Thin Ice

by Naton Leslie

For the moment, all he knew was the wind. The throbbing of the new snowmobile engine coursed through his arms and legs, the featureless ice not providing the least resistance as he throttled across the lake. The wind was cutting, yet his suit, neck-to-toe insulation, kept the worst from him. His goggles threatened to fog, as he had tightened them too close to his face. Right now, though, he was a vector, a pure blade, and the Adirondack winter peeled past him in layers.

It was the sound which first told him something had changed. Engine whining, the sled left the surface of the lake and took to the air; for a moment he was thrilled, then he glanced back to see the angled plane of ice, a piece which had broken free during the January thaw and then had refrozen into a ramp. He had hit it as cleanly as a stunt driver. He sailed above the lake, long enough to wonder about how long he'd remain airborne, and long enough to stand and prepare for the impact, knees bent to absorb the jolt of machine meeting ice.

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