Desmond Bagley - The Snow Tiger

Mrs Fawcett carried a clipboard. She was one of the live-wires of the community. She ran the dramatic society with a rod of iron and was the mainspring of the debating society. Her son, Bobby, ran the scout troop. She was bossy and a born organizer and Houghton always had the uneasy feeling that she regarded him with contempt. She consulted the list on the clipboard, and said, ‘All here except for Jack Baxter.’

‘How many in all?’

‘Jack will make twenty-five. With your family there will be twenty-nine of us here.’

Houghton grunted. ‘Let’s hope the food holds out.’

She gave him the peculiar look she reserved for fools. ‘Old people have small appetites,’ she said tartly. ‘I wonder what’s keeping Jack?’

‘Who is bringing him?’

‘Jim Hatherley.’ She held her head on one side and looked up at the ceiling. ‘That aeroplane is here again.’

‘Doesn’t that fool of a pilot know that any sound can start an avalanche?’ said Houghton irritably. He left the room, went through the hall and out on to the porch where he stared at the sky. There was nothing to be seen.

He was about to go back inside when Jim Hatherley ran up, somewhat out of breath. ‘I’ve got trouble, Mr Houghton. Jack Baxter slipped on the snow when he was getting out of the car. I’m pretty sure he’s bust his leg.’

‘Oh, hell!’ said Houghton. ‘Where is he?’

‘Lying by the car just around the corner.’

‘Better telephone the doctor; the phone’s in the hall. I’ll go down and see to Jack.’ Houghton paused, biting his lip. He did not like Mrs Fawcett, but she’d know what to do about a broken leg. ‘And ask Mrs Fawcett to come out.’

‘Okay.’ Hatherley went into the house and looked about for Mrs Fawcett. He did not see her but he did see the telephone so he decided to make the call first. He picked up the handset and got Maureen Scanlon at the exchange.

‘What number do you want?’

Hatherley said, ‘Maureen, this is Jim Hatherley at Matt Houghton’s house. Old Jack Baxter took a bad fall and we think he’s broken his leg. Do you think you can find Dr Scott?’

There was a pause before she said, ‘I’ll try.’ The line clicked as she broke the connection.

Hatherley tapped on the telephone table as he waited to be put through. He looked about him and saw Mrs Fawcett just entering the hall. He waved her over and rapidly explained what had happened to Baxter. ‘Oh, the poor man,’ she said. ‘I’ll go at once.’

She turned, took two steps in the direction of the front door, and died.

When the avalanche hit the valley bottom the dense cloud of snow powder and air ceased to pick up speed but it did not come to a halt at once. The energy it contained had to be dissipated by friction against the ground and the surrounding air and it continued to cross the valley quite rapidly.

It was only when it got to the other side that it really began to slow down. Now it was climbing the east slope gravity was working against it and eventually it came to a halt a hundred yards from the Houghton house and perhaps a hundred feet of vertical distance below it. There was no danger of Matt Houghton’s house being overwhelmed with snow.

But the air blast did not stop. It came up the hill from underneath the house moving at about one hundred and fifty miles an hour. It caught under the eaves and ripped off the roof. Because of this the walls were no longer tied together so when the blast slammed at them the house exploded as though hit by a bomb. All who were in the house at that time — twenty-eight people — died. Some were struck by masonry, some were trapped in the wreckage and died of exposure. Two died of heart attacks. Some died immediately while others died in hospital a few days later.

But all in the house died.

Matt Houghton was not in the house, and neither was Jack Baxter. When the house was hit Houghton was bending over Baxter and asking, in what he conceived to be the cool, professional tones of a doctor, where the pain was. He was protected by the car, and the car was protected more by a small hillock hardly more than three feet high which stood between it and the descending hillside. When the air blast roared up the hill and hit the house the car did nothing more than rock heavily on its springs.

Houghton looked up, mystified, but not alarmed. He looked under the car and, finding nothing, he stood up and walked around it. Wind beat at him, the aftermath of the air blast, but it was not so abnormal as to tickle his curiosity. Standing on the other side of the car, he could see into the valley. The curtain of mist had been torn aside and his gaze shifted as he tried to fit what he saw with what he expected.

He shook his head bemusedly and climbed up on to the hillock to get a better view. At first he thought he could not be looking in the right direction so he changed his stance, but that made no difference. His problem was that he could not find the town of which he was mayor.

He rubbed the back of his neck perplexedly and then solved the problem to his own satisfaction. Of course, that was it! There had been a heavy fall of snow during the night and the town was covered in snow. It must have been a heavy snowfall, indeed, to cover the buildings so they could not be seen, but what with that and the mist it was not entirely unexpected.

Baxter moaned behind the car, and Houghton thought it was time to get Mrs Fawcett. He turned, still standing on the hillock, to go up to the house, and then stopped dead. There was no house! There was no front porch, no tall stone chimney — nothing! If he had been a little farther up the hill he would have seen the wrecked foundations and the scattered bodies, but from where he stood it was as though the house with the two-thousand dollar view had never existed.

A strangled noise came from him and froth came from his lips. Stiffly he toppled forward and never knew when he hit the ground.

Presently a querulous voice said, ‘Matt! Matt? Where is everybody?’

Jack Baxter, his leg broken but untouched by the avalanche, was still very much alive. He did not understand then, or ever after, how lucky he was to have broken his leg at the exact moment he did.

Stacey Cameron took her father’s car and drove it to Dr Scott’s house which was where he held his surgery. Because she had first-aid training she had volunteered to help on the medical side should such help be necessary, and Scott, being the only doctor, was the hub around which all medical problems revolved. She drew up behind a station wagon which was parked outside Scott’s house.

Liz Peterson was there. ‘Hi, there,’ said Stacey. ‘You a volunteer nurse, too?’

‘More of an almoner,’ said Liz. ‘Dr Scott wants us to round up medical supplies. He’s had to go because Ballard wants him to look in on Harry Dobbs.’

‘Harry?’ Stacey shook her head. ‘Isn’t he at the mine office?’

‘No,’ said Liz. ‘That seems to be the trouble.’

Stacey offered Liz a cigarette. ‘Talking about Ian — what exactly happened last night?’

‘My idiot brother happened,’ said Liz. ‘Charlie’s a great big pain in the neck.’ She accepted a light. ‘Tell me, how are things in California?’

Stacey was puzzled. ‘What do you mean — how are things?’

‘Conditions of living — and working. I’m thinking of leaving here.’

‘That’s a laugh,’ said Stacey. ‘I’m thinking of moving in here.’

Liz smiled. ‘Perhaps we can do an even swap: jobs, houses — everything.’

‘I don’t live in a house. I rent an apartment.’

‘Any particular reason for burying yourself in a hole like Huka?’

‘My father.’ Stacey hesitated. ‘And other reasons.’