by E. R. Mason
Cassiopia slept longer than planned. Darkness had summoned another long, impossibly cold night, but somehow in the early morning hours, she had drifted off into a better sleep. Maybe it was the lower altitude. She crawled over Markman and freed the bottom of the tarp to slip out.
It was a new day. Looking back in the direction they had come, the gaping crevice seemed to salute her. For the first time, the clouds had lifted, leaving sharp blue sky in every direction. Long morning shadows from snow-covered peaks cast dark columns across the wide, white valley that awaited them. There was a new smell in the air, evergreen. Cassiopia touched her forehead and wiped frost from above her eyes. A strange calm in the wind seemed to anticipate her conquest of the mountain.
The way ahead was steep and well defined but led to new challenges. The ledge headed downward so sharply she would have to guide the sled from behind to avoid being run over and losing control. The path appeared to follow the cliff wall for about a half mile, then began to gradually narrow, ending when it became part of a very long hillside that dropped sharply down and leveled at the canyon floor. The long slope of the hillside looked like a skier’s best dream, steep near the top, then gradually curving up into a fast downhill run. Cassiopia began gathering her things and packing them. Nothing seemed to wake Markman this morning. It worried her. When the sled was loaded, she pulled it from the alcove and lined up along the ledge. She strapped on her harness but did not hook up. Holding to the front lines, she dragged the sled in increments until it bordered the steep ramp down. At the back of the sled, she fastened wire rope and pulled on each side to be sure some degree of steering was available. Markman did not budge. His eyes did not open.
As the sled moved down the new ramp, Cassiopeia’s lines pulled tight. She had to lean back sharply to hold her own. One awkward step at a time, she maneuvered down the ledge. The point where the trail gave way to the hillside was only about one hundred feet away now and quickly growing nearer. A few yards farther down, Cassiopia’s feet slipped out from under her and she fell in the track of the sled. Keeping tension on the line, she regained her feet and recovered. After an exhausting battle of slipping and sliding, they neared the narrowest part of the ledge. They could go no further. The slide down the steep snow-covered hillside was unavoidable.
Cassiopia had no tricks left in her bag. She would not be able to control the sled down the hill. Markman remained sleeping or unconscious, which made little difference since he would have no control, as well. Without the sled, she could probably work her way down safely, but could she bring herself to let him free-slide down?
The hillside looked smooth. There were no rock outcroppings visible, but it was a very long, deep hill. The sled would reach a high speed, and if it flipped or crashed, that would be unthinkable.
There was no choice. Cassiopia fished her homemade snowshoes from the supplies and rotated the sled toward the downhill. She knelt beside Markman and kissed his cold cheek. She hugged him and thought a silent prayer. With gentle manipulation, she guided the aircraft aluminum over the rounded side of ledge, aimed it as best she could, and reluctantly allowed it to pull away.
The sled dove. The curled front end plowed into the white powder, resurfaced and plowed in again. The tail came around as though it would pass the front, but the hill was too steep and the snow too deep. It straightened out and picked up speed as the slope curved into a downhill run. Traveling at a good clip, it again turned sideways, kicking up a wave of white, then lined up the front end and accelerating even more. After a few seconds of straight downhill, it again began to rotate sideways, and this time did not stop. It spun a complete one hundred and eighty degrees and ran down the hill backward, dropping off pieces of clothing as it went. As the back of the sled accumulated snow, the rotation began once more. Cassiopia gasped and held her hand to her mouth as Markman spun in circles down the base of the hillside. As the grade began to level, the sled righted itself again, and slid gently to a stop, far in the distance.
Cassiopia wanted to cheer but found her mouth too dry. She held her throat and stared intently to see if Markman had awakened. There was no movement. She collected herself, keeping an eye on him. The snowshoes were easy to strap on, the wire loops closed nicely around her upholstery boots. She stood and stomped around in them a few steps to test their mobility. No problem. She went to the side of the drop-off, and carefully positioned one foot over the edge in the snow. Cautiously, she brought the next shoe over to position it beside the first. She never made it.
Cassiopia flailed her arms wildly in a windmill and went over backward. She tumbled and rolled down the mountainside like an extreme skier who had lost a ski at the very top of the hill. She continued down, sometimes rolling and rolling, occasionally head over heals, other times in a swan dive. Near the crest at the bottom of the hill, she went into a face-first slide and completed her indignant run with her head buried in a pile of accumulated snow.
With an appropriate pause for dignity, she pushed herself up onto her hands and looked around. Adding insult to injury, a snowshoe slid past her on the left and continued without her. A moment later, the other passed by, as well. She pushed up into a sitting position and searched for injury. There did not seem to be anything new. She climbed to her feet and inspected all the moving parts. Everything seemed in working order. Markman was one hundred feet ahead, still not moving. She brushed herself off and sunk into the deep snow on her way to him. He seemed okay. The supplies on the sled were disheveled, but except for a few pieces of clothes, everything was still there. She stood and looked out across the landscape. Immediately a new flush of hope filled her. Not far ahead, there were trees, and beyond the trees a river of running water. She turned to look for the snowshoes and realized she was completely exhausted. Though the fall down the hillside had not injured her, it had taken what strength she had left. She collapsed alongside the sled and leaned against Markman’s sleeping form. Gently she opened one of his eyes. The dilation seemed fixed and unnatural. It frightened her. She pushed herself up and staggered around to regain her snowshoes. With them securely reattached to her feet, it took only a few steps to realize they worked well. She reconnected the sled to her harness and looked ahead to choose a path. Thankfully, it was still a gentle downhill grade. The river sounded promising. Society considered rivers to be a desirable asset. Following it downstream would almost certainly lead to civilization if she could just keep going.
Cassiopia leaned forward and tugged on the sled. It did not budge. She lunged forward, and it pushed up onto the snow and followed. It did not require any additional strength. It was just that she had grown weaker. She trudged forward, gaining a few dozen yards, and stopped to rest. The gentle slope she was traversing was cooperative. In several places, Markman’s sled took off slowly on its own and coasted downward, leaving her to gradually catch up and reconnect. After two hours of pulling, falling down, and crawling along, they reached the border of the rushing water. Cassiopia wrestled the sled into alignment and looked ahead. There were more trees, and snow-capped underbrush in places.
At the edge of the thickening woodland, she dragged the sled within the forest and found a place in a clearing where branches and brush would support the tarp for shelter. There was daylight left, but there was no strength to take advantage of it. With her tarp enclosure constructed, and Markman moved in, she looked ahead at the woods that bordered the river. It looked like a trail or path could possibly be just beyond, but she did not care. She could barely think at all. She struggled to hammer her fire piston and coax its precious embers to flame, as a light snow began to fall. When the trusty oil stove came to life, she once again buried herself in covers with Markman and prayed he would hold on. It did not occur to her that she needed help as much as he.
Chapter 8