At the Stroke of Madness

CHAPTER 68

Maggie felt the exhaustion. She needed to think. She needed to stay calm. No good would come from panic. Her hands throbbed with pain. That was good, good that she could still feel something even if it was pain. Yes, it was good that the cold bit into her skin, that it hadn’t gone totally numb. Good that she could still hear her teeth chattering and feel her body shivering.

Shivering was the body’s way of warming itself. Soon she’d be too tired to shiver, her blood too thick, her heart and lungs too slow to respond. Even her brain would become less efficient as she crossed the boundary into hypothermia.

She tried to remember what she could expect. She tried to remember what happens during hypothermia. If she could remember maybe she could look out for the signs and fight them.

She knew it was possible to survive several hours in extreme cold, but how many? Two? Three? She couldn’t remember. What else was there? She needed to remember.

Soon the cold would shut down her metabolism. Her lungs would take in less oxygen and her breaths would become fewer so that it would look like she wasn’t even breathing. That was good, because there couldn’t be much air in this freezer. Oh, God! Would she suffocate before she froze to death?

She knew the same was true for her heart rate. It would slow down, too, which seemed impossible at the moment. It seemed so loud, hammering in her ears. But it would slow to a faint, almost inaudible rate, so that if someone were to feel her pulse, he might not feel one at all.

She kept telling herself that she had plenty of time until they found her. But who would come looking for her? Other than Simon the only person who knew she was here was Luc Racine. Would he come looking for her when she didn’t come back to the car? Would he call for help? Oh, damn! How could he call for help? And again, she remembered that she had left him with a dead cell phone. What did it matter? He might not even remember where he was or who she was.

The panic clawed at her. She resisted the urge to beat her fists against the walls of the freezer again. She told herself that panic was also good. It was when the panic subsided that she’d need to start worrying. Although by that time she might not care.

She tried to concentrate again. She wanted to go through the list of things to expect. It would keep her mind working.

What other things were there? Oh, yes, the lack of oxygen would trigger hallucinations. They could be visual or auditory or both. She might see people when there was no one there at all. Or she might hear someone talking or calling to her, but it would only be her mind playing tricks on her.

There was also the sudden and extreme heat. Yes, heat after the cold. It was one of the cruel paradoxes of severe hypothermia. There was supposedly a burning sensation that made victims want to tear off their clothing and rip at their skin. No problem there. She couldn’t move enough to do either. Ironically, the heat was one of the last things they remembered before losing consciousness. That’s if they could remember.

Amnesia would eventually chip away at the brain. Maybe it was the body’s last defense, a sort of odd blessing to replace the memory of pain and cold with a simple void.

She could feel her muscles already getting stiff. They throbbed and ached from the shivering. She tried to think of warm things. Maybe Gwen was right. Maybe she did need a vacation. And she tried to imagine a beach, hot sand between her toes, the sun beating down on her skin, warm, refreshing waves washing up against her. If not a beach then maybe her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate while her body cuddled into a thick down comforter while she sat in front of a roaring fire. So warm she could curl up, curl up and…sleep.

She was so exhausted. Sleep sounded good. She closed her eyes. She could feel her breaths coming slower, more and more shallow. The pain in her hands had gone away. Or maybe she simply couldn’t feel the pain anymore. The panic had subsided. She felt it slipping away. She was so very tired, so sleepy. Yes, she’d close her eyes. Just for a moment or two. It was so dark, so quiet.

She’d allow herself to sleep. Just for a little while. She’d sleep under the warm sunshine. She could hear the waves splashing, a seagull up above. From somewhere in the back of her mind, someplace where her brain had slowed down but hadn’t stopped working, from somewhere there came a faint whine, a soft, almost inaudible alarm insisting she open her eyes, pleading with her to not give in to the darkness.

At the same time came the realization that she had already stopped shivering. And she knew it was too late.