Chapter 25: The Hard Freeze

The sound of the deadbolt sliding home was a gunshot in the frozen silence of the cabin. 

Elias didn’t turn around. He kept his gloved hands pressed against the ancient cast-iron stove, waiting for the first hint of warmth that wasn't coming. Outside, the wind screamed through the gaps in the timber of Cypress Bend, a high, thin wail that sounded like something dying. The storm hadn't just arrived; it had settled in, a white-fanged beast curled around the mountain, cutting them off from the valley floor.

“The generator is a block of ice,” Sarah said. Her voice was brittle, cracking like the frost on the windowpanes. She dropped a bundle of damp kindling onto the floorboards with a heavy thud. “I tried the pull-start until my knuckles bled. It’s done, Elias. We’re in the dark.”

Elias finally looked at her. Her cheeks were the color of raw steak, wind-burned and waxy, and her eyelashes were rimmed with silver frost. She was shivering with a violence that shook her entire frame, rhythmic and alarming. Behind her, the door was already weeping, moisture turning to ice in the drafty seams of the frame.

“Get your coat off,” Elias commanded. He moved toward her, his boots heavy on the wood. “Not the wool one. The thermal layer. If it’s damp, it’ll pull the heat right out of your marrow.”

“I can’t feel my thumbs,” she whispered. She stared at the buttons of her coat as if they were a complex puzzle she had never seen before. She fumbled, her fingers stiff and yellowed. 

Elias swatted her hands away gently and began working the fastenings himself. He could feel the cold radiating off her like a physical force. This wasn’t the cozy winter of greeting cards; this was the hard freeze, the kind of cold that stopped hearts and turned lungs into brittle glass. 

“We have the wood,” he said, nodding toward the pile she’d brought in. “We have the kerosene lamps. We survive the night, and tomorrow we hike down the ridge.”

“The ridge is a sovereign nation of ice right now,” Sarah countered, her teeth clicking together. “You saw the drift by the shed. It’s six feet deep. We aren't hiking anywhere.”

Elias didn't answer because she was right. Instead, he knelt by the stove. He scraped a match against the side of the box—once, twice, until the sulfur flared into a brilliant, temporary orange. He fed it to a scrap of old newspaper, watching the flame lick hungrily at the headlines of a world that felt a thousand miles away. He nursed the fire, adding shavings, then the small twigs, then the larger branches Sarah had dragged in from the porch.

The wood was stubborn. It hissed and spat, white steam rising from the bark as the moisture fought the fire. 

“Come here,” Elias said, gesturing to the floorboards right in front of the stove’s open door. “Sit. Tuck your knees in.”

Sarah sat, wrapping a heavy Hudson Bay blanket around her shoulders. She watched the struggling flame with the intensity of a zealot. “What if the wood doesn’t catch? Truly, Elias. What then?”

“It’ll catch.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” 

He looked at her, seeing the genuine terror in the hollows of her eyes. The Alpine silence was pressing in on them, a weight that made every breath feel labored. “Then we burn the furniture. Then we burn the floorboards. Then we burn the books. I’m not letting the mountain win this one, Sarah. Not after everything else.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. He felt the cold of her hair, the smell of snow and woodsmoke clinging to her skin. For a moment, they were just two bodies in a box, a tiny pocket of defiance against the absolute zero of the night.

The fire finally took hold. A low, guttural roar began deep in the flue, and the first wave of genuine heat washed over them. Sarah let out a long, shaky breath that didn't puff white for the first time in an hour.

“I left the radio in the shed,” she said suddenly.

Elias froze. “The battery-op?”

“I was trying to get a signal while I was fiddling with the generator. I thought maybe I could hear the weather advisory. I… I dropped it when the wind knocked the door shut.”

Elias looked at the door. Between the cabin and the shed lay forty yards of blinding white chaos. In this temperature, forty yards was a lifetime. But the radio was their only link—their only way to know if the storm was breaking or if this was just the beginning of a week-long entombment.

“Stay here,” Elias said, reaching for his parka.

“No. Elias, don't be a fool. You can’t see the hand in front of your face out there.”

“I’ll tie off to the porch rail,” he said, his voice flat. He was already pulling his goggles down. “If I don't find it in three minutes, I come back. But we need to know what’s coming. If this freeze lasts more than forty-eight hours, the wood in here isn't enough.”

He didn't wait for her to argue. He grabbed the coil of nylon rope from the peg by the door, looped it around his waist, and knotted the other end to the heavy timber of the interior doorframe. 

When he opened the door, the mountain rushed in. 

The wind was a physical blow, a wall of white needles that sought out every millimeter of exposed skin. Elias stepped out, and the cabin disappeared instantly. There was no sky, no ground, only the roar of the air and the biting sting of the ice. He moved by memory, one hand sliding along the icy rope, the other thrust out like a blind man’s cane.

The snow was up to his waist. He waded through it, his muscles burning with the effort. Every breath was a struggle; the air was so cold it felt like swallowing needles. He reached the shed by instinct more than sight, his hand slamming into the rough-cut cedar siding.

He dropped to his knees, frantically patting the drifts near the door. His fingers, even through the heavy leather work gloves, were starting to go numb. *Where is it?*

He felt something hard and plastic. He dug, his pulse drumming a frantic rhythm in his ears. His fingers closed around the handle of the radio. He tucked it deep into the chest pocket of his parka, zipping it shut with trembling hands.

The trek back was harder. The wind was against him now, trying to push him off the narrow path and into the deeper drifts toward the ravine. He hauled himself along the rope, hand over hand, his lungs screaming. When the porch railing finally hit his palm, he nearly sobbed with relief.

He tumbled back into the cabin, a cloud of snow following him like a ghost. He slammed the door and leaned against it, gasping, his chest heaving.

Sarah was there instantly, brushing the snow from his shoulders, her hands frantic. “You’re gray. Elias, your face—”

“I got it,” he spat out, his voice a ragged croak. He fumbled with the zipper and pulled the radio out. 

He sat by the fire, his body shaking uncontrollably as the heat began to thaw his extremities—a process that hurt worse than the freezing. He clicked the radio on. 

Static. High, shrill, and empty. 

He turned the dial slowly, his ear pressed to the speaker. He bypassed the local stations, searching for the emergency broadcast frequency from the county seat. For a long time, there was nothing but the white noise of the storm.

Then, a voice. It was faint, buried under layers of interference, but it was human.

“…unprecedented drop in temperatures… Cypress County remains under a total lockdown… Search and rescue operations are suspended until the visibility improves… Expectations are for the freeze to hold through Tuesday…”

“Tuesday,” Sarah whispered. She looked at the small pile of wood by the stove. It was Saturday night. “That’s three days. We don't have enough wood for three days, Elias.”

Elias looked at the fire. The flames were dancing, bright and orange, mocking them with their temporary warmth. He looked at the heavy oak dining table in the corner. He looked at the bookshelves lining the far wall—the collection of first editions his father had spent a lifetime gathering.

“Then we start with the chairs,” Elias said, his voice hardening. He looked at her, his eyes reflecting the dying embers of the newspaper. “We have plenty to burn. We’re going to be just fine.”

He reached for the hatchet leaning against the hearth, the blade catching a flicker of light. Outside, the wind hit the cabin with a fresh burst of fury, the timbers groaning under the weight of the ice, but inside, Elias was already eyeing the leg of the first chair.

The real freeze hadn't even started yet.