretched them up over his head. “Come make one with me,” he shouted. He waved his arms up and down in the snow.
After leaning near the fire once more, Marcus slumped down next to him. “Remind an old man how to do this.”
The boy waved his arms up and down. “Like this, father.”
They both made angels and laughed under the half moon. Black trees whispered secrets just beyond them. As they tired, Marcus held his boy’s hand, but hard snowfall broke their serenity. Marcus pulled the boy to his feet and rushed him to cover. They sat beneath shrubs as sharp wind cut at their faces, extinguished the fire. There was only dark.
Marcus took off his coat and put it on the boy.
“I already have a coat.”
“I know,” said Marcus. “You need another one, though. The blizzard is coming down on us.”
“Don’t you need it?”
“No.” Marcus patted his stomach. “I have the extra fat, remember?”
“What about the storm?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get sleep, now. It’ll be better in the morning.” Marcus held the double-coated boy in his arms beneath the shrubs. The boy soon fell asleep.
When strands of sun woke the boy, the blizzard had passed. Much of the snow had melted, the forest taking calm breaths.
The boy jumped to his feet. “I’m glad that’s over.”
His father remained sleeping.
The boy shook him. “Wake up. We need to go.” He shook Marcus again, but he didn’t wake. His skin was blue and clammy. When the boy understood, he shook harder than he had from the previous night’s cold. He buried his face in father’s chest. After bawling over the body, he stood. He thought of what his father said about remembering the way home.
The indentations in the snow where they waved their arms and legs faded into the crisp white floor. Puncture wounds where angels had flown. The boy slipped off the big coat and placed it over his father’s body. Then he took off his little coat and placed it over the bigger one. After tucking the edges beneath his father, he trudged toward home.
THE END