“Yes! Climb in,” Tyler yells at me. “Not you, Paris!”
“Paris, boy, listen to me.” I hold his muzzle while I talk to him so his attention is on me. “You need to find Martin.” But when I release him and the ATV rolls, he barks and seems more excited just to race it.
“Training,” Tyler shouts over the engine. “Search-and-rescue dogs train for hours every week. We can’t expect miracles.”
But I can hope for one, I think, as we chug along slowly. I scan the right-hand side: rocks, brush, a spray of flowers like a quick promise. He’s okay. I know he is. Or do I? Is that just wishing, or do I feel it? I can’t be sure. Tyler scans the way ahead. Paris lopes alongside, by the river.
“So you figure Martin just walked away from the crash?” I ask, as I notice the crumpled front of the vehicle.
“No. I’m hoping he jumped out before the crash. You know, sensed he was losing control and going over so…” His words trail off and drown in the engine noise.
In my mind I can picture that—I see the ATV slide off the cliff trail, hear my brother shout with exhilaration as he leaps away from it. Sure, it would have been an adventure for him, like stumbling on a bear. He’d love it. “Idiot,” I grumble. “Why didn’t he stay with the ATV?”
“That would have been the smart thing to do. But remember how cold and rainy it was, even until a couple of hours ago. Maybe he thought he was close, went off, got disoriented…” Paris suddenly barks joyfully and tears ahead. He splashes into the icy, racing water.
“Come back here, you stupid dog. No time for swimming now.”
Paris shakes something in his muzzle as he scrambles out.
“Tell me that isn’t a fish.” Smell aside, I know Paris catching and eating a fish won’t affect me the way him chewing on a baby rabbit did. I can chuckle over this one, marvel even at how a dog can be so quick as to grab one of those slippery silver trout in his mouth.
“Is that Martin’s shoe?” Tyler asks me as he stops the ATV, engine still running.
“Can’t be, can it?” Still, as I jump down and wrestle Paris for the article, I know for certain it’s not a fish. It’s a gray, waterlogged, skater-type shoe, the heel all squished down in the back where Martin has squeezed his foot in a hundred times or more without undoing the laces. “Why would it be in the water?” A feeling slides down through me, like my heart, liver, stomach, and bowels are all going to leave me. That’s why I felt that choking sensation yesterday, the needles in my mouth. Martin was in the water.
“I don’t know why.” Tyler’s voice trembles, and he makes a great effort to recover for my sake. “Maybe he twisted his foot like you and wanted to soak it…and dropped the sneaker.”
“Yeah, that could be it, you know. When we were little, we always hurt ourselves together. I’d bang up my left knee, he’d scrape his right one. Martin probably twisted his ankle, just like me.” I smile hopefully.
He nods. “Who really knows? Still, I think we should head back to the cabin and call in the aquatic rescue team.”
Another picture snaps into my brain. The ATV crashing over the edge of the trail and Martin spilling out, bouncing on the rocks, and rolling into the water. I don’t even know if it’s a true feeling or image I’m having. I wish for the hundredth time that our parents hadn’t separated us when we were ten.
I don’t even want to imagine anymore. I put my head down in my hands. Paris jumps up on the ATV, wagging and licking at my legs. “You have to find him, boy. That’s the only way you can make me feel better.”
Tyler leans over and takes me into his arms. I know he has to be thinking the same thing. I can feel myself caving into him and hear myself sobbing. But I feel like part of me has totally left my body.
CHAPTER 15
“C’MON, WE just don’t know what happened. It’s too soon to cry. Let’s try to pull together and think this through. Do you think you can make it back up the hill the way we came?”
I can feel a hot ache inside my boot and pull up my right pant leg to look. Even at the top of the boot, the skin puffs out like a sausage escaping its casing.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay, we can come back for the truck. As long as this thing has enough gas, we can make it out of here. We’ll continue along the river until the climb’s not so steep. Then we’ll try to get this baby up the escarpment. With luck, we’ll join the Ribbon Glacier Trail and be home in no time.”
But luck isn’t really with me today, we all know that. Otherwise I’d be standing in a gallery in Paris right now, sipping something sparkly, looking at Mom’s paintings. After ten minutes, we can hear the engine cough and hesitate. We keep going, Paris weaving ahead from the river to the scrub and brush on the mountain side of the ATV. Tyler slows the machine down to conserve gas, and Paris disappears completely.
The ATV gives a large hiccup and then rolls to a stop.
“Oh fine, now what?”
Tyler’s face turns red, like this is all his fault. He tries to turn the engine over again, but it doesn’t even give a little gasp. “Okay, we’re not going to make the same mistake as your brother. We won’t leave the ATV.” He opens up his backpack and grabs a flare. “First, we’ll light one of these. Here, hold it.” I take it from him and he fumbles through his bag for a sealed box of matches. The first one he strikes quickly blows out. For the next, we both reach out to cup our spare hands around the fuse and the flame as he makes the two connect.
A sizzly, firecracker sound starts up as the flame ignites. “Wish I had a flare gun. Oh well, here goes.” He flings the flare up high into the sky at an angle.
His pitching arm works well. Like an oversize birthday sparkler, the flare crackles bits of lightning against the pale blue sky as it soars up, up toward the sun hanging over the river. Then it arcs slowly and streaks down to the river, smoke trailing after it.
“I didn’t want to start a fire so I aimed it in that direction,” Tyler explains.
“Is there anything else we can do?” I ask.
“Well, now we can take off your boot and soak that foot, for one thing. Wish I knew where Paris went. Probably scaring up trouble somewhere.”
I bend over to unlace my boot, gasping with the additional pressure forced into the ankle area.
“Here, you can put your leg up on my knee.”
I brace myself for the pain and then lift. “Ow, crap. Why did I have to slip on that rock?”
Tyler shrugs and flashes me his blue-eyed sympathy. His lips straighten, a smile without humor.
He quickly undoes the laces and loosens them, pulling the sides of the boots open to give my swelling ankle room. “Okay, now put your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you to the river.” He leans closer and slips one arm under my legs, the other around my back.
While I’m thin, bony even, I’m still long, and it’s heavy and awkward for Tyler to hoist me up as he straightens and climbs out of the ATV. He takes the five steps to the river, then puts me down on a rock.
He unlaces his own boots and pulls them and his socks off. Then he removes mine. I put an arm around his neck and hop into the river.
“Easy,” Tyler warns, “we don’t want to fall; the current’s pretty fast.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I dip my foot, and the glacier- cold water brings instant relief. In a second, I don’t feel as though I have any feet, or ankles, for that matter.
We stand that way for five minutes, not speaking. His arm around my back feels as though it belongs there, my arm around his neck feels comfortable. He holds me closer and kisses me. I feel like I’m flowing into the cold water; his lips are the only warmth I sense.
I throw my other arm around him. There’s nothing else but this sensation of his lips touching mine. I hear something—a snuffle? I break away. “Paris?”
“Oh my God.” Tyler pulls away. “Don’t move, don’t say anything. Just hold on in case we have to run.”
I wince. About a truck-length away, two huge bea
rs amble into the water, one a honey color, the other chocolate. The honey-colored bear laps at the water; the chocolate-colored one rakes his paw through it, splashing the other.
The lighter-colored bear stops drinking and straightens. His lip curls back to show huge yellow fangs. His growl rattles right through my bones. With one massive paw, he cuffs the chocolate-colored bear.
“I’m going to carry you to the ATV now,” Tyler whispers. “Whatever you do, don’t make a sound.”
The dark-brown bear rears back and throws himself at the other one.
One step at a time, Tyler takes us out of the icy water. He’s holding me so he can’t really see his feet, but we both hear when one connects with a branch.
Even over the sound of the water, it sounds like a firecracker going off.
The bears stop wrestling and turn in our direction. The dark-brown one opens his mouth and teeth into an ugly snarl. The light-brown one lopes toward us.
I look around. How high would I have to climb to be out of the reach of those massive paws speeding toward us? It’s hopeless—the closest trees are short, scruffy firs. Besides, my swollen foot wouldn’t grip any kind of trunk enough to climb it. “You go ahead and make a break for it.”
“Shut up!” Tyler snaps, as he breaks the speed of light to get us to the ATV. He drops me there and rifles through his backpack. The honey-colored bear is still running in our direction. I duck down behind the ATV as if that will help.
Tyler pulls out a flashlight and flings it at the honey-colored bear. The hard plastic casing bounces off a rock and splits in two. The clear window pings off and hits the bear, and the battery and bottom splash into the water, wetting and startling the snarling creature a second time. His snarl changes to a yowl, more of a whine than a threat. The chocolate-colored bear stands up on his hind feet and roars. The honey-colored bear changes his course and swerves away, heading back to the brush.
The dark-brown one gives another roar and then lopes off after him.
“Oh man, I thought we were in for a fight there,” Tyler says.
“But bears aren’t supposed to bother people, remember?”
“Yeah, well, define ‘bother.’ I didn’t want to argue a finer point about bear etiquette with either of those two.”
“Wonder if Martin has seen a bear yet?” I say quietly. I block pictures trying to form in my brain—my goofy, wild brother chasing into the trees, going out of his way to find a two-ton terror with fur.
“I’m sure he’s going to have a few stories for us when we all get out of this.”
If he gets out of this, I can’t help thinking.
Tyler puts his socks and boots back on and hands me mine. I sit down and slip into the right one easily. The left one just sits there.
“Hungry?” Tyler is already rummaging through his backpack and brings out a couple of apples. He tosses me one and I catch it.
Nothing tastes better. The apple snaps between my teeth, splashing juice around my face. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my own crunching.
Tyler jabs my shoulder. “Listen!”
A strange, rhythmic, mechanical noise. Helicopter blades?
Tyler drops his apple core and fumbles for another flare. The helicopter circles away. Agonizingly slowly, Tyler strikes a match and holds it to the wick. It blows out. The helicopter looks like a large insect flying off toward the horizon. He lights another and we cup it together again. Out again. Another match. We use our bodies to shelter it this time. The flame touches the wick. Nothing, nothing. Finally a small glow ignites the wick. The sizzling begins.
“Cross your fingers.” After a quick inhale, he pitches the flare into the air. Not as high or as far as last time; still, it leaves a long, lasting trail of smoke. Someone in that helicopter just has to look back for a second.
The helicopter keeps blending the sky with its propeller till it becomes a tiny speck…and then nothing.
“So close. Damn!” Everything inside me slides down. I feel a tear on my cheek.
“We’re fine. Don’t worry.” Tyler shuffles over and throws an arm around me. “We’ve got food, it’s warm. Worst comes to worst, we can soak your ankle some more and head back up the mountain to the truck.”
Tyler grins. “Nuts to the caffeine. A T-bone steak sizzling on a barbecue.”
“Tabbouleh salad with a tofu kebab,” I sigh.
“Hot-fudge sundae.”
It strikes me that we both had a big breakfast. Why are we so hungry? The sun is slipping down in the sky—it must be way past lunch. “What time is it anyway?” I ask Tyler.
He looks at his watch. “Two o’clock.”
“They’ll be wondering where we’re at by now.”
“Unless they’re all out searching for Martin.”
Tyler squeezes my shoulder. “Doesn’t matter—they’ll find us at the same time.”
“But where’s Paris?” I start to holler. “Paris!
Paris!” No crashing in the bushes, only the soft shushing of the water over the rocks answering me. I stick two fingers in the corners of my mouth and whistle as loud and as long as I can, just as I did at the Rocky Mountain Wolf Haven. Nothing.
“He may be gone permanently. His little vacation at the retreat may have helped him discover his inner wolf.”
I frown. How can being torn into by fellow members of his species help him turn wild? With us, he was taken care of, fed, bandaged, and loved. I whistle again, louder and longer. And again. Then, as if I summoned it, a helicopter warbles in the distance and appears to drift closer.
“They’re coming back for us! They must have seen us!” Tyler leaps up and performs a jumping jack to make sure. Closer and closer, the helicopter hovers.
I look around. “Where do you think it will land?”
“Land? Here, with the rocks and the brush? Are you crazy? They’re going to throw us a line.”
“Throw us a line,” I repeat weakly, even as I see a cable lower. I swallow hard as the helicopter swings around and hovers directly above us.
“Listen, you go on up.” Tyler grabs hold of the metal rope, which is just above his head by now. He catches the harness dangling from the end. “Tell them I’ll head back up the cliff and drive the truck to the Park Office. Make sure they know about the ATV and the shoe Paris found in the water.” He reaches his hand out for me, to help me up.
“Tyler, I can’t.”
CHAPTER 16
“THERE’S NO time to argue. The helicopter only carries so much fuel. Here, I’ll help you with the straps.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. I’ll throw up. I’ll pee myself. There’s no way I can let myself be hoisted up to the helicopter. I can’t deal with heights.”
“You don’t have a choice, Zanna.”
I’m still shaking my head.
Tyler grabs my chin. “You’re wasting their time and your brother’s chances.”
Martin’s still out there. I have to do this. I squeeze my eyes closed and then open them again. My teeth chatter as I lean against Tyler to step into the harness.
“Better put this on too.” Tyler opens the boot for my right foot and I stuff it in. He makes a loose knot and then double-checks my harness straps. “You ready?” He looks into my eyes, waiting.
I swallow and nod. The wind plasters my hair back. The roar of the helicopter engine drowns out all other sound. Tyler waves an okay signal at the chopper. Tug, tug! Whoo! I grip the cable and my knees dissolve. My heart feels like it’s in my ears.
Instantly my body is lifted from the ground. Up, up, up. As the helicopter rises, Tyler grows smaller, his encouraging smile and wink tinier and farther away. It’s like I’m fading from the earth’s memory. The ground swirls. I’m not all that good on a Ferris wheel, or any other ride high in the air, for that matter. Slowly I’m reeled up, the human fish on the helicopter’s line. I swing in the air. Up, up.
As my body passes the feet of the chopper, someone grabs me under my armpits and helps me
in. I fold over with relief and just breathe for a while.
My father removes some earphones. “Are you all right?” he shouts.
“I twisted my ankle,” I yell back.
Down below, Tyler waves off the helicopter with a tiny arm.
“It’s okay, he wants to go back up the cliff and get his truck,” I explain to the guy who helped me into the cabin. The pilot nods, and the chopper slowly pulls away.
“I’ve lost my dog—have you seen him?” I ask as I peer through the glass. My stomach feels swirly.
The guy shakes his head. “Should we head over to the hospital for some x-rays?” He directs the question at Dad, like I shouldn’t be allowed to decide for myself, so I answer to Dad because he’s obviously the one who will give the final word.
“No, honestly, don’t waste the time. Dad, I’m fine. I’ll just put my foot up. Listen, we found the other ATV overturned on the rocks, and Paris found Martin’s shoe in the water.”
My father’s mouth drops open, and his cheeks sag. He runs a hand over his face.
The pilot immediately hails someone on his radio and repeats what I just told them. When he’s done, he turns to us. “They’re bringing the search party to the river and adding an aquatic rescue unit.”
“What do you want to do, Doc?” the winch man asks.
“Take us to the hospital.”
“Dad, no. We’ll lose time. We have to find Martin.”
“Zanna, there are good people looking for him. We need to have your ankle checked. And we need to call your mother. She needs to know what’s happening.”
My mother, who is probably sipping a lovely French wine as she accepts compliments from art groupies, needs to know what? That we’re searching for Martin but it doesn’t look good? A sneaker in the water—what does that usually mean?
Last Chance for Paris Page 11