J Moncrieff - Return to Dyatlov Pass

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.”

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.