Nightmare Mountain (8 page)

His eyes were closed.

Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she finally managed to get him on top of the snow. She removed her right mitten and put her hand on his throat but her fingers were so numb she couldn’t tell if there was a pulse beat or not. She opened his jacket, stuck her hand inside his shirt, and let out a sigh of relief. His heart was beating; he was still alive. But how was she going to get him down to the ranch? He certainly couldn’t walk and he was much too heavy for her to carry.

I have to try, Molly thought. He’s unconscious; he needs a doctor.

He wasn’t bleeding, but she knew that it could be dangerous to move an injured person. What if he had broken bones or some kind of internal injury?

She blew on her hands and rubbed them together, warming them enough so that she had some feeling in her fingers. Then, slowly and carefully, she felt Glendon’s legs, first the right, then the left. There was no obvious problem. Next she felt his right arm. Everything there seemed OK, too. But when she put her fingers on his left arm, Glendon moaned, and Molly could tell that the lower part of the arm was at a strange angle. She was sure the arm was broken.

She knew she should put a splint on it, to keep the broken bone from moving and doing more damage. She tried to think what she could use for a splint. Earlier, she could have used a tree branch. Now the few trees on this part of the mountain had been buried by the avalanche.

She considered using the flashlight but the bulb end was so much wider than the handle that it wouldn’t work well. She decided the best thing to do was to bind his arm with her plaid scarf.

She unwound the scarf from her neck, hating to lose the warmth. She positioned Glendon’s arm as straight as she could and, holding it carefully in place, wound the scarf around and around it. She tucked the end of the scarf into Glendon’s coat sleeve to secure it. The splint wouldn’t get any awards from the Red Cross but it would help keep his arm straight. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to transport Glendon to the lift.

She decided to fashion a sled out of the afghan. She
spread the afghan out on the snow next to Glendon and started to roll him on to it. He moaned softly when she moved him and Molly prayed she was doing the right thing. What if he had a broken back or some other horrible injury that she couldn’t detect? He might be paralyzed if she moved him incorrectly.

Molly hesitated.
If I don’t move him
, she thought,
he’s going to be dead.

She had to take the chance. Taking a deep breath, she rolled him over until he was lying in the middle of the afghan. She took the hat out of the pocket of the extra jacket and put it on Glendon’s head, pulling the edges down over his ears as far as she could. She didn’t dare try to put his broken arm through the jacket sleeve, but she stuck his other arm through a sleeve and laid the jacket across his chest.

Then she wrapped the edges of the afghan around him, tucking them tightly underneath his back. She used to wrap her dolls that way, papoose-style.

She took hold of the corner of the afghan that stuck out beyond Glendon’s shoes and started to pull. Planting her feet firmly in the snow, she leaned forward, tugging at the afghan. Glendon didn’t move. Molly clenched her teeth and yanked as hard as she could. The afghan tore. Molly, who was straining forward with all her might, sprawled face down in the snow.

Fighting back tears, she got up and tried pulling Glendon
by his feet. He moved slightly and groaned but the effort caused her shoulder to throb unbearably. Her feet sank through the crust of the snow with every step, making it even more difficult to move.

Buckie whined and leaned against her. She wished there was a way to use some of Buckie’s strength but she couldn’t think how to do it. Too bad she didn’t have a rope or a leash. She could tie one end around Glendon’s ankles and the other around Buckie and let the dog help pull. But she had no rope and no leash—and not enough energy to drag Glendon by herself.

She tried again, bending over to grasp Glendon’s ankles and tugging while she stepped backwards. It went better that time; she moved him four or five feet before she had to stop and rest. After she caught her breath, she grasped Glendon’s ankles again and then hesitated. Was she going in the right direction? She had been so frantic to find Glendon that she hadn’t paid any attention to which way she was walking while she searched for him.

She looked around. It was completely dark now and Molly was no longer positive where the lift was.

She turned on her flashlight and moved it slowly across the surface of the snow. Ice crystals sparkled in the light, sending up flecks of pink and gold, but Molly was too scared to appreciate the beauty of the scene. The whole terrain was changed from the avalanche; nothing looked familiar.

She did not see the lift cables; she did not see the top of the big boulder. Those were the only two landmarks she was sure of and she couldn’t find either one of them.

She couldn’t even retrace her own tracks because she and Buckie had crisscrossed the surface of the snow too many times before Buckie caught Glendon’s scent. She knew she’d be lucky to have enough strength to drag Glendon to the lift if she went in a straight line. If she zigzagged all over the mountain, she’d never make it.

I’m lost, Molly thought. I’m half frozen and Glendon’s unconscious and nobody is looking for us because they don’t know we’re up here. Every inch of her body hurt.

She considered leaving him there, wrapped in the afghan, while she tried to find the lift alone. By herself, she could walk much faster. But she still wasn’t sure which direction to go. What if she didn’t find the lift? What if she only succeeded in wandering farther away? Then no rescuers would come and she and Glendon wouldn’t be able to help each other stay warm and they’d probably both die of the cold.

She shouldn’t have come back up here without completing the call to the sheriff. She knew that now. If his line hadn’t been busy, a search party would already be looking for them. She should have waited. She should have stayed until the call went through. But Glendon might have died if she’d waited any longer. As it was, he might never recover. People get brain damage if they go
too long without oxygen; she learned that in science class last year.

No, she’d been right to rush back with Buckie and dig Glendon out of the snow. They might be lost and cold and Glendon was still unconscious but at least he was alive.

She wondered where the man was. Did he make it down the mountain ahead of the avalanche or was he, along with the truck and the llamas in it, buried somewhere beneath the snow?

She felt sorry for the llamas but she couldn’t help them now. She could only hope to save herself and Glendon.

Since she couldn’t find her way back to the lift in the dark, she decided to wait until morning. By morning, search parties would surely be looking for them—and if not, at least she’d be able to see and could find the lift and get down and go for help.

She knew she should keep moving. If she could keep walking, keep her body moving, she wouldn’t freeze to death. She’d seen a movie on television once where the hero made himself keep walking, even with a sprained ankle.

But what about Glendon? He couldn’t move. She couldn’t walk around all night, keeping warm, while she let Glendon lie there in a snowbank and freeze to death.

She pushed Glendon over until he lay on only half the afghan.

“Here, Buckie,” she said.

Buckie was there instantly. Molly lay down on the afghan beside Glendon, getting as close to him as she could. Then she patted Glendon’s chest. “Down, Buckie,” she said. “Down here.”

Buckie leaned over and sniffed Glendon. Molly reached out and stroked Buckie on the back. Particles of ice clung to his fur and she wondered if he would really provide some insulation and warmth or if the dog was just as cold as she was.

“Come on, boy,” Molly said, and she patted Glendon’s chest again.

Gingerly, Buckie eased himself forward and lay down, with his back legs on Glendon and his front paws and head on Molly. Molly pulled the side of the afghan up over her shoulder.

“Good dog,” she said. “Good Buckie.”

Buckie laid his muzzle on Molly’s shoulder and licked her cheek. His tongue felt warm and Molly put her arm up across Buckie and hugged him.

If we get out of this mess alive, Molly thought, Buckie deserves a whole box of dog biscuits. Maybe even a T-bone steak.

She couldn’t stop shivering but by huddling close to Glendon and Buckie, she was able to keep her teeth from chattering.

She closed her eyes and wondered if Aunt Karen was
still alive. Maybe by now Uncle Phil had called Mom again. If he had, surely she would come home this time. She wouldn’t stay in Japan now, not when Molly was lost in an avalanche. Of course, she reminded herself, nobody knew about the avalanche yet.

Molly’s head hurt and she couldn’t think clearly. She was thirsty, too, and hungry. Maybe she had a headache because she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

She wished she’d brought some food with her. She’d trade her next five years’ allowance for a steaming cup of hot chocolate. With whipped cream on it. And a sprinkling of nutmeg. In fact, she’d even eat a plate full of peas or lima beans or beets. She tried to think of the worst food in the whole world. Cauliflower. Yes. Right now, she was so hungry, she’d even eat cauliflower!

She scooped up some snow and put it in her mouth, feeling it melt quickly on her tongue. I might freeze to death, she thought, but at least I won’t die of thirst. It was no consolation.

She wondered if Glendon would still hate her. If they were rescued, there was no doubt she’d saved his life. Would he appreciate it or would he be just as mean as before? She wondered why he was so unhappy. She knew it wasn’t just her visit that was bothering him. Something had happened to Glendon that made him so resentful. But what?

She didn’t think it was because his parents were divorced.
Her own parents were divorced and she wasn’t mad at the world. And Glendon was fortunate that Uncle Phil had remarried. Even though Aunt Karen wasn’t Glendon’s birth mother, Molly knew she loved him—and he loved Aunt Karen, too, or he wouldn’t have been crying in the hayloft.

If they were rescued, she planned to ask a lot of questions.
If they were rescued.
It was, she knew, a very big IF.

She dozed, woke, and dozed again. The second time she awoke, she felt something wet on her face. Her eyes flew open; it was snowing. She sat up, leaning on one elbow. A light dusting of snow covered their clothing.

Buckie’s head was up; he sniffed the air and watched the snowflakes drift down.

Molly took off her mitten and put her hand on Glendon’s throat. She felt a pulse.

She looked around. Despite the snow, the first faint hint of daylight allowed her to see the flat top of Arrowhead Boulder. It was in the opposite direction from where she’d been dragging Glendon, the night before. If she had kept going, she would never have found the lift.

She would find it now. The lift, she knew, was just on the other side of the boulder.

She stood up, her bones creaking with the effort. Every muscle in her body ached but still she felt elated. We made it, she thought. We stayed alive through the night and now I can see to find our way back.

Buckie got to his feet and shook himself thoroughly. Molly pulled the afghan close around Glendon. Without her and Buckie next to him, Glendon would get cold quickly.

As she wrapped the afghan around him, he opened his eyes.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Relief washed over Molly. “Are you OK?” she said. “You’ve been unconscious since yesterday afternoon.”

“What happened? All I remember is a loud noise and I covered my head with my arms and then all this snow came down on me.”

“The man tried to shoot you and then there was an avalanche. We’ve been here on the mountain all night. Can you walk?”

Glendon started to sit up and then quickly fell back. “Ouch!” he said. “My arm hurts.”

“I think it’s broken,” Molly said. “I tried to take you to the lift last night but you were too heavy. Will you be all right here if I go now, by myself, and get some help?”

“I want to go with you.”

“I can’t move you. You’re too heavy for me.”

“OK,” Glendon said. “I’ll wait here.”

He didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it and Molly didn’t blame him. She would not want to stay on the mountain alone, either.

“I’ll get help as fast as I can,” Molly said. “You can
keep Buckie here with you. He’ll help you stay warm, like he did last night.”

She tucked the afghan around his legs and then she called Buckie and directed him to lie next to Glendon.

When she started walking away from them, Buckie tried to follow her and she had to send him back. “Stay!” she said firmly. “Stay with Glendon.”

Buckie whined pitifully as he watched her go but he did as he was told. When Molly looked back, she saw the dog lying in the snow next to Glendon, staring after her with mournful eyes.

Molly got on the lift for what she hoped would be the last time. She flipped the switch and the lift quickly dropped to the bottom of the trail. She didn’t even have to close her eyes.