The Yeti

by Mike Miller

  “Baxter, wait,” called Conrad. He didn’t pursue Baxter, and his urgent plea went unrequited.

  The exhilarating energy from the argument provided ample courage for Baxter to stride across the first few slats of old wood, each shrieking a garbled welcome to his footfalls. But then those steps started to hover over the abyss. Though the path trembled more, he continued unabated, almost surprised at his own courage.

  But quicker than his confidence could grow was the increasingly violent quivering of the bridge. Even the fiend Douglas had survived the crossing, but Baxter now fretted over his own success. If ever fate wanted to punish him and pluck his soul from the earth, now was a ripe time.

  A queasy dread filled Baxter upon the realisation that the trepidation was more born from within than the elements. His own weight was the primary culprit for nervously shaking the entire foundation. Trying to allay his fears only magnified the vibrations into full tremors that swayed the entire walkway.

  In a small panic, Baxter’s hands grasped the surrounding twine guidelines so tightly that the rough rope even burned to the skin of Baxter’s calloused palms beneath the heavy pads of his gloves.

  Baxter remained paralysed, a rigid fixture on the bridge like he was holding the structure together from falling apart. Then he realised that even while perfectly still, the bridge cared not about his motions and would continue to sway anyways.

  With a deep breath that chilled his chest from within, Baxter mustered the strength to cautiously proceed forward. He tried focusing solely on his destination on the opposite side, as if he were only crossing a wide field to reach the rest of the party.

  On the far ice wall, a tiny line of rigging had been erected upon which one of the porters crept like a small spider. A cluster of men waited at the bottom, their attention divided between watching the climber and Baxter himself. Baxter’s keen eyes could see a malicious delight visible on Douglas’ disfigured face like a hungry fox about to feast.

  Baxter tried to imagine that he was not alone in the midst of this sprawling void. He imagined the creaking planks beneath him to be worn stones of a Punjab road, whose solid dirt sent puffs of dust with each football. But just as quickly he envisioned plummeting to his death.

  The wood creaked ominously like a weathered boat creaking with from the sea. The ropes groaned like weary prisoners bound in heavy chains. Now halfway to the other side, he was positioned in perfect limbo, between everything and nothing.

  He looked backwards at Conrad for dire need of support. But instead private found the corporal gazing straight into the ground, a concerted effort to not look in the bridge’s direction.

  With another deep and frigid inhale, Baxter ultimately calmed himself with the thought that there was nothing else to do about the situation. He was alone and could only comfort himself with the fond thoughts of his beloved and a private prayer for almighty mercy.

  When Baxter reopened his eyes, a voice cried from behind “Baxter!”

  Recognising it as Conrad’s frail voice, Baxter hollered, “What?”

  “Baxter!” Conrad cried again.

  Baxter turned his head as far back as possible while still facing forward. “What?” he screeched, his voice booming with frustration. But only the group on the far side of the cavern even noticed the cry.

  “Come back!” Conrad pleaded. “Please!”

  Perhaps it was the heightened wind playing tricks on Baxter’s ears, but he couldn’t help but answer the request with another, bewildered “What?”

  “Please come back!” Conrad cried again with heightened urgency.

  Slowly Baxter shuffled his feet sideways, and with as much dexterity as possible, wheeled about to face back in the direction from whence he had just came. He saw Conrad, a tiny toy in the distance, flamboyantly waving his arms wide above his head.

  Now with only one hand secured to the spindly banister, Baxter used the other to cup his hand to augment his cry of “Come back?” He yelled with such ferocity that his voice became instantly sore from the cold environment that rushed to replenish his empty lungs.

  “Yes!” Conrad said, his arm now motioning inwards like a master beckoning his dog home.

  “Shut up!” Another voice screamed Douglas from behind Baxter. “Avalanche!” This word was cried with such sharp ferocity that it echoed back from the other side of the chasm as if Baxter were surrounded by screaming.

  Tempted to face the bastard Douglas and engage in debate, Baxter instead began a joyless trudge back to the land he had heroically left behind.

  Chapter XX

  The Happenings of the Other Side

  “This is ridiculous,” muttered Molor, as he watched the black Brit cautiously waddling back to the white one.

  “Absolutely preposterous,” echoed Douglas, also a spectator to the odd scene.

  “We’ve nearly completed the next leg of the trip, while we remain waiting for them to dawdle about?”

  Douglas scoffed. “So what you want to do about it, eh?”

  “Leave them,” Molor said bluntly. “Both. Now. Should you be in the mood for the theatrical, you could sever the bridge’s connection to this side, an option for which we had long accounted.”

  “That’d be most hysterical,” agreed Douglas with a smile. Some shouting from overhead now attracted his attention to the cliff behind him.

  “Aye, you imbeciles!” he shouted to the dangling porters up the wall of ice. “Careful with the ass!”

  Above Douglas and Molor dangled the group mule, as well as a man on each side for support and guidance. From down below, it was impossible to detect the animal’s disposition as the mare was entirely motionless but for a gentle drifting at the end of its harness. From above where a team of men laboured to drag the dumb beast up the sheer wall of ice, they could have easily gazed over the cliff to find the animal entirely apathetic about its venture. Rudy’s eyes were cracked awake in the slightest sliver, but what little pupil was visible was coated in a glassy veneer. The animal was perhaps even asleep, though the tail listlessly swatted at his hindquarters to indicate that he at least had not died. The donkey was in such a trance that he paid no heed to the occasional bump to the head against the rocks and ice.

  “Good boy,” Sek grunted soothingly while helping to hoist his pet up the cliff. His gentle speech starkly contrasted the anguished strains coming from the other four men yanking the line. Utilising a contraption built form pulleys and wood anchored into the ground, the men all gruellingly tugged the thick lines of rope in a slow trudge away from the edge. With each heavy and plodding step, the mule bobbed another foot higher straight up through the air. The men who flanked Rudy shouted either words of encouragement or rebuke up at the lifters.

  “While they’re both conferring back there, let us just leave them now. Why delay the inevitable?” Molor asked of Douglas.

  Douglas played with the whiskers of his moustache while pondering the proposition. As best he could, his mind tried to calculate the various scenarios and resulting ramifications of such a decision. He knew he had made a vow to Molor to leave the two once they had outlived their usefulness. But then Douglas had to catch himself from laughing at the idea that he was obligated to honour any vow to anyone.

  He knew he could just as easily betray Molor should it prove advantageous to side with Conrad. He just wasn’t sure when to do so. Perchance maybe he should just suddenly shove his towering accomplice into the infinite space of the gorge at their side. But studying the fierce visage of the Indian, he knew that the man’s fighting prowess might yet prove vital to the campaign’s success.

  In the end, Douglas knew it would be him alone, that the rest would all fall somehow, somewhere and sometime. But maybe not Conrad, if the old sport deserved better. So not yet and not now, he finally decided.

  “You make a valid suggestion, my friend,” said Douglas. “But should we betray these two now, that still might leave us exposed for their vengeance.”

  Molor scoffed at the idea.
“From yonder side of the chasm? How so? Would the African invoke his deity to strike me with a thunderbolt?”

  Douglas chuckled along at the idea. “Well, it’s only two more days to catch up with us. But with anger in their boots and a lighter party, that could maybe be cut in half.”

  “That is if they even know where to go.” Molor was unfazed. “Let them find us, and we’ll see who remains then.”

  Douglas appreciated the confidence, but further cautioned, “The African’s sharpshooting skills are legendary. It’s the reason why he joined this escapade from the start. So as long as he can see us, he can kill us.”

  Molor nodded in a newfound understanding. “Were he to be within the reach of a blade his advantage would be neutralised,” he conceded sorely.

  “And I have no desire to upset nor lose Corporal Conrad Murray either. He has utility yet.”

  “He may be your friend,” Molor said, “but this is business.”

  “I know, I know,” Douglas said, almost demonstrating a frustrated pity at the predicament. “But Conrad, he is a salty man. We could still have use for his kind of power and cunning. You just rest your turban, mate. I’ve worked out the best plan yet on how to take care of them both.”

  Chapter XXI

  Together Over the Divide

  “You are joking,” Baxter gasped in disbelief.

  “I am not,” responded Conrad with unequivocal certainty.

  “Or course you are,” Baxter dismissed. “And as usual, your humour is terribly boorish.” Baxter groaned while his hands fiddled with the air. “Everything is just a toy with which to play. Your jokes, snide remarks and sarcasm are as dependable as the next sunrise.”

  “I am not joking,” Conrad reiterated.

  “What about Tangier, huh?” Baxter asked. “I watched you sashay along the lip of that tower balcony like a trapeze artist. That was over a hundred feet in the air.”

  “You know I’ve told you that I don’t remember that moment,” Conrad replied.

  “It doesn’t matter what you remember,” Baxter cried in near hysterics. “Because I do! And you weren’t bloody afraid of heights then.”

  “That was different. In the thick of battle, I suppose my mind could focus on something else. And besides, as I am trying to communicate, the experience was so harrowing that I chose to ignore the entire moment. Now that’s proof of my fear of heights.”

  “One part of your mind could battle a troop of a sultan’s bodyguards while the other half takes a nap?” Baxter lamented.

  “The mind is a strange thing indeed,” agreed Conrad.

  “Balderdash!” cried Baxter, his hands writhing as they fantasised about strangling his stubborn associate.

  “I’m… sorry, Baxter.” Conrad shamefully hung his head to avoid any eye contact.

  “You--!” Upon seeing Conrad’s true remorse at the confession, Baxter ceased his tirade and worked to calm himself.

  To fill the silence, they both began to watch the scene across the ridge. Molor and Douglas supervised from below while the other men hoisted the mule into the sky. Whether from wind or errant pulling, Rudy swung towards the cliff face, where he collided with one of the guides. The man yelped in horror as the animal squashed him flat against the granite wall.

  Conrad and Baxter both laughed at the sight. The fortuitous slapstick helped both to relax into smiles.

  “You’re one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met,” Baxter volunteered.

  “Thank you.” For the first time in a while, Conrad could look at Baxter with pride.

  “I’ve witnessed your heroics on countless occasions,” the private continued.

  “Now you’re making me blush,” though the barely visible parts of Conrad’s face under the bundle of his hood were already flush red from the frost.

  Baxter inhaled deeply to summon a mystical measure of mesmerism to convince Conrad, “You are not afraid of heights.” Baxter thought of the flimsy wobble that accompanied each step he made along the bridge. “You can walk across that bridge like you were walking down the street.”

  First Conrad again looked down ashamedly while pondering Baxter’s words. Then he stared towards the distant shore on the opposite side.

  But finally his gaze wandered back to the frail length of aged wood and rope that promised transport across a bottomless cavern. His muscles began to seize in fear. His blood began to burn in his veins.

  He turned to Baxter and said, “I’m not afraid of death, friend. But I am afraid of heights.”

  Despite the frothing frustration at the inconceivable stupidity of this predicament, Baxter couldn’t help soften to his friend’s admission.

  Baxter laughed. He threw his head back and expelled laughter with a volume and velocity as if he was projecting to the moon. His arms wrapped across his own jiggling torso as if he were trying to hold his body together from splitting apart.

  Conrad chuckled, but shushed him with a finger to his mouth. “Shh!” he hissed sharply. “Avalanche!”

  Baxter continued his bellowing anyways. “Scared of heights!” he finally managed to gasp before resuming his bombastic guffawing. “You finally told a decent joke!”

  The laughter strove to infect Conrad too, but his will upheld, and he remained mirthless. Watching his mate’s maniacally rollicking laughter actually helped to flush the joy from Conrad’s system, and a new thought began to dominate his thoughts. He realised that perhaps Baxter had snapped and was now going mad.

  By Conrad’s own count, Baxter was generally immune to his snappy lines and thoroughly superb humour. But now the man seemed defenceless against it, his control succumbed to emotion.

  Baxter’s hearty cries of amusement eventually ebbed into big, gasping breaths of recovery. When he looked back up from his hunched position, Conrad was startled at the sight. The powerful bout of delirium had caused tears to trickle down his cheeks. They had frozen into glassy streaks on Baxter’s cheeks which were still swollen with the residue of mirth. It was a decoration more fit for a ghoulish clown. When Baxter casually scrubbed away the floes with his glove, they cracked as they broke away from his face.

  “Careful there,” Conrad said.

  Baxter continued giggling in a low and strange pattern, a type of laugh new to Conrad despite their years together. The deranged noise sounded like the man enjoying a new flavour of comedy for the first time. “Could anything else go wrong?” Baxter asked rhetorically. His frame even swayed softly as if the speech and concentration required to muster it had drained and weakened his body.

  “Yes,” Conrad answered bluntly. Though he issued the remark as a joke, he instilled little vigour into the punchline’s delivery. His mind was possessed with concern for his friend’s mental faculties.

  Baxter sighed heavily. “I know.” Finally more sober now, he looked around at the bridge, then the men on the far side hoisting supplies up the icy wall. He gazed into the endless abyss of the gorge before returning his attention to Conrad. “So what do we do now?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Conrad.

  “I can’t brain you and carry you across,” Baxter explained.

  “You can’t? Are you certain?” Conrad replied earnestly.

  “Impossible on the balance.” Baxter’s remark alarmed Conrad, so then he quickly suggested. “I suppose I could just leave you. That is, we could just leave you,” he corrected.

  “You could.” Conrad didn’t like the suggestion a bit, but knew it was the simplest and most obvious.

  “I could kill you,” offered Baxter.

  Conrad rubbed his chin stoically. “No, I don’t think you could.”

  “I could,” answered Baxter. “But I wouldn’t.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Not really,” said Baxter. “I could show you the difference?”

  “No, you can’t,” replied Conrad.

  “No, I won’t,” Baxter corrected. “Here, I’ve got it. Close your eyes.”

  “So you can kill me?
” said Conrad, though he still obliged by sealing his eyes.

  “You’ll see,” said Baxter. “Or rather, you won’t.”

  In his blindness, Conrad could easily discern the distinct and familiar sound of fabric ripping. Next he found a ribbon of cloth being wrapped around his head, a band that doubled and tripled the circumference before being pulled tightly over his eyes. “You may open your eyes now,” Baxter instructed him.

  “What for? I can’t see a bloody thing.” The view became a faded red vista that differentiated in brightness depending upon where Conrad’s eyes were pointed. But for the change in light, he could not see a thing.

  “Good,” replied Baxter. “Now let’s cross the bridge.”

  Conrad could feel a hand grip his wrist and drag him forward.

  He obliged and scuttled forward with a few uncertain steps. But as his mind began to invent the myriad dooms impending upon him, he froze suddenly on the trek.

  “Ho, wait, whoa!” Conrad held his ground like a stubborn mule, though the expedition’s actual ass needed little encouragement to embark upon the trip over the bridge. “Sek said only one man at a time. It can’t hold us both.”

  Baxter groaned a pshaw. “You saw the mule do it. No way the two of us are any heavier.”

  “Still...” Conrad sought another excuse, but without any, he just said, “This is insane. I can’t do this.”

  “Well, you’ll cross with either your eyes open or closed. Or you won’t cross at all.” Baxter declared impatiently.

  Conrad flipped the lip of the kerchief’s cover up over his right eyebrow, his left eye still shielded. With his sight restored, he was immediately taken aback by how close he now was to the gorge. Looking past his friend, the far silver and blue walls of the opposite side opened up like a lion’s yawning jaws to consume him whole. A childish urge to warn Baxter of the danger behind him was reluctantly dispelled. The lines in the ice began to shiver and ripple, like the reflective topside of a pool of water, giving Conrad the odd sensation that he was looking down upon the walls and not across at them. Beneath his line of sight bubbled a hot cauldron of fear. Just the thought of dipping his eyes downwards past the near lip of his ledge made him queasy with vertigo. Though he couldn’t see it, Conrad knew the evil that lurked there. In the deepest depths of that abyss was Conrad’s end, his death, a hell too vile and powerful to gaze upon or else it would devour his very soul with its dark power.