Zach
Zach woke in a cold sweat. The vision of his brother being swallowed by the gush of falling water had been nightmarish. Here he was, lost in the woods in complete darkness, being haunted by a ghostly specter, exhausted and hungry, and the thing that disturbed him the most was a dream about his missing brother.
He didn’t know how long he had been asleep. The snow was still falling, but it was lighter now. The flakes were not as large and they seemed to be reaching the ground much more slowly than before.
He had been bitten by the cold. His hands, his toes, and every one of his muscles were chilled. Zach knew he needed to get up and start moving again, but his body wouldn’t let him.
He stared off into the dark forest, clasping his arms around his chest, trying to create heat from a body that seemed to be completely devoid of warmth. He sat, shivering.
Eventually, his lower back began to ache. He was no longer leaning against the tree. He was sitting straight up, “Indian style.” But he could not hold the position any longer, so he moved away from his tree shelter and stood.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. The rock. He pulled it out, hoping it would create the warmth it had earlier that night.
Zach held the stone with both of his fists clenched together.
Nothing.
He gripped the stone harder.
Still … nothing.
Finally, he lifted his two fists, the rock firmly between them, high above his head. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to pull the heat from the rock with his own intensity.
Suddenly, a tingling crawled through his hands and into his forearms. It traveled to his shoulders, through his neck, and then down to his chest. His shivering calmed. The warmth continued to his legs, feet, and toes. It was as if someone had flipped a switch on his internal thermostat.
Relieved, Zach lowered the rock, opened his hands and studied it. It was difficult to see in the darkness. It wasn’t glowing. The gritty, sharp feel of it had not changed. There did not seem to be anything magical about the stone. Was this all in his head? Was this ordinary rock really responsible for keeping him warm? Maybe even for keeping him alive?
Zach took another step away from the tree. He had new energy. New life. Michael and Tristan were still out there somewhere and he had to find them.
Zach trudged his way through the snow and the dense forest. He felt a painful, burning sensation on his left cheek, just under his eye. Sharp twigs and branches had been pelting his body as he walked. A branch must have slapped him in his face. Was he bleeding? Would he need stitches? His hands were much warmer now, but they ached from having to grab so many sharp branches. There were cuts and splinters all over his fingers and palms. More than ever he wished he had brought his gloves.
After fifteen minutes of aimless hiking, Zach came to a clearing. A small reprieve from the torture of the dagger branches. It was a circle that two fallen birch trees had created amid the dense forest.
Zach stood up straight. Having to hunch over as he walked, ducking and dodging obstacles, it felt nice to straighten his already sore back. He touched the cut on his cheek softly with his fingers. It was moist. Blood.
He put his hands together to relieve the pain from the cuts. Then he held them out in front of his body, his palms toward the sky. Light snowflakes fell on his cuts relieving the pain slightly.
Zach took a deep breath and began walking out of the clearing and back into the trees. He reached out his hand to move the first branch out of the way. But before he grabbed the prickly pine, he stopped. He squinted his eyes. He turned around and moved back to the middle of the clearing. If the rock had warmed him, could it also help heal his wounds?
He took the stone out of his pocket and began with the cut on his cheek. Raising the rock to his face, he gently placed it on the bleeding wound. It stung instantly and Zach jerked the stone away from his face. The stone was gritty. It had sand particles on its surface, which caused the pain. He touched his cut with his fingers. It still hurt. It was still bleeding. He had to give it another try.
Once again, he moved the rock toward his face and placed it on the cut. He winced in pain, but he held it there longer this time. He counted to thirty in his head, speeding the numbers up the longer he held the stone to his face. Twenty-eight … twenty-nine … thirty! He took the stone from his still stinging cheek. Then he touched the cut again with his fingers. No change. He was certain it was still bleeding.
Zach decided to try the rock’s powers on the cuts on his hands. He grabbed the stone with his left hand and gently rubbed the cuts on his right hand. No relief. Just more painful stinging. He tried again on the cuts of his left hand. Same result. Why wasn’t it working? Why will it warm me, but not heal my cuts?
Zach pocketed the stone and continued on through the woods, stopping to rest more frequently now. He panted in the cold air. One hour passed. Then two.
The cuts on his hands no longer bothered him. They had become numb. It wasn’t the rock’s doing. He had become immune to the pain the way a boxer might after being punched hundreds of times in one bout.
The snow had ceased. Only a few stray flakes continued to fall. Zach was relieved. If the snow had gotten much deeper he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to continue. Without snow boots hiking was difficult enough.
He had no idea where he was headed. He just hoped he would find something soon. A trail. A building. A hat or glove. Maybe even Michael and Tristan.
Zach stopped to take a break. He moved out of the way of a thick evergreen branch and stood up straight. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, remembering how effective that could be when he was on the pitcher’s mound. It calmed him. Relaxed him. It took him away from peril and into a lonely, but peaceful place.
When he opened his eyes a glorious sight loomed in the distance. Through the triangular shapes of trees, the morning sky had appeared. The clouds dispersed allowing the sunrise to light the day. It was faint, but the mixture of vermillion and orange was unmistakable.
Zach had never felt relief like this before. He squinted his eyes to make sure they had not been mistaken. In the distance, there it was. The sun was rising.