J Moncrieff - Return to Dyatlov Pass

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She’d started off with a strong conviction never to believe him again, but now his story was wearing on her. Could he be telling the truth?

“I would never violate your privacy that way. Lana and I were lovers; it was different. I promise you that she’d be okay with what I did. Otherwise, I never would have done it.”

“Lovers? Is that what you call rape these days?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She watched Steven warily. He could crush her windpipe before she had the chance to scream. But instead of looking angry, the mountaineer appeared horrified.

“Rape? Are we back to that again? I never raped anyone. Why would you say that? Even if you think I stole your underwear, that doesn’t make me a rapist.”

“Why else would Lana have told Igor you forced yourself into her tent? While she didn’t say rape, it was strongly implied.”

Steven removed his cap to run his hand through his dark hair. It was sickening that even now, he managed to look handsome. “I wish she were here to explain some of these things herself. Lana was a sweet girl, but sometimes her naïveté got her into trouble. She told me Igor had made some advances, was coming on strong. Since we were stuck with each other for the week, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She was desperate to avoid any bad blood. So she told him she was gay. That worked pretty well until Igor saw me going into her tent one night.”

As much as she didn’t want to believe him, Nat could picture it. The crestfallen expression of betrayal on Igor’s face, Lana’s verbal tap dancing to explain her relationship with Steven while keeping the peace. But still, Lana claiming Steven had forced his way into her tent could have gotten the mountaineer killed. “Why would she say it wasn’t consensual, though? You’re lucky Igor didn’t wring your neck.”

“Well, according to what she told me, that isn’t quite what she said. She said we were friends, and that I wanted more from the relationship than she did. Which was probably true. I was more than willing to relocate to Canada if she didn’t fancy moving to California. Lana was quite hesitant, said we were rushing things.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “I’d say. You’d only known her a few days.”

He shrugged, kicking at a crust of snow. “Doesn’t matter. When you know, you know. There isn’t another woman like her in the world. I’d stake my life on it.”

It was his tone, the sincerity in his eyes, that convinced her. As creepy as his panty hoarding was, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d loved Lana, and loved her very deeply. Whether or not Lana had felt the same was anyone’s guess. “Once again, it seems I owe you an apology for leaping to conclusions. But it was so startling to find my underwear in that pack. Especially since I was looking for the breakfast burritos.”

A smile played at the corner of his lips. “No problem. This has been so mortifying that I’d be perfectly happy to forgive and forget. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“So, with that out of the way and my fledgling reputation as the Great Panty Bandit of Dead Mountain laid to rest, will you tell me your plans for tonight?”

“Later. First, we need to gather firewood. A lot of firewood. Once we rejoin the others, I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay, I guess I can remain in suspense for that long.” Steven knelt to gather branches that had fallen during a previous storm, but not before Nat caught him wiping his eyes.

“Steven?”

“Yeah?” His voice was a bit rougher than usual, and in spite of her misgivings, her heart went out to him.

“I’m sorry about Lana. She was a wonderful woman.”

“Thanks. She felt the same way about you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Steven’s eyes locked with hers as he held the knife over her skin.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“It could get infected.”

“Are you kidding? That swill Igor drinks would kill anything.” She’d expected more grumbling about Igor’s great sacrifice, but the Russian had told her where to find his stash without a fight. “Hey, if this works, I’ll never drink again,” he’d said, and from the conviction in his voice, he might have even believed it. She was just thankful there were no ladies’ unmentionables in his bag.

“True. Okay, you asked for it.”

With a deep breath, Steven sliced the blade across her thumb, where a cut would bleed without nicking an artery. The knife was so sharp Nat felt nothing at first, followed immediately by fire. She turned her hand over, squeezing her flesh, and watched her blood spatter on the floor of the tent.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. We’ve already agreed to sacrifice our last packet of beef tips.”

She grinned. “Just upping the ante. How are the stakes coming along?” In truth, it was partly penance. She’d been horrified to discover that every single power pack she’d brought to charge the phones was useless, drained. There wasn’t much of a chance of getting a signal in the mountains, but even so, the power packs had represented one of their last hopes, and now they were gone too. Why hadn’t she checked them earlier?

“Great, actually. Who knew Igor was such a whittler?”

“It’s amazing what talents one uncovers when people are motivated.”

“True. I only hope it’s enough.”

“Steven…” He’d promised her to can the negative talk. Her plan was a bit crazy, a bit arts ’n’ crafts, and it was cobbled together from a few different horror movies, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting around a campfire waiting to die. And she was confident she could kill the fuckers. After all, she’d already got one.

“Sorry. I’m just scared, is all.”

“Everyone is scared. But at least we’re doing something. This is what your great-aunt would have wanted, don’t you think?”

“Sure. She struck me as being a tough ol’ broad in the true sense of the word. Would have to have been to be one of only two women on that trip, and to have survived as long as she did.”

Though Nat wasn’t squeamish, the lack of food combined with the sight of her own blood made her feel lightheaded. “I’m going to have to sit down.”

“You’ve earned it. This place looks properly abattoir-like.” Droplets, streaks, and smears of her blood decorated the nylon floor and walls of the tent. Nat couldn’t smell it, but she was willing to bet she knew something that could. “Should we try our hand at whittling?”

“We shall. Let’s go. This place is giving me the creeps.”

The group had an early supper so they’d be finished well before dusk. They avoided calling it a farewell dinner, though everyone understood it most likely was.

Over a meal of lasagna, they toasted each other with tiny cups that held the very last of Igor’s moonshine.

“Na zdorovie!” Igor yelled, hoisting his cup in the air. It looked like a thimble in his hand.

“Na zdorovie,” the remaining three repeated in unison.

“I’d like to say something, if I might.” Nat rose to her feet.

“Speech, speech.” Andrew waved his ski pole in the air. How lucky for them that the snowmen had stolen the skis but left the poles. If you could call any part of this adventure lucky.

“In spite of our rocky start, and the many bumps along the road”—she looked at Steven, and the mountaineer raised his glass to her—“I’ve really enjoyed being out here with you guys. We’ve made a good team, sometimes in spite of ourselves, and if we continue to work together, I know we will make it out of here alive. I don’t just think; I know .”