Avalanche

by Melinda Braun

  “You think?”

  “Water’s always a good sign.” Leah helped him up. “We can follow it. Probably find a road, or maybe it will lead us down to a lake.”

  “Water’s good?”

  “Yeah. Water usually means people.”

  And people meant rescue.

  Matt had never been much of a people person, but right now he couldn’t imagine a more welcome sight.

  “How many more miles?” The pines weren’t thick here, and the trees hadn’t leafed out. But some bushes were newly green at the tips, buds swollen and ready to pop with the next warm day.

  “Don’t know,” Leah replied. “We didn’t go the right way down the peak.”

  That was the understatement of the year.

  The sound of water grew louder, but Matt didn’t see anything until he followed Leah around a crag of rock. There, twenty feet below, he saw it, wild and fast. It looked like something people would pay money to raft down—all white water, boiling and foaming over the rocks. It was stunningly beautiful, starting a different kind of ache in Matt’s stomach. An ache that wasn’t hunger but wasn’t something he could name, and he stood staring at the force of the water. There was no way across it.

  Leah scanned downstream. “We’ll follow it a bit to see if there’s a way to cross over.”

  “We have to cross it?” It was impossible not to look at that water and imagine the temperature, possibly a few degrees above freezing. Matt shivered.

  “We’re still too high, and the roads and trails will be on the opposite side, heading down into the valley.” She adjusted her pack and squared her shoulders. “We just need to find the right spot.”

  “It looks like it’s thirty feet wide.”

  “I know.” Leah slid around another boulder and picked her way down to the river’s edge, looking for a path along the water. “But there might be an easy spot some ways down. Maybe even a bridge if we’re lucky.”

  He scudded his way along the slick rocks, knowing with one slip he’d end up in ice-cold rapids. Swimming was not the issue; nothing about the water looked like a good idea, except maybe for drinking. He was still thirsty, despite all the snow, and when he scrambled his way down to a wide spot on the bank he leaned over and dipped his hand into a swirling eddy. He was right about the temperature, so cold it burned. Imagining the taste, saliva pooled in his mouth. He cupped his palm up to his lips.

  “Don’t!” Leah barked. “Don’t drink that!”

  “Why?” The water ran out through his fingers. “What’s wrong?” He’d been eating snow all day without getting sick.

  Leah uncapped her water bottle, which Matt saw was not at all like the plastic one he carried. Hers was blue, with a thick tube inside. “This has a filter.” She filled the bottle. “You really don’t want a case of Giardia.”

  “What’s that?” It sounded like something Italian, like something his mom would make for dinner. Giardia with a side of garlic bread. He stared hesitantly at the water bottle.

  “Pretty nasty little parasite. You really don’t want it.”

  Matt took a long drag through the straw. Then another. Once he started it was hard to stop.

  “Drink as much as you need,” she said. “You look like you . . .”

  A rustle in the bushes behind him cut her off. Two shiny eyes, like small black marbles, blinked out from the green. Black wet nose. Perfect half-moon ears. Fur the color of dusted cinnamon.

  Matt almost dropped his bottle. “A little baby bear. Leah, look.”

  “Hey little guy.” Leah squatted down and offered out her hand, as if to greet a small dog. “Hey there.”

  The bear blinked, then sneezed and opened its mouth, smiling with tiny teeth and shiny pink gums. “Where is his . . . ,” Leah began, suddenly realizing her mistake. She popped back up, eyes darting up and down the ravine as she backed away. “Mother . . . ,” she whispered. “Oh no.”

  Matt backed up so quickly he almost sat down, nearly ending up in the water. It didn’t look very deep at the edge, but it was running so fast he was sure it would knock him over if he fell in. His eyes stayed locked on the trees surrounding the ravine. Where is she? She has to be close.

  He was right. High up on the ridge, branches bent in a deep wave, then snapped. The mother bear burst through the underbrush, and even from this distance Matt could see how her tiny glowing eyes fixed on him. With a hair-raising snarl she hurtled down the slope like a demon just released from the gates of hell.

  JULIE

  Location: Ascending Bills Peak

  Elevation: 9,500 feet

  Julie had been following a narrow trail up between the aspen and cedar, climbing steadily with her head down, and watched as the snow beneath her skis changed from navy to violet to pink to gray to a final powder puff white. Sunrise. She stopped, panting heavily, and removed her ski mask. She was almost above the tree line. Each breath was harder than the last, and when she spied a large patch of white between the trees, for a moment she hallucinated a lake. It shimmered under the rising sun with a prismatic rainbow of light.

  Strangely entranced, she pushed herself until she stood at its edge. Not a lake, but a river of snow. The avalanche. The field, in the early dawn light, looked calm. Not the horrible devastation she recalled from a day ago. Not even a day, she reminded herself, biting down on her lip. Dylan, where are you? She knew she shouldn’t go out there. It was unsteady ground and it could break again. She knew that. But she was also angry. Not really at Carter, even though he’d taken the brunt of it. Why did you have to be so careless, Dylan? You knew better than that. Why? The anger was a bitter stew in her stomach, hot and roiling. What good was it to be angry at Dylan—he’d already paid for his mistake, and she bit down harder on her lip until she tasted the rust of her blood. It’s not right to be angry, she reasoned with herself. But the logic would not follow. She still was angry—angry with herself most of all.

  Her eyes scanned up the slope, looking for anything other than snow and ice. A flicker of red. Something there. Dylan had a red hat, didn’t he? She shook her head and blinked, not able to remember. Had it been red or blue? She pushed herself out onto the slope, cautiously at first, then skied quickly over to the small splotch of color. Her legs burned with each stride, and when she finally arrived she was quivering so much—from exertion, from adrenaline, from anticipation—that she tipped over sideways and gasped. She forced herself to look. The red thing. What is it? She popped off her skis, turned over, and began to dig around it, scraping quickly with her gloves. The snow had softened since yesterday, and she moved away a large scoop with her forearms, revealing the object.

  A ski. Its red tip poked through, and when Julie dug down around it she was able to pull it out. It was only twelve inches long at best, shattered, leaving an edge that looked like a row of broken teeth. Dylan’s ski.

  The rage vanished. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Julie fell back with a terrible howl, clutching the piece to her chest as her face melted with tears.

  MATT

  Location: Unknown river

  Elevation: 9,000 feet

  Leah grabbed him from behind, jerking his backpack toward her, but the bear had already closed the gap when it bolted into the space between them and her cub. They were hemmed in against the narrow rocky bank and the river.

  Matt stumbled against Leah, shoving her sideways as he slipped out of his pack. He didn’t know anything about bears, except the obvious. It was pissed. It was huge. And it was a mother defending its baby. He swung the pack in front of his chest as the bear let out a horrific bawl. The sound was like a something from a storm. It had a force and shape all its own, surrounding him like a hurricane wind. Then it passed through, an invisible wave that curled his toes and sent sparks shooting up his spine. He could have sworn his hair blew back.

  The bear charged, stopping only ten feet away. Matt didn’t move. He couldn’t. His legs were stuck, rooted to the ground as if he’d been permanently planted. Carter had sa
id something about this, but for the life of him Matt couldn’t recall it. He was supposed to do something. Or maybe I’m supposed to do nothing. He pressed back against Leah, who didn’t budge.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  “Stop what?” Matt croaked. The bear was so close he could smell it, and he couldn’t understand how such a large animal could move like a racehorse out of a starting gate. Faster than what seemed possible. Definitely faster than him.

  “There’s nowhere left to go.” Leah had her back against a fallen pine tree that had broken into two pieces across the water. It was chest high, with two feet of clearance underneath.

  “Go over it!” Matt gasped. “Or under it. Just go!”

  “Don’t yell.”

  “I’m not!”

  Too late. The bear charged again, a barreling hulk of fur and teeth and claws. Instinctively, Matt threw his pack, deciding as he launched it forward that it may have been one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. He only hoped it wouldn’t be the last stupid thing.

  When it hit the bear it bounced away like a rubber ball ricocheting off a brick wall.

  But it worked, sort of. The bear stopped and shook its huge head, momentarily forgetting them. Curious, it went after the pack, swatting it with an enormous paw. The snarl turned into a huff, and with one sharp swipe the pack ripped open, quick and easy down the zippered seam as though the bear had done this before. It stuck its face inside.

  “Go,” Matt whispered. “Go now.”

  Even after Leah heaved herself over the timber, Matt had a hard time moving. The bear snuffed and clawed at the nylon, strewing clothes and supplies on the rocks. When it found the beer it bit right into the can, sending a white spray of foam in his direction. He imagined the bear biting in his head like that, and figured his skull would crack as easily as the can—his cue to leave.

  Only turning to check his footing, Matt managed to haul himself over the log. The bear didn’t notice—too busy with the beef jerky and trail mix.

  “There’s another log downstream,” Leah said quietly. “It’s fallen completely across the river. I think it’ll work as a bridge.” She stared past him at the bear. The cub had scooted out from the bushes and was sniffing the now-empty beer can. “I don’t think it will follow us.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Crunching noises. Shredding sounds. Snuffling grunts. When he peeked over the log, the bear raised its horribly large head and snarled, remnants of the beef jerky dangling from its snout. Matt knew the log between them wouldn’t stop it, not by a long shot.

  He turned and slid into a crouching walk, moving as fast as he could without running. Leah was already a good ten yards downstream, scrambling onto another wider timber. She was right; it had fallen almost exactly like a bridge across the water. Here the river was narrower, water rushing all the faster. And on the opposite side, where the limb was a few feet short of reaching the bank, was a small rock face—a short three-foot vertical rise. They’d have to jump. Matt saw it was still covered with snow—a shaded spot the sun never hit.

  The log was spongy under his hands, cold and furred with army green moss. Matt pushed down twice, testing his weight, but a sudden roar behind him sprung him forward, and he came down hard, crotching it. “Ugh!” He knew it would hurt like hell in two seconds, but he didn’t wait to feel it. The smell was suddenly on him, behind him. Her. The she-bear. A muggy, tangy smell of animal fur and mud with a sour garbage stench of breath. He crawled forward, inching like a worm. He squeezed his knees and ankles around the log, but after a few feet toward the middle his right foot slipped and fell down in the water. Instantly his leg was pulled under the log, and the sensation was not unlike a burn or an electric shock. He gasped, jerking his leg back in reflex, and almost tipped over to the other side.

  He scootched forward a few more feet before he dared look back. The bear, now with its front paws up on the timber, watched him, tiny amber eyes glittering with interest and frustration. The log was too narrow for it to walk across. As he stared back, the long, slavering tongue rolled out of its mouth like an unfurling flag. The bear licked its muzzle, panted, and took a step into the water, never once taking its eyes off him. The current surged to its chest. If the water was too cold for the bear, it didn’t show it.

  Oh my God, he thought. She’s going to swim out here and rip me open like that bag of beef jerky. He didn’t wait to see what the bear would do next, but humped forward on his butt, hugging the limb with his thighs until he reached the middle.

  “Matt! C’mon!” Leah was poised at the edge of the timber, like a frog squatting on her hands and feet, ready to spring to the rock wall.

  “Leah, wait for . . .”

  She jumped.

  Me.

  The log bounced, rolling sideways as she vaulted off, and he lurched back, overcorrecting as his gloved fist punched the surface. When he managed to pull himself back upright, Leah was clinging to the rock like a bug.

  She made it.

  But when she reached up, her right boot slipped. Her fingers missed the handhold.

  Shit!

  Leah hit the water with a loud splash. Her red hair swirled in the foam momentarily before disappearing under the surface.

  “Leah!” Matt saw her coat, then her head and arms rise, but the current rushed her past the log, spinning her sideways underneath the branches. He swiped his hand as she flew past, but he was too far to reach her. “Leah!” Flashes of red, blue, and green; she came up spluttering, hair plastered across her mouth, then dunked under again. Her pack! Matt swiveled frantically on his seat as she clawed at the surface. Her pack is pulling her down. He needed to get off the log if he was going to accomplish anything useful.

  He pushed up to standing, running down the rest of the log like a lumberjack, jumping the split second he felt himself begin to slide. It was a good leap and the rocks were slick with damp, but he jumped high enough that his chest cleared the top of the bank. He threw himself forward hard, looking for anything to grab. He heard another angry bawl as he landed, his eyes flicking back once to see the bear where he’d just been, paws up on the timber. It snorted once, as if in disgust, and retreated back to its cub.

  Immediately he swung his legs around, rolling onto the snow, then popped up to his feet. Downstream he ran a twisting route around bushes and rocks, glancing at the rapids through the trees. Leah was stuck. He rounded an icy curve near the bank. Leah’s hands clawed at something he couldn’t see. He skidded down the bank, sitting down hard on a slick patch. He knew if he could find a spot near the water, he could haul her out.

  “Leah, hang on!” Her head was tilted back in the river, face ice pale, eyes wide and staring. She gulped her mouth like a fish, while an unending flood of water poured over it, choking her. She was trapped, and she would drown soon if he didn’t get her out. Matt forgot to care about the bear, or whether it cared about him. He forgot everything but Leah’s face.

  In two jumps he was down on the rocks, and he dropped onto his hands and knees. She was a few feet off the shore. The water wasn’t deep—not more than chest high—but she was caught, stuck against a large boulder. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled. Leah screamed, “My foot! My boot! I can’t pull it free!”

  “Can you turn it?” Matt asked, trying not to panic. “Wiggle it free?”

  “I . . . I c-can’t even feel it anymore.” Her lips were bloodless, stitched blue on the edges. “I can b-barely m-move.”

  Matt considered his options. And it became instantly clear he had just one: Get her free.

  If he didn’t, she’d die.

  Failure wasn’t an option.

  He didn’t want to remove his arm—it did a good job diverting the current, but already it was going numb. He couldn’t help her like this. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “I’ll fix this.”

  She nodded and took a few shuddering gasps. Her eyes were dark as ink, turning glassy and clouding up like marbles. I don’t have much time.

  He sc
anned the shoreline, finally locating something he could use. “Okay, hold your breath. Now!” He removed his arm; the current rushed in against her face. He pushed back and sprinted a few yards upstream. A blackened branch stuck out of the swirling eddy, and he pulled it free, satisfied to see it was big enough to do the job.

  He propped it back in front of Leah’s face, next to her cheek. “Here. Can you hold this?”

  “Yes,” she spluttered, then took a welcoming breath, holding it tight with her right hand. “Hurry, Matt.”

  “I will.” He pulled off his jacket, knowing what he needed to do, but suddenly questioning how or if he could. This is going to hurt. He stripped off his flannel, then his thermal shirt, kicking off his boots and pants as quickly as possible, until he was dressed only in boxers and his wool socks. Those he couldn’t remove—something about trying this in bare feet was just too horrifying. And going commando would be too embarrassing. Matt still had enough self-consciousness left to consider the effect of ice cold water on his groin.

  With gritted teeth he stepped in. First one leg, then the other, exhaling a stream of shits as the water rose over his thighs. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit. Everything hurt, but he had to take it, take it and put it away. He had a job to do.

  Inching in small movements toward Leah, he felt the rocks and pebbles and debris under his socked feet. He grabbed her shoulders, trying not to pass out in agony. “Wh-which leg is stuck?” He almost bit through his tongue, he shook so hard.

  “Left.”

  The near side. He ran his hand down, trying to ignore the icy blast of water striking the side of his head, so cold it burned, as if someone had smacked him with a sizzling frying pan. A small explosion detonated inside his eardrum, leaving it ringing. Down, down, down past her kneecap, her shin, and now he knew he had to go under to reach her ankle. By this time, he was hyperventilating, but he plunged his head under, eyes shut, feeling all the way to the suede of her boot. His fingers found the grommets and laces and then the section of her arch where it was wedged into a perfectly foot-shaped crack at the bottom of the rock. He tugged. Nothing, not even a wiggle. His fingers throbbed. He couldn’t hold it anymore; his air was gone.