by K Larsen
The storm was gearing up to be one of the largest he'd recorded and it was only December. The bulk of the snow he saw usually came later in winter. He was in for one hell of a ride this year. With a sigh, he escaped into the fictional world of Alex Cross.
Tristan shivered as he got up to load some more logs into the woodstove and spread the coals around. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, it was too windy, too cold—he’d need to check on the fire every so often to keep safe and warm. There were few times over the years where he longed for modern amenities, but this was one of them. He craved seeing a winter hiker. It’d been weeks since he’d happened across another person out enjoying the weather. But the weather recently had prevented the pass from being, well, passable. It was a strangely perfect weather system due to dump foot after foot of snow. Back to back storms with only a few days relief between.
Tristan studied the weather predictions closely. He had to living the way he did, and he knew this year, hell maybe even just this month, would be a record breaking one. Climate wasn’t only his hobby, it had also been his life’s work before he retreated from society.
This particular storm was predicted to last a good couple days—which given his location wasn’t odd in itself; however, the severity of the storm was—afterward, it finally looked clear for a week’s stretch. He’d be able to ski into town and acquire more provisions with relative ease. Often the snow came hard and fast but without too much gusting. Not tonight. The wind blasted down the flue every so often threatening to put out his hard-won fire.
Getting to his feet he stretched his back, cracked his neck and went in search of a second sweater. Sometimes, when he felt chilly, he’d do push-up or chin-ups on the bar above the door to get his blood circulating. Not tonight, his body was spent from prepping for the storm. He pulled two quilts and a pillow from the bed and piled them on the floor near the woodstove. Checking the firewood reserves he realized he would need more. Not immediately, but it would be easier to head out now, rather than later when the snow prevented him from easily opening the door.
Four
Meghan
The backpackers’ meals fit nicely into her framed hiker’s pack, the matches, and batteries, and emergency flares all went into her water-proof pouch. It was a six-hour drive to the lodge where she’d start her journey. This was a solo expedition and she’d received an earful from her sons about the dangers of winter hiking and facing the extreme conditions alone. If only they knew that their lack of confidence in her strength spurred her on. She had something to prove—if only to herself. She knew they meant well, that they loved her and worried. Meghan was driven, and she wasn’t planning on slowing down anytime soon. She had a plan for Everest marked in her calendar for next year. It was the challenge that determination ignited like a fire in her belly.
Loaded with wool socks and runners’ blankets, waterproof booties to wear in her boots, woolen long johns, her snowshoes, a pair of cross-country skis, a small hatchet, an ice hook and pick, and a night star chart to help her spot the constellations. It seemed like a massive amount of equipment for her small five-foot-six frame. But she knew from experience she’d use it all and probably even regret not bringing a few more things.
By the time she packed the final piece of gear into her Prius, she was sweating like an animal and felt like a nap would suit her better than a six hour drive north into the wild. She downed a quick protein shake in the kitchen and made sure the back door was locked. There was an air of finality when she closed up the house, she pondered for a second what it would mean not to come back and how her absence would affect her sons. Or what Bruce and 2.0 would think of her frozen in a snowbank, victim of a sudden unseasonal avalanche. Those two would probably toast to the cessation of alimony payments. Meghan closed her eyes and willed herself not to be bitter or engage the negative energy. A whiteout, a crisp winter hike, with breathtaking views would clear her conscience and reset her mind. Maybe when she came back, she’d apply for a few jobs, tell Bruce to shove his alimony where the sun didn’t shine, and become entirely self-sufficient for the first time in her life.
She pushed her sunglasses up on her head as she backed out of the driveway. When she honked the horn at Sebastian, who was parked at the end of the block, he tipped his cap and winked at her.
“You wish,” she told him quietly from inside the car. But maybe it was what she wanted too. An exciting sexual encounter to spice up her new self. She hit the gas and headed toward the on-ramp to the highway.
Moosewood lodge was truly a luxury resort, but it was the gateway to the national park and had a great park-and-ride service that would drop the hikers at the base of the nearest mountain. Most visitors did day hikes, and they went in substantial groups. In the communal breakfast buffet in the morning, it seemed like no one else in the entire resort was venturing out by themselves. She’d gotten friendly with a young man on staff named Rob, when first her key card didn’t work, and then later that night, she got lost trying to find the sauna and steam room. Rob helped her out on both occasions and smiled warmly at her foolishness.
“I see they’ve got you on double shifts,” she told him as he came near with a plastic bin bussing the abandoned tables.
“I take all the shifts I can get during the season. The off season is so dead—you start going through couch cushions for change to buy ramen.”
“Yikes, that quiet, huh? Why don’t they just close the lodge?”
“They close the mountain pass so there’s really no coming or going. We get some locals from the city who just want to get away. They go to restaurants in town or just hang out at the gym and in the lobby. The trails are usually closed for the season after the first few heavy snows.”
“So really soon, in other words?”
“’Fraid so,” Rob told her as he stacked coffee cups and half-eaten bowls of cereal into the nearly full bin. “But don’t worry, you should be able to get a nice hike in today. Just get the live weather alerts on your phone, because the weather up there can change at the drop of the hat. It’s unpredictable and unpredictable means dangerous—especially to novices who bite off more than they can chew.”
Her face dropped, and she looked forlorn. Meghan had gone as far as to hire a consultant for this excursion who helped plot her route, created her packing list, and gave her a quick class in first aid, including treating frostbite and hypothermia, and how to avoid that kind of exposure in the first place.
“I’m probably biting off more than I can chew,” she told Rob dejectedly.
“Is that so?” he asked her, standing up straight and sustaining the heavy bin with biceps that bulged out of his shirt. Yep, she was officially sex-crazed from self-induced deprivation.
“I’m set to do the whole pass this week. Five days on the trail.”
He put down the bin and shrugged. “You’ve done it before?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Wait here a second. No, better yet, meet me in the lobby by the fireplace. I’m gonna go grab my laptop.”
She checked out his ass and the spread of his shoulders as he strode back toward the kitchen. Maybe she should just hit him up for sex and get it out of her system, skip the trail entirely.
No. She would be decent. She’d come to hike and not sleep with men the same age as her sons.
Like he promised, Rob found her by the fireplace twenty-minutes later, laptop in hand. He sat down beside her and scooted a cheek.
“These are posters for hikers who have gone missing on this range in the last year. Two of these guys were found dead and the other six are still missing in action. Those two,” he pointed to photos of two weather-worn outdoorsy types dressed to the nines in modern outdoor wear. They looked like extreme sport enthusiasts. “These two were both former Marines with wilderness survival certifications.” He then played her a couple YouTube videos of the more extreme parts of the pass. The drop-offs made her stomach bottom out, but the gorgeous views had her yearning to throw on
her backpack and storm toward the mountain.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t go?”
“Nope, not at all. I’m saying that you go only after you’ve been educated about the risk. Once you know what you’re up against, you’ll have more respect for how fickle and how incredibly vicious Mother Nature can get.”
Meghan didn’t think she had a death wish, but somehow the young man’s words made her want it all the more. She wasn’t contrary in nature, but everyone’s doubts made her hunger even more. She was desperate to prove herself.
“I’m assuming you designated someone as “responsible authority?”
Meghan contemplated lying and then decided against it. A lie could affect her safety. There was really no sense in pretending that she knew what she was doing.
“Not exactly. Well, my FedEx man knows I’m gone.”
“You need to leave all of your information with someone who can be held accountable: medical history, start and end date, name, age, who’s in your party, shoe size and make, gear, amount of food and water, emergency plan, trail name, description of your clothing. You know, the basics.”
Jesus.
“Wow, it’s like I’ve already been murdered in the woods and the FBI is on the case.”
“It’s only funny until it’s not. Search and rescue is taken seriously here.”
Meghan felt a tinge of shame for being such a novice.
“You must hate people like me. Walking time bomb—know-it-all who will cause more trouble than she’s worth.”
“On the contrary, we love people like you, because without you, there wouldn’t be any work.”
She chewed on her bottom lip and looked into the cozy fire wondering if the danger, real or imagined, would be enough to make a sane person walk away.
“I don’t suppose you’d want to be my wingman, my point person to sound the whistle in case I never come back. I could pay you?” Meghan immediately regretted asking him, it made her feel pathetic, like she was offering to pay him to care about her because nobody else would. If she had no one to tell, maybe it was just as well that she got lost in the woods and became birdseed or a lucky bear’s breakfast muffin. Was there really even anyone who would miss her? Maybe James and Alex would. But to quote Alex, Megan Hall was turning out to be ‘a pretty good step-mom.’
“Yeah, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind giving a stranger your age and shoe size.” He smiled at Meghan and she felt comforted by the idea of leaving someone behind who had an inkling of her whereabouts. She didn’t need to perpetuate the nameless-faceless martyr that Bruce had made her feel. Her responsible authority would be this handsome and helpful young man.
“Deal, and I’ll pay you for the trouble, no buts allowed. You’ve helped me tremendously and I feel like I’ve hired a personal guide with your help. It’s only fair that I scratch your back too.”
“I won’t say no to a tip, Mrs.—”
“Taylor, Meghan Taylor.” She handed him a hundred-dollar bill out of her wallet.
“I’ll meet you down here in the morning, Mrs. Taylor. Before you get the bus. I’ll grab all of your info then and you can leave any of your stuff that you decide to veto for the trip. It’s a steep climb and you want to be as light as possible, especially if there’s fresh snowfall.”
They said goodnight and Rob walked her to the elevator bay. She could invite him up to her room so that if she perished on the pass, she’d at least be freshly laid. Meghan felt like she could make a quick meal out of the young man, tear off his clothes and eat him alive. It was only the fear of rejection that kept her in line.
“Mrs. Taylor, you’ve got all night to think about it. So if you wake up and decide it’s a no, just book your room for the rest of the week and you can spend the same amount of time in the spa and eating great food. And the best part is, no one will be the wiser besides me and you.”
Maybe that was Moosewood Lodge’s equivalent of ‘whatever happens in Vegas…’
Five
Tristan
He was exhausted from waking every three hours to check on the fire, but at least he was warm. The wind hadn’t died down. Steadily it gusted against the cabin. Stretching, he adjusted himself on the makeshift bed at the base of the woodstove and yawned, his erection standing tall and rigid, reminding him that he was only a man. Flesh and bone with needs like everyone else.
He stuck a hand below his waistband and gripped its length. A sense of urgency grew in his balls as he slid his hand up and down his shaft. Tugging on his cock, moans of pleasure escaped him. Eyes squeezed closed, he pictured Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman followed by Phoebe Cates in that red suit from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. His breathing became labored, hand moving faster. The storm, the wind, it was all as good as nonexistent in the moment. He succumbed to the sensation moving through his balls straight up to his nipples, his hand moving roughly over his shaft. His arm tremored, and he released a feral sounding groan of pleasure as he came.
Limbs slack, sprawled out on the floor, he momentarily shirked his duties. Tristan waited for his chest to stop heaving and his muscles to begin contracting again before getting up. Keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he padded to the bathroom to clean himself up.
In the kitchen, he cupped his hands and blew on them to keep his fingers warm while the water for his coffee boiled on the gas hot plate. He made a mental note to pick up another small tank of propane on his next trip in town. Normally he heated the water on the woodstove, but he wasn’t feeling especially patient this morning. He allowed himself to enjoy two mugs of coffee before getting to work for the day. In the name of safety, he would cover the windows with plastic to help with the drafts and God forbid a window shattering, he needed to haul in two more stacks of firewood from outside and he also wanted to make sure he gathered what food he could from the greenhouse and secure it as best he could to ride out the storm.
Grunting, Tristan tugged on his boots, coat, wool hat and work gloves. He braced himself for the icy blast to the face that would make his nose hairs freeze instantly and momentarily seize his lungs.
Six
Meghan
It was a predicament she really hadn’t thought to prepare for. The severe weather alert came in on her phone even though she’d lost all the bars hours ago.
High winds, whiteout conditions, rapid accumulation.
Okay. Sure. But what do you do with that information? She was a good six hours into her hike. Stop and set up camp at the risk of being buried? She certainly couldn’t hike back down, not in her state of exhaustion. What if she lost track of the trail and wandered into uncharted woods, or worse? She could lose all sense of direction in a whiteout and trail markers would be obscured. Build a shelter and wait out the storm?
Maybe she could keep going and hope that the precipitation level would lay off at a higher altitude. It was snowing on and off, but the sky didn’t look menacing. Her feet kept shuffling on, but she could barely keep her eyes open, and she was pretty sure that despite the electrolytes she’d taken, she was already dehydrated.
Panic set in as she imagined blackened frost-bitten toes that would need to be amputated, rolling down the mountain in an avalanche and breaking her leg—suffocating under the snow or starving to death. Her heartbeat thudded rapidly underneath countless protective layers of clothing. Meghan tried deep and steady breathing in an attempt to refocus and calm her nerves, but the concentration made her hyperventilate and she fell to her knees in the snow.
“I’m an idiot,” she said lamentably to no one, to the noble tall conifers and the darkening sky above. She’d walked herself right into this situation—eyes wide open.
She decided to keep walking. Instinct told her she’d be safer if she kept moving, as opposed to holing up and cowering away from Mother Nature, turning herself into a sitting duck.
Onwards and upwards she pressed, as the snow began to fall in earnest. It was beautiful against the navy sky and the silver pulsating stars. Without lig
ht pollution she felt like she was peering into the galaxy, an intimate and hypnotic exchange with the cosmos, as if she were having a conversation with the universe about the very idea of existence. Or maybe she was delirious from fear and exhaustion.
Although it wasn’t just the sky, the whole world around her transformed into something mystical. Snow covered every surface, so lightweight and fresh, it built upon itself effortlessly until every solid object appeared to be swathed in downy pillows. The trees with their sturdy trunks and spindly reaching branches, became soft and chubby—less stately and more Pillsbury. The whole world glittered as if it were covered in tiny faceted diamonds and the sparkle of it only increased as giant snowflakes landed on her lashes and momentarily blinded her.
She felt nearly euphoric, completely at peace with the reality of death, readily accepting the possibility. She was no longer angry at herself, but rather captivated by the moment and the belief that she was meant to be there and experience whatever would happen to her. This was truly beautiful, even if death was imminent.
There was a niggling worry that danced on the periphery of her conscience, the memory that hypothermia-induced feelings of euphoria and that her profound experience could be nothing more than a symptom of her impending demise. But the world was so stunning, so peaceful and gentle she couldn’t imagine of it the brutality—the requisite of taking her life. She inhaled deeply, the pristine scent of a snowy wonderland that was for her eyes only, for she felt as if she were the only remaining human; she’d never before been so alone—so undecidedly isolated.
She heard the soft coo of an owl and stumbled toward the comforting sound. Sure enough, perched on a branch maybe ten feet above her, sat a pot-bellied wise creature wearing at least two inches of snow. He called to her and moved his head, chattered his beak, and blinked his large round eyes. She wanted to crawl up there with him and snuggle into his feathers.