Optimist

“It’s all we have left,” she said, trying to hand him an aluminum soup can wrapped in a dirty t-shirt that had steam gliding off the top of it. Their voices were both gruff and slightly slurred from the exhaustion and the cold. Every word took work.

“You first,” he said, waving his hand and refusing to take the can. She pursed her lips but obeyed, carefully sipping from the tin. She nearly smiled. He could see the flicker of it in her lips, but it didn’t reach full form. Mom had always joked that Alicia came out of the womb laughing, and never stopped. 

“It’s good,” she said, “Fine a drink as any for a last meal.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You’ve got something against hot chocolate?”

“Alicia.”

“David.”

“We’re gonna be fine.” 

“Sure. And it’s Santa that’s going to come rescue us?”

He exhaled and shook his head. “Pessimist.”

She set the tin down between them. “Optimist.” The word came out like an accusation.

He picked up the tin and tried to hand it to her. “Drink while it’s warm.” 

“Not hungry.” She turned away from him and went quiet. Her breath mirrored the steam coming off of the hot cocoa, as did his. They were both losing heat, losing patience, losing life, like sentient cups of hot chocolate. Her cheeks and nose were red, and her lips were covered in dead skin and scabs. They’d been able to eat snow, but not enough since it had been 9 days since the last storm. The 9 days were both a curse and a blessing. It had been less cold but the snowfall had also largely melted away and neither of them had the energy to spare looking. The ice for the hot cocoa was the result of a walk that had taken so much energy out of them that neither had any left to fetch more wood for the fire, so they’d just watched as it was reduced to coals, the tin nestled within it. He felt his life waning, each moment getting slower and heavier. 

“Of course you are. I’m hungry. You’re hungry. Every miserable creature out here is hungry. Drink the damned cocoa before it gets cold.” 

She turned to him and glared, but softened as she watched him begrudgingly take a sip. He smacked his lips dramatically, which took more effort than he thought a lip smacking could, then said “Oh wow, what is this, is this,” more lip smacking, “Belgian? Belgian chocolate? It’s delectable. Very rich. Only available to the wealthiest stranded hikers in the western world.” It was worth the effort, and his chest filled with warmth when Alicia cracked a small smile. He returned it. 

“Hey,” she said, “that was a sympathy smile. Don’t get too excited over there.” SHe nudged him, and held out her hands for the tin. 

He watched as she took a sip. His chest was warm from the few sips he’d had, though the growling in his stomach felt like it’d become a full blown fight between wolves. He held his stomach, and closed his eyes, trying to imagine each breath in as a banquet at home instead of a moment closer to the exaction of a death sentence. Nobody had found them yet. Maybe nobody would. 

“You okay?” Alicia asked, her voice pulling him from his spiral. 

He nodded, apparently unconvincingly, because she shot him a sympathetic glance then crawled over to him, leaning into him. “Me neither.” 

He nodded again, his throat getting tight. He’d be able to cry, if he wasn’t so damned dehydrated. The first time she’d cried out here, he’d scolded her. That had been nearly a month ago. 29 days, to be exact, according to the marks they’d been making on the log they’d used as a bench up until it took too much energy to sit upon the bench. And now look at him, too dehydrated to cry. They sat in silence, leaning against each other, and he was grateful for the way the cold slowed down his thoughts. In a way, it kept him from panicking. It kept him from truly processing how close to death they both were. 

He was tired, so tired, and his hands felt numb. In fact, his whole body felt numb. The cold was in his bones, and had wrapped itself around his brain like a slug. It was still light out, but he wanted to fall asleep. He blinked, letting his eyes stay closed a little longer than he should have, then opened them. The sun had moved across the sky. He’d fallen asleep. He tried to move, but his body was numb, stiff, worn out. He looked over at Alicia. Her eyes were closed, and only the slightest little puff of steam was coming out of her nose. The tin was still on the ground, half finished. He tried to push against Alicia, and she moved a little, but didn’t stir. 

“Alicia?” He said, forcing the words out. “Alicia.” He pushed against her again, but she still didn’t stir. He leaned back, looked at the sky, closed his eyes, and prayed. 

He must have fallen asleep again, because he woke up to something warm pressed against his cheek, his lips, his fingers. As each spot warmed, pinpricks erupted across his skin, burning. He forced his eyes open, panicking for a moment, worried that they had frozen shut. But he was able to open them. The world was blurring, but he saw a dark mass in front of him, and could feel the lightest pressure as it pushed on him and stepped on him. God, oh God, he thought, Bear? A bear? This wasn’t how he thought he’d go, but he was so cold that fear couldn’t even soak through his body, couldn’t make it to his heart. The warmth had continued, focusing on his face. His vision cleared, sharpening, and he realized that it was a dog. 

Dog? God, a dog. A dog! He tried to raise a hand to pet the dog, but the best he could do was wiggle his fingers. He realized the dog was barking. It was alternating between barking and licking him. It seemed to be a German Shepherd, and he smiled, he’d had a German Shepherd as a kid. They were good dogs. He forced out some words, whispering, “good dog, good.” The dog whined in response, then barked again, then laid on top of him. He watched the dog lick Alicia’s hand. Alicia.

In the distance, he heard shouting. “Nick! Nick!” and realized the dog was wearing a red vest. He looked into the tree line, and saw figures running towards him. People. People! He tried to muster what he could, and managed a speaking tone, “Hey, here. Here. We’re here.” The dog barked, and the people drew closer, running. They emerged from the trees, a man and a woman, out of breath, bundled up, and knelt beside David and Alicia. 

“David Pright?” The man said. 

He nodded, and kept nodding, unable to control his body.

The woman was at Alicia’s side, rattling off medical nonsense to nobody. After a crackle, David realized she was speaking into a radio. 

“And is this Alicia Pright?” The man asked, nodding to his sister. David’s nodding continued. 

“Okay, David, okay. We’re with Search and Rescue, and so is Saint Nick here,” he paused, patting the dog’s head. “You’re alright. You’re both going to be alright. Looks like you might even make it home for Christmas."