J Moncrieff - Return to Dyatlov Pass

The men cheered and hooted. This was one time when they wanted to make as much noise as possible. Let the snowmen come to shut them up. She hoped it would be the last thing those monsters ever tried.

“We cannot show mercy. Remember what they have done to our friends. We are doing this not as heartless killers, but as survivors. To avenge the deaths of Joe, Anubha, Lana, and Vasily. We cannot hesitate. As long as one of them is alive, we are not safe here.”

“Don’t forget about me. Fuckers busted my leg. If it weren’t for them, we’d be halfway down the mountain already,” Igor said. The firelight reflected in his blue eyes, making him look otherworldly, like some creature who had ascended from hell to avenge them. Nat wished they had that kind of supernatural power on their side, rather than four hikers armed with ski poles and their wits.

“And Igor’s leg! We must seek justice for Igor’s leg.” Andrew thrust his cup into the air with such zeal she would have thought he was drunk, except for the fact there wasn’t enough alcohol left in camp to get a mouse tipsy.

“For Igor’s leg,” everyone cried.

Soon after, the howling began.

The group now recognized the sound for what it was—a battle cry. The levity they’d enjoyed seconds before vanished.

“I-I’m not sure I can do this,” Andrew said, giving voice to what she was sure everyone was thinking. If there were three or four creatures, they might have a chance. But what if there were dozens? Or hundreds?

She took his hand in hers, squeezing it. “Yes, you can.”

He squeezed back before helping Steven move Igor into position. The Russian slung an arm around each man for balance, but he already moved pretty well on his own, hopping around on his makeshift crutches. Nat cringed each time she saw him hopping on the snow. All it would take was one false step and down he would go. At this point, a single fall could spell his doom.

Within minutes, the tableau of a critically injured man, abandoned and helpless, was complete. Nat hoped they would fall for it.

“You all set, Igor?”

Andrew had covered the Russian up to his neck with a blanket so only his head was visible. Igor grinned. “Bring. It. On.” With his heavily accented English, it reminded her of one of Arnie’s memorable lines from the Terminator movies.

She and Andrew hunkered down on the other side of their newly decorated tent. This close, the fumes were eye-watering. Steven disappeared into the darkness behind Igor. This was the riskiest part of her plan. If something went wrong, they were too far apart to come to each other’s aid.

The chorus of howls died abruptly. Somehow, the silence was more ominous. Then she heard Igor holler a string of English and Russian curses that were doubly impressive under the circumstances.

“How could you leave me to die, you fuckers? You heartless cunts. If I ever get my hands on you, I’ll tear your eyes out through your ass.”

“Eyes through your ass? Interesting turn of phrase,” Andrew whispered.

It was the signal. Igor had seen something.

The snowmen had arrived.

Nat prayed fervently, hoping to hear another cry, this one of pain. Entwining her fingers with Andrew’s, she prayed that the sweet, sensitive man beside her would be able to access his inner warrior. That the mountaineer would not betray their fragile truce again.

“He’s sniffing at it! He knows something’s there.”

Seizing Andrew by the jacket, she jerked him out of sight behind the tent, her heart pounding. “Are you crazy? They have way better night vision than we do. It might have seen you.”

“It didn’t see me, but I don’t think this is going to work—”

A scream split the night air, but it wasn’t the one she’d been waiting for.

It was Steven.

Forgetting how she’d scolded Andrew a second before, she risked a peek, in time to see Steven charge the creature with a makeshift club held aloft.

“What is he doing? This wasn’t our plan.”

Startled, the snowman moved back a step, and that was all it took. The ground beneath him gave way and everything but his hooded head disappeared from view. Steven was on him in a second, swinging his club at the creature’s face as though it were a baseball. Blood spattered on the snow, but he didn’t stop. He swung again and again, until a sickening crunching sound brought an end to the terrible howls and snarls coming from the pit.

The mountaineer tossed his club on the snow, panting. Steam rose from his head into the frosty air, making him look like he was on fire.

“Right on, Steven. I can’t believe it worked.” Andrew moved to join him, but Nat grabbed his coat again.

“There are more of them. You have to stay here.” She crossed her fingers, hoping Steven would recover his strength quickly. There was no time for celebration, not yet, and he was in a vulnerable position, with his back facing the woods.

As if he’d read her mind, the mountaineer scooped up his club and vanished into the shadows behind Igor again. The Russian gave him a thumbs-up as he passed. One down, but how many to go?

She’d never agreed to any of them facing the creatures head on. The monsters were too powerful. Judging by the defensive wounds on Dyatlov and Vladimirovich’s hands, the Russian skiers had made that mistake. But in this case, Steven thankfully had had the element of surprise working in his favor. Otherwise, the pit they’d spent hours digging would have been a waste of time.

“Welcome, you ugly bastard. Come to finish me off, have you? Why don’t you come over here and suck my dick?”

Igor again. With the pit uncovered, there wasn’t much left to protect him.

“Let’s see if we can get it to come over this way,” Nat whispered. Her lantern flared in the darkness, hopefully making it appear that they were inside the shelter rather than beside it. Holding a dry corner of the tent, she jostled it, forcing herself to laugh like she’d heard the world’s funniest joke. “It’s going to be great to get home, I tell you. I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.”

“Me either. After I spend a full day in the hot tub, I’m going straight to Urasawa and ordering everything they have.” Andrew’s tone matched her wistful joviality perfectly. Only someone who knew him well would have picked up on the fear underneath.

She listened hard for a moment, but heard nothing. “Sounds fantastic. Count me in. We’ll make a party out of it.”

A long, low howl very different from the ones they’d heard earlier that evening made her jump.

“I think he’s found his friend,” Andrew said.

The sound ended as abruptly as it had begun. While they waited, the cold from the snow underneath them crept into her bones. She held her breath, listening for anything that would tell her where the creature was.

Scraping and rustling noises came from the direction of the pit.

“Never mind him. Look at me, you fucker. What are you doing, you ugly prick? I was saving that for my dinner, you sad fuck.”

Igor’s taunts gave her the courage to risk another peek. The snowman had lifted his dead comrade from the pit and slung him over his shoulder. In the firelight, his coat looked oddly shiny, like no hide she’d ever seen. Despite his immense strength, the creature staggered under his buddy’s weight, his feet sinking into the snow.

“He’s taking him. We can’t let him leave.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to stop him?”

“I don’t know, but we have to do something. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck waiting for him again.”

Among their homemade arsenal was one true weapon: Anubha’s crossbow. There was only one problem: none of them knew how to use it. Nat had been dumb enough to mumble something about archery classes in high school, so the men had entrusted her with the sleek, aluminum contraption that bore no resemblance to the clunky, wooden thing she’d struggled with as a teenager.