To Build a Fire 11

From the short story by Jack London

A certain fear of death, dull and oppressive, came to him.  This fear quickly became poignant as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances against him.  This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the old, dim trail.  The dog joined in behind and kept up with him.  He ran blindly, without intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life.  Slowly, as he ploughed and floundered through the snow, he began to see things again—the banks of the creek, the old timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky.  The running made him feel better.  He did not shiver.  Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he would reach camp and the boys.  Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there.  And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead.  This thought he kept in the background and refused to consider.  Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.

It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feet so frozen that he could not feel them when they struck the earth and took the weight of his body.  He seemed to himself to skim along above the surface and to have no connection with the earth.  Somewhere he had once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over the earth.

His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the endurance.  Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell.  When he tried to rise, he failed.  He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely walk and keep on going.  As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling quite warm and comfortable.  He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had come to his chest and trunk.  And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no sensation.  Running would not thaw them out.  Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet.  Then the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending.  He tried to keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic.  But the thought asserted itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen.  This was too much, and he made another wild run along the trail.  Once he slowed down to a walk, but the thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.