by Nancy Radke
“Move,” Judd demanded, but Mary stared through him toward the edge of the cliff. Judd tried picking her up, but she was like a tent without a pole, and he quickly dropped her again.
The men milled around a moment, arguing over what to do when Ramone said, “Look there. He’s moving.”
Hope rose in Mary as the others hurried to the edge and looked over. “McLarren. You alive?” Judd shouted.
“I’m stuck. Someone’s got to come—”
“Oh, no, we’re not,” Judd muttered. He raised his voice and shouted, “We’ll throw you a rope. Work free.”
He removed the rope from his pack and tossed one end to Connor, then sat down to wait. Twenty minutes later, when Connor called out he was ready, the men hauled him back up the cliff and over the edge like a sack of equipment. He lay there, recovering, while Judd untied the rope.
“Hey, Mary,” Wes called. “Here’s lover boy.”
She had watched them pull him up, but was too overcome to do anything but nod. Without Connor, she would’ve stopped living. She’d have led them blindly off into the wilderness until they all died.
Motioning for the rope, she tied it around herself, then handed it to the men and waited while they tied on.
Connor gave her a thumb's up sign before he tied himself to the rope, but his face was haggard and strained, one side of it scraped raw, oozing blood. She tasted blood in her own mouth from biting down on her lower lip.
How would this end? She stared across the rugged mountain range. Would anyone ever find their bodies?
A half-hour later Mary was forced to halt. The amount of snow falling hadn’t changed, but the clouds had lowered to their level. White clouds, white snow. No distinction between sky and ground. She could barely see five feet in front of her. After Connor's near disaster, she wasn't going to push things. In the whiteout she could walk off a cliff.
It had been done before, by hikers who thought they knew these mountains. It didn't take much of a cliff to injure a person. Without a compass, she could go no further. She had already gone past the point when wisdom said, "Enough."
"What we stopping for?" Ramone, who walked right behind her, glanced around. "I don't see anything."
"Neither do I. We have to wait ‘till the clouds lift."
Judd was next in line and he stepped forward. "How long will that be?"
"Who knows in the mountains. It could be a few hours or a few days. You'll have to lengthen the time limit."
"Nothing doing. Three days. Period."
Despair mingled with anguish, gripping Mary's throat like a tight band of steel. "But we could be stuck here the entire three days. A week!" she protested. "It's not fair."
"Too bad."
Mary stared out into the falling whiteness. She could travel if she roped herself to the next person. And if she had a compass. Maybe she could keep checking the moss on the trees. No. She’d still travel in circles, just larger ones.
Frustrated, angry, ready to cry, Mary pushed aside the desire to travel blind. It was how people died.
Only a wind could move the clouds away, but the air remained as still as the inside of a crowded building. Mary removed her pack and slowly walked around, stamping out a site for her tent.
She had managed to bring them into the trees again before stopping. There was wood here, enough close by for a day. If the clouds didn't lift by then, they could move through the trees and set up camp further along, a short move each day to ensure plenty of fuel.
Actually, this snow would cover their tracks. If she and Connor could separate themselves from the group....
Her mind seized upon the idea eagerly. Yes! They could rope up, travel some distance, then wait until they could see again. It didn't matter which way they went. Roped up, Connor could keep her from falling off a cliff. Once the weather cleared, she could get her bearings and lead them back to the van. Or to the highway. Or anywhere.
They must watch for their chance.
"We might as well gather wood," she stated. "We may be here for a long time." On one of Connor's trips out, she’d try to join him, taking their packs if possible.
"How we gonna find our way back?" Wes asked, looking anxiously out into the swirling whiteness.
"Stay within shouting distance," Mary said, knowing that in the snow, shouting distance was much shorter than expected. Even gun shots would be muffled.
"Boss?" Wes asked, his fear of the woods manifesting itself any time they threatened to become separated.
Judd looked around, studying the situation. "Wait a minute. I gotta think about this." He looked from Mary to Connor, then back at her. "You'll stay in camp, both of you. Leave your pack on, McLarren. Wes, tie his hands. Better yet, tie Mary, too."
Mary watched with sinking hopes as Wes used the Velcro straps to tie Connor's hands down, then did the same to her. He pulled them roughly tight, then loosened them slightly. The Velcro had no stretch. It neither loosened nor tightened when Mary pulled against it. She could rip Connor's off, using her teeth. The noise might alert the others, but she could do it. They wouldn't have to go far, to get away in a white-out.
Judd set down his pack. "Two will gather wood while the other two set up camp. We'll rotate every few trips."
"But how’ll we keep from stepping off a cliff? She didn't want to do that, herself," Wes said.
"Use the ropes," Ira suggested. "We can follow them back, no matter how far out we go. And tie their feet together while you're at it, Wes."
Mary's final hopes vanished. Wouldn't these four make a mistake, even once? One little mistake, that she and Connor could take advantage of?
Connor saw the spark leave Mary's eyes. He knew what she had been thinking, for his thoughts had run along the same lines. It would be easy to "disappear" into the snowy whiteness. They would have their boots and coats on and would be able to travel to the nearest road once the whiteout lifted.
But that route had been cut off. Unable to move to Mary, he gave her an encouraging nod of approval and wiggled his foot thoughtfully against the strap holding it.
He might be able to use the Velcro straps himself— not now, but later. Judd had been leaving them fastened to Connor’s pack when not in use. If he left all four in Connor's possession tonight, they would try fastening the snowshoes to their stocking feet. If it worked, they could roll up their bags and leave. Of course, they’d have to wait until after one of the nightly inspections.
The whiteout lasted all day and into the night... and Judd took their snowshoes into his tent.
As he handed Judd their coats and boots, Connor bit back his disappointment. It had been a long day, waiting, staring into the silent whiteness, knowing that time was passing and they weren't getting anywhere. Two days already gone. Tomorrow night he’d lose a finger.
There didn't seem to be any way to prevent it.
The light from the campfire cast a golden glow on Mary as she sat upright in the tent, her sleeping bag wrapped around her, silent, head down.
"I've never been in a real white-out before," Connor said, sinking to his knees beside her. "It's like being in thick fog."
"Uh huh. It makes you feel as if you— or your small group— are the only ones on earth. It's especially devastating if you’re lost."
"This is almost the same way our parents met. What was he like, your father?"
A look of remembrance shone in her eyes. "Very generous and giving. Sensitive." She paused, a wisp of a smile lifting the corner of her lips. "And yet he was a man's man. A lot like you in many ways. You’d have liked him."
"So my mother said."
"What’s she like?"
"Well, I think she's wonderful. She's a hard worker, quiet, overly-generous." He sat down on his sleeping bag. "She hasn't had it easy. When I was thirteen, my father died in a car crash. It took him instantly, but left my younger brother in a coma for seven months before he passed away."
"Oh, no!"
&nb
sp; "Emotionally it devastated her, but it also wiped out our savings. Mom had to scrape for every penny. She never complained, but I remember resenting what had happened to us, and feeling guilty I hadn’t done more for my brother. I never played with him or had any time for him.
“Soon after I reached eighteen, I went to Annapolis on a scholarship. The Navy gave me money to send her, plus a college degree."
"Wasn't she lonely though, after you left?"
He could hear the wistful tone in Mary's voice and knew she had put herself in his mother's place. He hadn’t considered his mother's loneliness, only the fact that he could help her financially. "Yes, for a while. But two years ago she started writing about a man she had met. They were planning to marry."
"Did they?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. She just stopped writing about him. She was never much on letters." Connor frowned. He should have shown more interest in his mother’s life.
Mary hugged her knees. "Why haven't you married?"
"I never found anyone I wanted to share my life with. She’d have to be special, someone I don't want to leave. And I'd want to know she'd be there when I got back home. That her wedding promises meant something."
"Like yours would."
"Uh huh." Connor had had the chance, several times, to ask a woman to marry him. But he hadn’t been ready to make a vow of commitment that would be for life.
He viewed Mary from behind lowered lids and caught his breath as the power of her beauty hit him like a rifle shot. He could make that vow to her, honestly, and without reservation.
He started to speak and stopped. What could he say?
Leaning forward he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. Next, he stroked a finger across the cushion of her hair, fragrant with the smell of wood smoke and as soft as the soundless snowflakes that floated from the sky.
Her lips opened slightly in a gentle smile, making his heart quicken in response. He tucked her hair aside so that he could taste the sweetness of her ear, let his breath fan across the purity of her cheek. The feel of her fingers on his skin, brushing across his neck, affected him more than the accomplished touch of any woman he had ever known.
He knew when a woman was receptive to him, and Mary was. Her tongue moistened her lips, as her eyes shyly sought his. Had there ever been a man in her life?
Connor stopped his searching hand. He had to be extraordinarily careful what he did around her. Mary, like a tiny bird, quivered against him. She had enough to fear. If he made her afraid of him....
He couldn't do that. In this time of danger, she needed someone to whom she could turn.
Her response had to be heightened by the situation. It just had to be. Everything he had read about hostage situations cautioned him against taking advantage of Mary's helplessness.
If hostages could form such close bonds with their captors that they wouldn't even try to escape, then the bond Mary formed with him might also be questionable.
Mary would come to him, if he coaxed her, even a little. She was as vulnerable as a babe in arms. She depended on him. And he couldn’t break that trust. Frustrated, he took hold of the zipper tab on her bag, sliding it slowly down and back as he fought for control.
30
Fascinated, Mary lowered her gaze to watch as Connor slid the zipper of her sleeping bag slowly up and down. It was like the long zip of an evening gown and with her vivid imagination she could almost feel it slide down past her warm skin, feel the coolness of the night air as the material parted.
She loved Connor, yet when his hand had stroked across her neck, cold fear clutched her heart. Had he noticed her stiffen? Was that why he had shifted position?
She felt safe with him, yet she couldn’t get past the terrible images that overpowered her mind whenever any man touched her. The only boy she had ever gone out with in high school had considered her crazy when she had screamed in terror.
The men who had repeatedly and brutally raped her mother had at the same time raped Mary's mind. Even movie love scenes made her nauseous. The violent specter of her mother's murder overshadowed her. It might always keep her from ever accepting love.
She lifted her hand from where it clung to the back of his neck and smoothed it across the blackness of his beard. No longer prickly, it was becoming as soft as silken embroidery threads. Slightly wavy. Left to grow, it’d turn into a handsome beard, black and thick.
"Don't."
She yanked her hand away. "Why? What's...?"
"It feels good, Mary. Too good. I can't—"
A yell, loud and outraged, sounded from the other tents, and both Connor and Mary jerked to attention. Mary, closer to the door, unzipped it to look out at the general confusion.
In the whiteout Judd had pitched his tent too close to a heavily laden tree. It had buried him and Wes. Ramone and Ira were busy digging them out.
"A snow bomb," she said. "Serves them right."
The commotion had destroyed the closeness between them, bringing her back to the reality of their situation. Without their boots, they couldn’t make an escape attempt while the men were occupied, so she curled up to try to sleep.
“We have to keep clearing the snow off the tent. Three inches is enough to suffocate those inside," she warned him. "If you have an alarm on your watch, set it.”
“I do.”
“I'll set mine, too, as a back-up, and we'll clear it every two hours. If it starts to fall harder, we'll need to clear it more often."
Late next morning Connor stepped outside, hoping Judd's men had allowed the snow to cover their tents. No such luck. They looked like they had been up all night, fighting the sagging tents. It didn't make their tempers any better, and Judd snarled his displeasure about everything. To make matters worse, Ramone and Wes, deprived of nicotine, acted more and more surly.
A slight wind stirred the clouds, gaining power, slowly but steadily. It was past ten before the clouds lifted. It gave Ira time to repair Judd's tent pole with a branch, whittled to fit into the hollow shaft of the broken pole and extend it out. The men used the time to dry and bandage their feet better. Connor checked his feet. They were doing better than his wrists.
Soon after they broke camp the wind grew stronger, the clouds racing across the sky as if intent on covering as much expanse as possible. The trees swayed gently at first, then the front hit, crashing into the mountainside with an audible boom.
Mary stopped in a sheltered area and Connor made sure their tent was safely pegged down. The wind tore furiously at the thin fabric, howling like an angry child denied a toy and whipping the trees to and fro, making them drop their burdens of ice and snow. Branches snapped and one tree split in half with a resounding clap like a gunshot, sending its top crashing into the others.
Connor turned to Mary, worried that the violence might upset her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she answered, tossing back her head so he could see the delight in her eyes. "I like storms. I always have. Don't ask me why, but they seem to clean things as they go. The speed of the wind, the crashing of the trees— something in me cries 'more, more.'"
"Just like me. You'd make a great airman. That's what it's like to fly."
"Maybe so. I want to race with a storm, to run, to be free. Storms have never frightened me."
Later that night as Connor knocked the snow off the tent, he considered what Mary had said. Did she respond to storms in this way as a release from the emotions that boiled within her?
Like the storm, his emotions were in turmoil. The longer he knew Mary, the deeper his feelings for her. She was becoming everything to him. He knew it wasn't wise to allow this to happen, but he could no more help falling for Mary than he could stop breathing.
The storm blew over by noon the next day and Mary pushed forward at a trot. Connor kept up with no problem, for Judd had strapped his upper arms to his body, but left his hands free— probably wanting to avoid
a reoccurrence of his near fatal fall.
The group had only traveled a half-hour when they left the woods abruptly and climbed out onto a ridge, heavily laden with fresh snow.
The wind had piled it onto the leeward slope, leaving behind a solid surface easy to walk on. The new snow— about five feet of it— had covered the old, hard snow. Mary stopped to study out the best route, and as he waited, Connor looked across the country. A blanket of white now extended westward across the greater Seattle area and as far north and south as he could see. He was glad Mary knew these mountains well. They all looked alike to him, especially covered with the heavy snowfall. It had to be around twelve feet deep at this point.
Ahead of him, Mary pointed to the long cracks showing in the hard crust. "We'll need to stay away from the cornice," she remarked.
Mary crossed the ridge first, well back from the edge, then Judd and Ramone. Connor came next, walking carefully in her footsteps. The edge was a good ten feet away from where he trod, but he wasn't about to leave her trail. She had proven herself an expert in these matters.
"Look-it!" It was Wes, carrying the rifle, who had stopped to point something out to Ira. The two stepped closer to the edge.
"What are they doing?" Mary exclaimed. "Get back!"
Ignoring her, Wes raised the AK-47 and fired several shots toward the valley floor... and the cornice collapsed under them.
The two were gone so fast, so silently, Connor blinked in disbelief. Any echoes from the shots were drowned out seconds later by the avalanche's roar.
With a shout, Judd and Ramone ran out as far as they dared, trying to see over the edge as the cloud of snow boiled up from the other side of the ridge.
Connor wasted no time. Judd's deadly rifle was gone, swept away with Ira and Wes. He sidestepped to Mary.
"Untie me," he whispered urgently.
Her gaze swung up to his, startled. "What?"
"Untie me!"
"Oh." She reached out and yanked the Velcro free, the ripping sound covered by the noise of the avalanche.