The Yeti

by Mike Miller

  Doubt suddenly gripped Baxter. Perhaps he was overreacting, and Douglas was only teasing about abandoning him, as his sick humour had often enjoyed doing so. While it would be truly satisfying to just slay his oppressor, murdering Douglas would only mark him as the true devil of the group, offering no other solution but banishment anyways. Death would only provide temporary solace and definite defeat.

  But if Baxter were betrayed to a long and horrible death, he might as well claim some vengeance upon the traitor now.

  His body trembled with the conflicting urges. The sight on the barrel began to bob over its target like a fly circling manure.

  Douglas reached the top and clasped hands with some waiting porters. “Hurry, you dogs!” he shouted.

  With a deep breath, Baxter stabilised the gun upon his prey.

  He lowered the weapon to watch Douglas stumble forward and out of sight. Resigned to the fact that his fate was beyond his control, Baxter slung the gun over his shoulder then grabbed a strap of each pack to transport towards the base of the cliff. For the short march, he saw no other men, only the dangling lines slowly disappearing over the side to eliminate any evidence of their group’s crawl. Baxter grit his teeth while forcing his spirits to remain high at the sight that his party was gathering all of the equipment.

  Raising both hands to his mouth to amplify his voice, he hollered up the cliff. “All right, I’m ready.”

  Baxter waited for any response beyond the wind’s whistle off the crags of the rock. “Yoo-hoo!” he called again. The wind’s shrill whistle was like a playful whine taunting him.

  But finally Douglas reappeared, the tiny speck of his oblong head and flowing blonde hair unmistakable at even the high altitude. Baxter sighed deeply in great relief to see the bastard.

  “Sorry, mate,” Douglas hollered down.

  “No problem,” Baxter replied, a dumb grin covering his face from the pleasant surprise.

  “No, savage,” Douglas scoffed, shaking his smiling head with disappointment. Baxter’s joy instantly dissolved. “We’ve got to leave you, and for that I do apologise.” He clasped his hands over his heart in an expression of dear sincerity while the nostrils of his long nose flared from muted snickering.

  Baxter began to broil with rage. His temperature rose so that it made Douglas shiver like he in the midst of an earthquake. “But it ain’t your fault, monkey, so don’t blame yourself,” he said. “I would’ve brought your black hide along if I could, but it’s that damned army of yours approaching upon yonder hill.”

  Baxter turned to face in the direction to which Douglas was pointing. While the scoundrel would lie and jest about many things, the appearance of a familiar squadron of redcoats in the distant horizon was unfortunately legitimate. The first of their ranks appeared upon yonder hill and were only minutes from the bridge.

  “We ain’t got time to wait for you. But do us all a mighty favour and hold them back for us, won’t you?” Douglas capped the statement with a gleeful hoot.

  “Come get me, you cur!” Baxter bellowed, bits of phlegm frothing from his wild hollering.

  “Quiet now,” scolded Douglas. “They might hear you.” He then drew his pistol and fired several shots in the air. The booming explosions ricocheted off the gorge’s walls like a thunder storm. “Best of luck now!” He waved farewell with a triumphant smile then vanished behind the lip of the cliff.

  “Conrad! Gregory!” Baxter exclaimed. Then he screamed again, “Conrad!” holding the word till his breath waned. Hoping for a response, Baxter remained silent and optimistic. The only answer was the echo.

  Somewhere off in the distance, a sharp crack of the ice breaking from land rumbled to him in a muffled cascade of crashing debris. Still, nothing appeared over the lip of the cliff, and no one responded to his call.

  The next sound Baxter made was not a word, but an extended, plaintive wail at the agonising realisation he had indeed been abandoned. The primal cry reverberated throughout the chasm, filling out the sound to become a hollow and inhuman noise. To screech so vehemently that tiny tears trickled down his cheeks was exhausting, so he knelt down on the cold ground with a hung head as if performing penance.

  The rational part of Baxter’s mind fought for recognition, finally awaking him from his despair. He looked back across the gorge, off to where his pursuers were coming.

  Baxter spilled open the contents of his pack upon the ground and began inventorying his supplies to ready himself for a final stand. If he tried to race back over the bridge, he might be caught even more off-guard. Should he succeed in the near impossible evasion of the troop, Baxter would only further distance himself from Conrad and any real chance of survival from rejoining his original party.

  Baxter had his rifle, ammo, his crack shot and good positioning all on his side, despite being outmanned perhaps two dozen to one. These were the best odds he had to survive.

  “Be with me now,” he said softly to himself, to his wife, to the Almighty. “Please be with me.” Whether these circumstances were a test of his character or an extended bout of torture for his moral failings, Baxter would soon discover which destiny was his.

  Chapter XXIV

  The Arrival of the Avenging

  While most foreigners approached the imposing Jienen Bridge with a distinct mixture of apprehension and marvel, Colonel Snider only felt an increased amount of contempt for the ramshackle construction. This emotion had dominated his mood ever since the hunt for the traitors began. He hated the weather, the world, the traitorous bastards that jeopardised his entire career. And now he hated this bridge. “Bloody ridiculous,” he grumbled at no one in particular.

  When he paused to inspect the bridge, everyone else did too. He rustled in his seat, studying the obstacle. Behind him, his hodgepodge train of soldiers, locals and kidnap victims awaited his imperial response.

  But Chiksai was not intimidated by this blustery buffoon’s outfit, position, demeanour or anything else. Looking at his own cowardly cohorts following behind the soldier like lowly dogs, Chiksai was the only one unafraid of the white monster.

  The Asian warrior rode his horse up alongside this stoic leader and dismounted. He began unloading the gear from his horse to the ground. A fierce glance back at his own men demanded that they follow in kind, so each hurriedly rushed from their horses. Satisfied that his own leadership in the group had been exerted, Chiksai began talking aloud to no one in particular, though the monologue was intended solely for the woman.

  “What’s he saying?” Snider asked.

  Janice trotted her horse forward to better hear the gruff words. She strained forward and squinted to better discern the language, which acoustically evaporated into the mountain winds. “He says we cannot use the animals anymore from here. Where the thieves went, we can only follow on foot. The bridge can only support one man at a time, and we should hurry if we are hoping to catch them still.”

  Chiksai turned and smiled at Snider cavalierly, pleased that he had been able to wrest some authority back over the group’s direction. Snider replied curtly, “While this barbarian may have successfully assisted us in catching our quarry via his knowledge of their charted course, they have now all disappeared since we last saw them upon the far cliff. So please inform Chiksai that careful preparation will keep our success.”

  Janice began to relay the directions in the Nepalese dialect, when Chiksai interrupted her with a curt series of grunted words.

  She explained, “He says to hurry with the unpacking.”

  It did not please Snider to take orders from this lowly, foreign hoodlum. Thankfully Snider assuaged any animosity knowing that their partnership was temporary and to be terminated immediately upon its successful completion. “Disembark,” he snapped to his company. When his men burst to action at the command, Snider enjoyed watching Chiksai’s temporary victory evaporate to the melodic rustling of his almost two dozen men which dwarfed Chiksai’s forces at only a half dozen strong.

  “Let him know,�
�� Snider told Janice, swinging one leg up and over his steed to drop to the ground, “that his men are welcome to cross first if they please.”

  Janice relayed the message along to Chiksai who did not listen to the instructions as he was busy barking at his own men. Watching everyone about her preparing for the next leg of the journey, she could see nearly all the men about her leering back at her.

  “Excuse me, colonel,” she said diminutively to Snider. “But perhaps after this next section, the lot of you will be adequate without my services.”

  Snider appeared surprisingly angry at the request, yet kept proper British decorum and appearance. “And why on earth should I do that?”

  “Well,” she said with an embarrassed giggle, uncomfortable at having to explain the obvious. “A lady like myself is not properly equipped for this sort of rugged adventure. And if my services will no longer be required, perhaps I can be afforded a return back to town.”

  “Really?” Snider said, wrangling his gear together but not bothering to politely look at her. “You were already on your way up this godforsaken hill by the time we hitched a ride.”

  “Yes,” Janice said, “but myself, a woman of the cloth…” The lingering statement had no impact upon the occupied colonel. So she clearly spelled out the consequences. “Have you no concerns about abducting a nun, colonel?”

  Snider chuckled as he slung a strap of his pack over his shoulder. He jiggled up and down and frowned at the weight. “We both know what you really are, madam.”

  Janice plucked a stray wisp of hair away from her face, and batted her eyes tenderly at the gruff colonel in a final ploy to swing the colonel. Instead he just rudely turned away from her, advancing towards the station of the other men at the mouth of the bridge.

  At her latest plea’s rejection, her face rumpled with frustration. She lamented the sequence of events that had led her to this dire moment in her life. The enjoyable tryst with the man on the train seemed hardly worth all the fun now. If she hadn’t engaged with him, she wondered if she would still be in this current predicament of being seized by his trackers.

  Noticing a tent pole jutting from the satchel of a nearby horse, she quietly plucked the long stick and tested its weight in her hands. Now on the hunt, she cautiously but quickly snuck forwards with silent footfalls behind her oblivious prey with the stick swung back behind her head. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the makeshift weapon with lethal ferocity.

  “Colonel!” Private Horace yelled.

  The colonel spun about to face her assault. She swung the stick down as forcefully as she could, aiming straight for Snider’s forehead. Missing his crown, the wooden pole cracked down along the side of his head instead, deflecting over his ear and onto his shoulder. He crumpled to one knee from the blow, blood trickling from his wounded temple.

  Invigorated by the sight of spilt blood, she reeled the makeshift club back over her head again for another strike.

  Bowed to one knee before Janice as if proposing to her, Snider flung his arm out to catch the woman by her throat in a fierce grip. She dropped the stick to the ground as both hands scrambled to defend herself from the throttling. With vengeance and rage in his eyes, Snider rose back to his feet, dominating the woman into the ground as all ten of her tiny fingers worked to peel away his clench.

  “Colonel,” Finnegan said now immediately behind the two. His voice was gentle and concerned. “Easy, sir.”

  Snider’s hand sprang open like a released trap. Janice gasped for breath as she fell down into the snow. He still focused intently on his victim with murderous intent.

  Finnegan put an arm over Snider to escort him away while Janice was left coughing on the ground.

  “You’re a monster!” she suddenly screamed in a powerful shrill. The outburst captivated everyone’s attention. “He’s going to kill you all!”

  Snider marched back to face the fallen woman once more. Though she was beat and breathless, Janice still stared back defiantly at her captor.

  He kicked her in the stomach, though the hit was relatively curt and subdued. The knock was still enough to initiate a bout of wheezing and gasps. Some of the men chuckled at the display, the surprise of the swing striking like a well-told joke.

  “Sir,” implored Finnegan, which made him the new target of Snider’s wrath.

  “What?” he shrieked loudly.

  Finnegan thought about whether to continue or to let things go. He turned and mumbled something softly, but Snider could not discern any of the words.

  “What did you say?” Snider said, his teeth gnashing together with building anger.

  Finnegan turned to try and stare Snider down, but relented. “We shouldn’t strike women,” he confessed, not so much as an instruction, but a weak recital of his earlier whisper.

  “Really?” Snider said, now squaring towards his sergeant as if preparing for pugilism. “What I do is what you don’t. That’s how great men are distanced from average.” Snider snarled, “So when you peddle your advice, what you don’t want me to do is exactly what I should!”

  Once Finnegan had been defeated, Snider turned to the remaining troops eavesdropping on the exchange. In the withering afternoon light, he could easily discern their hesitations and doubts. Part of Colonel Snider wished he could just lay waste to them all, to avoid the insufferable and interminable shepherding. Yet as an intelligent man, he knew when the flock needed to be corralled again, that their efforts could be refined towards precision with the right amount of instruction. “You hear that? That goes for all of you. That is why I am the leader. Without me, you would have been content to lie about in some inn.”

  Their young faces became cheerful at the thoughts of this warm and cosy fantasy.

  “That is, until an uneventful and inevitable dismissal from the corps for insubordinate weakness,” Snider added. “So would you abandon this mission now at the risk of the gallows for treason? Or settle for eternal banishment from the kingdom? You could also settle for an early retirement and lounging about with our new toothless comrades as permanent exiles in this god-forsaken wasteland.” He gestured towards the Asians that were huddled together in their own discussion. Sensing that he might be the topic of the white men’s conversation, Chiksai turned to mockingly smile at them all, the gaps in his mouth a timely reminder of his ferocity.

  “Follow me, men,” Snider commanded, his voice reverberating now like a skilled reverend. “We will find the traitors Murray and Griffin, and we will recapture the cargo. And when we finish this mission, men, you will all become officers and gentry, enjoying a well-deserved life of leisure and privilege which you earn today.” The men seemed enthused but remained quiet. “Huzzah!” Snider howled triumphantly.

  “Huzzah!” the men echoed the cheer, boisterously sounding off as a single, cohesive voice that reverberated through the chasm.

  Chiksai started chattering at the men in some sort of lecturing reprimand.

  “What’s he saying,” demanded Snider.

  Janice held one arm to her belly, cradling her hurt midsection. With malice burning in her eyes, she looked up at Snider. “He says to shut up.”

  Chapter XXV

  The Next Wave

  Chiksai’s man readied himself on the ropes, one hand bracing each side of the support rails like a boxer in the corner of a ring before a fight. Looking back at his own leader Chiksai, he nodded and spoke a short sentence announcing his readiness to depart across the bridge.

  “On with it,” scowled Snider impatiently from the rear. Everyone else in attendance watched intently as the man began to amble across the wooden slats. This bold explorer might have been a circus trapeze artist by the way he held the group’s attention in rapt silence with his delicate balance. Despite the rousing speech by Snider, the men seemed in no particular hurry to cross the bridge.

  The man took a few steps out so that he was truly suspended over open space. He turned and smiled at everyone, the relief in his grateful expression indicating h
e was happy to find the bridge structurally sound. He took another step before a sharp crack of thunder sent him tumbling back.

  He lay dead on the floor, a small circular wound gushed blood from his chest. The bullet could not have been more precisely placed in the exact centre of his sternum for the merits of artistic symmetry.

  Janice and a few of the men screamed in shock. The savvier and more seasoned of the group instinctively drew their weapons.

  Every one began rapidly clamouring in a cacophony of instructions, questions and panic. Many retreated backwards for cover, most huddled down. Knowing only that the shot came from the other side, everyone scanned the far territory for the shooter.

  The day had grown long enough so the sun’s sideways rays cast long shadows across the landscape, though a clear sky permitted bright illumination to grace everything it touched in the snowy world. A weak mist had descended upon the other side, and some of the far cliff’s icy seracs cast jagged shadows upon the ground, partially obscuring the world in darkness. But no signs of life could be seen anywhere.

  “Murray!” Snider shouted angrily to the skies. After a pause, he called “Griffin!” Still there was no response.

  “Don’t forget Gregory,” hissed Private Horace, still sore from having been overlooked during the hijacking to join their group.

  Snider ignored the remark but checked back on Finnegan. His faithful sergeant had drawn his pistol, his off hand restraining their hostage Miss Dover. If she was ready to flee before, she was firmly settled now in frightened anticipation of whatever attack might next occur.