The icy wind grated Thomas’ cheeks as he pulled his parka tighter. It was a futile attempt to shield his face from the blizzard raging around him. The snow had been falling for hours before the wind picked up, thrusting him into a full-blown whiteout. He had tried to push through the cold, wet squall, but the chill and fatigue were becoming too much to endure. Seeking a reprieve from the weather’s onslaught, he had taken shelter inside a tree line to rest. While the stand gave some protection from the wind, it did nothing for the cold.

Visibility wasn’t much better inside the timberline, and the chill in his bones was growing worse by the minute. The storm had erased all sense of time and direction, and Thomas was going to freeze to death unless he found shelter. Using a tree trunk to block the wind, he scanned the edge of visibility for a place to wait out the storm. A gust of wind howled in his ear, bringing with it a faint sound. A steady, rhythmic beep carried under the roar, fading in and out for a few seconds before subsiding as quickly as it began. A sharp pain erupted above his right eye and Thomas instinctively reached for his forehead. He felt no wound and there was no blood on his fingers when he lowered his hand. He didn’t remember hitting his head on anything, but much of his situation didn’t make sense. As the pain dissipated, another burst of wind returned his focus to the world around him.

As the wind lulled, a dark shadow deep in the stand caught Thomas’ attention before it faded back into the storm. He started to move toward it and the shape of a small rock overhang came into view. An uncontrollable shiver surged through his body and Thomas wrapped his arms around his chest, huddling to trap what little warmth remained. A sense of warmth radiated from his feet and up his body as the cold seemed to dissipate. Feeling pressure on the palm of his right hand, he flexed it to stimulate the circulation. Lowering his hand, Thomas was sitting in front of a roaring campfire under the overhang. Confusion washed over him as his wife’s voice carried on the wind. Straining to hear her words, he began to question his sanity. How had he gotten here? He didn’t remember reaching the rock or starting a fire. And there was no reasonable explanation for hearing Carol’s voice.

What the hell was going on?

As the fire warmed him, Thomas’ thoughts drifted toward Carol and the children. It felt like ages since they were together. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home. Or why he even left. Why had they been separated? And what was he doing out here in the middle of a blizzard? There were more questions than answers, and Thomas found it disconcerting that most of them involved his sanity. The sharp pain returned to his temple, but there was still no wound or blood. As the pain subsided, Thomas’ eyelids began to feel heavy. Settling in next to the fire, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

Flying down a black diamond slope, Thomas felt a sense of exhilaration as he looked to find Carol twenty yards behind him. Filled with a strong sense of adoration, he wondered how he got so lucky with her. She was clearly out of his league. Carol began to frantically gesture while pointing in his direction. Turning back to the trail ahead, he barely had time to see a low hanging branch directly in front of him. Slamming into it at full force, his head snapped back, and he slammed into the snow. A searing pain pierced his forehead as a stream of blood ran down his temple.

Thomas bolted upright and instinctively reached for his forehead. There still wasn’t any blood, but the pain had returned with a vengeance. The dream felt so vivid and real. As he surveyed his surroundings, Thomas tried to suppress thoughts he might be losing his mind. Looking around, he was back under the overhang and the fire had dwindled to embers. He felt like he’d just fallen asleep, but the smoldering coals meant it had been hours since he drifted off. It was still dark out and there was no visible snow accumulation, despite the blizzard continuing to rage around him. Stirring the coals to draw the last of the heat out, Thomas gathered his things and disappeared back into the blinding storm.

As he trudged through the snow, Thomas tried to ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Nothing about his situation was adding up. The blizzard. The sharp pain in his head. The sounds on the wind. And the most troubling question of all; his inability to remember how he got here. Thomas wondered if the pain and his memory were connected. Had his dream been real? If it was, where was Carol? He wondered if they had become separated and she was calling to him through the blizzard. Was she trapped out here with him? There was no way Carol’s voice would travel very far, and he should have stumbled onto her by now if she were close enough for him to hear. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he needed something to hold on to. And somewhere deep down, he knew she was the key. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of this. But that didn’t change where he was, and what he needed to do. He needed to find a way home. He needed to get back to her.

It had been hours since Thomas left the shelter of the rock, and almost as long since he saw the tree line receding behind him. The wind and sleet pummeled him as he trudged through the knee-deep snow. His legs were burning with exhaustion, and it was getting harder to ignore the pins and needles in his hands and feet. Thomas knew that if he didn’t find more shelter soon, frostbite would be the least of his concerns. Lost in this barren wilderness, a sense of dread began to overwhelm him.

As the panic set in, an idea sparked in Thomas’ mind. Manically packing the snow around him into large brick shaped pieces, he began stacking one on top of another as a makeshift igloo began to take shape. As he worked, a sensation of warmth returned to his extremities. Chalking it up to the exertion, he paused briefly to inspect the structure. It was nowhere near complete enough to provide the growing sense of warmth he was feeling. It couldn’t be hypothermia unless he was hallucinating. That would explain the other delusions he was experiencing. With a renewed sense of purpose, Thomas redoubled his efforts on the shelter. As he worked, the beep returned. Only this time, the rhythm was quicker.

The winter sun shone through the hospital room window as Carol finished tucking a blanket around Thomas’ comatose body. A bandage covered the right side of his forehead as the heart monitor emitted a fast, rhythmic beep. Carol barely paid the tone any notice. She had seen his heart rate spike before, and she knew it meant he was still in there somewhere. He had been unconscious for weeks, and while the doctors were still seeing higher brain functions like the spikes in his heart rate, the huddled whispers had grown more frequent whenever they came to check on him. Carol wasn’t stupid. She knew the longer he was under, the less likely he was to wake. She was also certain he had squeezed her hand on more than one occasion. She had told the doctors the first few times she felt it, but they couldn’t replicate the response. She could tell they didn’t believe her, and one doctor had even gone so far as to say it was common for family members to imagine responses in coma patients.

In the end, it didn’t matter whether they believed her. He was going to wake up. She was certain of that. She had to be.

Settling back into the chair next to Thomas’ bed, Carol picked up a book from the side table. Looking at her watch, she realized their children would be out of school soon, and on stopping by to visit their father. Turning her attention to the novel, Carol began to read out loud. If there was even a chance of him coming out of his coma, she hoped her voice would help him find his way.