“Dammit!” He sprayed at the surface. “It’s really stuck in there!”
Leah coughed. “N-no s-shit.”
Already she’d been in the water for five minutes, maybe closer to ten. He had to get her out soon or it would be too late. Drowning, he now understood, was no longer the problem.
All her clothes. All her stuff was wet. He pulled the pack off her shoulders and tossed it onto the bank, giving him a bit more room to maneuver. “Let me try something else.” Another gulp of air and he went back down, this time forcing himself to keep his eyes open. It hurt like hell. Grit, sand, dirt, leaves whirled around him, up his nose and in his mouth, but he could see a little, enough to make out the metal grommets sparkling like small silver coins in the dim water.
If he could unlace the boot, she could pull her foot free. The laces were double tied and soaked through, but miraculously he pulled the right lace, releasing the knot. His fingers fumbled, clumsy and dense with cold, but he loosened the laces, unwinding them from the metal side hooks. It was done.
He came up gasping. “Can you wiggle it now? I unlaced it!”
“I . . .” Leah’s eyes rolled back in her head like a broken doll’s. “Am I? I c-can’t f-feel . . .”
“Leah!” He was losing her.
He dived down again and grabbed her shin, then her ankle, and gave it one hard, wrenching twist, deciding it was better to have a broken foot than a dead body. He shook it, turned it, but found he did not have much leverage in the water. His body kept rising. He pulled her sock, making more space to pivot her foot. An inch was all he needed. Half an inch. A centimeter. Something. Another jerk. Her heel slipped up, popping out the back of her boot, and then the rest followed. When he resurfaced holding the boot, Leah was floating on her back, staring wide-eyed into the cloudy sky.
She had been in the water too long. Way too long.
With hands stiff with cold he managed to pull her out and up the shore. “Leah! C’mon! Walk!” He had to get her into dry clothes. “I need to get you out of this,” he explained stupidly, tugging off her sopping wet jacket. Her pack was soaked through, along with everything in it. “I’ll put you in my clothes.”
Great idea, Matt. He shook his head. What the hell are you going to wear?
He did have a change of clothes, plus extra, in his pack, which meant he’d have to go back across the river, which meant he had to go back to the bear.
“Leah? Can you help me here?” It was like trying to undress a giant, shifting bag of potatoes. Finally, he peeled away her sodden hooded sweatshirt, then thermal shirt. Underneath was a hot pink tank top with small print scrawled across her chest. He looked closer at the sentence: Stop staring at my tits! He almost laughed, but he was shivering so hard it sounded more like a cackle. Black sports bra underneath that, and Matt’s cheeks were now the only warm thing on his body—his groin still frozen numb. Eventually he got it all off, then put his clothes on her as quickly as possible. She never spoke, but Matt heard the constant clicking her teeth made.
“Leah, I need you to help me.” He sat her down and began to remove her socks, before he realized his were soaking wet as well. “I have to go back for my pack.” He squeezed her feet between his hands. “I have more dry stuff. We’re gonna need it.” He hoped the bear hadn’t also eaten his clothes or ripped them to shreds in a fit of rage.
She nodded, glassy eyed, and he had no clue for the treatment of hypothermia other than what he was doing now. Dry clothes. Get her warm. Maybe he could make a fire, but he didn’t have matches or a lighter, and even if he did, he doubted there was any dry wood. Everything was going from bad to worse to futile right in front of him.
But first things first. Get the pack, he thought, gritting his teeth. Then go from there.
His feet ached, toes cramped into painful curls that refused to straighten. He stripped off his wet socks, wrung them out, then forced himself to stuff his bare feet into his Merrells. Compared to the icy ground, the warmth of the boots was so amazing he almost cried. What was it the Buddhists say? Happiness is only the absence of suffering? That sounded about right.
Leah was sitting cross-legged on the ground, attempting to get out of the rest of her wet clothes. Matt took her movement as a good sign. And he really, really needed a good sign right now.
“Put these on.” He handed her his corduroys. “They’re big but they’re dry.” He turned away to give her privacy, and stared down into the gloom on the opposite bank where the bear had been but saw nothing. “I’m going to get the rest of my stuff. Be right back.”
He thought he must have looked insane. He was almost completely naked, crawling across a log over a river. But he hoped he looked just crazy enough to frighten away whatever might be watching him from the trees.
For whatever reason, going across the log was much easier and faster the second time. When he landed on the opposite bank, he slid off the log, dropping into a wary squat. He kept his eyes on the bushes. The bear could be hiding back there with its cub, ready to charge him again. But Matt didn’t have time to be cautious.
Scattered in the dirt twenty feet away, he saw his ripped-open pack, reflective piping glowing in the shadows. He crept forward, his heart pounding so loud in his ears it even drowned out the sound of the river. Stuff was everywhere. He gathered his dirty clothes, and then crunched something with his boot. Beer cans—punctured open and completely drained. Same for everything else that was edible. Every scrap of food was gone, leaving only plastic slivers of packaging.
Hurriedly, he pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt, another plaid flannel, and topped it with a sweatshirt. He replaced his soaked boxers with a previously worn pair, as well as two pairs of used socks and the sweatpants he’d slept in the previous night. Then his dark gray polar fleece zip-up, an extra hat, and set of gloves. He was wearing almost everything he had, and he scavenged around for anything else he could see, quickly stuffing it back in the pack. Though the bag was scarred with claw marks and smeared with bear spit, the zipper still closed.
He checked the ground one more time, looking for anything useful he might have missed. There was a bit of garbage on the ground, and he realized if someone saw it they might figure out they had been here. It gave Matt an idea. He quickly went to work arranging the trash in a design, knowing it had to look intentional. A few minutes later he’d crafted a crude-looking arrow out of dented beer cans, plastic jerky packaging, and several foil scraps that remained from the Twix bar. Then he quickly crawled over the river a third time. He knew they wouldn’t be able to travel right now, especially not in the condition they were in.
“Leah?” He inched along the bank, trying not to trip. “Where are you?”
No answer.
Farther down, he made out a shaking lump. She hadn’t moved from the spot where he’d left her, and he grabbed her wet pack and lifted her up by her armpits. She shook so violently he could barely guide her up the bank. “We’ve got to get you warm,” he said quietly. “We need to find shelter.”
He debated making an igloo, but there was not nearly as much snow here. Less than a foot on the ground, bare in many spots, and no deep drifts to speak of. He guided her to a large, dark shape. Another huge pine tree, dead and rotting on the ground. It would make a good wall, and he looked around for more branches. “Sit here.” Her wet hair felt crunchy. Doesn’t most heat leave the body through the head? Matt put his fleece hat on her, pulling it down over her ears. What was that saying? Head. Torso. Hands. Feet. He put the extra set of gloves on her, then dug around for another pair of socks, putting the least scuzzy ones on her feet. He didn’t put her boots back on; they were soaked. Instead he used his own; he put on his sport sandals. He hadn’t remembered to take them out of his pack the day before, and now was thankful he hadn’t.
Matt turned Leah’s wet boots upside down, propping them at an angle to dry. “Can you warm yourself up?” he asked. “Do some jumping jacks?”
She didn’t seem to hear him, but gaped blankly
at the dark woods, shivering.
He went through her supplies, which were mostly wet clothes, and pulled out the tarp and rope, trying to engineer a tent. Sid would know how to do that, he thought. But Sid wasn’t here. He did find matches, but they were soggy and useless. There was a pair of snowshoes and he put those on, jerry-rigging the straps so they’d stay put around his sandals.
“Try to keep moving,” he told her. “I’m going to build a shelter.”
TONY
Location: Tent at abandoned NFS cabin, Arapaho National Forest
Elevation: 9,000 feet
“Hurry!” Tony sprinted uphill, hit a deep drift, and collapsed forward, only to pop back up to greet the rescue team, which consisted of a lone skier coming down through the trees much too slowly for Tony’s liking. “We’re here! Hurry!” he barked.
And then he was there, towing a long sled behind him. “How many in the party?” The man removed his ski mask and exhaled a controlled breath.
“Four! No! Three!”
“Let’s try again,” the man replied in a calm voice, examining Tony as if he was a new psychiatric patient. “How many are here?”
“Three! One badly hurt. Chest injury.”
The man barely reacted, only wiping at the crystallizing frost on his dark beard, then unhitched himself from the sled. It was bright orange, like a life raft, with black nylon straps crisscrossed on the top. “Where is he?”
“This way!” Tony flapped his arms like a frightened goose, but in reality he was relieved. Holding it together through all the hours of the night had taken their effect, and now the panic was finally coming out. Sid had stopped breathing for only a few seconds, but then the subsequent knowledge that Julie had left (with Carter’s phone no less) had nearly sent Tony over the edge of reason. He didn’t dare dwell on what might have happened if he hadn’t checked on Sid when he did. As it was, Tony had done mouth-to-mouth resuscitation breaths, checking Sid’s pulse after every third one. It remained, but faint, and Carter explained that he’d have to do chest compressions if Sid’s pulse disappeared, which would have resulted in more broken ribs in the best-case scenario. The worst would be Carter accidently killing him.
After the longest, most excruciating minute of Tony’s life, Sid resumed his whispery breaths, and Tony knew the rescue crew hadn’t arrived a moment too soon.
The man crouched over Sid, taking a quick inventory, then looked up at Tony. His eyes were dark, at the same time bright and piercing like a bird’s. “What happened, exactly?”
“He hit a tree.” Tony twisted his hat in his hands; he didn’t like the look the man was giving him. Too serious. Dead serious, thought Tony. “There was an avalanche.” He stopped speaking then, too nauseated to explain what had become of Dylan. He hadn’t really let himself think about it until now. Death had never been something to think about. Who was he kidding? In seventeen years he’d thought of it once—the time he flew off the swings and landed flat on his back, the oxygen blowing out of his lungs with such force that the pain made him unable to cry out. All he could do was gasp like a fish on the ground, and he wondered if Sid felt that now. If he had felt it all night. Now death was like a headache that refused to fade. It grew inside his head like a tumor, clinging to every thought and idea.
“We saw the slide when we flew over.” The man nodded at Carter, who wore a stricken look, as if in physical pain. “You two okay?”
Carter opened his mouth, but Tony cut him off. “Yeah, we’re both okay.”
“Good.” The man pulled out a walkie-talkie from a side pocket. “I’ll let Ryan, the pilot, know. The Bell’s parked up above the tree line. About a mile up.”
“The Bell?” Tony asked.
“Bell 407. Helicopter.” He removed a bright red sack from the sled. “I need you two to help me with this vacuum splint.” He unfolded it; it looked to Tony like some sort of sleeping bag. “We’ll get him on this and get him immobilized.”
“Sid,” Tony said reflexively. “His name’s Sid. He’s my brother. I’m Tony. That’s Carter.”
“I’m Will,” the man replied as he spread the bag out on the ground. “Okay, Tony and Carter, we’ll do this on the count of three, all right?”
“Got it.” Tony watched Sid. His brother’s eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, and Tony tried to ignore the fact that he resembled a corpse, or that he could become one if they didn’t get him out of there. Tony squatted down, positioning himself with his hands around Sid’s ankles. Carter did the same with his shoulders. “I’m ready.”
They helped Will carefully slid Sid onto the bag. Will pulled open a valve on the bag’s side, inflating it. The red nylon puffed like a balloon around Sid, molding to his body.
“It’s like a giant bean bag,” Will explained, moving quickly as the bag solidified. Tony couldn’t help but admire the calmness exuding from Will. Will didn’t stutter, or hesitate, or panic, or raise his voice. He worked deliberately, tightening the nylon straps with a physical efficiency that was almost robotic. No movement wasted. “It will also help keep him warm. He needs to be off the snow.”
“We had him in the tent last night,” Carter said. “On a cot.”
“Good thinking.” Will nodded. “Okay, let’s move him onto the sled.”
When they lifted Sid again it was much easier, and Will helped them place him properly on the sled. “Now we have to ski back up,” he said, attaching a towline to a carabiner on his belt. “I hope you guys have enough energy left.”
“What about Julie?” Carter asked. “We can’t leave without her!”
“Who?” Will turned around, stared at them dispassionately, checking them over as if doing a head count. “I thought you said three.”
“We had four,” Tony said, suddenly angry that Carter was wasting time. “Actually, we had seven.”
“What?” Will was incredulous. “Where are they?”
“Dylan was the one buried in the avalanche,” Carter explained. “Matt and Leah left to call for help. My sister Leah?” He looked sick at the mention of her name. “Did you got their call?”
“Yes, we got a call.” Will considered this, looking hard at Tony. “Are they still out there?”
“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, flustered at the idea that Matt and Leah hadn’t been found. They had apparently gotten the call through. Why hadn’t they made it back? “Didn’t you see them from the air?”
“It’s hard to find people out here. Especially if they’re in the woods,” Will said. “And this Julie. Why did she leave this morning?”
“She didn’t want to wait for help, I guess,” Tony said. He wasn’t about to try to explain the fight.
“Shit fuck,” Will breathed. He shook his head at Tony. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” He pulled his ski mask down and grabbed his poles. “Your brother needs to be in a hospital, on the operating table. And he needed to be there yesterday.” He tugged the towline as he started forward. “The ground crew already started searching a few hours ago, so I’ll let them know about her. They’ll have a good idea of where to look.”
“We can’t leave her out here!” Carter protested. He seemed surprised by Tony’s indifference. “What’s the matter with you?” he yelled at Tony.
“What’s the matter with me? Nothing! I didn’t leave!”
“What did you say to her?” Carter’s green eyes sparked.
“Nothing! I didn’t say a damn thing! I was sleeping!” Tony shot back. “Besides, she took your phone!”
Carter ignored that information. “Julie!” he screamed. “Where are you?”
“Let’s calm down,” Will commanded. “I need your help with this, all right?” He didn’t wait for their answer, but started the long, arduous climb back up the mountain. “They are searching the area east of Berthoud Pass even as we speak. They have snowmobiles and hikers, a whole search party out there. Your friend Julie’s on her own for now.”
“I’ll stay back and wait for her,” Carter argued. �
��Why she left . . .” Carter cleared his throat. “I . . . I’m part to blame. I have to wait for her!”
“No way!” Will was firm. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“Carter,” Tony pleaded. “We can’t stay. I can’t stay. Julie will be fine for a few hours. Really.”
Carter turned away, his shoulders shook for a few seconds, but then he straightened up, resigned. He nodded, wiped his eyes, and took his spot next to the sled.
“All right,” Will said. “Now, let’s move!”
MATT
Location: Crude shelter, southeast of unknown river
Elevation: 9,000 feet
Matt had never built anything in his life, except maybe for Lego sets. A castle. A fire station. The Millennium Falcon. But he’d always followed the instructions, never deviating or getting creative. But he was going to have to get creative now. He tromped some distance away in the snowshoes, eyes out for decent-size branches and rocks. He worked fast, but was awkward in the snowshoes and his bare fingers were clumsy with cold. He knew it was bad when he smashed his thumb with the edge of a rock, but only noticed the injury when a dark smear of blood appeared on his palm. He jogged back and forth, collecting as much as he could carry, using the rocks as a base support for the biggest branches, which he stood upright like tent poles. He packed the wet snow around them to cement them in place. Finished with the frame, he ran the length of rope around the poles to make a lopsided rectangle, and using the back of the fallen log as a wall, he draped the tarp over. It was wide and long enough to reach the ground on the other side.
It was small, but big enough. After he unrolled his sleeping bag under the tarp, he helped Leah crawl in, pulling his pack behind him to block the opening. Already, it was warmer.
“Feeling better?” Matt asked. They were packed in tight and despite his numb feet and face, he was almost on the verge of breaking a sweat. But his hands were wretched, bloody, and practically paralyzed. He tucked them under his sweatshirt and shuddered. His fingers felt like ice cubes against the heat of his stomach.
Avalanche Page 13