J Moncrieff - Return to Dyatlov Pass

Nat wondered how he could be so sure. They walked upright like humans and had opposable thumbs and fingers like both species. They were obviously capable of using tools, of planning, and of conscious thought. Aside from a few examples found in politics, people looked nothing like their hairy cousins, despite the similarities in DNA. So who was to say the snowmen hadn’t simply evolved in a different direction? The eyes and fangs could be modifications selected over time in order to survive such a harsh climate.

“Do you think—” She hesitated, uncertain how to phrase her question. In spite of the forty years that had passed, she could tell it was a sensitive subject. “Do you think this is what happened to your aunt?”

“Yes, I do. What else could it be? Our people have the exact same injuries as her friends.”

It was true, but there was so much that couldn’t be explained. The radiation on some of the Dyatlov group, the crushing internal injuries, the mysterious burns. Nat’s brain spun in circles until she felt dizzy.

“We’re not going to solve anything tonight, and the quieter we are, the better, so let’s try to get some sleep. Maybe things will be clearer in the morning,” Steven said.

In spite of her exhaustion, she couldn’t imagine being able to rest. The closeness of the snow around her gave her the feeling of being buried alive. Her chest was so tight it was difficult to breathe. Still, she shuffle-crawled over to Igor. They’d agreed to spend the night in a huddle to conserve body heat, keeping the unconscious Russian warm, though whenever she touched his skin that was less of a concern. The man was burning up.

Refusing to let her mind wander into darkness as she worried about the infection Igor must be fighting, she buried herself in the blankets and cuddled close to the unconscious man, praying he’d be alive in the morning.

The snow crunched underneath Steven as the mountaineer moved to Igor’s other side. “Christ,” he whispered. “He feels like he’s on fire. That’s not go—”

The roof caved in, smothering her in cold and darkness. Choking, frantic to free herself, she pawed at the snow that covered her face, hands hooked into claws. Over the pounding of her pulse, she could hear Steven screaming.

Shut up. You’ll call them. You’ll lead them right to us.

Then she could hear something else, a familiar snarling that made goose bumps spread along her spine. Her bladder clenched in terror. It wasn’t a cave-in.

The snowmen had found them.

“Steven!”

He was still screaming, which was awful, but at least it meant he was alive. Her fingers dug through the snow, searching for the knife she’d last seen lying on Steven’s sleeping bag. But all too soon the screaming stopped, replaced by a sound a million times more dreadful.

Chewing.

Her hand closed around the hilt of Joe’s knife. Digging through the snow, she gouged great chunks of it away from her face, moving blindly toward the appalling sounds. Touching something, she flinched before recognizing the feel of slick fabric—ski pants. Steven’s leg, dangling in midair. Reaching upward, she followed the form of his body until she could estimate where the creature was, its guttural growls chilling her blood.

She swung the knife in a wide arc, connecting with something yielding and malleable. Rewarded with an ear-splitting shriek, she thrust the blade forward again and again, hitting her target each time with all her strength. Nat closed her eyes as steaming gore gushed over her face. Her sight was useless anyway. After another anguished, inhuman cry, she heard a soft thump and Steven’s body fell against her, knocking her off her feet. She tumbled to the ground, snow cushioning her fall, and dragged the mountaineer away from the cave-in by his jacket.

Gasping, she fumbled for the lantern. Steven would have berated her, told her it wasn’t safe, yelled about the glow of the light revealing their location through the snow. She didn’t care. The worst had already happened; their location was already compromised. She had to see what she was dealing with.

Steven’s lovely blue eyes—the eyes a multitude of women had no doubt swooned over—were fixed on the roof. His mouth was twisted in a grimace. She wept to see the atrocious wound on his neck. Most of the protective flesh was gone, leaving a bloody mess behind. Tying her scarf around the gaping cut, she watched the fabric immediately become saturated with his blood. Laying her head on his chest, her body shaking with sobs, she listened frantically for a heartbeat, though she already knew the truth.

He was gone.

She’d been too late.

“I’ll fucking kill you! I will fucking kill you, all of you.”

“Nat?” A cautious voice spoke in the shadows of the snow cave, making her flinch. It was like hearing a ghost speak. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She raised the lantern. It might as well have been a ghost. Wincing in the glare, Igor lifted a hand to block his good eye. He held his other arm across his abdomen. Incredibly, he’d managed to extricate himself from both his sleeping bag and the cave-in. For a moment, she gaped at him, unable to speak. He should have been dead. The Russian had so many critical injuries it would have been easier to list the parts of him that weren’t wounded. And yet he was still alive, still drawing breath, while Steven was…

Nat pointed at the mountaineer’s body, crying.

“Oh no! No.” Igor shuffled closer, never taking his eyes from Steven’s face.

“He’s gone.” The last word ended in a wail. For all the trouble he had caused, Steven had been their best chance of getting out of there alive. Without his help and guidance, they didn’t have a hope in hell.

The enormity of the loss threatened to crush her, and the tears rushed from her in a torrent. Andrew, Lana, Joe and Anubha, Vasily, and now Steven. Igor put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. The sound of her grief might bring the creatures back, but once set free it was impossible to stop. Nat sobbed until she had nothing left.

“I thought he would be the one to make it,” Igor said. He’d shut off the lantern, but she could feel the presence of the mountaineer’s body. In so many ways, Steven had been larger than life. Already she missed his marching orders, his analysis of every situation.

“I thought it would be you.” They both acknowledged, without her having to say it, that this wasn’t a possibility. The Russian was alive, which was nothing short of a miracle, but it was obvious he was dying. Without sophisticated medical care and a means of leaving the mountain, there was no chance of saving him.

“Looks like it’s going to be you. As soon as the sun’s up, you have to leave.”

“I can’t walk out on you, Igor. I won’t. Not going to happen.” Now that Steven was gone, she was no longer willing to leave the ailing Russian behind. She kept thinking, what if it were her? What if she’d been the one with fatal wounds who had to watch the others abandon her to her fate? What if there were no choice but to lie in this snowy grave, waiting for the creatures to return and tear her apart? The thought made new tears start.

“Listen to me. If you don’t get out of here, they will kill you too, and then all of this will have been for nothing. No one will understand what happened to us. We’ll become another Dead Mountain mystery like Dyatlov. Steven deserves better than that. Lana deserves better. Andrew deserves better. Don’t you want him to have a proper burial?”

He took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. Normally, she’d have shied away from such prolonged intimate contact with anyone except Andrew, but the comfort of Igor’s touch was welcome, even necessary. The warmth of his hand through their gloves kept her tethered to reality. “I know you’re right, but I won’t leave you. I can’t.”