by AJ Frazer
The rope started to take as he rushed toward the lip. Rock and ice boulders hurtled past him and the air was thick with ice particles and deafening noise. He felt himself sinking into the snow, being swallowed by the gnashing monster. He fought the pull of the avalanche, frantically grasping at anything that offered some purchase, some leverage to keep above the moving monster.
Entwined in the roar of the snow, he was vaguely aware of the sound of his death scream. There was nothing he could do but pray that his rope held and they weren’t both swiped off the mountain. Consequences.
Suddenly, the snow that was swallowing him dropped away as he went over the lip of the cliff and fell into the icy abyss. After what felt like an eternity of free-falling, the rope finally took with a violent jolt and swung him to the side like a pendulum. Dominic could feel the thin rope running across the sharp edge of the rock lip above. It began to abrade while he swung helplessly. He bounced off the rock wall as ice and snow cascaded around him.
The terrifying swing came to an end directly below where Dax had set the anchor. Snow filled the air around Dominic as the chute above emptied into the valley below. His harness dug deep into his thighs and waist and he waited for the straining, fraying rope to succumb to the immense downward pressure. Gripping the rope, he tucked his face beneath the chin guard of his jacket to escape the suffocating ice crystals.
Any second, he thought. Any second and a boulder will strike me and cave in my head.
The immersive roar gradually became a distant rumble below and the deluge of ice and snow ceased. He was swinging from the rope twelve feet below the lip, seven feet out from the rock face and a thousand feet above the valley below.
Dominic breathed deeply. His heart stomped against his ribs as he did a quick check of his limbs. Everything was there, no sign of serious injury.
“Dax!” he yelled as loudly as he could. He listened for a reply. The rumble from the avalanche echoed off the surrounding mountainsides as a huge plume of snow cloud drifted down the valley. Remnants of snow and ice sliding off the cliff made a loud shushing sound.
If Dax was still up there, he couldn’t hear him. There wasn’t time to wonder if he was safe. Besides, there wasn’t anything he could do for him hanging here. Dominic had to get the pressure off the rope quickly and then get himself back up to the ledge.
He considered prusiking up the rope, but the rock wall appeared to have plenty of holds. He hooked his ice axe into a loop on his harness, looked up, and started to swing the rope. It was an unnerving feeling to lever the damaged rope and risk cutting it at this height, but he had no choice. Reaching the wall, he clung to a deep crack that ran up the cliff. He got his crampons onto the wall and briefly savored taking his weight out of the harness and the pressure off the back of his thighs.
His hands trembling from adrenaline, he slowly climbed up. With relief, Dominic felt the slack in the rope being tailed—Dax must have been OK. The lip was the toughest section to negotiate. He scrambled up and over on his belly. Nothing graceful or technically impressive, just a desperate slither onto the relative safety of the upper slope.
Kneeling at the ledge and breathing hard, he looked up and saw Dax standing where he’d left him. Dax had a smug, I told you so expression plastered on his face.
Dominic caught his breath and shook his head slowly. “I didn’t slip.”
“Kinda looked like you did from here, mate.”
“That was an avalanche, it’s different.”
“Just saying, one second you were here, next you were down there.”
“Bollocks. And you left me hanging!”
“Thought you could use the climbing practice. Least we should be able to get across now,” said Dax, pointing to the chute.
Standing up, Dominic looked to where he’d been a few minutes ago. The soft-packed snow had cleared away to reveal rock and hard ice. Glistening snow crystals swirled around him as he set off again toward the other side.
“Yeah, that would’ve been the avalanche,” said Dominic.
Dax smiled. “Call it what you want, I still saved your life! Again.”
Chapter Two
The next morning, Dominic awoke to a dry, rough mouth and the taste of charcoal on his breath. The warm, stale air in the tent wasn’t helping matters either. Gingerly, he extracted himself and crawled outside into the crisp, frigid air. His whole body ached from the battering he’d received courtesy of the avalanche. Not a breath of wind disturbed the silence as the sun peeked over the ridge on its daily arc. He stood marveling at the sublime mountainscape, which distracted him momentarily from the pounding in his head. Then he noticed the empty bottle of Scotch whisky. Vague memories of the drinks with Dax to celebrate surviving the avalanche began to emerge from the vise-like pressure on his head. What was that they said about alcohol borrowing happiness from tomorrow?
The growing sound of a helicopter obliterated the peaceful silence of the mountain.
Dominic shook the tent. “Wake up! Our ride is here.”
A grunt from Dax was the only reply. He reminded Dominic of his old squaddies in the Royal Marines. Tough, self-deprecating and loyal to a fault. As well as impossibly bad at handling their alcohol. Dominic’s military days were a lifetime ago. Just a distant memory camouflaged by a thousand other experiences. Life hadn’t always been good to Dominic, but it had always been surprising.
Once they were packed and loaded, the pilot got them airborne and dropped down the valley. Dominic looked out the window at the alpine landscape mottled by patches of ice and snow. Mountains always looked majestic from a distance, but up close they were a different story. Beautiful, sinister, alluring, deadly. The angles of the precipices seemed to defy physics. Nature at its extreme.
Mont Blanc looked more ragged than he’d remembered it—a chaotic assembly of rocks strewn across the mountainside. It had been a decade since Dominic had last climbed here, back in the early 2020s, he remembered it clearly, and he could see the stark changes to the mountain from the air.
The pilot’s metallic voice came through his headphones. “See all this? It used to be covered in snow for the whole year. Now, even in winter, it’s still mostly rock! Our white lady is about to lose her dress and bare her rocks to the world!” the pilot joked.
“You’ll have to call it Mont Noir soon,” said Dax.
Dominic nodded. After what had happened the day before, he didn’t need reminding that the landscape was changing. That the entire planet was transitioning into a new phase.
The changes here were nothing compared to what was happening in Greenland, Alaska, and Iceland, where huge swathes of glaciers and snowfields had all but disappeared into the oceans. The melting snow had changed the oceans’ salinity, which affected the deep-sea currents, which influenced weather patterns, which further accelerated the changing climate.
But some of the most terrifying effects were the unseen ones. Ancient viruses released from the melting permafrost near the Arctic were regularly infecting wild animals, and some eventually made the leap to humans. Unknown strains of rabies, coronaviruses, hantaviruses, and even influenza, were being reported. Some traveled around the globe at incredible speed. The medical and pharmaceutical industries couldn’t develop testing or vaccines fast enough.
The human herd had been thinned by close to a billion in the last five years. Some scientists speculated that humans would soon be on the endangered-species list. Even a billion dead hadn’t slowed the rampant, unchecked emissions and pollution. Despite all the protests, the science, the anger, the intentions, the accords, the agreements … nothing had changed the upward trajectory of the temperature.
Climate change had become so massive, so predetermined, that there really was nothing that could be done. To Dominic’s thinking, there was no stopping it now, only dealing with the tragic and terrifying consequences as best as possible.
Inside his presidential suite at the Hotel Mont Blanc, the climate was perfectly maintained and the surfaces so cl
ean no self-respecting virus would dare enter. Having showered, Dominic wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. He leaned in and inspected his face: his beard was short but thick––more salt than pepper––and his tanned skin had been darkened by the sun and wind, while the lines around his blue eyes appeared deeper and more pronounced from the constant squinting. With some pleasing irony, Dominic thought the abused skin on his face contrasted to make his eyes look younger, more crystalline, more vibrant, more like how he felt on the inside. A quick shave was about the only skincare treatment he could muster. No amount of face serums, masks, or oils could ever fix the years of stress, exposure, and questionable lifestyle habits. So why bother? He was comfortable in his skin and had no fear of aging.
The bruising from his fall during the traverse was coming out in ugly purple splotches on his muscular upper arms and legs. Prodding at the bruises to see how they felt, Dominic winced at the pain. What the hell was I doing putting myself in that situation? There’s too much at stake to be risking serious injury, or worse. But the fact was, frequenting unforgiving, deadly environments wasn’t really a choice for Dominic. Amid the absence of comfort, safety, and surety, he felt comfortable, safe, and sure of himself. Up there, he could refamiliarize himself with his primal sense of danger, and commune with his mortality. Although there were no bullets in the mountains, they were no less dangerous than many of the war zones he’d visited—statistically speaking, anyway.
After his time in the Royal Marines, Dominic had been done with the shooting, but not the action. Conflict and danger were a powerful cocktail that had a firm grip on him, which was why he decided to see if the pen really was mightier than the sword by writing about the conflict zones he’d been deployed to previously. It had been a heady time to be a news reporter in some of the most dangerous places in the world. His military experience and, most importantly, contacts, had served him well as a journalist. He got into areas others could not. He would drink with a lot of his old squaddies—still did, occasionally—and they’d confide in him. This gave him the inside scoops other journalists could only dream of. But then an opportunity to create something significant in the media world had presented itself. An opportunity that was more addictive than the aggression of warfare and the thrill of reporting it put together.
Dominic had founded Jagged Edge Media from nothing and built it to become one of the most powerful media businesses in the world. From fighter to writer to media creator—the share market, tech sector, and investors had all loved his story and the business had done extremely well. Now, under his leadership, they were on the cusp of signing one of the biggest media deals ever completed. A deal that could change the world and secure Jagged Edge’s future.
Their news service was unique because it finally delivered on the digital promise, free of political, commercial, and industrial agendas. Jagged Edge’s deep-content algorithms learned what a reader was interested in based on all facets of their digital life—the books they read, the movies they watched, the music they listened to, their career, the sports they enjoyed, and at least twenty other lifestyle signals from myriad other websites and content providers. This meant the content Jagged Edge served, aside from being of the highest journalistic quality and free of a commercial agenda, was tailored perfectly to the individual. But the deal Dominic was about to ratify would take things to a whole new level. Something the world had never seen before.
As the sun set, he decided on dinner in town rather than room service. Though physically bruised from his fall and exhausted, he felt like being around people. Eight days in the mountains will do that, he figured. Heading for the door, he eyed his mobile phone on the side table. For a moment, he considered taking it to catch up on his emails and messages. The acquisition of Veda Analytics was nearing completion. Fifteen months of hard-graft negotiations had got them to a point of acceptance on both sides. So close, but if Dominic hadn’t stepped away when he did and come here, he may have had a breakdown or just pulled the pin on the whole thing in a fit of self-destructive frustration.
Bugger it, he decided. Despite the enormity, or perhaps because of it, the deal could wait another day and he left the phone where it was.
Chamonix village was quaint and lively, with trendy cafes populated by the young and the wealthy. The air smelled floral, smoky and thick—so different to the air up above the snowline, which was thin and scentless. He turned a sharp right and crossed over the River L’Arve, which flowed through the town. It was a gray, muddy river, still bloated with snowmelt from the surrounding mountains. Passing the casino, he hung right and kept going until he spotted an inviting little place called Casa Valiero. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but this didn’t bother him in the slightest. Some of the greatest nights he’d had were in places that looked far worse.
Walking in, the restaurant was already buzzing. The maître d’ offered him a stool at the bar, which suited him just fine. He embraced the prospect of being alone and anonymous for a little while longer. In his life, this was a luxury. His world was carefully curated and only a small inner circle of people were ever allowed close to him, which was a necessary reality for the extremely wealthy and powerful. Dominic had to be careful about who he let into his life—something he’d learned the hard way.
He ordered a bottle of Château Rayas. Tosser, he thought. A bottle of this, and no one to share it with? He shrugged it off. What the hell.
The food was good and the ambiance comforting. Dominic flicked casually through a copy of Le Monde that was at the bar, trying to test his schoolboy French.
“Excusez-moi.”
Dominic turned awkwardly, still stiff from the past week’s hard living. A stunning brunette stood in front of him with an almost as attractive blonde friend beside her.
“Oui?” he said.
“Pouvons-nous vous rejoindre?”
Dominic raised his napkin to his mouth before answering in awkward, stilted French, “Bien sûr. Sois mon invité.”
The young women smiled and perched on the stools beside him.
“You look like you have been in the mountains,” the brunette said in heavily accented English.
“Really?” he said, relieved to leave behind his French. “How could you tell?”
“My father, he owned a guiding company here in Chamonix when I was young. I have seen many people come back from the mountains. They would often have the same look of enlightenment.” Her smile was warm, mesmerizing.
“Enlightenment?” Dominic nodded. “Well, you’re right, I have been in the mountains, but I didn’t see the light of God or anything like that. Just a lot of rock and ice.”
She smiled and batted her almond eyes. “No, no, enlightenment is not about seeing the light, it is about lightening your load. You know … letting go of your demons, your emotional baggage. En-light-en. A lighter spirit.”
Emotional baggage. “My demons gave up on me long ago. Apparently, I was bad for their health.”
She looked sideways at him and smiled.
“I’m Dominic.”
“I’m Louna.” The brunette smiled. “And this is Jolie.”
Jolie, who was studying the menu, leaned forward and waved. “Hi,” she said.
Dominic called out to the barman, “Excusez-moi! Deux verres, s’il vous plait!” before adding hastily, “Et une autre bouteille!”
The day had just got even better and now he didn’t have to feel guilty about not sharing the spectacular wine.
The evening slipped away at the bar. Talking, laughing, drinking—the holy trinity of seduction. Dominic reveled in the attention of the two younger women. While he had a good grip on his ego and any delusions of his physical attractiveness, it was difficult for the situation to not go to his head. He was by no means an unattractive man. His blue eyes, rugged features and tanned skin gave him a roguish quality that women seemed to enjoy, but he had to admit that he was probably an acquired taste.
When they had finished the second bottle of wine,
they moved on to another bar. It was louder and less intimate, but Dominic wasn’t ready to call it a night. He was besotted by Louna. He felt an uncommon connection.
Jolie left them and went to the dance floor with some other friends. He and Louna were both a little drunk, uninhibited, and feeling the thrill of possibility. At least Dominic was, and he sensed she was, too. He had to admit, it seemed all too easy. Not that he thought she was easy, but that their connection and rapport was so effortless. For a moment, he wondered whether this might be Louna’s modus operandi—if she made a habit of getting older, wealthy men drunk in order to fund her nights out. If so, he would happily be a willing victim. Deal with the consequences, never regret.
They left the noisy bar, stumbling slightly into the cold night, arm in arm. The delicious smell of wood smoke heavy in the air. Their shoes were loud on the wet cobblestones.
“Where are you staying?” Louna asked.
“The Mont Blanc.”
“So, are we going there now then?”
“Ah … sure.” Dominic’s head spun slightly at the prospect.
“Then we better turn around. It’s the other direction.” She laughed, pulling him around.
“Oh, Christ, yes, of course it is!” said Dominic.
It was so outside his normal behavior to drop his guard and let a stranger in close. Perhaps that’s what a near-death experience does, he thought.
At the hotel, they took the lift up to his suite without saying a word, standing on opposite sides of the small elevator. His eyes swam in the drunken cocktail of her beauty: dark hair falling on square shoulders; ethereal décolletage; narrow waist that curved gently into athletic hips. He savored every inch of her form before returning to her eyes, which now held him like a magnet. The immense depth of them—brown, almost black—was endless, timeless. Dominic felt as if he’d lost his peripheral vision. All he could focus on were her eyes. The elevator stopped with a soft bell, breaking him reluctantly from their spell.