Scott Free by John Gilstrap Page A

floor would keep it colder than it needed to be, but for the time being, it would have to do. It was all he had in him.
    Bedtime. Collapse time. But first he had to piss. Stuffing the flashlight back into his pocket, Scott traipsed across the crash site to face a tree. He calculated the wind direction and did what he had to do.
    In the fifteen seconds that his hands were exposed to empty his bladder, the flesh on his fingers felt frozen. He knew better than to try managing a zipper and two layers of underwear with his gloves on, but by the time he tucked himself away and zipped back up again, he could barely feel his fingertips. It would take an hour for them to warm up again, he was sure.
    â€œJesus, it’s cold.” As he snugged his collar up as tightly as it would go, his spine launched a shiver. He pulled his wool cap even farther over his ears.
    He turned to head back, and stopped dead. Where was the shelter? Panic gripped him as he scanned the black and white landscape. It had to be there. He’d just built it, for heaven’s sake! So, where was it?
    It all looked the same. Snow was snow and trees were trees, and he’d walked around the crash site so much that his footprints were of no help guiding him.
    â€œOkay, Scott, don’t be stupid. It’s here.” Yanking the light from his pocket, he hurried back to the twisted airplane to get his bearings. The shelter was off to the left side of the wreckage, that much he knew. That meant it had to be straight ahead of him somewhere. Maybe straight ahead and a little off to the left.
    Sven’s words came back to him. At night, up, down, left, right, they can have no meaning. All there is, is snow. People die of exposure just yards from their tent because they were unable to find their way.
    No way.
    No way was he going to freeze to death—not after he’d invested all that time and every dram of energy into building the damn shelter. No way in hell. It had to be here.
    And it was. Not in the spot where he’d projected it to be, but close. From this angle, the mound wasn’t that big, and the doorway looked barely bigger than a footprint. But he’d found it, and he was safe, and the instant he was out of the wind, the temperature seemed to warm by fifty degrees.
    Scott retracted his arms from his sleeves—gloves and all—and hugged himself inside his coat. He lay on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, and he fell asleep.
    He dreamed of dying in the woods.

5
    â€œY OU CAN STOP at the crest of the hill over there,” Teddy said, pointing to a wide spot on the two-lane road.
    Maurice shot him a look. “Where?”
    â€œThere, just on the side of the road.”
    â€œBut there’s nothing there.”
    Teddy laughed again. He’d laughed more tonight than he had in a year and he was sick to death of it. “You’ll see when you get there. There’s a little road. That’s the way to Mama’s place.”
    Seemingly against his better judgment, Maurice downshifted the rig and brought it to a gentle halt at exactly the spot Teddy had indicated. “That’s a road?”
    â€œThat’s what we call it.” He extended his hand. “I surely do appreciate the ride.” Snow and cold swirled into the cab as Teddy opened the door.
    Maurice didn’t like this one bit. “Teddy, I feel terrible just leaving you in the middle of the road like this.”
    Teddy shook his head and smiled. “Just a short hike down that lane and I’m home, buddy.”
    Maurice opened his mouth to argue, then abandoned the effort. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Just be careful.”
    Teddy acknowledged him with a nod and gathered up his travel gear. He started to climb out then stopped. “Hey, I have something for you,” Teddy said, holding up a finger. Slinging his backpack from his shoulder to the ground, Teddy pulled his glove off with his teeth and rummaged