Fortnightly Writing Competition: Ice and Snow (Results)

[Sinitrena]

Ice and Snow

It is winter, and supposedly that means it is cold (well, if you live on the northern hemisphere). I like snow (as long as I don't have to drive) and I wonder: Do you too?

You don't have to. You can tell us about the fun children have building a snowman, or about a car getting stuck in a snowstorm. Maybe you want to tell us about scientists in the Arctic or the gripping tale of the person who invented icecream.

No matter what, your story better has something that is freezing cold!

Hot chocolate and coffee will be available in this thread for all on 10. December (which is also when your stories should be posted).
Put on a warm jacket, light some candles and write me some freezing cold stories!

[Mandle]

Great theme! Made a start on mine last night.

[Stupot]

I've started on something too. It's pretty bad so far but I'm hoping to fix a few issues and have something a bit better than last round's dire attempt.

[Baron]

I've started nothing, but I've done some research with a shovel out in the driveway.... 

[WHAM]

I have a rough idea forming up. Funnily enough the last FWC I participated in I also wrote about snow and ice.

[Sinitrena]

So, how are these stories sliding along? Are they slithering towards the goal, or are they frozen stuck?

2 days and a bit left!

[WHAM]

Hot and Cold

Frank lurched forward as his boot slid off an unseen tree root beneath the ice and snow, the gasp escaping his lips echoing around in the snow-coated trees as he barely managed to catch himself by slamming a gloved hand against the sturdy trunk of an evergreen. As soon as the motion stopped, the silence returned. A deep, impenetrable quiet created by the crisp frozen air. The branches of the tree became still once more, a few flakes of snow drifting off them to the ground. Moonlight reflected and twinkled in the air. Frank could hear his breathing, the thump of his heartbeat from the scare he'd just had, the soft chafing sounds of his padded winter coat shifting as he exhaled.

"You okay up there?" -came the voice that finally broke the silence, clear and bright despite the muffled echo given by the snow and trees. Under his grey-and-white camouflage jacket Frank could feel a bead of sweat get soaked up into his undershirt.

"Yeah!" -Frank called out. "Just, uh- damn near slipped on something. I think we're a bit off the path, so watch your step comin' up!"

The crunch of snow indicated Megan's approach. She wore a bright red coat with a fur trimmed hood that framed her narrow face and red cheeks, which emerged from the mist of her breath as she stepped forward.

"You sure we're not lost? I swear this was easier last time..." -she complained without the smile on her lips wavering one bit. Frank just shook his head and reached out, offering his hand for support. She took it, her fingers enclosed in a wooly mitten, and the two stood side by side once more.

"We're not lost!" -Frank chuckled, summoning his confidence. "Just takin' a little detour. Besides, we were sixteen years younger last time we came up here. The path ain't steeper, I think we're just getting older! Come on, it's not too far off now."

The two held hands, though the heavy gloves formed a barrier that kept them from feeling the warmth of one another's fingers as they moved on. Passing through the trees they crested a shallow hill, forging a path through the ankle deep snow that covered the forest floor, noting the tracks of some small woodland critters imprinted in the otherwise pristine layer of pure white. A couple hundred meters and the hidden path began to ascend to the top of another, steeper hill. The trees stopped and the air ahead opened up.

"Was it always this high up?" -Megan asked as she stepped out into the open. The hill ended in a sheer forty-foot cliff a short way ahead and all around below the smooth, white surface of a lake spread out, illuminated by the pale reflection of moon and starlight. Frank didn't reply as he stepped close to the edge and knelt down to brush his gloved hand over a mound of snow, uncovering the well-worn trunk of a tree that had been dragged there many a summer ago. No lights blinked in the distance, no noise broke the silence.

"Yeah." -he exhaled the word as he slung his backpack over his shoulder, planting it into the ground. A minute later he'd set up and lit the small gas cooker and was already pouring water out of a bottle into a small kettle he set over the blue flame. Steam escaped into the air. The water hissed and began to bubble. Megan sat down on the log and stared off into the distance.

"I still remember the first time..."

Frank did, too. The image was vivid in his head. Crouching low beside the kettle he looked at Megan and, for a moment, he saw her as she had been back then. Pale and pure in the moonlight, the flickering lights of distant fireworks sparkling in her green eyes. He wrenched his eyes off her and poured a satchel of chocolate powder into the kettle as Megan kept talking.

"You were here with your friends and I just tagged along. You'd always talked about this cool cliff where you and the guys went swimming in the summer and where you could see all the fireworks in the winter. And then you boys forgot all about me!"

Two of Frank's friends had been there. Bobby, the son of a local car mechanic, and Francis, who's father worked as a real estate agent.

"We came up here every year and made hot chocolate to celebrate New Year's. Bobby had his birthday on the second of January, so we celebrated that too."

Frank pulled out a pair of metal cups, the same ones he'd had back then, thought they were more dented now. The boys had poured three cups and were talking energetically when Frank had noticed they had completely forgotten to pour anything for Megan as she just stood there to the side, too shy to speak up as she held her empty cup.

"Oh! Oh yeah that- I remember."

Frank remembered her expression, like a puppy that had been denied a treat. He felt his face grow warm even now, ashamed of himself. Back then he'd taken the three filled cups and poured hers a bit from each one while apologizing profusely. Bobby and Francis had made jokes about how the drink was so good Frank forgot his girlfriend even existed. She hadn't been his girlfriend at that point. Not yet.

"I'd kind of hoped you'd forgotten about that. Not my proudest moment." -Frank admitted.

"It served you well." -Megan replied with a smile. "You were kind of cute back then, all red in the face as you fussed about the stupid cups."

This time Frank poured two full cups, handing one over to Megan before taking the other into his hands and sitting down on the log beside her with two feet of open space between the two of them. The hot beverages steamed in their hands and Frank could feel the heat of it soak through the gloves and into his fingers. Megan took a cautious sip and gasped, having nearly burnt her lips. Frank blew air over the surface of his own and watched the steam swirl in the air above the drink.

The quiet returned.

He wondered what he should say. Ask her about her family? The husband and kids? No, he didn't really want to know how Bobby was doing right now. Her job? He knew already. She still worked at that same bakery her mother had established back in the 60's. Talk about the goddamn weather? No, definitely not. Frank tilted the metal cup in his hands and saw her blurry and distorted figure in the reflection. Was she wondering what to say, too?

Minutes passed. The hot beverages cooled and diminished in their cups.

"Frank..."

He swallowed the mouthful of hot chocolate and gave her a cautious, sideways look.

"Yeah?"

"Why did we come here again?"

He didn't know.

"I, uh... I thought that..." Frank couldn't find the right words.

A cloud passed in front of the moon, casting a shadow over the open ice and snow ahead, below the cliff. Most of the stars vanished from sight. What had he thought? That something would just click like it had back then? That a magical moment would occur out of the blue? That he'd feel different now, after all these years?

He never finished the sentence.

"I thought about it, too, back then." Megan's voice sounded a little sad. She was finishing the sentence for him. "Thought that maybe we could try again like we talked, but we just- you were so angry, we couldn't really talk."

Frank bowed his head as she reminded him. A stupid argument. Then another. A chain of misunderstandings. A hurt pride. Hurt feelings. He'd said things he wished he'd never said.

"I was so angry, too." -she admitted. "And- I never should have hit you. That was too much." It was clearly difficult for her to say that. Frank wondered if she'd ever admitted to anyone what had happened? Without being aware of it Frank held his palm to his right ear, over where she had slammed her hand as they stood screaming at one another in the parking lot one rainy day. He'd told himself he could forgive, but he didn't have it in him back then. Maybe he still didn't.

"I'm sorry." -Megan whispered so quietly Frank could barely hear it. It sounded cold and hollow.

"No, no. I'm sorry Meg." -Frank replied, wrapping both hands around the metal of his cup again, though the warmth was now gone from it. His words rang hollow, too. All he felt was the cold. Cold metal against his fingers. Cold air in his face. Cold inside. The apologies couldn't change anything. The words were too little, too late.

Megan reached forward and placed her empty cup in the snow beside the gas burner, then stood up to stretch, standing on her toes for a few seconds. She gazed off into the distance again.

"Too bad about the clouds. You can see so far from out here and it gets so pretty." -she said, changing the subject.

"Too bad." -Frank agreed, but his voice was distant and unfocused. The words, thoughts and feelings he'd sought weren't there. He'd waited and waited, built up the courage to come here with her again, to try and talk, and now he didn't have the words.

Megan turned around. A break in the clouds cast moonlight onto her shoulders, turning the white fur on the trim of her hood into a pale halo.

"Frank... Why did we come here? Really?" She looked sincere. Or hopeful? Frank wondered what she thought, what words she had in her mind but left unspoken.

"I really don't know." -he replied, shaking his head.

"Did you..." She hesitated, her eyes looking past him into the trees now. Her lips moved slowly as she spoke: "I know I said we could try again some day, but Frank, that was almost ten years ago now."

"It wouldn't work anyway. It's not right. I'm-" He stopped speaking and exhaled. A deep sigh that emptied his lungs and head, making him feel dizzy for a moment before he drew in a breath of icy air again. It felt like needles in his lungs. "I'm sorry I dragged you out here. I didn't mean to, I just..." His shoulders sank a little lower inside his coat. "...just thought it'd be sort of nice, you know. Like back then."

Megan tried to smile. "We had good days." -she said, blinking her eyes rapidly a few times. "Good weeks."

"Good years." -Frank agreed again. But no matter how he focused on those, the bad ones were all too real in his memories. Was it a trick of his mind, or genuine feeling, how he always focused on those darker days? The shouting. The crying.

"Frank. I think we should head back."

Frank didn't reply at first. He felt deflated. Hiking up here he'd felt, just for a little while, like things were like they used to be. But now he could see cold reality devour the fantasy he had conjured up in his mind.

"I'll stay for a while. Clean up." -he finally replied. Megan nodded slowly.

"Thanks for the hot chocolate." Frank looked up. He couldn't see her eyes with her face shadowed by the hood.

"You're welcome." -he replied, having nothing else he could bring himself to say.

He blinked and she was gone. The snow crunched beneath her boots as she went back into the trees and began to make her way back to the rest stop where they had parked their cars. A minute later he couldn't hear her anymore.

Frank sat there for a while longer, alone with his unspoken words. Then he picked up the two cups and packed them away in his backpack, along with the gas burner. The air felt colder even as the moon fully emerged again from behind the clouds.

Inside the words were ice. He felt colder still, as he knew he'd never say those words to anyone.

[Mandle]

So, how are these stories sliding along? Are they slithering towards the goal, or are they frozen stuck?

2 days and a bit left!

I haven't really felt much motivation to finish my story. Could be just that there was some other stuff going on though, which is now kind of resolved. Would an extension of a few more days be possible? Until the 14th or 15th perhaps? I'd say I could get finished by then. If not, that's all good too.

[Sinitrena]

I'm a bit busy myself right now.

Extension granted. New deadline: 14th December.

[Mandle]

Sorry, guys... I'm quite ashamed that I asked for the extension and didn't produce a story but it just wasn't going anywhere much. I hope someone else takes advantage of the extension though.

[Baron]

Well, certain administrators might complain that the story is incomplete, but it already feels long and I'm out of time.   


Cold Comfort

   Annison jerked awake at the thunderous noise that shook her room like an earthquake.  At first she thought the roof was collapsing from the weight of the snow build-up on top of the base.  She rushed out of her quarters and down the stairs to the command centre, Lieutenant Chrysler fast on her heels.

   "What the hell is that?!?" Chrysler asked.  "Base integrity is intact, all readings are green!"  The lieutenant poured through the monitors, one after another.  "Wait," she shouted, although the noise was now slightly less deafening and the base had stopped shaking.  "I've got massively depleted energy readings in cells one through twelve.  Code red!" she said, making an all-call over the base's comm speakers.  "I repeat, code red!"  The lieutenant then turned around, suddenly confused.  "Where the hell is everyone?!?"

   "Oh, shit!" Annison cursed, hitting the ice-shield button on her panel.  Slowly the great metal panels that shielded the command centre's observation window opened, protesting against the build-up of ice that threatened to swallow the base whole.  But even through the growing crack in their defences she could see that her instincts had been correct.

   "Oh, fuck!" Chrysler cursed, joining her at the window.  In the sky above they could see the shuttle pod blasting into space.  The last shuttle pod.

   "Those greedy fucking bastards!" Annison spat.  But as if in sympathy with her rage, the sky suddenly lit up in a violent burst of orange flame.  Suddenly there were multiple streaks of orange flame, with smoke trailing behind them, hurtling back down to the ice-fields that stretched to the eastern horizon.

   "Oh my... did the shuttle just... explode?!" Chrysler asked.

   Annison knew she should have rushed to the sensors to confirm, but her eyes told the whole tale.  The remnants of the last rickety old shuttle had exploded during ascent.  "Anything on the radio?" she asked, sitting down, her legs suddenly weak from the shock of being abandoned and then the shock of seeing her jerk crewmates die before her eyes.

   "No signal," Chrysler reported.  "All units report to the command centre," she said, her voice echoing through the base corridors on the all-call.

   "There were only six seats on that shuttle," Annison said, putting her head in her hands.  "Six seats, and eight of us."

   "We decided against it!" Chrysler said in bafflement.  "We fucking decided around the galley table that it wasn't worth the risk!"

   "That's what they wanted us to believe," Annison said.  Her whole body felt numb now.

   They waited in silence for some time, but no one came to join them in the command centre.  The last of the wreckage crashed back to the surface, and the plumes of smoke slowly dissipated from the sky.

   "How screwed are we?" Annison asked, not wanting to know the answer.

   Chrysler checked the screens of her consol.  "We are royally screwed," she reported.  "We have barely enough energy in the batteries to last a few days," she said.  "And even that is unreliable at these temperatures.  Those bastards must have drained everything to attempt their launch.  We could literally be in total blackout in a matter of hours."

   Annison bore this news stoically, but Chrysler began to fly off the handle.  "I can't fucking believe those assholes!" she shouted.  "I'd say I'm glad they burned to a fiery death for leaving us stranded on this ice cube, except that in 24 hours I'm probably going to be envious of the warmth they experienced in their final moments!"

   "What if we cut back power usage?" Annison asked.  "You know, stop heating any non-essential areas and shut down everything but the most basic systems?"

   Chrysler shook her head.  "We've already pared back as much as possible months ago.  Three-quarters of the base has been abandoned since we lost the Strachan Party.  Anything else we shut down risks a cascading system collapse.  Shut off heat to the wrong hallway and we might freeze pipes that warm something critical, and then the whole rickety system comes grinding to a halt.  We are royally, royally screwed!"

   Annison stared out at the horizon, the feeble rays of the distant sun finally cresting the ice-fields.  "What if we can recover a power cell?" she asked.  "That wreckage can't be that far - maybe 20 klicks at most.  What if a cell survived the crash?  That'll buy us time to try to signal another passing frigate.  I bet there's enough juice left in the rover to make a 40 klick round-trip."

   Chrysler shook her head.  "You spend most of your time in the base, like me," she said.  "All the crews that went out there said the terrain is deceptively broken.  You'll either end up crashing down an abyss or navigating so far around the obstacles that you'll almost certainly run out of fuel.  And that's without encountering Gunchas, which is a distinct possibility.  It would be a long slow death-ride in a freezing little coffin."

   Annison shook her head.  "We have to try."

   It was Chrysler's turn to shake her head.  "Fuck that!" she shouted.  "I'm not spending my last moments alive watching a Guncha chewing on my ripped out intestines as I try to freeze to death faster than I can bleed to death!  I'm going to go eat rations like there's no tomorrow and then watch some of my favourite old movies from the comfort of the world's warmest bathtub.  And when the power clicks off I'm going to find my way down to the garbage incinerator and use the last of the juice in the capacitors to fry myself to oblivion.  You should join me!  We can get drunk and talk trash about all the dick-wads who let us down in life!"

   Annison tried to smile at her friend.  "We have to try," was all she could say.

   Chrysler groaned and rolled her eyes.  "No we don't!  Let it go, girl.  We're totally, royally, entirely screwed.  Don't let hope spoil what could be the last best party of your life!"

   Annison put her hand on her friend's shoulder.  "At least promise me you'll stay on the radio," she said.  "Don't incinerate yourself until you hear that my mission was a failure."

   Chrysler shook her head.  "I'm not promising nothing," was all she said, and then she stormed out of the command centre.

*   *   *   *   *

   Annison opened the rover bay door and drove out onto the icy plain.  She was wearing a polar-suit to protect herself against the temperatures that approached minus 60, for in an attempt to conserve battery she had turned off the rover's interior heater.  Even still, she felt the change in temperature hit her like a frozen wall as she left the shelter of the base.  "You still with me, Big C?" Annison asked over the radio.

   There was a long moment of radio silence, but then it came to life.  "Yeah, read you loud and clear A-Beam," Chrysler's sarcastic voice came over the radio.  "Just don't burn up too much of your battery chit-chatting on the radio.  Everytime I have to reply risks me dropping my radio into the bathtub and ironically electrocuting myself just before the last of the power runs out."

   Annison had to smile and shake her head.  Anyone else would have been joking about that, but Chrysler was almost certainly in the bathtub already with a fancy drink in her hand.

   The first several kilometres passed beneath the rover without incident.  And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Annison stumbled upon an open abyss.  "I've found a giant crack, 4.6 kilometres out," she reported over the radio, her breath freezing to the rover's windshield as quickly as she spoke.  "It's not on any of the charts, so it must have just opened up in the last couple of months.  I'm going to try to find the southern end to navigate around."  Annison fumbled for the scraper with her over-insulated glove and then tried to remove the ice on the windshield without exerting herself enough to breathe yet more moisture onto it.  It was stubbornly sticky, like melted sugar on the side of a pot.  Just as she managed to partially clear a section she thought she saw partial movement outside the rover, but despite her frantic scraping afterwards she could not confirm the sighting.

   "I think I saw movement outside the rover," she reported over the radio.  "Hard to tell with all this frozen condensation on the windows."  The other end of the radio was silent as Annison considered her options.  She had read reports of Cuncha's sabotaging rovers, and then ambushing the crew members when the rover later broke down.  It would be best to investigate now, she decided, while it was still possible to make a dash back to the base.  She unclicked her safety belt and grabbed the rifle from its compartment behind the driver's chair, and then popped the hatch. 

   The wind on the plain hit her full in the face like the claws of the Guncha she might have imagined.  Quickly Annison secured her goggles and polar-suit breather to protect her face, for she knew that unprotected skin could be frost-bitten in a matter of seconds at these temperatures.  She stumbled out of the rover with the rifle held ready, noting with some discomfort that her toes were already cold from the short drive so far.  She could see no sign of life in that frozen desert, but she made herself check around the entire rover as well as the fringes of the abyss just to be sure.  With great relief she returned to the cockpit of the rover.

   "False alarm," she radioed.  "But I'm turning the interior heat on, just to keep the windscreens clear."  The radio was quiet as she drove over drifts of snow, keeping the gaping trench in the ice to her left.  After more than a kilometre it closed, and she was able to proceed to the east.  "Geo-marking route coordinates for a more efficient return trip," she reported, again to radio silence.  She had only been away from the base for about half-an-hour at this point, so she considered the risk of Chrysler having already incinerated herself to be pretty low.  Annison was actually starting to feel more confident in her mission, although that might have just been due to the cheering effect of having some heat in the rover cabin. 

   Another several kilometres passed without incident before the landscape dipped.  Here the wind had carved out shallow paths through mounds of ice that were just a bit too big for the rover to surmount.  "Ice-maze at kilometre 7.6," Annison reported.  "Again, not on the charts, but it might be a remnant of the kilometre twelve maze that has just drifted.  If that's the case, there should still be a clear path to the north.  Deviating course."

   "You're a deviating course," Chrysler's voice retorted choppily over the radio.

   "I thought I'd lost you already," Annison replied happily.  "I don't think that hand-held module you are using has enough range to reach me consistently out here.  Recommend trying the main base comms to confirm."  But again the other end of the radio was silent as she slowly drove north.

   The ice-maze stayed to her right for two kilometres before the terrain evened out again.  Annison turned off the cabin heat again, in an attempt to conserve battery for the ride back to base.  The gauge on her console was already reading two bars from empty.  Again she began to struggle with the sticky ice build up on the rover's interior surfaces, but at least she was eating up kilometres again.  Eleven, thirteen, and then fifteen kilometres passed without incident.  By Annison's calculations she was beginning to approach the shuttle's debris field.

   "I'm going to risk a signal scan," she said, mashing the rover's consol with her oversized insulated glove.  The panel spit out an error reading, and Annison silently cursed under her breath.  "I'm not getting any reading," she reported.  "It might be because the rover's dish is frozen in place.  I'm going to take the torch out to see if I can thaw out the mechanism."  There was still no response from base, but Annison had more pressing concerns at the moment.

   Again Annison braved the elements, this time with a utility blow-torch in hand and the rifle slung over her shoulder just in case.  She did indeed find ice-build up on the supporting mechanism beneath the dish, and spent a few frigid minutes trying to free it.  It was only as she was returning to the cabin that she noticed the clear outline of footprints in the snow.  Only these were not human footprints, for they had three toes and were twice again the size of her own.  Annison looked around the icefield again, instinctively unslinging the rifle.  But again there was nothing to be seen in the icy desolation.

      Returning to the pod she tried the signal scan again, and this time it produced a clear readout for the immediate vicinity.  "Scan successful," she commented over the radio.  "A lot of noise out here, but I'm getting a pretty clear ping to the southeast, range just over two kilometres.  I'm going to go check it out."
 
     Annison steered the rover towards the ping, but the vehicle was soon swallowed by a wind squall.  It was too cold to snow often on this planet, but the wind did a good job of whipping up any loose snow already on the ground.  The effect was a complete whiteout at ground level, although Annison could see flashes of clear-sky overhead.

     "Encountered a wind squall at kilometre sixteen," she reported.  "Visibility zero.  I should probably try to wait it out, except that will waste valuable battery."  Annison noted that the frozen feeling had returned to her toes, and the end of her nose now felt frozen as well.  She was reluctant to extend the mission any longer than necessary, and decided to take a calculated risk.  "I'm going to follow the scanner," she announced over the radio.  "Let's hope there aren't any more unmarked abysses in the next kilometre."  Considering the riskiness of the manoeuvre Annison thought she might get at least a snarky comment from Chrysler, but the other end of the radio remained quiet. 

      The rover ploughed blindly into the wind squall.  Through the irregular gusts Annison could see occasional glimpses of the ice-field in front of her, but never more than five or six metres, after which the world would be quickly erased again.  She drove steadily for more than a kilometre towards the ping on the scanner.  Then, suddenly, the rover lurched sideways and became impossibly stuck in some kind of rut.  Annison cursed.

     "I think I hit some kind of rut," she radioed.  "I'm not getting any traction from the rover's drive wheels."  She swallowed hard, hoping Chrysler would respond.  Obviously there was nothing her friend could do, but at this point Annison was counting on the moral support to help her through.  The radio stayed quiet, however, and Annison realised she was on her own, at least for now.  "I'm going out to investigate," she said through the radio.  "At least the Gunchas will have a hard time tracking me through this wind squall."

     For the third time Annison exited the comparative shelter of the rover, and this time she was nearly knocked off her feet by the strength of the wind.  She struggled around the rover, struggling to see anything.  It looked indeed as if the side wheels of the rover had been caught in some kind of linear rut, or rather it felt like that when Annison probed the ground with her boots, for it was still nearly impossible to see anything clearly.  She decided her only option was to get the jack out and try to lift the wheels up out of the rut, but she was at a loss for what to put under them to support the rover back to level ground.  She was just considering how hard it might be to chisel out some ice blocks using the rover's small hand shovel when she heard a definite animal call over the whipping wind.

     Annison crouched instinctively, putting her back to the rover and drawing the rifle from her shoulder.  She waited for the noise to come again, to try to determine its range and direction, but again the world was reduced to nothing but wind-blown snow.  Her options were a lot more limited now, for there was no way she was going to spend an hour hacking ice-blocks and jacking up the rover with her back exposed to the world.  She might wait out the squall in the comparative safety of the rover, but already she felt the numbing cold sinking into her limbs and she knew she would have to turn on the heater, draining precious kilometres from the rover's battery for who knew how long.  And that was if she even made it back to the hatch, for she could have sworn the animal sound was close.

     She would climb up on top of the rover, she decided, the better to defend herself from its comparative height.  The blowing snow in these wind-squalls usually hugged the ground, so there was a chance that she might be able to see further from up there, the better to spot the approach of any threat.  There was also an emergency hatch up there that dropped into the rover's back storage compartment.  It was hard to squeeze through with a polar-suit on,   but she knew it was possible from their emergency training. 

     Taking one last look into the nothingness, Annison turned and scampered up the side of the rover.  It was treacherous going, for the metal was slick with powdery snow, but she managed just on hands and knees.  Getting her balance, she prepared to stand upright to see if she could see above the blowing snow.  But at that exact moment a particularly powerful gust of wind hit her, and she was blown clean off the rover to land heavily on the ice below.

     Annison groaned in pain, but she knew now was not the time to wallow.  If she were injured she would have to make it back inside the rover immediately, or she was surely doomed.  Fortunately the rifle was still around her shoulder, and she clutched it closely to her chest.  Painfully she was able to drag herself to her feet, using the rifle as a crutch more than as a defensive weapon.  She took three steps forward, then stopped.  The wind seemed to have shifted, or maybe she had got turned around during the fall?  She could see nothing ahead, but surely the rover must be there, up-wind?  She took three more steps, and then three more, and still there was nothing.  She was just about to retrace her steps, the better to try again in a different direction, when she clearly heard the animal cry again.  This time there were several cries, seemingly from different animals approaching from different directions.  It was at this point that Annison panicked, and she ran.

     The world was nothing but blowing white, like flying through a cloud.  Her leg and back ached like something fierce, but fear drove her onward.  She didn't know where she was running now, and she didn't really care as long as it was away from the animals.  She would freeze to death running through the wilderness before she would let them rip her to pieces.

     And then her footing failed, and she slipped down a slope, caromed off some ice, and knew nothing more.

*   *   *   *   *

     "There you go," the man's voice said.  A gentle arm helped her to sit up, and Annison blinked awake.  She was in an ice cave, but with electric lighting and a bed.  The air was cool, but not bone-chillingly cold.  She turned to face the man who had spoken, and she couldn't believe her eyes.

     "Copeland?" Annison asked, blinking again.  "But... you died almost a year ago, along with the rest of the Strachan party.  Am I... also dead?"

     "Ha!  No," Copeland assured her.  "A little banged up, perhaps, but you'll make it.  You are quite lucky we found you when we did, though."

     Annison's head swam with questions.  "How...?  Where...?  Why....?"

     Copeland laughed again.  "Those jerks in command were going to get us all killed.  Captain Strachan hatched the plan to fake our own deaths.  Out here we were free!"

     "But..." Annison tried to think, but her head felt like it had been run over by the rover.  "But Gunchas?"

     "Entirely harmless," Copeland assured her.  "We made up those reports about them attacking people, and enough people disappeared mysteriously due to the harsh weather of this world that everyone started to believe the rumours.  Mostly they just roam around looking for moon lichens that grow in the sheltered cracks of the ice fields."

     "But..." Annison tried again, her mind really not up to the task yet.  "But lights... bed?"

   "Of course we stole a few supplies before we faked our demise," Copeland explained.  "And once we were gone the jerk commanders started shutting off parts of the base to make it more manageable.  We usually go back on a weekly basis to raid for materials.  Do you know we've got most of a shuttle built from spare parts we've salvaged?  Captain Strachan figures we can get off this ice cube in less than a year now.  How about that, eh?"

   "Power?" Annison asked.  Her mind just wouldn't let her form sentences.

   "Ah!  We've rigged a wind generator in the caverns just below the surface, where the wind always seems to blow.  Undetectable and consistent power.  It's actually better than back at the old base, since here things actually seem to work!"

   Annison blinked, talk of the base dislodging memories as if they had been frozen into a glacier.  "Radio!" she said, trying to haul herself up to her feet.  "Need radio!"

   Copeland held her down, but gently.  "Easy girl, you've had a rough fall.  And that's one thing we don't have, for the signals would surely get us caught."

   "Time," Annison blurted.  "Running out of time!"

   "Your recovery is something that we can't rush," Copeland told her.  "Indeed, you've been unconscious for almost two days.  What's all the rush about now?"

   Annison was now utterly at a loss for words.

[Sinitrena]

Well, certain administrators might complain that the story is incomplete, but it already feels long and I'm out of time. 

Well, I'm just glad we did get a competition running here.  Even though I'd rather also see a third entry.

And our entries are:

WHAM - Hot and Cold
Baron - Cold Comfort

Please PM me your choice for the winner of this round (entrants don't need to do this, I'll just allocate one point from each of you to your opponent.)
And remember that comments in this thread are also welcome, no matter if you posted a story here or not.

Voting Deadline: 20th Dec

[Sinitrena]

I find my inbox a bit lacking in votes. Actually, I have not yet received a single vote for this round.

So, this is your friendly reminder, in case you all haven't seen that voting is open here! (And you don't need to be an entrant or a regular or even a writer to vote - you only need to be a member of the AGS forums!)

[WHAM]

Busy time of year for a lot of folks, so can't really blame 'em for not having the time to read and vote much. Hopefully we'll get at least that one vote that breaks the tie since we only had two participants this time around.

[Sinitrena]

Yes, it's a busy time, but there are only two stories to read. And they are worth reading!

Well, there's still some time left to vote.

[Baron]

Well I wonder if I can't tempt Mandle into voting by giving away all the juicy details in my unhidden feedback post. 

@ WHAM:  I like your story.  The description of the setting at the beginning made me feel like I was there climbing the forested hills along with Frank and Megan.  I liked how the season paralleled the frozen state of their relationship (I'm sure there's a fancy writing term for that - pathetic fallacy?).  I was a little leery of where the story was going, as I have the emotional intelligence of a gnat and tend to steer clear of romantic stories.  But then I discovered that clearly the protagonists also share my emotional ineptitude, and I felt right at home in the awkward unspoken meaninglessness of the whole encounter.        I'd have voted for your piece even despite Sinitrena explicitly forbidding us entrants from doing so except I'm a little suspicious that you might be stalking me through the winter woods in order to get writing ideas...   

[Mandle]

I voted. sorry for the radio silence, but I have been both organizing Santas for children's Christmas parties and taking on the role myself over the last few days. Busy time of the year. Thanks for waiting for me.

[Sinitrena]

Now I do get some votes, but does it help deciding the winner? Of course not!

But thank you to the two people that did take the time to cast some votes for our entrants.

The current count is (including the votes for each other but not my tie-breaker yet):

WHAM: 2 points
Baron: 2 points

I liked both stories, and they both gave me this nice feeling of icy cold I love so much.

WHAM: A technically well written story that creates some clear pictures in my head. The parallell between the frostyness of the landscape and the character's interactions is well placed. But in the end, I'm left with the same feeling of looking for a sense that the characters seem to have. Why did they decide to climb the mountain after all this time? What purpose were they looking for and what changed in the end? The characters are at the exact same point in the beginning and in the end, with maybe the tiny change that there was a long overdue apology. But they seemed to get along just fine (for them, they are fine with it, not necessary they are acting fine to each other from an outsiders perspective) and that doesn't change. I guess I'm missing some kind of character development here. I still greatly enjoyed the story.

Baron: Astondingly, I am really not going to say that the story ends in the middle. No, this story is open-ended, it doesn't wrap up everything, but in a way that works. Yes, we are left wondering if Chrysler is still alive, but in a way that doesn't feel like the author didn't finish writing and more in a gut-punshing way (I hope it's clear what I mean). There are some points I feel might need a bit more explanation, like what happened for the station to be in such a desolate condition, and what happened to the one in command. Also, for the dangers of the gunchas to be believable, the group would have needed to start the rumours very early after they arrived, otherwise people would wonder why these animals turned hostile suddenly. In short, I think the timeline of events could be slightly clearer.

Overall, quality writing from both entrants, but I do have to decide. And for me, I give a slight edge to...

Baron

... and declare him the winner of thie Fortnightly Writing Competition.

Congratulations, go start the next one!

[WHAM]

I guess I'm missing some kind of character development here.

That's understandable and having more meaningful development of the characters would surely make for a more entertaining story. But not all stories are entertaining and not all people develop over time. Sometimes stories are just a little depressing and the people in them stubborn and cold.

Congratulations to Baron!

[offtopic]Now please, please, PLEASE: not a Christmas theme for Christmas time! I beg of thee! [/offtopic]

[Stupot]

For me, both stories had their moments. Wham's was probably stronger in terms of word choice and expression but was lacking in any real sense of drama. I felt the pain of the protagonist's regret but I wasn't really sure what the story was.

Baron's, conversely, was perhaps in need of a tougher edit. The first act in the station created an interesting scenario, but I felt the middle section meandered a bit, as Annison literally meandered around a series of icy obstacles. I began to feel that she had more juice in her vehicle than we were led to believe. But overall it was exciting enough. The ending was interesting, although the final twist didn't hit as hard as it might because I couldn't really get my head around why the rest of the members had planned all this for so long but not told Annison (or Chrysler).

In the end I lent my vote to Baron.