Frigid Affair by Jennifer Foor
Chapter 1
Down the mountain, about a quarter mile from where I stood, a lone wolf crossed over the frozen lake. I wondered if it somehow represented me, and what my life was amounting to. Then another part of me contemplated that I’d just been alone for way too long.
Winter. It made the wind whip and the air too cool to withstand. It’s what kept the city folk away. In such a tranquil location I was able to look out amongst the picturesque landscape, admiring a part of nature, which had been untouched by man. During the day, when the sun peeked through the cloudy sky, I’d sit out on the large deck and enjoy the scenery, with a steamy hot cup of something to keep my body temperature raised.
At night, the surrounding woods filled with the sounds of every creature who wasn’t hibernating, out searching for whatever they could find to keep them nourished through the long, frigidly harsh weather conditions. Suffice to say, I preferred being indoors, where a nice sweltering fire left me comfortable and protected from hypothermia. It wasn’t like I was a hop, skip and jump away from civilization or a hospital if something were to happen. Even in the best of weather conditions, it would take emergency crews quite some time to make it to me.
This was obviously not everyone’s cup of tea. Most people would assume me to be a recluse, or maybe that I’d become some wilderness guru preferring to live in the bush than fit in with society. I suppose if I were to be diagnosed with anything it would be a broken heart. I’d come here for that reason; to be able to bury the pain in several feet of snow, at least nine months out of the year. It was also to get away from the people I used to surround myself with. My friends and extended family. My co-workers and neighbors; anyone who knew who I was before. I required a clean slate; a new life to start over without scrutiny from anyone who’d like to judge how I’d chosen to handle the horrifying circumstances surrounding the tragedy.
It’s why I picked this peaceful place to settle in. I knew people wouldn’t come looking. They’d forget about the girl who once lived at forty five Camden Street; the woman who used to be a friendly face around town.
Even if someone remembered, visitors in my neck of the woods were rare. Living in Alaska had its perks. I rarely considered having company; at least the human kind. There were occasional unwanted critters every now and again, including wolves and bears. I’d learned pretty quickly what I could and couldn’t leave outside. Bears can smell for miles. Wolves hunt in packs. Case in point, it’s necessary to keep my garbage indoors until it’s ready to be burned , driven to a dumpster, or buried; another thing people in towns would never even consider. I didn’t have a garbage truck that showed up on my front sidewalk each week to take away my waste. There were no sidewalks, and I certainly didn’t live within city limits of anywhere.
I didn’t always aspire to be alone; to shut down and refuse to communicate with others.
Who does that?
I know what you’re thinking.
Why would someone want to lock herself up and throw away the key?
In my younger years I was fun and outgoing, maybe even a bit promiscuous at times. I liked adventure, going to parties, and enjoying the company of the people I was close to. I had a ton of friends; some I liked spending time with more than others. I was popular, high maintenance, and sometimes a bit conceited. I prided myself in looking my best before stepping out the door each morning. There was a time when I had the potential to be something other than ordinary and absurd.
Aside from all that, there was a different side of me many people didn’t know about. Growing up with a father who was avid in hunting, camping and fishing, I’d been taken on trips and taught how to survive off the land. My dad was a bit of a survivalist. He watched shows on the apocalypse and started making plans just in case the worst would happen.
Maybe he was crazy. To me, he was just my dad, a business savvy man during the day, and a kind gentlemen with superb knowledge at night. Since I was raised on it, nothing seemed weird to me. I was accustomed to always finding a way to make things easier. My friends called my dad The General. They told me when the zombies attacked they were all coming over to stay at our house, because we’d be able to survive when everything turned to shit. The funny part of it was that I believed them too.
We’d canned food for the winter, grew our own vegetables in the summer, and at the age of six he’d taught me how to fire a rifle. When my brother was old enough he was shown the same things. It was also something my parents enjoyed doing together. They wanted to go back to basics, and to teach us kids we could do the same. Video games, television, and all the other technical accessories people rely on weren’t important in the big spectrum of things. Having each other was everything.
My mom, bless her heart, had always worked hard to take care of us. She was overemotional, and a worrywart, but she also had a tough side to her. If anyone looked at us the wrong way she’d come out of her shell and threaten their livelihood to defend us. It happened so rarely that it was quite comical.
Having remained living at home as an adult, I was grateful to have had the time with them, since their lives were cut short. When I decided to move to Alaska I knew it was a place my father would approve of. It was sudden, but so were their deaths.
Everything changed in the blink of an eye. All that I’d ever dreamed of being, a future so hopeful, was gone. There were no goodbyes. I didn’t have closure. Justice wasn’t served. My family was gone. My father, mother and little brother were all taken from me prematurely. It wasn’t their time to leave this earth, at least not in my opinion. I know a few religious people who would beg to differ, but I wasn’t crazy about believing, not anymore. God had failed my family, at least that’s how I felt.