Return to Dyatlov Pass

by J. H. Moncrieff

  Inside, Nat was struck by the smell of her. Not the sickening decay she’d experienced earlier, but the scent of a healthy, living woman who’d favored jasmine soap. Tears burned her eyes, but she forced them away. Focus. She soon saw that her instincts had been good but not great. Lana’s bag was slippery, but it was also cocoon-style. It didn’t fold flat and wouldn’t be large enough to hold the Russian.

  Holding the tent flap aside, she nearly ran smack into Steven.

  “Never mind—turns out Igor’s own bag is perfect. We can start rolling him onto it now,” he said.

  Nat steeled herself for the job ahead. “Is he okay?” she whispered. “I mean, obviously he’s not, but is there anything wrong with his body, anything I should know?”

  “He’s got a nasty wound across his abdomen. Some of his…insides were exposed. I did my best to put them back in the right place, and I packed the opening with some gauze, but once we have him safely in the ravine, he’s going to need stitches. And bandages. We might not have enough.”

  Swallowing hard, Nat ignored the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. “Okay. Anything else?”

  “That’s all I could see. His splint is gone, so I wouldn’t be surprised if his leg is rebroken, and there might be more nastiness going on internally, but if we get him to a place where we can give him some serious first aid, he might make it.”

  There were plenty of obstacles: the weather, the fresh snow, the challenge of carrying the Russian’s weight all that way, and the creatures, who could be anywhere. But the last thing Nat had expected was for Igor to be the most formidable.

  “No,” he said when he saw them coming with the bag. He shook his head, making his loose flesh wobble and spatter the snow with blood. “No, nyet.”

  “Come on, Igor. Don’t do this. We have to get you out of here.”

  Nat had never heard Steven sound so kind, so patient. Was this the same man who’d been determined to abandon Andrew?

  “No!” Igor’s protests echoed through the frigid air, and she cringed, expecting one of those appalling creatures to come charging through the forest at any moment. “Leave me.”

  She reached for his hand. He was frantic enough that she was worried he’d strike her, but he wrapped his fingers around her palm as if she were a lifeline. “Please, Igor, you have to help. We have to take you with us. We can’t just abandon you.”

  Tears streamed from his good eye. “Leave me. Please. You need to get out of here. You must go. Me, I am already dead.”

  Nat met Steven’s eyes. They couldn’t possibly transport the Russian if he wasn’t willing to cooperate. He had already suffered too much blood loss, too much shock. The stress of the moving alone could kill him; an out-and-out struggle would do him in.

  The mountaineer whistled under his breath. Looking into the distance, he grimaced. “Shit. We’re too late. Here they come.”

  Before she could move, Steven struck. As soon as Igor turned his head to look, the mountaineer got his arms around the man’s neck in a chokehold. The Russian’s eyes bulged and he clawed at Steven’s sleeves. For an agonizing second, Nat thought Igor would break free, but the man’s diminished strength worked in their favor. She stifled a cry as the Russian fell backward, unconscious.

  “Don’t just stand there, help me. We have to hurry. I’m not sure how long he’ll stay out.”

  Moving the unconscious Igor was like grappling with a life-size concrete statue. The two of them grunted and groaned until sweat poured down their faces, but finally they managed to roll the Russian onto his sleeping bag, trying to be as mindful of his wounds as possible.

  Mission accomplished, Nat collapsed onto the snow, panting. “Do you really think we’re going to be able to get him to the ravine?”

  Steven took her by the wrist, tugging her to her feet. “We have no choice. I’m not leaving him here. Once we get some momentum going, we should be fine.”

  Shouldering one of the team’s packs, he handed her another. As she slid it on, she couldn’t help but stare at the blanket-covered mound that was Andrew’s body.

  “I’m sorry,” Steven said, touching her arm. “There’s no time.”

  That wasn’t Andrew anyway, she told herself. It was only a shell, a shadow of the man she’d loved and would always love. The real Andrew had escaped this place. She hoped he’d landed somewhere good, where the drinks were strong and the men gorgeous.

  “Ready?” Steven gave her a corner of Igor’s sleeping bag.

  Wiping her eyes, she nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Hey, what’s going on? What are you guys doing?” They turned to see the Russian blinking at them, struggling to sit up.

  They froze, barely daring to breathe, and then Steven smiled.

  “We’re going on a little trip, buddy. We’ll be there soon. Go back to sleep, okay?”

  “Okay.” Igor slumped back on the sleeping bag, leaving Nat weak with relief.

  Steven’s grin vanished. “Let’s get moving. If he wakes up again, it might not be so easy.”

  Gritting her teeth, she put her weight into it, feeling herself falling backward. It was hopeless. The Russian was simply too heavy. The muscles in her arms strained past their limits, but finally the bag began to move.

  “Keep pulling,” Steven said. “If we stop, it’ll be that much harder to get going again.”

  She didn’t bother to respond. Even with the snowshoes, every step she took sank into the fresh powder before taking hold. It required an astonishing amount of energy to put one foot in front of the other. How would she make it to the ravine?

  Igor moaned, but thankfully remained unconscious. Was he sleeping, or had he passed out from the pain? She couldn’t survive another struggle with him or stand to hear his desperate pleas. After an interminable length of time, they at last reached the edge of the clearing. The path to the ravine lay before them, heaped with snow. She felt the urge to weep. There was no way they could carry Igor through this, no way. He was too heavy and they were too depleted.

  “Don’t stop, Nat. Keep going. We’re almost there,” Steven lied. “Just look at your feet. Focus on each step, and before you know it, this will be over.”

  The mountaineer wasn’t even out of breath. She would have hated him if she’d had the energy.

  Pull, slide. Pull, slide.

  After a treacherous moment when it appeared Igor’s sleeping bag would slip right off the path, they managed to get it moving again. Fortunately, it was a bit easier than traversing the campsite had been, but it was far from effortless. Nat’s breath came in short gasps that burned her lungs. Her hands shook, the sweat coating her fingers making it difficult to maintain her grip on the bag.

  Pull, slide. Pull, slide.

  “You’re doing great. Remember, we can’t let them win. We can’t. We can’t let them take another one of us without a fight.”

  She wheezed, wondering how Steven had enough wind left in him to be a cheerleader.

  His words echoed in her brain, becoming a chant. We can’t let them win. We can’t. We can’t let them win.

  In all the excitement, if she could call it that, she forgot about Lana until the smell hit. She’d forgotten to avert her eyes.

  The woman’s face was a swollen, mottled purple. Her hands were clenched as though she’d died in the middle of a boxing match, but the skin hung from her bones in shreds. Nat’s gorge rose before she could stop it, and she turned her head to the side, vomiting on the snow.

  “We can’t stop.” The urgency in Steven’s voice drove her forward. It bordered on shrill. “Don’t stop; keep moving.”

  Breathing through her mouth, Nat drove the grotesque image from her mind. That thing wasn’t Lana, like the body at the campsite wasn’t Andrew. Their friends were gone, safely away from here.

  “That—isn’t—her—Steven,” she said between gasps.

  His eyes narrowed, intent on the path ahead. “I know. Don’t think about it. Just keep moving.”

&nb
sp; So she did. She moved until every muscle in her legs, arms, and back screamed for mercy. She pulled until spots swarmed in front of her eyes and she felt she would faint. Sooner or later, she would faint. But until she fell unconscious on the snow, she wouldn’t give up. At some point, saving Igor had become everything. Steven’s conviction was contagious. She would not leave her friend at the snowmen’s mercy. He belonged with her.

  She hoped he’d live long enough to see the ravine.

  “Well done.”

  Weary, half snow-blind in spite of her sunglasses, Nat lifted her weary eyes to Steven. He raised an arm to hold her back, to halt her momentum. “You can stop pulling now. We’re here.”

  She gaped at the snow-covered valley before them. She would have never noticed it on her own, and if Steven hadn’t stopped her, she would have pulled Igor right off the ledge.

  Nat had to hand it to him. It was one hell of a good hiding place.

  “I’ll lower you down first. I’m going to need your help with Igor. You’ll have to catch his legs. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I hope so.” She felt limper than a used dryer sheet. She had nothing left, and yet she knew that’s when humans often showed the greatest resources of strength. Nat hoped she’d be one of them.

  Steven gestured to the hole he’d dug. In the glare of the still-bright sun, it wasn’t easy to find. Lowering herself to the ground, Nat resisted the urge to sleep, but instead wiggled backward until her feet dangled over the opening. Taking hold of her hands, the mountaineer lowered her into the ravine. She staggered when her feet hit the ground but managed to regain her balance before she fell. Scanning the cave for enemies, she sighed with relief when she saw their packs, and only their packs. What if the snowmen had been inside, waiting for them? It was a horrible thought.

  “You ready?”

  She wasn’t, but she agreed. What else could she do? They hadn’t come that far to leave the Russian outside.

  The circle of blue in the ceiling was blotted out by the black tread of a large ski boot. Nat caught a glimpse of Steven’s gloves as he shoved Igor’s other foot through the crack. Snow drifted down to frost her hair and face. She started when the coldness hit her neck, melting as it made contact with her bare skin.

  “Hold him around the calves, but be careful of the break. If he gets a good jolt of pain it could wake him up, and this would not be a good time for that.”

  Wrapping her arms around his legs, Nat held on with all her remaining strength, cautious of not applying pressure in the wrong place.

  “Okay, I’m going to lower him down. See if you can guide him into a prone position away from the entrance.”

  Igor’s weight was immense, but she was surprised to find she could support him. Before long, she was holding the Russian’s hips, and she could see Steven’s hands gripping Igor under the armpits.

  How on earth is he managing this? Just how strong was he?

  “You can let his good foot touch the ground to take some of the weight off, but not the bad one. Be careful.”

  Straining, she struggled under the Russian’s mass, with the absurd image of dancing with a gigantic doll running through her head. She kept her footing for a moment, but then Igor’s unconscious form fell forward, crushing her underneath him and forcing the air from her lungs.

  Steven was there in a flash, rolling the big man off her. “Are you all right?”

  She had to take several deep breaths before she could answer. “I think so. He just knocked the wind out of me.”

  “It’s getting late. The sun will set soon. I need to get rid of our tracks.” Steven cast a wary glance at the opening, and Nat noticed the shadows had grown longer.

  The idea of being left alone with Igor didn’t thrill her, but it was a necessary evil. The tracks were a beacon announcing their location.

  “Can you see to him while I’m gone?”

  The Russian’s breathing was frighteningly loud in the enclosed space. “How do you mean?”

  “You know, change his bandages, set up a bed of sorts, make sure he’s comfortable. Best to do everything while he’s unconscious so he won’t feel the pain.”

  Her stomach writhed, turning anxious somersaults. Now she was going to have to deal with something that would give a military medic pause. “Maybe I should get rid of the tracks. I don’t really know much about the first aid stuff.”

  “You know as much as I do. I’ve been making it up as I go along. Do the best you can, and be gentle.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his arm before he could pull himself through into the outside world. “Why can’t I be the one who goes, and you stay here?”

  “Because there’s always a chance whoever leaves won’t come back. And I’d rather that be me.”

  ~ Chapter Twenty-one ~

  They shared a cold dinner that night, splitting the contents of one of Joe’s last foil packets. Dehydrated food wasn’t so bad served cold. It was kind of like jerky. Crunchy jerky. By that time, Nat was so hungry she would have eaten almost anything. The wonderful meal they’d enjoyed in Vizhai had taken place a lifetime ago.

  Igor slept fitfully, his breath coming in painful-sounding snorts through his broken nose. They’d been unable to rouse him or get him to eat. Now that his face was clean and bandaged, it was easier to look at him without wincing, but any help she’d been able to give him was mostly cosmetic. For the Russian to survive, emergency medical treatment would be essential.

  “What if he doesn’t wake up?”

  Moistening his finger, Steven poked it into the corner of the foil packet to pull out the last bit of seasoning. “Honestly, it’s probably better for him if he doesn’t. I can’t imagine how much pain he’s in. It must be unbearable.”

  “What about all the blood? Won’t it lead them right to us?” The thought had been nagging at the edges of her brain. She had no proof that blood was a lure—only her instincts had made her spill her own around her tent. But, assuming the creatures were more animal than human, it was a safe bet.

  The mountaineer shrugged, never taking his attention away from the foil packet. His obvious hunger was a reminder of the desperateness of their situation. They were running low on food, and with Igor in his current state, there would be no leaving Dead Mountain. At some point in the not-too-distant future, impossible choices would have to be made. “It might.”

  His nonchalance angered rather than comforted her. “Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “I don’t see much point in worrying. We had no choice. We couldn’t leave him there, so we’ll have to take our chances. Right?” He cocked an eyebrow at her, daring her to speak the vile truth—that it would have been smarter to have left Igor where he was.

  But she refused to be the bad guy. And what if, on some level of consciousness, Igor could hear her? “Right.”

  As the sun lowered, so had their voices, until they were whispering in the near darkness. “We’ll have to leave soon if we want to survive. We can’t stay here.”

  “I know,” he said, and the silence stretched out between them. Had they caused Igor further pain and injury, only to abandon him in a day or two? “Maybe one of us should stay behind and look after him while the other goes for help.”

  “Absolutely not. No way.”

  “It might be our only chance, Nat.”

  “I don’t care. Whenever one of us has tried to go it alone, they’ve died. You know what the definition of insanity is. Either we live together or we die together. We are not splitting up.”

  “We can’t leave him by himself. Not like this.”

  We might have to. It was the one thing she could never bring herself to say.

  “Besides, the snowmen are nocturnal. All we’d have to do is make good headway during daylight hours. I could be out of their territory by the first day.”

  “What makes you so certain? We don’t know where their territory is, where it begins and ends. We don’t even know for sure they’re nocturnal. Maybe some of them are out a
nd about during the day, and what then? We don’t know anything about what they are.”

  Whenever she’d read stories about yeti sightings, she’d pictured great furry creatures with masses of white hair, certainly not these repulsive things with their glowing yellow eyes and razor-like teeth. Were they a link on the evolutionary chain that Darwin had missed? A bizarre hybrid of some sort that had evolved to live in these mountains?

  “The Cold War.”

  Steven broke into her thoughts, making her jump.

  “What?”

  “The Cold War. Whatever those creatures are, I bet they have something to do with that. Maybe the Russians tried to make super soldiers, and instead they ended up with—”

  “Monsters.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nat considered everything she’d seen. Assuming they didn’t have a personal shopper, the snowmen were intelligent enough to fashion their own clothes out of hide. They’d shown considerable smarts when it came to killing as well. Igor’s survival was nothing short of a miracle, while she and Steven had only dumb luck to thank. Well, dumb luck and the mountaineer’s foresight in finding the ravine.

  “You really think those things were once human?” she asked.

  “I think any humanity was bred out of them a long time ago.”

  She trembled, remembering the coldness of those ugly, pupil-less eyes. There had been no compassion, no remorse, no hesitancy in them, only cold-blooded murder. Then again, she wondered what other creatures saw in the eyes of her own species. Man wasn’t exactly known for his merciful, live-and-let-live nature either. What if the snowmen had been created to embody the worst traits of humanity with none of the good?

  “I always thought that yetis, if they existed, would have evolved from the common ancestor we share with apes,” she said.

  “I’m not sure if they’re yetis or not, but there’s no way those things are related to apes.”

  Nat wondered how he could be so sure. They walked upright like humans and had opposable thumbs and fingers like both species. They were obviously capable of using tools, of planning, and of conscious thought. Aside from a few examples found in politics, people looked nothing like their hairy cousins, despite the similarities in DNA. So who was to say the snowmen hadn’t simply evolved in a different direction? The eyes and fangs could be modifications selected over time in order to survive such a harsh climate.