ERIC

Breathing a sigh of relief, I finally got the car ready for our journey. Throughout the preparations, my wife teased me about the absurd amount of gear packed into our trusty truck. Indeed, the assortment was remarkable, from a gas stove and fuel to a couple of hunting knives. We even had a shovel and an ice axe crammed into the trunk, which, in retrospect, might have been a bit excessive. The chances of using them for anything more than a dramatic, albeit improbable, scenario involving my brother were slim. Clearly, my penchant for over-preparation had taken the lead, contrasting starkly with Nicholas's relaxed approach. Despite his job as a banker in Zurich, he seemed less concerned with risk than one might expect. I had hoped he would bring more than just instant noodles, considering our camping trip was to last a week. However, my disappointment was profound; Nicholas remained unfazed, ever the same.

After loading the last box of canned food, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and paused to check on my daughter, Laura. Her room was engulfed in typical teenage chaos, except for the meticulously organized manga bookshelf. Navigating her whims and sorrows had become a constant adventure, a stark contrast to her brother, Chris. He was on the verge of completing his degree in civil engineering, closely mirroring my path as a mechanical engineer.

I said my goodbyes to my lovely wife, Lina, embracing her and giving her a swift kiss. I asked her to take care of our daughter and prepare my favourite tomato soup upon my return. Despite her demanding career as an accomplished neuroscientist, she always found time to make me happy. Having been married for more than twenty years, she has been my steadfast support, as I have been hers. I loved her dearly.

Stepping outside, I was met by the brisk embrace of the cold, facing it with a resolve reminiscent of legendary heroes. Yet, this moment of transcendence was abruptly shattered by the sight of my brother, Nicholas, who stood in stark contrast to the pristine white landscape around us. His presence, somehow both jarring and comically mundane, reminded me of the adventures that lay ahead.

"I brought some vodka," Nick announced, presenting the bottle with a flourish.

"It's half empty..."

"Half full!" he countered, brandishing the vodka as if it were a trophy. "It's unbelievably cold today. Thought about postponing to a warmer day, but this helped take the edge off."

"Just get in the car. We're already late..."

With a grumble of resignation, Nicholas joined me in the car and, almost immediately, went to sleep.

As we drove away from Geneva, the dawn sky was painted with streaks of crimson, heralding our departure. Over the past decade, camping in the mountains with Nicholas had become a cherished tradition, a homage to the rugged outings initiated by our father. He was a firm believer in the primitive experience of duty and struggle, lessons he ardently tried to give us.

Despite my cautious nature, a stark contrast to my father's boldness and Nicholas's adventurous spirit, I too harboured an adrenaline-driven desire for challenge. Now approaching the ripe old age of forty-seven, I found myself questioning whether this winter trip might prove more than I could handle. Yet, the greatest challenge always came from dealing with Nicholas's boundless enthusiasm and foolish schemes. While he thrived in excitement, I found my quiet pleasure in reading by gaslight, surrounded by the solitude of the forest.

The journey to the Valais mountains wasn't long. For a Swiss like me, the prospect of enjoying fondue amidst the snowy Alpine landscape was the epitome of excitement. And despite the cold, we were well-prepared. With my insulated tent, our sleeping pads, and ski gear, we were ready to face whatever blizzards might come our way.

It must have been two hours when Nick finally stirred from his nap, blinking in confusion as if he'd been teleported into the car without his knowledge.

"I think this is the last time I'm driving," I declared, exasperation seeping into my tone. "I'm sick and tired of playing chauffeur for you, Nick."

He pondered my frustration for a moment before responding with his typical sarcasm. "Well, I might accidentally scratch your truck. For the sake of our sanity, it's probably best if I don't drive."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

As always, these exchanges made me question my sanity. I loved my brother dearly, but there were moments when his presence was more than I could bear.

"Are we there yet?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?" My irritation was palpable.

"Sharp as ever, Eric! Your intelligence seems to get a boost with every trip. Surely, some of my charm and wit have rubbed off on you by now." He attempted to mask his provocation with humour, but it fell flat. To me, it wasn't wit; it was simple foolishness.

The thought crossed my mind that lake Geneva could easily conceal another body without anyone noticing. Nick, seemingly oblivious to my dark humour, triumphantly returned to scrolling through the news on his phone, declaring a premature victory in our latest skirmish.

It's a peculiar dynamic we share, oscillating between profound respect and intense rivalry. Despite being accomplished adults in our respective fields, we somehow regress to bickering teenagers in each other's company.

As the hours melded into one another, the trees and the road began to blur together, each landscape becoming indistinguishable from the next. I had ventured into the heart of the Alps, a place both vast and mysterious, lost in my thoughts. My business was struggling, hit hard by the economic downturn. The ambitious production goals we had set for the year were now just a distant dream, downsized by necessity. The pandemic had spared no one, myself included.

Lost in my worries, I hadn't noticed how far off course we'd strayed until the road abruptly ended. Stepping out of the car to survey our surroundings, we were greeted by an expanse of white, the mountain landscape a blend of pine trees and towering peaks, a snowy desert in the heart of Europe. Despite our situation, there was a strange peace in being utterly lost.

"Are you sure you know where we are? There is no connection here..." my brother asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Honestly, I'm a bit lost. My mind's been elsewhere," I admitted, my voice heavy with the weight.

"Don't worry. Everything will pick up once this COVID storm passes," he tried to reassure me, but I wasn't convinced.

"I appreciate your optimism, but by then, our company might not even survive," I sighed, the reality of our situation settling in.

Our business, focused on providing conveyor automation solutions, had taken a significant hit. Our projects, ranging from high-profile clients like Logitech to smaller, local enterprises, were all in jeopardy. The pandemic had frozen any chance of new investments in automation.

"Eric, you've always been the one to steer us through tough times. You'll find a way," my brother said, his faith unwavering.

As we made our way back to the car, a bizarre sight caught our eye—a dead turtle, frozen and out of place amidst the snow and pines. It was an odd reminder of life's unpredictability, even here in the isolation of the Alps.

"Who would bring a turtle here?" I mused aloud.

With a final glance at the peculiar scene, we returned to the car, the image of the frozen turtle lingering in my mind. It was a poignant, if strange, metaphor for our current predicament—out of place, struggling to survive in an unforgiving environment. Yet, as we drove back, retracing our steps, there was a newfound determination within me. If a turtle could find its way into the Alps, perhaps we too could navigate through this crisis and emerge stronger on the other side. Hopefully, though, we will not meet the same fate as it did.

As we settled back into the drive, a comfortable silence enveloped us, punctuated only by the soft hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of the map as my brother adjusted it in his hands. The outside world, with its endless stretch of road framed by the towering Alps, seemed to lull us into a reflective calm. The peculiar sight of the frozen turtle had sparked an undercurrent of introspection, leaving us both lost in our thoughts.

In this state of quietude, a subtle, almost imperceptible light flashed outside—a brief flicker that went almost unnoticed. It was so fleeting, so gentle, that it barely registered in our consciousness, nothing more than a momentary glimmer that might have been mistaken for a trick of the light or a reflection off the snow.

Yet, in the heartbeat that followed, the atmosphere seemed to shift. The road, which had been a familiar if monotonous path, now carried a sense of uncharted territory, as though the landscape itself had subtly altered. But before we could process this change, or even acknowledge it, urgency sliced through the stillness.

"THE TREE!" Nick's voice was laced with panic as he grabbed for the steering wheel. My body locked up, seeing the crash was inevitable. I couldn't connect with the terror on my brother's face; it felt like I had already resigned to what was coming. Time seemed to crawl as we hurtled toward the tree, and I could see every detail—the way the branches seemed to reach out toward us, the bark coming into sharp focus.

The sound of glass shattering snapped me back to reality, but only for a moment. The car's frame groaned as metal bent and twisted, creating a chaos of noise and motion. I was in the heart of the storm, yet strangely detached, watching as fragments of glass danced in the air, catching the light before everything went dark. My consciousness slipped away, drowning in the aftermath of the crash, leaving behind a silence that was both eerie and profound.