J Moncrieff - Return to Dyatlov Pass

“You have been busy.”

“I did my best to get everything I thought we could use as quickly as I could.” He shot her a worried look, brow furrowing. “We’re going to have to pass them… and Lana… on the way back to camp. Can you handle it?”

The thought made her want to melt into the snow and disappear. “I think so.”

“My advice? Try not to look. For some reason, Lana… well, she’s not in a good way. She’s going fast.” His voice broke. “Soon she won’t be recognizable.”

It was cold enough that the bodies should have remained intact until the spring thaw, but she remembered the same thing had happened with some of the Dyatlov victims. Several members of their team had decomposed much faster than the others, in a manner that defied scientific explanation. Another mystery that would forever be unsolved, unless she could figure out what had made Lana’s death different from the others’.

They set off through the woods, their footsteps nearly silent on the fresh snow. The shoes made it a lot easier to walk, and Nat was grateful Steven had had the courage and forethought to get them.

She stared at a point between his shoulder blades, figuring it was safest, but every now and then she glanced at the path they were cutting through the forest. It might as well have been a neon sign. “What about our tracks? We’ll lead them right to us.”

“Don’t worry. When we get back, I’ll use a cedar branch to get rid of them. That’s another reason we have to hurry. We can’t risk running out of time.”

Nat’s stomach growled, but then recoiled as she caught a whiff of rotting meat. Sickly sweet, it made her gorge rise until she was sure she would vomit. “It’s them, isn’t it?” she asked, not daring to look.

“No, that’s Lana. She’s even worse than she was earlier this morning. Put your hand on my shoulder and let me guide you. Don’t look. Trust me, you don’t want to see this.”

Breathing through her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut, gripping Steven’s shoulder with all her strength. She forced herself to concentrate on his movements and the sound of his progress, matching him step for step. A sensation akin to vertigo urged her to open her eyes, to take a peek, but she resisted. She didn’t need any more fodder for her nightmares.

“Okay, we’re past.”

She knew without his telling her. The air was clean and crisp again, free from the cloying stench of death.

“What about Andrew?” Nat was hardly able to say his name.

“I’ve covered him, don’t worry. For what it’s worth, it doesn’t look like he suffered. Can’t say that about the rest of us.”

She moved close enough to put her hand on his shoulder again. “Thank you.” As much as she longed to see her dear friend again, it would completely undo her. Their focus had to be on the living until they got home. Once they were off this terrible mountain there would be time to grieve.

In the harsh light of day, their campsite resembled a war zone. Not much remained of her charred tent but the poles and a few blackened strips of cloth. Gray ash, looking like piles of salt and pepper, littered the ground. In spite of the fresh snow, some of the blood and gore was still visible. Ski poles had been bent and twisted into garish modern-art sculptures. Makeshift clubs and other wood fragments speckled the ground.

But worst of all was Igor.

The Russian moaned when he saw her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth before she could scream. Steven should have warned her.

The skin on the right side of his face was in bloody tatters. His eyelid drooped and his nose had been smashed flat. Someone—no doubt Steven—had covered him with a blanket, so mercifully his body was hidden from view. When she reached him, she collapsed, taking his hands in hers. They were cut and scratched, but were in a much better condition than his face.

“Don’t cry,” he slurred. “I’m all right.”

The obvious lie made her cry harder. If a snowman had appeared in front of her at that moment, she would have killed it with her bare hands. So many good people dead or dying and for what? These creatures killed for the joy of it. There was no other explanation.

“Come on, Nat. We have to go. It’s going to take us a while to get him back.”

Igor rolled his eyes to Steven’s. “Leave me,” he said, and she saw most of his teeth were either missing or broken. The pain must have been excruciating.

The mountaineer didn’t dignify the Russian’s pleas with a response. “I think, between the two of us, we should be able to pull him to the ravine on a sleeping bag. We’ll need to move quickly, but the fresh snow will work in our favor.”

Nat felt the opposite—that had it been packed, it would have made the journey easier, but there was no point arguing. “Okay,” she said, wishing she felt stronger. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball, go to sleep, and escape from this living nightmare. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll need your help getting him on the bag. After that, we pull. Can you check the tents for the slipperiest bag you can find? I’ll pack some more supplies while you look.”

The work was a welcome distraction from Igor’s condition. Patting his hand and kissing the top of his head, careful to avoid the wound that dissected his skull, she hurried to Lana’s tent first. The Olympian had owned the best in high-tech gear; it was the likeliest place to start.

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.”