You read correctly, Chapter 1 is done. And so are the posts here, as far as Donovan's story goes. Sorry, for the unresolved questions, but that's how it goes, I can't put the whole thing on here. So, from now to completion it goes to a private proofreader. Enjoy, and post a comment. Look foreward to whatever I find to put up on here next.
Kansas
Ice burnt their skin like an unquenchable fire, clinging to and stabbing every nerve. Even above the overpowering screech of the wind Donovan's trained ear could hear the muffled groans of pain from Lydia and her brother, the poor wretches. Not often in his 28 years of semi-solitude had any of the struggling travelers woken such compassion in him, and to Donovan it was an odd feeling, one that disturbed him slightly, and unseated his ideas about who he was.
The wind grew stiff, like a solid punch, and ever the snow fell harder. There was naught to be seen but a thick white haze.
"Mr. Nevil!" cried the girl, "How much farther?"
"The vines, Lydia." He roared over the wind, "We need to be at least a mile away, even more in this weather."
Donovan could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the girl wasn't built for this, but to cut short their journey could be fatal.
"I can't…" she struggled from beneath the makeshift cloak, the burden of her brother becoming more than what she could bear.
The beast of a man sighed, this was more than he would do for most. All the same, he slung the now frozen carcass over his shoulders and scooped up the children in his arms and continued trudging away from the death sentence of the vines.
Shadows darted through his sight, in the sky, or at least what he thought was the sky, and on what seemed to be the ground. Donovan's face numbed, and his eyes squinted, struggling to see in the failing light. Night fell, though it's only distinction was the lessening whiteness and gathering gray, sliding towards utter darkness.
Lost without sight, a terrible position, Donovan struggled, his many burdens weighed him down, and the wind held him off. Hope and heart were failing, he knew full well there no way they could survive any longer, but they had barely attained ¾ of a mile. The bundle in his arms shivered, uncontrollably, and his mind set on the only option, shelter.
Shuffling through the snow Donovan found a mailbox post, with a sigh of relief. They weren't far enough, but could go no further, the only alternative was this.
The heavy front door trembled under Donovan's heavy boots. Another blast of his monstrous leg burst the door inward. Sweeping into the house he laid the brother and sister down, pulling from his shoulder the inhumanly sized gun.
Unfeeling cheek to the stock he moved through the house, room to room, making a check of the dusty abode, ensuring their solitary inhabitation of the place. Satisfied at the results he returned to the children.
Donovan bolted the door back shut, and pulled the young travelers into the front room. Ice coated to the blanket he pulled from around them, Lydia's golden hair fell over her thawing face as she was laid back beside her brother. Both fell to sleep as Donovan brought another blanket from a bedroom of the house.
Once stripped of his snow crusted coat Donovan pulled a large container from the bottom of his pack, and poured it out on the kitchen floor. Forming the mound of dirt on the cracked and faded linoleum he piled tinder atop and set his flint to it. Flame leapt up the sticks, and took to the logs he added as time went by.
The fire burning, Donovan turned his attention to the frozen deer he had killed but a few hours before. The hide, osteodermic, was of great value to a sometimes fighter as Donovan, and so he generally would remove it, but now he could not, frozen as it was to the carcass.
The beast of a man struggled to pry the skin up, even so much as to put the blade of his knife between. With an exasperated gasp he gave up, let go the hide. He was beyond his limits, unable to process his kill. So he did what he could, procuring food for the two travelers sleeping in the front room.
Lifting up one of the hind legs he managed to cut three frozen strips of meat from the exposed inner part of the quarter. Donovan laid them with care beside the fire before he stood up and seized the carcass again.
Pulling his hood up, Donovan pulled the deer to the back door, and out into the stabbing blizzard. In an instant his thawed beard refroze, solid as ever. The icy wind tore at his fingers, clawed at his face.
Blinded, Donovan dropped the corpse in the snow, and went about covering it and filling it with the loose sheets of ice. He stumbled back to the door, the utter darkness lending itself only to his confusion.
Finding the door at last, Donovan let himself in, and shook the snow from his coat. He sat at the fire and turned the strips over it, watching them thaw and cook.
Resting his head in his hands he let out a sorrowful sigh, and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. The twining flames calmed him, took down his guard, and his despair settled on his heart.
Flames played out scenes from his mind, unbidden they recalled from the depths of his mind shadows of his memories. And to these memories he fell asleep, dreaming of pain, and of old love.
Copyright © 2008-2009 Robert W. A. Nance
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