"When it's life and death, you
have to be proactive and reactive,
but quickly. It's said there's no time to
think, but you can.
Just in a split second. That's what you have.
Live or die. One second."

...it was still liquid... the lizard hissed, and I knew he was right. It should have frozen or already turned into a solid mass.

...he's in there... the lizard showed me, the image of a faceless entity on the other side of the door, a rifle in his hands, pointing at where my face was on the other side. He reached out and clicked one of the buttons as he spoke.

"Back back back." I hissed, and Bomber led the way, Nagle following him, and me pulling drag. We hurried as fast as the frost and our boots let us move and stayed quiet, ghosting down the hallway and into the stairwell. Bomber turned off the flashlight and we moved quickly and quietly down the stairs.

The stairwell door was open still, but at least the door across from it that led outside was still chained shut. The end stairwell didn't go any further down than the ground floor, so when Bomber waved Nagle and I back, we didn't go up the steps, but instead ducked down and scooted toward the back of the stairwell, hiding under them.

Bomber knelt down, then peered around the corner slowly, careful not to move too fast. After a moment he waved us forward.

Nagle squeezed my hand for luck.

We moved as quietly as we could back to Stokes room, slipping in and checking the room thoroughly with the flashlight after we put a chair under the handle again and locked the door.

We sat down on Stokes bed and wrapped her quilt over our shoulders, snuggling up together. Nagle was shivering the worst, so once again she was between Bomber and me. The cold was getting worse, and we had six men upstairs who were counting on us to do something, one of whom was suffering from hypothermia already.

"He's one step ahead of us." Nagle whispered, her teeth chattering. "This is insane."

"I noticed." Bomber answered. He had both hands jammed down his pants and I followed suit, cupping my balls and hissing in pain at the contact of my ice cold hands on my already sore genitals.

"We must have missed him by only a minute or two." Nancy swore, holding onto me around my waist. She slid her hands under my jacket.

"No, he was in the room." I told her.

"Goddamn it." Bomber chattered. "He's getting off on this, just like Tandy was in the stairwell."

"We've got to do something." I said. "Otherwise, we're just sitting here waiting to die."

Bomber checked his watch and cursed. "It's not even 0600."

"Are you sure?" I asked. It seemed like a lifetime had gone by.

"It's 0500." He told me, and I stifled a groan. Sunrise wouldn't be until 0800, and the whole time it was just going to get colder. And sunrise wouldn't help; all it would do is turn the entire world white. If we tried to go outside during the daylight we'd be in even worse shape.

"Put the blue lens in and hand me the flashlight, I'm gonna toss Stokes' room." I said, holding out my hand. Bomber took a moment to change the cracked clear lens for a blue lens that would mute the light, and then handed it to me. I slipped out from under the heavy quilt and began checking over everything. Nancy's arms slipped from around me reluctantly, and I suppressed the urge to move back to her.

She didn't need my protection, and I needed to stop being such a sap.

Feeling the dull burn of anger at myself fill my chest I began checking the room we'd taken shelter in.

Stokes was on leave, not at Graf or Bremerhaven. Her TA-50 would be here at least, and if we were lucky, her two roommate's stuff would be here.

I hit jackpot in a dresser drawer full of panties.

Keys. It looked like the three women had taken the spare keys for their locks and agreed to hide them in the room in case someone came home and had forgotten their keys or one of them asked another to get something out of their wall lockers and bring it to them in the field. It was a standard practice between roommates and friends who trusted one another with access to their rooms and personal stuff.

Nancy and John both had copies of my wall-locker keys.

I opened the wall lockers, shivering in the cold, and almost started crying with relief.

Their extreme cold weather gear was there. To top it off, one of Stokes' roommates worked in the motorpool, so her heavy coveralls were hanging in the locker. I brought out the coveralls, the parkas, the cold weather masks, the field jackets and liners, the parka liners, and the pants.

In Stokes' and her room mates' rucksacks was the mandatory roll of 550 cord. In Stokes' 3-drawer chest I found her Leatherman folding multi-tool, and their flashlights were on their rucksacks.

When I found the vibrators, I almost wept as I gave silent thanks for big pussied women. Three of the eight vibrators were D Cell hummers. I silently promised I'd never make any jokes about deep or wide women again. I promised that if I got out of it, I'd find a big pussied woman and worship her for an entire weekend. Any woman who used a D-Cell battery powered vibrator was my personal goddess from here on out. I promised to sacrifice a virgin to a big pussied woman. I promised to build an altar to them and dance naked around it on the full moon.

The batteries were quickly switched over to the dying flashlights, pushing back the darkness which had begun to press against us and caress us with cold fingers.

We got dressed silently, layering on the cold weather gear, everything but the boots, which didn't fit any of us. Nagle wore size 9-wide boots, and none of the women who lived in the room wore anything larger than a 6. Nagle pointed out that she was still in tennis shoes, and if we couldn't find her boots soon she was probably going to lose her toes, maybe even her feet.

We split up the flashlights and Nagle carried the extra one along with the batteries. My knife got transferred from my belt to hers.

Bomber and I were both going to carry entrenching tools.

Not because we thought we were going to do any digging, but because you can kill a man with one.

Something that had gone from drunken BSing theory to a seriously real possibility.

"What if he's in the hallway?" Bomber asked.

"Doesn't matter." Nagle said from behind the mask.

"Why not?" I asked, clenching my fists inside the cold weather trigger mittens. My fingers were burning and tingling, a good sign but a painful one.

"We're going out her window." Nagle told us, and Bomber and I nodded. The lizard quickly began running through my options, looking for anything that might increase my chances of survival.

We opened the window, and jumped out, landing in the snow outside the barracks, trying to keep our balance. The snow was only about a foot thick, with a thin crust of ice on the top, the only thing that was keeping it from being blown down the mountain and dumped on main post and the ski resort. There was a thin dusting on top of the ice that kept getting swirled around, and I knew that down the mountain was catching Hell.

We were tied together by about 5 feet of 550 cord, one end of the cord was tied to the cross brace in the center of Stokes' window, and I fed it out as Bomber led the way across the yard. We climbed over the picket fence, and I took care of something real quick.

Then we took on the first challenge.

Getting across the street.

Zero visibility. The pressure of the wind was forcing us offstep. Breathing was like a knife in the chest it was so cold: Tiny ice crystals, snow seeds, stinging the eyelids and eyeballs; Aching cold with each breath that made where my nose had been broken throb with sharp pains.

I was letting the 550 cord run between my thumb and mittened fingers, keeping tension on it. I heard Bomber curse as he ran shin first into the bumper of a car. I could tell he was moving around, checking something, and then he came bumping back, pulling Nagle into the clinch so she could hear what he had to say.

"Flat tires." He yelled.

"Roger!" I yelled back. So much for that plan. I could hotwire a car, a legacy of my Father teaching all of us how to survive a nuclear war rather than a legacy of a misspent youth.

We went past the cars and started up the short incline that led to our motorpool. It was only fifteen or twenty feet up, maybe 10 feet from the end of the car. The incline was brutal in the wind, the cold, and the snow, but working together we managed to climb it, more than once falling to our hands and knees. There were steps up on either side of the motorpool, but that meant walking almost a block in either direction, much further than we had of the thin nylon cord that was our only lifeline.

I kept tension on the 550 cord in my right hand, my hand dropping down to the D-ring I'd clipped to the parka to reassure myself it was there while I kept my shoulder against the chain link fence, which was all that stood between us and the motorpool.

Finally I felt Nagle yank on the cord that connected us, and knew that Bomber had managed to cut through the fence ties on the ground and had lifted up the fencing far enough for us to get underneath. Cutting the chain-link fence would have taken forever, climbing it would have meant contesting with the concertina wire, but just cutting the ties that connected the fencing to the stakes in the ground only took seconds and could be accomplished with one or two hard strokes with the edge of the entrenching tool.

I ducked underneath the poncho that Bomber had put down to keep the ends of the chain-link fence from tearing through our cold weather gear while we crawled under it. I gave thanks to Bomber's innovation and kept feeding out the 550 cord, keeping tension on it. Every few steps I checked the D-ring, just to be sure. I had to switch to the next braids, only a few feet remaining.

Finally the wind suddenly eased, we moved up another short hill and I bumped into someone's back. I stumbled to the side, and felt the side of the motorpool garage against my body.

We'd gone less than 500 yards, and I felt like I'd run 10 miles in full combat gear. My muscles were trembling with exhaustion, I could feel the sweat running down my back, and I couldn't seem to get enough air.

Part of that was the elevation, we were high enough up that some people got altitude sickness and had to be reassigned - it wasn't uncommon for someone to pass out during PT due to lack of oxygen.

If I'd been thinking, I'd have grabbed one of the emergency O2 bottles from the CQ Area.

We skirted the motorpool building, looking for the door, until I bumped into Nagle's back. I stood there, in the howling darkness, my feet freezing in my combat boots, so cold that they just painfully throbbed with shooting pains in my toes.

Finally I heard a crash over the wind, and saw light pour out of the suddenly opened door. Bomber had managed to bash the lock off of the door, or more than likely he'd worked on the hasp. Hasps and anchoring screws were usually low-grade steel, unlike the high grade tempered steel of the locks.

All three of us rushed into the building. Bomber threw down the entrenching tool, it was bent wrong, the blade twisted and buckled, but it had done its job. It clattered on the pavement and slid under one of the solvent sinks. I tied the 550 cord off onto the door, then unsnapped the D-ring and set the assembly aside. I kicked the door shut and breathed a sigh of relief.

We'd made it.

It was warm in the building, and we quickly peeled off the cold weather gear, anxious to stand underneath the vents that the huge heaters pushed hot air into the motorpool building through.

All three of us stripped naked, standing beneath the blowers. Nagle still held my knife, I still held onto my entrenching tool, and Bomber kept a lookout, the flashlight still in his hand. He kept panning it around the dark bay, lingering over the corners, deep shadowy sections, and of course, over Nagle's firm brown butt. Of course I watched Nagle out of the corner of my eye. I could tell by the smile she shot me that she knew I was watching. Once she caught me looking at her profile, glanced down at my crotch, then licked her lips and smiled.

...My Nancy...

My balls still hurt, or I'd have probably gotten hard right there.

It took a while, but we were finally warm in what felt like the first time in the history of ever, and we got dressed in the clothing we'd started with, leaving the heavy coveralls and the cold weather gear laying out on a tool bench right under a blower so it would dry and warm up. The dry part was the important bit; we didn't want ice to form too quickly on the walk back.

Four CUC-V's, plugged into the wall to keep the fluids warm and circulating, were sitting in the motorpool bays. The sight of them made me breathe a sigh of relief. A quick check of them showed the steering wheels were still locked with chains and that they didn't have keys in the ignition, but that wasn't a problem. There were two sets of keys for every vehicle; one back at the company, the other in the Motor Pool Sergeant's office.

And if worse came to worse I'd just hotwire them after bashing the hasps off.

"We're fucking golden, Ant." Bomber grinned, rubbing his hands together. "We'll grab one of these, load Carter into it, we all pile into the other, and we go down and tell the MP's what's happening."

"Hooah." I grinned.

Nagle was looking around, shining a flashlight into the dark or shadowy areas of the bays as we headed to the office. She was frowning while she did so, chewing on her lower lip.

"What's up, Nancy?" I asked her, slowing down and looking around. The motorpool bay was big, but it was largely open, anyone coming at us would be seen quickly, and between the three of us, would get royally fucked up.

"We're forgetting something, but I don't know what." She told me. "I just know it."

"Does it matter?" I grinned, pointing at the NCOIC's office door.

"I think so." She said softly.

We moved up to the door and checked it. It was locked, but I slammed the point of the entrenching tool in between the door and the frame, right at the lock and with a wrench tore it open. We went in, grinning, and I opened the key box with one good whack using the entrenching tool.

It was empty.

Just a piece of paper that someone had written "MISSING SOMETHING?" on in red ink.

The lights cut off, and the blowers went dead.

Between the time the lights went out and the emergency lights cut on, we heard running feet, dark and evil laughter that was purely human instead of the liquid chuckle we'd heard in the stairwell, and a loud booming noise that echoed in the bay.

He was still one step ahead of us.

The lizard slapped the "kill" button and all the hatred, rage, and need to destroy flooded back. My pulse hammered at my temples, and I was sick and tired of whoever it was screwing with us. I didn't care that he'd killed someone in the stairwell, I was tired of running, tired of him dancing around. I wanted to get my hands on him.

...kill, rend, destroy, maim...

Bomber jumped away from the door, cursing, and I felt Nagle grab me when I went to run into the bay. Her fingers dug into my arm and she pulled me back with surprising strength.

"Don't." She whispered. "He probably knows you're the type to charge in, and he might be waiting."

The realization that my anger and fear had almost pushed me into making a terminal mistake washed over me. Exhaustion, fear, and pain were driving me toward making mistakes, and mistakes were something we couldn't afford. The lizard hung his head in embarrassment.

"We need to get weapons." Bomber said. "We'll grab axes and head back to the company, hole up in Lewis' room till someone comes for us."

"Won't work." I said, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Bomber asked.

"We'll freeze to death by this time tomorrow." Nagle said, and I nodded.

"Fuck." Bomber looked around.

"Wait, I've got an idea." I said.

"Let's hear it." Nagle said, "I'm out of ideas."

I told them quickly, and they nodded.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Nagle asked when I got done explaining it.

"I'm sure." I told her. "Well, I'm pretty sure."

I went out the door first, entrenching tool in hand, my nerves hyped up, but nobody jumped us. My nerves were so tight I would have swung the entrenching tool before I could have identified the target, but I doubted there would be anyone but the three of us and whoever was out to kill us. We stuck together and gathered everything up, then made our way back to where we'd left the parkas and other cold weather gear.

To where they had been.

The empty tool bench silently mocked us.

"GODDAMN IT!" Bomber yelled.

"He probably threw it just right outside the door." Nagle said. "Hell, they could be less than ten feet from the door and we'd never find them."

"We're fucking screwed." Bomber said, rubbing his face and sighing. "We're trapped up here, and now we don't have any power."

"Check the CUC-V's for radios." I snapped, heading into the darkness to the first one. I pulled open the door, spotted the Prick-77 and grinned. "Got one." I told them, moving around the front. "Bring the flashlight over here."

Bomber and Nancy moved up next to us as I popped the hood on the Chevy Blazer, and all three of us groaned at once.

The batteries had been removed, and wires had been torn free, hanging down. I'd seen wrecked up engines before, from when my biological father had gotten himself another "shootin' car" and I'd looked under the hood. I had helped my adopted Father fix his crash up derby cars growing up. I knew a wrecked engine when I saw it.

"This one is screwed. Check the others." I said, staring at the engine, the hot bitter taste of disappointment flooding my mouth.

"Nothing." Bomber said, coming back after a few moments.

"Whoever did this took the batteries out of the one that didn't even have a radio." Nancy told us. I shined the flashlight on her face, and she was starting to shiver, rubbing her upper arms."

"What the Hell is he doing?" Bomber asked, looking around the darkness.

"Divide and conquer. Destroy infrastructure and resources. Leave no ground for the enemy to go to." Nancy quoted. She looked at me and frowned at my grin. "What's so fucking funny? We're gonna die in here."

"No worries." I told them. She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Follow me."

We went back to the offices, past the emergency showers and into the locker room. While Nagle stood watch, Bomber and I began ripping open the lockers one after another. We jammed the entrenching tool in between the door and the frame on the hinge side, then just ripped the door clean off. It wasn't neat, it wasn't pretty, but we were in a hurry.

Besides, the Army could just fucking bill me.

If I lived.

We started pulling out the winter coveralls, any gloves left behind, anything we could use to replace our missing stolen cold weather gear. When we found a few lockers containing Kevlar vests the lizard bubbled happily. Nancy shouted with glee and quickly sat down to change out her tennis shoes when she found a pair of boots that would fit her. I noticed that her toes looked bad, bluish black.

I watched the door while Bomber and Nagle layered four sets of coveralls on, and put on some of the motorpool guy's lucky/work hats. Once Bomber was done, I went over and did the same, layering them on. More than a few of the motor pool guys had left socks in their lockers, and we pulled them on over our hands until we had makeshift gloves. Before I pulled on the socks, I smeared thick grease over our faces, rubbing it onto our lips and around our necks, not bothering with a thin tanning coat, but layering it on fingernail depth.

"Why the grease?" John asked, sputtering from trying to lick his lips and getting grease on his tongue.

"Cut down on the windburn, maybe provide some insulation." Nancy answered for me. She smiled at me. "Smart."

I just nodded, and went back to smearing it across the back of John's neck.

Our makeshift cold weather gear was thick, bulky, and made it hard to move. The grease felt sticky and gross, the socks stunk, but it reminded me of childhood, and the memory of throwing snowballs with my siblings made me smile. We waddled back out into the motor pool bay, the emergency lights only giving off a dull yellow glow that was barely enough to see by.

We found one of the tool boxes had been left unlocked, and grabbed three of the axes that were inside. I hefted a crowbar for a long moment, and then tossed it in with the shovels and the rest of the tools. We did a full sweep of the motorpool, grabbing anything we needed for our plan, and hoped that we could pull it off.

Our strength and endurance was the weakest link of the whole plan.

"This is about as ready as we're gonna get." I said. John and Nancy nodded.

"John, shoot us an azimuth, just in case.

Bomber fished the compass he'd taken from Stokes' room out of his shirt and let it hang from the string while Nancy retied us together. We'd used engineer tape to fashion makeshift loops on our belts for the axes we'd grabbed.

"Got it, let's do this." John said. I nodded and opened the door, and we dragged our supplies out into the howling storm. I reached down, found the D-Ring with a smile, and clipped it to the rope around my waist.

This time I took the lead for a little while, Bomber and Nagle dragging the heavy part of the load, until Nagle tugged on our tie to stop me. Then she took the lead while Bomber and I dragged it through the snow and gravel. We were almost to the fence when Nagle took Bomber's place.

We pushed our supplies under the fence, squirmed under it, and wrapped the poncho around Nagle, tying it off with a rope. She was shivering despite the layers of clothing, the wind just tearing right through the layers of cloth. She gave me a wan smile, her teeth flashing in the mass of thick blackish-brown grease I'd layered on her face.

"Ready?" I shouted.

"Ready!" they shouted back.

I grabbed the 550 cord from where I'd looped it into the fence to keep tension and tugged.

And felt it give. Cursing, I reeled it in, coming up with the end in only a couple of minutes.

Our lead back to the barracks was gone.

Without a lead, our chances of missing the barracks and tumbling down the hill or getting turned around in the snow were almost assured.

Once again, whoever it was thought they were one step ahead of the three of us.

I tapped Nagle, who tapped Bomber, and they gathered close. When Bomber turned on the flashlight and shined it in my hand, we could all see that the end wasn't cut, wasn't snapped, but had been untied.

We had to get back. It was more than just us.

The wind howled with glee and whipped the snow around us.