When the Night Comes by Favel Parrett Read Free Book Online Page A

reverence. With cream, with ice cream. Fresh fruit.
    The station leader nudges me. “Won’t you eat something?” he asks. His eyes are dark and ancient and tired.
    I pat my stomach. “No, I’m fine,” I tell him.
    He looks at me, serious now. “Just say when you want to go back.”
    I nod. “Thank you.” Then I ask him about the stones. The hill. I ask if I can go over to see it. If I can go outside.
    He narrows his eyes, looks confused. Maybe I have said the name wrong. “Reeve’s Hill?”
    â€œI don’t have anyone who can take you,” he says, but then he pauses, as if he can see something in me, something in my eyes, urgent. Burning.
    â€œI suppose you can go over if you’re careful.”
    I smile. “Maybe nice to go outside,” I say.
    He nods. Nods again. “Yes,” he says. “All right. Follow the road around, then look for the track. Don’t wander off. Melt everywhere rightnow. Cracks in the ice, lakes of water under it. Just follow the road and the track until you’re on the rocks.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, already standing. Already there in my mind.
    â€œPut your name on the board. Be back in an hour. I don’t want to have to come looking for you.”
    â€œThank you,” I say. I shake his hand, almost run out of the mess. I try not to look at anyone in case they stop me. In case they say, “Sorry, you can’t go.” But then I see Ben and he waves. He stands up, holds out a pair of sunglasses.
    â€œTake these,” he says.
    I take them.
    I move down the tunnel toward the doors, toward the sun. I write my name on the blackboard, Bo—Nella Dan , then I put 11:50 AM under TIME in white chalk. I find a freezer suit, orange and padded, and I struggle to get it on, get zipped up. It’s roasting hot inside the suit, but when I open the heavy metal doors, I feel the cold—that bite on my face, slicing into my lungs—and I put my hat on, then Ben’s sunglasses, and suddenly the brightness does not hurt my eyes. I can see it all clearly, in full spectrum. All the full-color glory and the insides of me are soaring.
    I follow the road, my big boots crunching in the loose frozen dirt. Summer. Minus one degree, but that sun is streaming down, melting everything on the surface, slick and slippery.
    The sound of the resupply echoes all around—the truck engines, the cranes, the beep , beep , beep of reversing machines. A hive of engines working around the clock until the resupply is done. But as I move closer to the hill, get farther down the road, the silence starts to win. I can feel it come down over me, over the place, like double glazing. My breath loud, my heart beating in all this cold silence.
    The hill of stones is there, ahead. I’m getting closer.
    My foot slips out from under me and I land hard. I’m on the ground,still. Black ice. I didn’t see it on the road but I can see it now. I try to feel if anything is wrong, if anything hurts. What would happen if I broke something? How long would I have to wait? How cold would I get? I look up at the blue sky, no clouds now, only slight streaks of translucent gray and pink. I get up slowly and breathe. I’m just winded. I tell myself to walk slower, to be careful.
    No need to rush, no need to end your season early and be sent home. But part of me wants to run, get to the hill as fast as I can. It’s as if someone is waiting for me up there, something important that I might miss.
    A hill of stones—a hill made of stones.
    The road ends.
    A line of ice to cross, covered in thick crystals, hard snow that never melts in this cold dryness. I can see footprints, tracks to follow where people have been. The snow is deep and crisp right up to my knees and it’s hard to walk. Lines of penguin tracks crisscross the human path, little feet skimming across the top surface of frozen white with ease. Little feet