Free An Island Between Two Shores by Graham Wilson Page A

Instinctively, Liana froze and held her breath. She stepped toward the river to retrieve the bait but she couldn’t even see it. She knew that the pool was only about six feet deep and that the bait likely hadn’t drifted too far before sinking to the bottom. But none of this mattered. The cold would take her in only a few minutes.
    Liana’s mind raced with the necessity of retrieving the bait, and she started looking for an easy place to enter the river. “Don’t do it,” a voice inside her pleaded. “You’ll freeze for sure.” Liana stumbled backwards and stared with bewilderment at the river. Lumpy tears welled in her eyes. She felt as though she couldn’t trust herself and feared that she would dive into the river despite the risk. She was losing control of her good judgment and this frightened her more than anything else had since the day Henry was shot.
    Disheartened, Liana trudged back to where she had been fishing and fell onto a rock. She was flushed; tears ran down her grimy cheeks. Her heart sank as she examined the bare metal hook, and a ratcheting cry reverberated in her throat. Liana felt dizzy and squatted back on the rock. She looked away from the river and stared at the conformity of the snow. All her hopes had rested on catching fish. She couldn’t return to the log empty-handed to slowly starve and freeze to death.
    After several minutes Liana started to feel relief. “Almost a week of fishing,” she told herself, “and I haven’t even seen a single fish.” She knew it was time to stop fishing and conserve her energy. Standing next to the river had brought her to delirium on several occasions. She had forced herself to stay exposed to the wind and cold, but now she could rest under the log and wait.
    Liana glanced at the silhouette of the trees bordering the river. Henry had often told her, “My people are in the Jack pine roots.” Liana looked at the forest and asked plaintively, “Are you there, Henry?” She dug her hands into her pockets and staggered away from the river.
    Back at the log, Liana shuddered in the dank familiarity of her den. All she had to do now was last long enough for the ice to harden. She looked up at the sky and took a deep breath and considered her singular option. The river would freeze and she would escape to the shore and walk to town. She closed her eyes but sleep eluded her. The cold filled the valley with a shocking ferocity.
    In the twilight of early morning, Liana heard the sound of snow falling. A hush filled the island and she could barely hear the whisper of the river. She was grateful that days were so brief this time of the year. Snow accumulated on the pony wall and the cave darkened as snow narrowed the entrance to a thin slit. The wind swirled a cornice of snow over the log, and ice granules seeped beneath it. Liana pushed the snow away from her lair so that she had enough room. Touching snow would melt it and make her wetter and even colder.
    In the afternoon, when the sun felt like it was high in the sky, Liana finally decided to venture into the storm and break the monotony of her restless slumber. She carefully climbed out of the cavern. It felt much colder in the stark, gusty storm. Standing outside, Liana stretched her arms toward the sky. She closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. It had never occurred to her that falling snow had a smell. Her tracks from the previous day had been buried, but this was fine, Liana thought, because the paths never led anywhere good. She walked toward the river to get a mouthful of water. She felt off-balance, disoriented by the snow and how the island and forest had so quickly been transformed.
    Like everyone in the North, Liana knew that even during winter she needed to get at least one drink of water each day. Dehydration would kill her faster than hunger. As such, she followed a daily ritual of checking the progress of the ice and having at least a gulp of water. This day she ventured through the fresh