From: DL20@lafibm.lafayette.edu (DL20)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: The Big Chill (new story)
Date: 17 Aug 92 02:27:42 GMT
Organization: Lafayette College
Originator: news@lafcol

Howdy, all.  New story from me; a little localized in its message, but
I figured I'd share it with everyone else anwyay.  We can probably all
identify with this story.
     Please direct all comments to myself and to alt.prose.d (I don't
get alt.prose.d, so I would like to be able to read comments).  Thanks.
     Hasta la pizza.

                        "The Big Chill"

The wintry blast cascaded over Jean-Paul, covering him from head to toe
with ice crystals.  The sub-Arctic temperatures he in could freeze a man
to the bone, and in Jean-Paul's case, they already had.  He had begun to
lose feeling in his fingers three hours before.  His toes had already
frozen in his boots, jammed with the cold water and tiny particles of
ice that had formed there.  His sled dogs, the heartiest and most
endurable dogs he had ever seen, all lay beside their master, nuzzled up
affectionately to his chest and legs.  Already their fur was matted with
ice, their faces were covered with ever-building piles of snow, their
lives having long since been claimed by temperatures too cold for life
to survive unless it were created specifically for that environment.
And as Jean-Paul pounded his gloved fists against the corpse of one of
his dogs to restore feeling, he doubted there was any such life on the
Earth.
     With great effort, Jean-Paul stood to his feet and hobbled away
from his unfortunate sled dogs.  He slipped on a patch of ice and fell,
jarring his right shoulder blade as he landed.  He slid further on the
ice until he at last grabbed hold of a stalagmite of ice and broke his
progress.  Savagely cursing the ill fortune that brought him to this
frozen wasteland, Jean-Paul pounded his fist on the ice, striking with
all his might and pent-up anger at the injustice of the universe, but
making no mark on the sheet of ice on which he lay.
     To his horror, Jean-Paul saw his hand, now horribly misshapen from
the beating he had given it against the rock-hard ice sheet.  He took
off his glove and, unable to contain his horror, screamed as warm blood
spurted from the knuckles where three of his fingers, frozen solid by
the cold, had broken off.
     He raised his head to his partner, who sat, bundled up, an arm's
length from the disfigured Jean-Paul.  "Stevens!" he shouted.  "Stevens,
you've got to save us!  It's up to you, man--you must save us."
     Stevens peered out from his heavy clothing with his cold blue eyes.
"Too late," he whispered softly.  "We should have known better than to
come here.  Too cold to survive..."  Jean-Paul stared at him closely; it
was near impossible to detect any rise and fall of Stevens' chest.
     "You've got to get us out of here, Stevens!" shouted Jean-Paul.  "I
can't do it.  I haven't the skill, man!"
     "Can't be done," Stevens repeated.  "Should have known better...too
cold."  At last, Steven's eyelids descended, and he went to his rest.
     "Damn you, Stevens," Jean-Paul cursed.  "I shall never escape this
place alive!  Why did I listen to you?  I knew better than to think we
could make it out of here without freezing ourselves solid."
     Overcome with anger, the freezing Jean-Paul staggered to his feet,
fighting exhaustion and extreme frostbite at every step.  Slowly, he put
his left foot in front of his right.  One step.  His right in front of
his left.  Two steps.  Bit by bit, he walked further and further, unsure
of his feet, unsure of his balance, unsure of everything.  For with the
cold, his eyes themselves were beginning to freeze despite his many
layers of clothing.
     At last his hand grasped something.  Through the dimness, he could
make out, against a canvas of darkness, a shadow lighter than the rest.
He pushed the object down and stumbled forward into warmer climes.  The
warm air filled his lungs, forcing him to cough at the sudden change.
Gasping, wheezing, and bleeding, he fell past volumes upon volumes of
metal abstracts and collapsed on the beige carpet.  Of the thirty people
to enter the Skillman Library Computer Room, Jean-Paul was the only one
to return alive.