The Freeze

The only thing worse than a poor night’s sleep is the day after. When it happens every night, however, the days turn into a smear of half-remembered impressions as the world passes by at what feels like double or treble speed.

He answered the knocking at his door. “You here to wake me up? You’re a few hours late.”

“You’re dragging again.” There was a hint of pity in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Just like you haven’t been all week?” She moved closer to where he couldn’t avoid her gaze. “You look like a raccoon, and I know you haven’t slept decently since—”

“Yeah,” he cut her off. “The sirens just….”

She handed him a key on a lanyard, and a sheet of paper. “You’re taking paid leave for a month.”

“Chief, I can—”

“Nope. I’m not taking any arguments. You’re going to my cabin, and you’re going to sleep as long as you need.”

“When did you get a cabin?”

“Been in the family three generations. Don’t worry, it’s got solar power now, a working well and pump and indoor plumbing.” She stopped. “You aren’t sleepwalking, are you?”

“No,” he said.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to walk off the pier into the lake.”

“How will I get there?” he asked.

“I’m driving you up, so hurry up and pack.”

“You could just give me directions and I could—”

“You could try to drive there, fall asleep on the interstate and get yourself killed. Not happening.”

“I’ll be cut off from everything?”

“Not completely,” she said. “You can usually get enough of a signal from the pier to call or text. You won’t be doing anything online there, though.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can argue, can I Chief?”

“Smart boy. Now pack up some clothes, and your toothbrush. Everything you’ll need is up there. Freezer, fridge, and cupboard are stocked, sheets and blankets are clean. While you’re up there, just call or text if you need anything else.”

Like the days previous, the morning trip to the cabin was a blur. He didn’t remember unpacking, but he remembered that it seemed too large to be a “cabin.” At some point he’d found himself in the bedroom and lay on the bed.

He woke to early evening sun streaming in the bedroom door from the large, western windows of the front room. His stomach grumbled and he moved to the kitchen to make himself a lunch…or dinner…a meal, anyway.

Deciding to keep it simple, he made a peanut-butter and jam sandwich. When he checked his phone for the time, he was surprised to see the battery was almost dead.

“What the hell?” he asked, as if the phone would answer. “I took you off the charger this morning.”

He found the charging cable in the bedroom and plugged the phone in. It took him a more than a few seconds to realize what he was seeing. He hadn’t just slept away the afternoon, he’d slept for twenty-eight hours.

Hunger still poked at him, but he didn’t feel up to making anything complicated. He checked the freezer and decided a pint of gourmet ice cream was just the ticket.

Carrying the pint of ice cream and a spoon, he went out the front door to the pier and sat down at the end of it. Birds sang in the growing shadows, the sun grew red and settled behind the trees, and he ate his ice cream.

He had a moment where he wondered if what he was feeling was contemplation or enjoyment or something else entirely. He shook his head and took another spoonful of the ice cream and let it melt on his tongue. It was better when he didn’t try to think about it.

A shadow in the sky resolved into a flock of geese flying north. As they neared the lake they began to honk and squawk. He finished his ice cream while they circled and began to settle on the lake.

They were every bit as loud as the city, but it didn’t grate on him the way passing cars and trucks and trains did. He felt tired, but not ready for sleep after only being up for a couple hours.

The sun set faster than he’d expected, and a dark, moonless night blanketed everything in silence. The geese slept where they floated in the middle of the lake.

A chill began to fall, driving him back indoors. There was nothing to occupy his time, save a shelf of paperbacks in poor condition. He wandered around the cabin a few times; bedroom, front room, kitchen, bath, laundry room, pantry, small room with a battery bank on one side, the other set up for fly tying, and back.

He pulled a book at random off the shelf and lay down on the bed to read. It was some sort of gunslinger, wild-west sort of novel that failed to hold his interest enough to keep him from drifting off to sleep.

The sirens! The sirens! He couldn’t move, mic in hand, frozen in place. The fire trucks are coming! Get out there! Move! No matter how he tried, he couldn’t make himself move. Not then, not this time. The sirens grew louder, it was going to happen again.

He sat up, panting, his heart thumping as if to leave his chest. Early morning sunlight washed the room in gold, while the geese honked and brayed and shouted their messages to each other on the lake.

That was the noise that his sleeping brain had turned into sirens. They continued throughout the day, a cacophony of excited travelers eating grass and bugs on the edges of the lake, swimming about, then taking short flights only to return to the water’s surface.

He tried reading more of the novel but couldn’t make it through a whole page without his mind wandering. He put the book back on the shelf and perused the collection. It was mostly westerns and historical fiction, with a scant few old science fiction pulps scattered here and there.

The rest of the day he spent much as he had the previous one; wandering about, watching the geese, eating when he felt hungry, and reading from the hilariously outdated science fiction novel he’d taken from the shelf.

When the geese went to sleep, he did too. The quiet made it easy, though his mantra of “Geese are not sirens” delayed it for a bit.

The mantra didn’t work. Once again, he was rooted to the spot while screaming sirens moved closer and everything slowed down. The camera fell to the ground with a crunch and the fire truck….

He took a cold shower to wash off the sweat and wake himself. He stepped out of the cabin as the geese took off and made a formation.

Despite hoping they were back on their journey, the formation did a few large loops in the sky before settling back down on the lake. He began to search the cabin, looking through cupboards and closets.

Not finding what he was looking for, he went to the kitchen and picked up the phone that was still plugged in. He carried it out to the pier, getting a weak signal when he reached the end.

“How are you holding up out there? Need anything?” Her voice dropped in and out.

“I…uh…I need a drink. Any chance you could bring me a bottle?”

“As long as you don’t mind me sleeping on the pull-out. I’m not going to let you drink alone.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll see you around five,” she said.

After first examining the fridge and scolding him for his eating habits, she made them dinner. They ate in silence while the geese continued their loud frolic.

Dinner complete and dishes washed and put away, they moved to the end of the pier to watch the sunset and share a bottle of wine.

“Not really what I had in mind,” he said, “but it’ll do.”

“It’ll have to,” she said, “as it’s all I had on hand.”

After the geese had settled and the waxing moon rose, she asked, “Can you talk about it?”

He took another gulp from the bottle. The wine warmed his belly and gave him the courage to speak. “I think so.”

For long moments, he stared at the moon, then its reflection on the lake. She didn’t push, giving him room to speak on his own time.

“The fire was behind me,” he said, “camera in front. Normal news reporting, you know? I heard the sirens….” Tears began to trickle down his cheeks.

“I heard them coming, then I saw…I saw her; the toddler…playing in a puddle in the street.

“I knew I had to do something, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I just…stared at her.

“The cameraman…the new guy…turned around to see what was going on. He dropped the camera and ran for her without a moment’s hesitation…just like I couldn’t.” He was wracked with deep sobs, and she put her arm around him and held him.

“If I’d just gone…I had time…I could’ve saved her. Instead…,” the vision of the fire truck trying to stop, slamming into both the little girl and the cameraman filled his mind again. “It’s my fault. I’m a coward.”

She held him in silence, rocking gently until his sobs died down. “It’s not your fault, okay? It’s not your fault. You’re not a coward just because your instinct was to freeze rather than run towards danger.”

“I—I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he said. “Is it okay if you sleep in the bed with me? Not to do anything, just sleep.”

The sirens! He was back again, frozen in place, but he wasn’t alone this time. Her voice cut through the sirens and broke him from their spell. “You’re okay,” she said, “it’s not your fault.”

He woke to her wiping the tears from his face, only to break down in sobs of relief.