Written for English class, as a follow-up to the Jack London story To Build A Fire. We had to write a Man vs. Nature story about ourselves, but since I never leave my computer to have encounters in nature, I opted to write something fictional. Obviously.

Enjoy.

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I thought it would be an easy trip: Fifteen miles the long way, off the snowy highway. I should have known the side road would still be covered with the white powder, but I took it anyway. It looked as if a plow had gone by recently, but the snow fell quickly and the frozen tire track were fast fading into the uniform white blanket. I tried to drive in them as much as I could, but the wheels of my Civic slid at every bump. It was night, of course, and there were no houses on the lonely stretch of road for another couple of miles.

The radio was tuned to channel 1210, an affiliate of The Weather Channel. I focused on the voice, and that may be part of the reason I didn't see the deer and its fawn coming toward the road until they ran in front of the car. Shocked, I swerved to miss them and lost control. I tried steering into the swerve like I was taught to, but the snow and ice beneath the wheels carried me off the road and directly to a tall maple tree. My head bounced wildly, and I heard the tree drop its load of snow onto the roof of my car. Then came the frightening cracking sound of the tree's trunk, thinner than it should have been and frozen through. As it fell on my car, I felt a searing pain in my right arm, then passed out.

When I came to, I was cold. Very, very cold. I couldn't feel the right side of my body, but I was vaguely aware of the tree, nearly sitting on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw the void where the windshield had once been, bits of broken glass still stuck in the pane. Closing my eyes again, I took a deep breath, holding the panic quickly rising in my gut. My face stung from the cold and scratches from the glass, and I realized I didn't know how long I'd been passed out. I could still feel my fingers in my gloves, so it hadn't been that long, but I knew that I would die out there if I didn't get myself out of the car and to help.

Slowly, I tried to move my right arm. The tree held it pinned to the center console, and I had no doubt that it was broken at the very least. The dashboard had been dented downwards, trapping my right leg between it and the seat. If I could just get my arm free, I could slide it out horizontally. But my arm refused to move, and I was soon yelling at it to do something. With my left arm, I tried to roll the tree off it, or lift it up high enough so I could get my arm free, but it was too heavy.

So I began calling out for help. In the cold, snowy night, I knew no one would hear me. My cell phone wouldn't have reception, and even if it did, I had no idea where it had gone in the accident. As much as my body hurt, I began thrashing around, hoping one of my movements would do something to help my situation. None did.

Then the tree moved. It lifted from the bottom, and I opened my tear-filled eyes to see a figure on the hood of the car, the snow passing right through his body. The tree trunk was on his shoulder, and he was holding it up off my arm. Get your arm out. The voice seemed to come from nowhere, floating on the breeze with the snowflakes. I listened instantly, my survival instincts taking over my curiosity. I didn't want to look at my arm, but as soon as I pulled it from beneath the tree, it erupted in pain, and I instantly looked. Through the blood and the tattered remains of my coat sleeve, I could see the bone, and I again panicked.

I breathed slowly again, my eyes closed. Then I turned my attention to freeing my right leg. It wasn't that difficult, as I had thought it would be. I moved my hand to the door handle, and the boy was on the other side, pulling it open. He offered his hand and helped me out of the car. I fell in the snow, my right leg still numb, but I crawled away from the wreckage to be free of the tree's branches and anything else the collision may have unsettled.

Move. The numbness will wear off. The boy's lips didn't move as he stood over me. He looked college aged, but I couldn't get a good look at him in the dark. His clothes were heavy, and I wondered what he was doing in the forest. He didn't appear cold or wet from the snow. Again, he offered his hand, pulling me to my feet. Then he held onto my hand as I walked in circles around him until I could feel my leg. It was fine, and I could walk almost normally by the time the feeling returned to my arm.

The boy began guiding me around the wreckage in the direction of the highway. I had no idea how far it was to the highway, but I didn't care as I struggled to free my hand from his grasp to grip my right arm. Come. We need to get to the highway. He refused to let go. I fell in the snow, half on purpose, and he finally let go of my hand. I wrapped it tightly around the upper part of my right arm, trying not to look at the injury or the blood falling onto the snow beneath me. The boy sat cross-legged in front of me, watching me like a cat. He wasn't phased by the snow that was quickly dampening the seat of my pants.

Wrap your scarf around it. He didn't move, continuing to stare at me. I recalled the need to stop the bleeding from every medical show I'd ever watched. As quickly and carefully as I could, I took my scarf from around my neck and secured it around the wound, my teeth clenched the entire time. The boy stood when I was done, offering his hand a third time. Come. I took his hand again, wishing my other leg was injured so I could use him to support me. My throat was too dry to say anything, my breath too cold. I shivered uncontrollably, which unsettled my arm even more.

But the boy kept leading me on slowly, leading me around buried rocks and holes. He seemed to know his way around, and I felt strangely safe with him. However all I wanted to do was sit down in the snow and sleep. I was dizzy, my head ached, my whole body ached. I just wanted to curl up by an imaginary fire and sleep, even if it meant I would die. At least I would be comfortable.

Every time I couldn't go any further, the boy let me drop to the ground, then waited a few minutes before helping me up and leading me another few yards. The snow seemed to come down harder and harder, and the night kept getting colder, but I kept going. Just a little while longer. I wanted to smack him for not using his mouth to speak, but I couldn't do it. Ahead of me, the forest seemed to go on for an eternity. I began wondering if he was leading me towards death, if this cold, lonely forest was Heaven. Or Hell. I figured anything would be better than limbo in the cold.

The boy stopped me, and I watched in delusional amazement as two deer ran past in front of us. Maybe they were the same ones that had caused my accident? I laughed like a child as they disappeared into the snow. The wind picked up just then, bringing up a snow twister before sending the snow blowing into me. Come. Onward we went, Lewis and Clark exploring the endless forest.

My eyes began to drift closed. I couldn't feel my face, and my hands and feet were fast joining it. I stumbled and fell into a snow bank, the impact sending my arm into flames of pain. The boy watched idly as I beat my hands against the snow, sending flakes flying into the air. He tilted his head like a cat, as if he didn't understand my frustration. Then he offered his hand and pulled me up.

In the distance, I heard the sounds of the highway. I was aware of the horns of cars stuck in traffic, and then I saw the lights. Intermingled with the trees, I saw them move a few inches forward. I think I might have smiled, but all I remember is the joy I felt at being so close to safety. I wanted to run to the road, but my leg kept me from doing so.

About twenty feet from the highway, I fell. The boy had let go of me, dropped me into the snow. Angry, I cried out. As I looked around me to yell at him, I realized he wasn't there anymore. To my right, there was snow. Behind me, snow. In front of me, snow. And to my left, a white cross stuck out of the ground, dark writing on it and a snow-covered wreath leaning against it.

Knowing it meant I was close to the road, I pushed myself up and limped weakly to the road, where I knocked on the first window I saw. It rolled down and a concerned face appeared in its place. As briefly as I could, I explained what had happened in the accident. The person in the car invited me inside and called 911, pulling to the side of the road as she did so. She said that an ambulance would reach us faster than if we drove to the hospital ourselves.

I stared out the window into the forest while we waited. I didn't see the boy anywhere, and the only footsteps I could make out were my own. When the ambulance arrived twenty minutes later, I explained to the paramedic what had happened with the boy. The paramedic replied, "You met the Rickett ghost. Third this month."