On a Tower, In the Fog

First published in the University of Alaska Fairbanks's Ice Box.

The weather could be worse. Been a lot worse, recently.

At least it’s stopped snowing. That’s what I tell myself as I grip my ladder with my numb hands. I lost most feeling in my fingers climbing up the transmission tower.

At least it’s stopped snowing, I tell myself. Worse things than thick fog out there. Though, right now, kinda feels like thick fog is the only thing out there. The whole world’s a soupy white. I’ve been up this tower God knows how many times before. On a clear day, you can see the whole Willamette stretching north and south and west, all the little trees looking like they belong next to model train tracks.

But not today.

We’re still fixing everything from the ice storm yesterday. I’ve stopped counting the hours since I slept. Some spots, the frost was so thick on the lines they were almost scraping the ground.

At least it’s just fog.

There’s worse things than fog out there.

Steve and Bruce are talking about something on the ground. Don’t know what.

My numb hands do their numb job as my numb brain thinks about the sandwich I left waiting in the rover. Probably cold and damp now, like everything else.

My numb mouth shouts down to Steve, telling him to pulley down the insulator.

His numb voice shouts something back up.

Confirmation, probably.

At least the lettuce would still be crisp. Maybe the bread will be a bit damp, but the lettuce inside, well, it’ll be wet but it won’t be the same sticky damp that the fog makes everything.

More shouts.

My numb brain takes a moment, realizes something’s wrong. The pulley’s going too fast. Rope whistles through it.

Fuck.

I shout down to Steve to watch out.

Nothing.

I shout at him that the insulator’s gonna splatter his brains all over the snow if he keeps being so careless and that I know he’s tired, for Christ’s sake we’re all tired, but—

And then I hear the growl.

It’s like the revving of some oversized truck, which wouldn’t be a problem but we didn’t bring anything like that with us.

And then the whole tower shakes.

I shout down again.

There’s a shape in the dense white, a dark shape, coming up from below in a way I’ve never seen anything climb, not a man or a bear or—

I’d run if I could. Even numb, my brain knows that shape has fucked intentions.

But I’m as far up as I can get.

So I just watch.

It won’t be long now.

I wish the fog was the worst thing out there.