Desolate The Complete Trilogy

17



Howard and Carl slowly made their way down the other side of the ridge and reached the glacier below. What looked smooth from the top of the ridge, turned out to be a seemingly endless stretch of hills and valleys made of dirty ice. As they navigated over the slick ridges and around cracks in the ice, the wind picked up from the west and blasted them mercilessly with cold, damp air.

At around ten o’clock, daylight started to fade. They came across a small crevasse five or six feet deep and made camp at the bottom. They unfolded the tarp and sat huddled underneath, trying to keep warm, as they ate a few of their provisions.

“You know,” Carl said as he put a finger full of peanut butter into his mouth, “before my daddy died he always told me I’d burn in hell if I didn’t give up my evil ways and repent to the Lord. This is one time I hope that bastard knew what he was talking about.”

“Why’s that?” Howard took a sip of water and slowly chewed a piece of stale bread.

“Burning for all eternity sounds pretty damn good after freezing my ass off all day.”

Howard chuckled as he finished off his half of the chocolate bar. “When Satan pokes you in the ass with his pitchfork it probably won’t even hurt because it’ll still be frozen solid.”

“They’ll probably kick me out cause I’ll be the only one in hell enjoying myself.”

The two prisoners dressed in dirty and damp guard uniforms sat together under their tarp. Their chuckling turned into giddy laughter as the Antarctic sun slowly headed for the horizon. The wind from the west gained force as a steady mixture of sleet and snow pounded the glacier.