Shrugging, wishing we had stayed in bed longer, we blew out the lantern and trudged out into the snow. The wind was heavier on this side of the tunnel, although the rock walls on either side were much higher. We hadn’t gone more than a couple hundred feet when we felt, more than heard, a huge rumbling sound behind us. Turning, we saw an avalanche of heavy snow sliding down, sliding ever down, until the entire opening of the tunnel was covered in it, along with rocks and trees that had slid down with it. The opening was now completely blocked. Had we waited…well, we’d be stuck in there, or have to go back. Somehow, I felt the other end was probably blocked, too.
Neither of us mentioned it or how we’d been woken and warned. Instead, I said, “We have about ten miles to cover, and then at the precise coordinates, we have to leave the tracks and follow a side trail. I wish we could measure our steps or something, but I’m afraid to use the GPS function for so long a hike. What if the battery died before we got there? How fast do you think we’re walking?”
We bickered back and forth about how fast we might be going, not unpleasantly, but a shade above just discussing. It was cold, we were still tired, and we’d skipped breakfast. The avalanche had shaken some fear loose in me that I could not get rid of. It almost seemed to be choking me. I guess I’d get over it, but in the meantime, I just had to deal with it. Art was uncharacteristically quiet, but I think I understood. I checked my watch, and we walked.
After a while, the rock walls beside us pushed back and lowered. The wind was nipping at us now, and the snow beneath our feet was heavier. We could no longer see the rails and stopped and put our homemade snowshoes back on. We didn’t even talk, just did that, took a deep breath, and started walking again.
I knew what my stride normally was, about two and half feet, but with the snow, and now with the snowshoes, I supposed it would be shorter. I’d counted how many times I stepped in ten minutes and did the math and just ended up totally confused anyhow; there were too many variables. At my best, I could hike three or four miles an hour, so I was sure we weren’t going over that. I didn’t want us to have to backtrack if we missed our ten-mile turn off. I decided I’d check our coordinates after three hours, then decide how often to check again after that. After three hours, I was cranky, tired, had to pee, and starving. We found a place where the snow was thin, due to higher rock walls.
I touched Art’s arm. Then I grabbed it. Finally, he stopped. He was in a daze. “We need to eat, dear,” I said. I pulled out a tarp of our plastic, set it down, and pulled us both down on top of it.
Art dug out food, some of which had thawed during our time in the tunnel, and we started munching on it just as it was. I took readings on my camera’s GPS and had to do the math in my head, but I figured we still had at least five miles more to go. That would be another three hours, longer if the going got rougher. The tracks had been rising gradually. I hadn’t noticed until I read the elevation on the GPS stats and compared it to both the cabin’s elevation and how much we had probably lost when we dropped down to the train tracks. We made some yellow snow, packed up, and took off again.
After what seemed like days, I bumped into something soft. I’d walked right into Art. He’d stopped, and I hadn’t even noticed. The snow had stopped for a breather, and we looked about us.
“Look, we must be on top of a ridge,” Art said, for when he pointed, I could see a valley opening out below us.
There was a small stream of water. From here, I couldn’t tell if it was moving or frozen over. It just reflected the clear light differently and almost looked blue. I almost had to time to smile before the wind started up again, as if it had lost us and now had found us again. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t have cared less if I took a photo of it or not, even though it was starkly, coldly beautiful.
We marched on. The wind was awful, gaining strength now that it had us in its sights. I found I was moving closer behind Art to have him block the wind for me. Like drafting a semi to get better mileage. I just didn’t want to be any colder than I had to be. The snow was piling up, or had been deeper here to begin with, and even though we seemed to be getting lower again, it wasn’t any better. For the first time, I started to wonder if we would make it.
And then Art stumbled, and fell, and I fell over top of him. We slid together far enough that we were at least out of the wind, but we were close to a drop off I hadn’t noticed before. The only thing keeping us from going over the edge was my leg hung up around a stunted tree. Now, as a kid, I had hung by my knees with the best of them, but now I was shaky and cold and had this other big person attached to me like a dead weight. Oh, God, why did I phrase it like that! He did seem limp; maybe he’d hit his head when he fell.
Then something caught my eye. Just to the right of us and not too far below was a dark spot. Was it a cave, a mine entrance, or my imagination? As long as it wasn’t a sleepy bear, I didn’t care. Cautiously, I slid us over in that direction, and then as I straightened my leg, I maneuvered us and our bags to a spot where the slope was gentle, and together we slid down to the ledge below. It was a mine entrance, or adit as they are called.
Art was looking around, but he looked half asleep. His eyelashes were frozen together, and his eyes barely open. “I can’t see,” he said. “I think I’ve gone blind from the snow.”
“Get up,” I said as strongly as I could manage, trying to sound confident. “We’re right in front of a mine opening, and we’re going to go in far enough to get out of the weather. Come on, take my hand. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” I didn’t. I had his hand and that was it. If he didn’t step with me and trust me, we could easily fall off the ledge to the valley below. What on earth was I thinking?
I was thinking: this has to be done. We have to get in there. The rest of the trip can wait. It has to.
“The snow was lovely, dark and deep, no, that’s not right, is it?” Art asked.
Once we were away from the opening, it seemed much warmer, and I found places for us to sit against the wall. Then I saw there was enough loose wood around to build a fire. Behind us, part of the mine had fallen in. It wasn’t totally blocked, but enough of the wooden framework had fallen that I could take the boards and build us a very nice fire. If there was anything any farther back, a bear or more ghosts or whatever, it was just too bad. I wanted a fire, and, dammit, a hot meal. And to get both of us warm. I was not about to lose my life, or my love, after all we’d been through so far. Besides, I didn’t want our ghost to come back and haunt me. I’d have enough of the paranormal to last me a lifetime.
Gradually, the fire began to burn, and we started to thaw. Outside, it was growing darker, which was weird as it was still afternoon, and sunset wasn’t until around seven, give or take an hour. If we didn’t get to our turn-off from the tracks until tomorrow, it didn’t really matter, as far as I knew. What I knew for sure was a human being can only do his best, and a reasonable best did not include dying of stubbornness in a blizzard.
Art still seemed in a stupor. I could think of too many things that could be wrong, so after the first few dozen, I stopped worrying. I’d fix the problems I knew about first, like dehydration. Even in a blizzard, yep, or if you ate too much snow, you’d get too cold inside your body. So I started looking around the mine. I’d already placed some of our frozen food on some bricks I’d found around the area, and they were thawing, as were we. Farther back, I found some old pots and picked one that had no holes. I rinsed it outside in the snow and then packed it full of more snow. Sure, we had some water along, but we could easily use the snow. It was fresh and clean. I found some hard candies in my pocket I’d forgotten about and threw them in for flavor.
As the area got warmer, I undid our jackets and took off our hats and snow-covered mittens. I even unlaced our boots. Art was still groggy, so I explored a bit more. I didn’t smell anything like an animal, not that I’d know exactly, but it smelled dusty, dirty, and fresh inside. The rock fall blocked about half of the cave for quite a distan
ce, but it was still passable, and I walked along until the light faded too much to see anything. I found some warmer gloves, like someone might have discarded if they’d been digging in the rocks. I hoped nobody was buried beneath it. I saw something metallic on a ledge and took it down. It was a tin box, and it was hard to open, but when I did, I found it full of tea! They smelled okay, and I had to try it. I went back to our fire and threw some in the pot. Combined with the candy, it ought to be an interesting flavor, to say the least. When it was hot, I tried some. It was great, and I didn’t die or throw up, so I gave some to Art. We finished it, and I made more. Maybe it was stupid, I don’t know, but it turned out okay.
By this time, our food was hot, so we put that in the pot and added snow to it, too, and mixed it up until it made a fine stew or soup. I can’t tell you how good it felt to be warm, full, and probably safe.
Art had recuperated by now, which made me feel like my life was complete and that maybe I wasn’t as stupid in these survival things as I had thought. I could use the confidence right now, that was for sure. We slept right where we were for most of the night, awakening at times to put more wood on the fire. If I thought about it the right way, it was just an overfull vacation adventure. One to tell the grandkids if I ever had any, which I probably wouldn’t. And if I lived.
We did not get going at the crack of dawn. There was no dawn. There was only snowlight, and that was a very dim bulb indeed. We backed up farther into the mine, turned a corner, lit candles, and started a small fire there. And went farther, exploring. Darkness and darkness, with only the shadows from the candles lighting up the corners, the edges, the rocky ceiling, that actually looked pretty solid…
We came across two completely different, time-warp if you will, places. One had old axes and picks, all rusted and splintered, more candles, the remains of a fire, and animal bones thrown here and there; or dragged. Yeah, maybe something bigger finished it off later.
“Stop scaring me,” I said out loud.
Art said, “No, you stop scaring me,” and he snickered, sort of.
And then around another curve, the other spot. Someone had used this area as a home, probably not too long ago. The bedding was stained and mildewed but still in one piece. There was a small wooden bench like you could buy at a hardware store and assemble at home. And, in a plastic tub, we found three bottles of wine. Two were broken, but the third was just lying there on its side, in the frozen slush of what was left of the other two, which now included dead roaches, a drowned bat, and two rats. Both dead, or I wouldn’t have stayed long enough to count that high.
Art took the last bottle, and we retreated to our own little den. Did we drink it, get drunk, make love, and take naps? What do you think? Of course, we did! If it had been a marijuana stash, we’d have probably smoked that, too.
I had a very strange dream after I dozed off into my half-bottle of wine alcoholic coma. It was set here in the mine, but it was long ago.
I was there, but Art was not. Another man was standing beside me in old clothes typical of railroad men, the striped overalls and all that.
“Come up with me, Prince Madog, and see the train.”
Then I found myself following him outside and up the hillside. It was summer, and there was a trail leading up to the tracks. We stood there until we heard it coming, the train. Pulled by a black steam engine, carrying loads of coal and dynamite. The whistle blew, and the train steamed past. But then I woke up. I was outside, but it was winter and, luckily, I’d only walked a few steps. Art came out, took my arm, and led me back inside. I remembered the dream and told him all about the train and how exciting it was. I told him my name was Owain, and that I was lost. Then I finished waking up and shivered. It had been so very real.
Art was half angry and half amused. “You could have died out there, you idiot!” But he held me close and shared his body heat with my now cold chest. As we stood there, all you could hear was the wind and sometimes the snow falling, but then we heard another sound. The whistle of a steam engine, drawing nearer, passing overhead, and then drawing away.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” said Art, but I think we should get going, snow or not, hungover or not!”
A voice from farther back in the tunnel, called out, “Good idea.”
As we packed up our gear, we felt the wind die down, and the snow was only falling straight down again, which now seemed like a luxury to not be ignored.
Up to the tracks we scrambled through the heavy drifts, but when we came to the railroad bed, it was perfectly clear, just as if a train had gone by.
It was two more hours to our turn-off. The GPS worked perfectly even with all the snow falling, so I shot a few more pictures while it was on. Nothing fancy, just a couple in every direction! Then I got goofy, and we took a selfie. We left the tracks and started out on a descending, snow-covered path to the woods below. We used the snowshoes until we were in the forest.
* * * *
Such sweet shelter from the wind and snow. The trees reached to the sky, snow piled up several inches deep on their branches. I recognized various pines and firs and the ever-present larches. The trail showed clearly in some places, and in others was marked only with a faint axe cut on the side of a tree. I couldn’t remember where I’d seen or on what map a cabin on the other side of this stand of trees. I presumed the path must lead to something; why else would it be there? If we kept walking until we came out the other side, we’d know. If there was one, we’d be in it, and if not, we’d build some kind of shelter in the trees.
Hours and hours. If the daylight hadn’t stayed the same, I’d have sworn it was days. I followed in Art’s footsteps; we were silent. What was there to say? Keep an eye out for drop-cats, or whatever he’d said. Oh, great, now I’d scared myself again, but I was too tired to care.
We had reached the end of the trees and were looking out over another valley below. There were half a dozen structures. Two looked like complete shacks, holes in the walls, doors askew, etc. One looked like an old-fashioned bar with the swinging doors and a second floor. There was no glass in the windows. The other looked like our cabin, only better made. And there was smoke coming from chimney. But what would we find: friend or foe? Some survivalist with a gun pointed at us already? Or maybe a criminal hiding from the FBI?
Art turned to me with a huge smile on his face. He needed a shave. His whiskers were short, of course, after only a few days’ growth, but they had snow stuck to them like he’d dived into a box of Styrofoam pellets. “Lookie there, pardner. A ham radio tower! We is saved!”
“What, already?” I stammered out. “Hide the loot, kemo sabe, don’t let him know we’re part of the infamous Evans Gang.” It was meant as humor, and you’d think my teeth chattering would have made that obvious, but Art was way ahead of, or beyond, me.
“Right,” he said with a curt nod. “Hide the women and children. We forgot to bring a hostess gift, too. Should we go back and get a chicken?”
We shoved each other like twelve-year-olds and headed down the hillside.
A woman opened the door as we approached. “Come on in,” she called in a husky voice. “Y’all must be frozen. Where on earth have you come from? Over Garnet way? Yonder there’s been blizzard after blizzard, all around the area, except in this direction. And this hasn’t been a picnic here, either.” She helped us up the steps and took our packs off our backs. We looked like snowmen.
I wondered that she was not afraid of us, but then figured maybe there was a man in the house, too. I was right, sort of, but only found that out later.
I looked around as I began to thaw out. There was one main room with her radio set up in one corner, sofa and chairs in another, dining table in the middle of the room, and sink and gas stove on the far wall. There was a door that led into a hallway.
“Back there are two bedrooms. I’m in the one on the right. I hope you don’t mind sharing the one on the left. Each has its own…bathroom, if you want to call it that, but at
least it’s not an outhouse. I bought two Porta Pottis and had them set up right next to the bedrooms. All the comforts of home. Get cleaned up and come back, and I’ll have a meal ready for us. Obviously, I don’t get much company out here! Welcome, my name is Willow.”
Art mumbled our names through his frozen lips. “I’m Art, and this is Andrew.” I nodded.
She looked like a pioneer woman or someone out of the Depression era. She was probably in her fifties or sixties, most likely retired to be out here in the middle of winter, and definitely what we’d call a tough old bird. She looked like she’d been through a war or two. Little did we know. There were a lot of photos on the walls, mostly of warbirds, airplanes from WWII and helicopters from the Vietnam era. I wondered if her husband had been a pilot.
“I’ll warm up some water on the stove for you to do some washing up in. Not enough for a bath, though there’s an old-style tub in the shed that one can use for a bath. We can work things out later. I’m dying to hear out your story and find out how I can help you.”
I could have hugged her. Art looked at her like she was his long-lost mother, and that’s how I felt, like she was momming us back to sanity. It wasn’t a war we’d been through, where the dying heroes all call for their mother, but it had been the hardest struggle I’d ever been through, other than when I came out to my family and three older brothers.
About the time we’d stripped down to our underwear, the bedroom door opened and an arm held out some clothes. “Here’s some things that might fit you, nice and clean and dry. At least until yours aren’t dripping snow all over any more.”
Art went over and took them and thanked her warmly. I was afraid he’d throw open the door, but he didn’t, so I dropped my underwear and put on some of the dry clothes. They fit well enough if I didn’t try to zip the pants. I left the flannel shirt out with the tails hiding my front. I wasn’t sure there was room to tuck it in anyhow. Art, bigger than I am, was in worse shape, with a pair of jeans barely making it halfway up his hips, but he coped. He had to leave his shirt open in front.
Andrew and Art Page 6