AWOL with the Operative by Jean Thomas

see it now, too, below them. The stream that proved his faith in the existence of one. It wasn’t a mirage either, but a reality. From what he could tell in the driving snow when they reached its bank, it was a narrow, winding river, its solidly frozen waters offering them an open highway through the wilderness.
    “Which way?” Eve asked him.
    “To the left. And don’t ask me why. It just feels to me like that’s downstream, and downstream seems better than upstream.”
    “Well, you’ve been right so far, so let’s do it.”
    She sounded enthusiastic enough about his decision, but Sam’s concern about her deepened with the snow as they followed the river. He could see she was growing tired. He needed to find a refuge for them, one that provided food. But there was no sign of any habitation, nothing but the endless, unbroken forest on either side.
    In one way the river was in their favor. Except for occasional drifts, around which they were either able to detour or had no choice but to wallow through, the wind had swept the ice clean of such obstacles. But that same wind punished them with a biting cold.
    Hell, why not call it what it was? A genuine, freaking blizzard. At least there was no helicopter diving down on them. Not in this stuff. But there was Eve and his fears for her. She was struggling along bravely at his side. But her progress was an uncertain one, requiring his steadying hand whenever she stumbled, which was happening more frequently as they advanced.
    There was something else Sam didn’t like. Instead of saving her breath, she began to talk. And of all things, considering they had eaten nothing since yesterday, what she talked about was food.
    “Do you like bread pudding, Sam?” She gave him no chance to respond. “The secret ingredient for my bread pudding is molasses. It’s no secret down in Louisiana. Molasses bread pudding is a very popular dessert in Louisiana.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Oh, yes. I know a lot about Louisiana cooking. I hope one day to operate my own restaurant featuring Louisiana dishes. Not the trendy Creole and Cajun fare, but genuine down-home cooking. I think the Midwest could use a restaurant like that, don’t you?”
    “What happened to being a senior editor of a magazine?”
    “That was never my dream. I just kind of drifted into it. See, I was freelancing reviews of metro-area restaurants, and the magazine liked my writing. They needed an assistant editor and offered me the job. The money was good, and what with Mom’s Parkinson’s disease getting worse, that was important. Then when the senior editor left the magazine, and the salary for that position was even more tempting…”
    “The dream got lost.”
    “Not lost, Sam. Put on hold. I’ll get back to it one day. I’m a very good chef. Chicken gumbo and rice is one of my specialties. Rice is a staple in Louisiana. They grow it there, you know.”
    He found it interesting that she was sharing all these revelations about herself, even though this was hardly the occasion for them. With his memory still largely untapped, he was able to offer nothing worthwhile about himself in response. All he could do was listen and worry.
    Eve was huffing with exertion by now. He should have tried to silence her, but she seemed to need to talk. He humored her, letting her ramble on cheerfully about sweet potato pone.
    But that was a mistake. He realized that when, describing something called shrimp remoulade for him, her phrases began to get repeatedly disjointed.
    “Shrimp…that’s a Louisiana staple, too…bet you know that already, Sam…everybody knows that…I think they do…but not about the hard-boiled eggs maybe…no, not about the hard-boiled eggs…minced very fine, those eggs should be…”
    Yeah, it was a mistake. She was beginning to sound almost delirious. Dazed by hunger and exhaustion. He had to get her out of this miserable weather. But how, where?
    From what he could tell in the blinding snow, there