Heavy Breathing

© James C. Clar

From the field Notebook of David Fedyk – NOAA Artic Research Station:

… I'm not entirely sure how, but when the storm hit I became separated from the other members of the crew. Twenty minutes earlier, Crenshaw had reported over our satellite link that the barometer was falling precipitously. He and Stevens were no more than a quarter of a mile away from my position. I could see them working together drilling and then tagging the ice-core samples they had collected. The three of us had meandered four kilometers or so due east of the base.

The wind began to increase and, within a matter of minutes, it began to screech like harpies in search of the souls of the condemned. Then the snow began to fall and it was impossible to see your gloved hand in front of your face. Naturally I lost sight of my partners. I started moving in their direction – or in what I assumed was their direction – but quickly became disoriented. I tried to raise them on the uplink but atmospheric conditions had rendered our state-of-the-art communications equipment useless. They could have been ten meters or ten kilometers away from me for all I knew. It was obvious that, until the storm abated, I was on my own. The question was, how long could I last? Every man wonders how he will react in a situation such as this. I was surprised and more than a little proud at how calm I remained.

… I have no idea how much time has passed. The wind has diminished somewhat but the snow continues to fall and, if possible, visibility is even worse than it was earlier. I have constructed for myself a small igloo similar to the ones the natives of this region build when they are out hunting or fishing. My shelter is far more primitive … as far as tools are concerned I had only my small ice-axe and the corer that I had been using prior to the onset of the storm with which to work. The angles of the walls are not quite right and interior space is limited, but at least I am protected to some degree from the harshest of the elements … and from the wolves.

A pack found me shortly after I completed the igloo and crawled inside. I can hear them yapping, howling and scratching around the base of the structure as I crouch here inside and write. One or more of them of them even managed to climb on top. So far, they have not been able to break through. It has become impossible for me to check the weather since I have to keep the opening sealed and don't dare venture outside. Communications are still nonfunctioning. On such a short mission none of us carried an emergency locator beacon. Regardless of the outcome, my predicament will surely precipitate a change in protocol at least as far as that measure is concerned.

More immediately problematic is the fact the walls of my fortress seem to be thickening. It appears that – owing to the anomalous meteorological conditions that produced the storm in the first place as well as to the inexpert manner in which I constructed my shelter – each breath I take freezes to the walls and thickens them. The process was imperceptible at first, but it has now reached the point where I barely have any room to move around.

I have jotted all of this down quickly in my notebook so that if and when my body is discovered there will be some record of what happened to me. It is obvious that I am not going to survive this ordeal … I am cold, cramped and tired. Soon I will succumb to sleep … a sleep from which I will never awaken. That seems far preferable to me than meeting my fate beneath the fangs of hungry, prowling wolves.

… Natasha, I know how much you enjoy writing those short stories of yours in your spare time. I'm certain that – should you manage to survive this storm – the irony of my present circumstances will appeal to your artistic sense. The very structure that is keeping me alive will, in the end, prove to be the instrument of my demise. The notion of someone literally breathing himself to death must have at least some literary merit. I have resisted the temptation to embellish my ordeal … besides, the light is fading and my fingers have gone numb. I cannot continue writing. You'll have to work with what little material I have left for you …

***

The freak storm that had settled over the region finally cleared out after four days. The body of the technician David Fedyk was quickly discovered by a search party shortly after the weather broke. Natasha Stevens was indeed struck by the outré circumstances of her colleague's death when she was apprised of them while recovering in the base infirmary. Fedyk and his notebook were found in what amounted to a coffin of ice less than 450 meters from the research base itself. The unfortunate man had set out in the right direction after all and, after traveling for what must have been hours in unimaginable conditions, had stopped to construct his igloo quite literally on the doorstep of warmth and safety. What thus fired Steven's imagination most, therefore, was the fact that Fedyk died completely unaware of the ultimate irony of his situation.

The End

  James C. Clar teaches and writes in western New York. His work has been published in print as well as on the Internet. Recently he has placed short fiction in the Taj Mahal Review, Golden Visions Magazine, Bewildering Stories, Apollo's Lyre, Orchard Press Mysteries, 365 Tomorrows, Antipodean Sci-Fi, Shine: The Journal of Flash, Everyday Fiction, Powder Burn Flash and Flashshot. His story "Starbuck" was voted story of the year for 2008 by the editors of Long Story, Short.