Free Darren Effect by Libby Creelman Page A

story.”
    â€œAn
interesting
story!”
    â€œWell, from a folklore perspective.”
    â€œA girl gets lost in the woods,” Mandy said, gulping. “She either freezes and starves to death over several days, though no one can find her, or — more likely — she is tortured and killed, and you say it’s an interesting story?”
    â€œFreezing to death takes less than several days. You two don’t realize how lucky you are.”
    But both Mandy and Heather were crying. Heather couldn’t believe how horribly sad it was. She put her hand on her sister’s shoulder, and Mandy took it in her own. They cried more.
    â€œJesus,” Bill said.
    At emergency they also told Heather she was lucky. The frostbite was not severe; they did not expect gangrene to be a concern.
    â€œYou’re a lucky gal,” said the intern, not from Newfoundland.
    She hadn’t eaten all day, the temperature had dropped ten degrees in two hours, and she had been wandering in stockingedfeet through the wet, snowy woods for no one knew how long, but she was lucky. When they said
lucky
, she imagined a wide blue sky that never closed above a bog and on the bog, a tattered sunbonnet.
    â€œThere’s some terrific hiking in this province, isn’t there?” the intern said. His hair was flattened at the back of his head; it was clear he’d been recently asleep. “I’m ordering antibiotics. That’s routine. I like to tell hikers to be prepared. Appropriate clothing, especially footwear — ” Heather wondered if he knew she’d lost hers — “and always carry plenty of food and water, a map and compass if you’ve got one. Now, is there anything you need to tell me?”
    Heather shifted on the bed. “Like what?”
    â€œLike any medical conditions?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s a routine question.”
    â€œNone that I can think of.”
    A nurse came in carrying a tray, and the intern jumped back. “The nurse is going to clean and dry your feet, then wrap them in sterile bandages to prevent infection. Frostbite is like any injury.” Gradually, the intern was moving closer to her again. “It’s due to the formation of ice crystals in the tissue but also to decreased blood flow. Imagine the blood in your extremities thickening and turning sludge-like. When your body gets cold, it gets smart.”
    â€œCan I get in here?” the nurse asked, and the intern jumped back a second time. She glanced at Heather and rolled her eyes. The intern was still talking, but Heather found it difficult to look at him. Instead, she watched the nurse, who was working silently on Heather’s feet. She wore a small embroidered pin resembling a pumpkin pie.
    â€œAs soon as your body temperature drops, those tiny blood vessels in your skin and extremities narrow. This keeps blood flowing to vital organs like your heart and brain. Of course, that comes at a price, as we see here.”
    Heather tried to smile at him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. His bright enthusiasm was commendable, but give him ten, fifteen years and it would be like pulling teeth to get this kind of information from him. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but it was likely he was engaged. Years of family life lay in wait: the house, the renovations, the cars. The neighbourhood, the pets, the schooling. The first serious illness.
    â€œNow if those blisters had been filled with bloody fluid — ”
    A second nurse appeared in the doorway. “Doctor,” she said flatly, and the young man spun around and jogged out of the room.
    The first nurse took a deep breath and patted one of Heather’s bandaged feet as though it were a bundled infant all fed, washed and tucked in for its nap. “That’s grand,” she said. “Let’s pray for a speedy recovery. You don’t want to be coming back here.”
    â€œWhat do you call