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A cold, harsh landscape lies ahead. Barren, rolling hills hinder the large snowplow as it rumbles forward. Bitter, freezing winds beat at the plow, trying to knock it over. The wind blows drifts of snow up from the icy hills into the air in thin sheets, making the terrain seem to come alive for a brief moment. The sky is a blinding white, a thick snowstorm hiding the sun from the vehicle and the tundra beneath it. Huge, heavy snowflakes pound against the windshield of the plow, an ongoing attack against the cold machine. Inside of the plow, a middle-aged man drives the vehicle, his teenage daughter puffing visible breath at the windows beside them. They sit uncomfortably apart from one another, both shivering in the frigid air. The leather seats are cracked and worn, and the dashboard is held together with duct tape and cleverly placed pieces of nearly frozen cardboard. The rear-view mirror has a crack down its center, and a small bone carving hangs down off it. Intricate etchings adorn the slender bone, and as it spins midair, the tracings seem to dance amongst the arctic atmosphere in a mesmerizing sort of waltz. The backs seat is filled with equipment, including: scanners, data readers, thermometers, old computers, miscellaneous tools, furs, extra clothing, boxes of canned food, useless maps and charts, data tables, and a small metal box that contained their limited amount of medical supplies. The snowplow hummed as it drove forward along the ice. The passengers inside shifted around awkwardly, looking everywhere but at each other. The man sits there driving the snowplow across the tundra, his hands covered by warm woolen mittens. He wears an identical woolen hat over his curly brown hair. His daughter stares out of the window with her sharp green eyes. She turns her head and peers at her father through thick waves of brown hair that cascade down her slim figure. A thick lavender hat covers her head, and a lavender-and-white-striped scarf caresses her neck, keeping it warm. The father peers with pale green eyes through his fogged-over glasses and thinks to himself, I can see her glare at me like I'm the enemy. I hate it when she glares at me like that. Doesn't she know I only want what's best for her? The only reason I brought her out here is because it's an opportunity to experience something wonderful that she never could sitting at home. Why must I always be the bad guy? He takes one of his hands off the steering wheel for a moment to clear the mistiness from his spectacles before returning his focus to the 'road' ahead, after he skidded a little on the ice. Crud, I need to pay attention to the road. What road? There's no road! Just endless miles of ice. We're lost. I have about a dozen or so different maps in the back, and not a single one can help us. Great. Just what I need. "I'm going out to collect a few samples, I'll be back by dusk," I had said. I'll be lucky if I get back at all. He shifts slightly in his seat, his black coat making several paper-like shuffling noises when he moved. The coat is bulky, and makes him look very similar to an overweight black marshmallow. The snow pants that he is wearing are very slick, causing him to slide in his seat a few times during the bumpier moments of the ride. His heavy-set boots keep his tired feet warm as he presses the gas pedal forward, forcing the plow onward through the thick snowstorm. God, I hate this storm, he thought. It's impossible to see anything. And it's so cold. We're miles away from the base, and I'm not sure if I can find my way back. He sighed and looked at his daughter. "You're still mad at me, aren't you?" he said. She kept silent, not looking at him, but continues to stare out of the window at the tundra surrounding them. She rests her chin on a purple-mitten-covered hand, staring into the empty space in front of her. Her skin is unbelievably smooth, and slightly rose-colored from the cold air surrounding her. Her small ears compliment her tiny nose that sits above her moist red lips. A furry white coat keeps her body warm enough, and the lavender snow pants that she wears clash a little with the silver fur-lined boots that she is wearing, with white pom-pom puffballs hanging off the ends of the laces. This is stupid, she thinks to herself. I am in the middle of nowhere with my stupid father in the stupid arctic in this stupid snow plow, and we have no idea where we are. Great job, Dad. So glad I could come and help out, not. It's all his fault. He looks ridiculous in that coat. Hell, I don't look any better. I miss my friends. Why am I here? There's nothing here for me! I don't want to be some dumb scientist like my father. I don't want to study the arctic or some ice samples. Why did he drag me out here? If it's some 'great opportunity,' where do the 'great' things come in? Being lost isn't an opportunity, it's a drag. Her father sitting next to her sighed again. "I don't suppose there's anything you want to talk about?" "No," she replied angrily. He turned towards her. "Look, Maria, I know you don't want to be out here, but this experience will..." "Dad, I said I don't want to talk about anything!" Maria snapped back. She shifted in her seat, irritated. "I don't care, Maria, we need to talk about his. I find it unfair that you're going to scream at me and blame me for doing what I think is best for you and not get a chance to at least defend myself." "Maybe you don't know what's best for me," she mocked. "That isn't the point, Maria!" he snapped. "Well, what is? That you've taken me to nowhere-land? That I'm here against my will because you turned Mom against me? That we're lost?" "Hey, your mother only wants what's best for you, the same as me. She was on board with this from the beginning. I didn't have to convince her of anything!" He turned his eyes back to the road ahead. "And we're not lost." Maria snorted, and went back to staring outside of the windows. After a few moments of silence between the two, she began to drum her mitten-covered fingers against the window. _ Ugh, I'm so bored. There's nothing to do. We're lost in the middle of the freezing north in the middle of a freaking snowstorm and I'm stuck in an ugly snow plow with my lame father. Why did Mom have to side with him? He doesn't understand me at all._ Her father takes off his glasses and wipes the fogginess from them, again. "Will you stop that, please?" She ignores him, continuing to drum her fingers against the glass, increasing the volume. "Maria, please!" "But I'm bored! We're lost and there's nothing to see or day! Just miles of endless ice!" She slumps in her seat. "There isn't much to do, I agree, but we're not lost. You will find something to do when we get back to base." He peered ahead for a few minutes, and then stopped the plow and threw his hands up in defeat. "Okay, I admit it, we're lost! Hopelessly lost! I should have listened to Jared and bought a GPS or something! We could be out here for days!" "Oh, great! Just what I wanted, Dad, thanks for the early Christmas present. I've always wanted to get lost and die out here in the Arctic," Maria said. "Maria, please. Now is not the time for that. We need to figure out what to do next." Hard lines cross over his face, giving him a sort of worried look as he stares at the barren landscape in front of him. His thin eyebrows curve into a furl that makes him look just as concerned as he really is. _ Hell, I feel closer to the base than I do my own daughter. We're only a foot away inside of this vehicle, but I feel thousands of miles spanning between us. Why does she keep pushing me away? I only want what's best for her! Doesn't she know that? She's growing up so fast... I think her mother understands her better than I do. God, she used to adore me. I remember when she was little, and she used to love it when I came home. Now she avoids me. I don't understand what I've done. Is it because I'm too involved in my job? I know I'm not at home as often as I'd like to be, but it's not my fault, is it?_ Maria sits there with a small frown on her beautiful face, and sighs in frustration, slouching her body in the cold seat. _ Why is he looking at me like that? With that furled brow, like he's so confused? Why does he look at me like I'm some kind of alien life form? If he was home more, maybe he'd recognize that I'm not his little girl anymore. Why doesn't he see that? Why can't he recognize me for a smart, independent woman who can make her own decisions? He just doesn't understand me anymore._ The father sighs and rests his head on the steering wheel, letting it rest there for a few minutes. He looks up for a moment, and sees a small speck in the distance. He squints, and still not being able to tell what the object is, un-parks the vehicle and drives towards it. The snowplow hums and shakes as it goes over the frozen ground, its track leaving deep ridges as it crunches over the icicle rocks and snow. After a few minutes, the pair of them sees an old, worn-down hut residing next to a frozen-over lake. A thin trail of smoke crawls out of the chimney of the hut, seemingly sending a signal to the pair. _ I need to shake away my doubts_, the father thinks to himself. Just focus on finding the base. Just keep your eyes peering ahead ... hey, a building! Someone actually lives out here? That doesn't matter, maybe I can ask for directions! It looks like my luck has turned for the better. Maria followed her father's gaze. Wow, that's the worst building I've ever seen. Wait a minute, someone lives out here? Why in the hell would someone live out here in the middle of the freaking arctic tundra? Layers of snow lie caked on the sides of the hut, making it nearly invisible against the pure white landscape behind it. A slim wooden sled lies overturned on the ground next to a pile of half-frozen wood leaning against one side of the small building. A small hole in the ice lies several feet away from the hut, with boot tracks leading away from it and up to its sturdy door.

Through the thick wooden door and the single frosted-over window lies the warm humbleness inside. Furs of many arctic animals line the walls and floor, and a polar bear fur dominates the center of the floor. Items are scattered all over the two tiny tables in one corner of the hut, and many more things lie in heaps on the floor. A large wash bin rests under the window, with pipes leading under the floor to the outside world to expel unwanted substances. About half a dozen sled dogs are curled up in another corner. The grizzled huskies snooze in comfort next to the fireplace. Warm light flickers from the flames, illuminating everything within. A cooking pot hangs over the fire from a metal rod lodged in brick, steam rising from its contents boiling inside. The last thing to be seen in the room is the bed, which is pushed up against the wall opposite from the wash bin. A heap of blankets and furs rests on the bed, covering up the owner of the establishment, an old Inuk long forgotten by society. The old man sits in his bed, with the many furs and blankets covering him, protecting him from the cold air outside. His skin sags against his thin frame, wrinkled, cracked, and dry. Long wisps of gray hair surround his face and fall down his back. His face is partially deformed from age; a long crooked nose hangs over his puckered mouth. His ears stretch back along his skull, ugly brown spots plastered along his scalp. His bones jut out, screaming from the pain of carrying such aged and heavy skin. His face is grim and gaunt, and his body seems hollow and brittle as the thin ice outside. Yet his luminous brown eyes are full of life, glistening vibrantly as they stare into the flames of the fire. Shadows flicker across his thin frame, dancing across the patterns of the blankets, creating a harmony of motion along his body. The furs lie underneath the thick, fuzzy blankets, providing true warmth and comfort. Furs of foxes, bears, wolves, and animals from faraway lands lie on him as trophies, to remind him of his past and keep him warm for the future, however short it may be. His breathing comes out a raspy wheezing sound as his weakened lungs struggle to obtain air. He sighs, and it only comes out as a thin whisper of sound, barely audible in the silence surrounding him. _ I have lived a long life_, he thought to himself. A very long life. Sometimes I wonder if the things I have accomplished can really be called accomplishments? Oh, but then again, I guess they are. I have achieved so much in my life. My children and their children adore me. Their visits come less and less, but that does not matter anymore. My time upon this earth now is short. I wonder if I've cooked the soup long enough? I think I need another blanket, there's a draft in here. What's that smell? Listen to the howling wind outside! Oh dear, I have become so scatter-brained lately. I do hope I am not losing my mind. After all, my mind is really all I have left. He smiles for a moment, his horrid yellow teeth breaking through his pursed lips into a toothy grin, showing a wide black cavity behind them _ Ah, look at my dog team. All the memories we have shared. Their time is as short as mine is upon this earth. We will pass away together. I will miss them, but at least I can remember all of the experiences we had together. Such fond memories..._ The Inuk sits still, movement having become difficult for his tired body and his heavy mind.

"Hey, look out there, honey!" the scientist pointed. "Maybe we can ask for directions!" "Are you serious? You think someone lives out here? I bet they've either abandoned it long ago or they're dead." "I don't think so." Her father pointed towards the trail of smoke coming from the hut. "They could still be dead." "Maria!" "Okay, fine. We might as well. If he's dead, we can take his food for survival anyways." "I highly doubt it'll come to that," he said, stopping the plow in front of the hut and shutting it off. He opened the door to the vehicle and jumped out. "Come on, you're coming too." "Do I have to?" she whined. "Yes," he said firmly. She groaned, but opened her door and jumped out as well, slamming it shut. He shut his door, walked up to the sturdy door of the hut, and knocked on it. "Hello? Anyone home? My name is Scott Merdon and I'm here with my daughter. I'm a scientist from the Arctic Wildlife and Preservation base a few miles outside of Chamberlain. Do you know how I can get back? We're a little lost." For a few moments, no one answered, and then a thin raspy voice said, "Come in." Scott opened the door, and his daughter followed him in. The hut was warm inside, and the old man sat inside on the bed. He looked at them with a warm smile. "Welcome to my home." His voice sounded like dry sandpaper on cement. "Hi, I'm Scott Merdon, and this is my daughter, Maria," he pointed to his daughter when he said her name, who gave a soft smile. "And we're a little lost. Do you know how to get back to the Arctic Wildlife and Preservation base outside of Chamberlain?" The old man sat there for a moment. "I know many things; a great deal of things. Please, sit down, you must be hungry." He motioned for them to sit at the two tiny tables in the corner, of which had many different objects crowded on them, and had no chairs next to them. Scott and his daughter looked at the strange man, but decided to listen to him and sat down on the floor, next to the dogs and the fireplace. Maria took a mitten off one of her hands and stroked one of the dogs' fur. "I love your dogs," she said. Her father started to speak. "Anyways, we're in a bit..." "Would you like some soup?" "Excuse me?" Scott said. "Sorry, I mustn't have been very clear. Would you like some soup?" The old man restated. "Um, as I tried to say, we're in a bit of a hurry." "Come, now, have some soup," The old man said, getting up and walking over to the pot in the fireplace. His movements were very slow, and after several minutes, he had served his guests some soup. "Thank you," Scott said, blowing on it before he ate some. It burned his tongue anyways, and he almost dropped the bowl from the sudden pain. His daughter decided to let hers cool a little while before trying some. The old man set his soup on the nightstand next to his bed as he climbed into it. Once he was comfortably settled, he looked at his guests. "Some cold weather we're having, eh?" They both looked at him strangely, unsure of what he meant. The old man laughed. "No need to be so serious, I was only making a joke. It's always cold out here." Maria smiled, but her father frowned. "We really need to get back to our base of operations. Do you know how to get back?" The old man nodded. "Yes. You will need to find the North Star, which shouldn't be too hard, and go in the opposite direction from it. It is not too far from here." "Thank you," Scott said, motioning to get up. "However, it is quickly approaching night. You will be much colder if you do not eat your soup," the old man said, smiling at the scientist warmly. Scott nodded, and sat down to finish his soup. When Scott and his daughter had finished their soup, they thanked the old man and got back into their snowplow, heading south towards the base. The old man sat quietly for a moment. "I should make some soup. I'm quite hungry," he said to himself, getting up, walking past his cold, untouched soup to his pot, and put it back over the fire.

~bhscorch

"The Lost Tundra" by bhscorch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.