The Mountain King (2 page)

Chapter Two
 

The Zipper 

“Wh—what ghost?” Phil asked, unable to disguise the winding tightness in his throat. 

“Ahh—I’m just pulling your leg,” Mark replied as he shifted uneasily on the cold rocks, trying to get comfortable. He wished to hell the storm would just pass by so they could get out from under the tent and see how bad their situation was. “You know how it is with places like this. There are dozens—probably hundreds of stories about campers getting lost and disappearing up here on the mountain. Hell, every summer at least one or two people get lost out here. Usually out-of-staters. And there are always reports of people seeing and hearing things.” 

“Hearing things ... You mean like that noise we heard a while ago?” 

Mark shrugged, making the tent material crinkle. 

“Yeah—well, hell, there are Indian stories about this mountain that go all the way back to before the white man came. Even the name of it—Mount Agiochook—means something like ‘dwelling place of the Great Spirit’ or something like that. They say the Indians never dared to come up here because they thought the summit was haunted by the spirits of their dead warriors. The
evil
ones, of course. And something called the—the
Pomoola,
some sort of demon or devil, is supposed to live up here.” 

Mark sniffed with laughter. 

“You know how it is with these things,” he went on. “Just myths and rumors. Never any real accurate descriptions or authenticated sightings of . . .
whatever
the hell they think might be up here.” 

The two men were silent for a few moments as they hunkered down in the close darkness and listened to the wind howling all around them. They were both tensed, waiting for that particularly mournful sound to be repeated, but they heard nothing except the wind and the harsh hiss of snow and ice, blowing over the tent and rocks. 

“Sounds like it might be easing up,” Mark said after a while. The tent was trapping their body heat a bit too well. Sweat glistened like spring dew on his face and ran down his neck. 

“Think we ought to give it a shot?” Phil asked. He wasn’t even trying to disguise the nervous tremor in his voice. 

In answer, Mark lifted one corner of the tent and looked up out of the ravine. The last traces of the storm were skimming away to the east like windblown tatters of black cloth. The men shook the coating of ice and snow off the rumpled tent, then stood up and stretched their cramped arms and legs. From the west, slanting afternoon sunlight glanced off the fresh coating of ice. The sloping plane of rocks leading up to the summit looked like it was made of pure crystal. 

“I guess
this
is why they call them the White Mountains, huh?” Phil said. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mark replied, inhaling deeply and squinting as he surveyed the area. “But you know, as beautiful as it is, you have to respect wilderness like this. A storm like the one that just passed would have killed less experienced hikers.” 

“Less
lucky
hikers, you mean!” Phil said, forcing a chuckle. “You keep forgetting that, until I moved here from New York last year, I spent most of my life in the city.” 

“More’s the pity,” Mark said, clucking his tongue as he began folding up the tent and stuffing it into its carrying bag. “Well, I may make a mountain man out of you yet, but I think conquering Mount Agiochook is going to have to wait for another weekend. Maybe next spring. What do you say?” 

“Sounds reasonable to me.” 

“Yeah, we probably ought to head back down to the tree line before dark.” 

Once their gear was packed and ready, they started out with Mark in the lead. As beautiful as their surroundings were, the going was extremely tough and slow. Both of them kept slipping and sliding, too many times to count. Luckily, neither one of them got seriously hurt. All the while, though, Mark was dreading what he knew was ahead. The trail this high up on the mountain wasn’t much of a problem, even with the ice-coated rocks and fitful gusts of wind that trailed after the storm. But they were on the eastern slope, and Mark knew they were going to have to cross the narrow ledge called The Zipper. The name was pure hikers’ gallows humor for the sound a careless hiker would make if he went over the edge and slid down the sheer rock face drop of almost fifty feet. 

Zip-p-p
and you’re gone! 

They had crossed The Zipper on the way up. Now they would have to cross again on their way down. If the cliff edge was covered with ice, that was absolutely going to be the most difficult part of their descent. 

But they didn’t have a choice. 

They didn’t have the equipment necessary to camp above the timberline, and there was no alternate route around The Zipper unless they swung far around the summit and connected with the Round Top Trail on the western side. 

Mark was going to stop and mention his concerns to Phil, but then he decided not to give him anything more to worry about—at least not until the time came. They hiked on, mostly in silence. 

“Do you think, once we get back down, we maybe should forget about the whole thing?” Phil asked. He was several paces behind Mark, but his voice echoed clearly from the rocks around them. 

Mark was still dwelling on how they would get past The Zipper, so he didn’t answer right away. He was racking his brain, trying to think of another way off this damned mountain. 

“Let’s just get down from here first,” he replied without looking back. “Then we’ll see what makes the most sense.” 

“Oh, Jesus!” Phil said as soon as the narrow ledge came into view. “I forgot about this place.” 

Several feet from where the trail funneled down to 

the ledge, Mark drew to a halt and glanced back at his friend. “You aren’t intimidated by it, are you?” 

Phil smiled thinly as he studied the narrow shelf of rock they would have to cross. Altogether it was more than forty feet to the next wide-open area; at its worst, the ledge was no more than six inches wide for a stretch of more than twenty feet. A fresh coating of ice reflected sunlight that hurt the eyes if they stared at it very long. 

“And to answer your next question—” Mark said. “No. There’s no other way around it, not unless we want to backtrack for a couple of miles.” 

“Shit!” 

Both men pondered their situation in silence for a moment. Then Phil said, “Do you think the heat of the sun might melt it?” 

Mark shook his head. “Not today. Can’t be more than a couple of hours of sunlight left. Besides, we’re on the eastern side of the mountain. Sunlight won’t be hitting this ledge until tomorrow morning.” 

‘’Shit!
And
shit
again!” Phil said. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he added, “Well, if we’re gonna do it, let’s do it and get it the hell over with. You want me to go first?” 

Mark nodded agreement, figuring he would be of more help if he was behind Phil. In truth, he knew if either one of them went over the edge, there wouldn’t be much the other could do. Hell, in the next few minutes, they
both
might find out for themselves exactly what sound a hiker made while sliding straight down The Zipper. 

“Be careful now, and remember one thing,” Mark said. 

“Yeah—what’s that?” 

“If you
do
fall, try and look over to your right. You’ll get one hell of a great view on your way down.” 

“You’re a real laugh riot, you know that?” Phil said. 

He sucked in and held his breath, and then, keeping his face turned toward the rock wall, started inching his way out onto the ledge. The wind was strong, spinning up little tornado funnels of snow and ice. With every step he took, his feet almost slipped out from under him, but he pressed himself hard against the rock wall and kept pushing forward. 

“How’s it going?” Mark asked, careful not to sound too uptight. 

“It’s a real bitch!” 

“Well, you’re doing just fine. You’re already more than halfway past the narrowest part. Just keep close to that rock, and you’ve got it made.” 

With less than six feet to go, Mark’s worry for Phil began to subside as his worry for himself began to rise. Then, in an instant, it all changed. Like a vision from a nightmare, Mark saw Phil’s left foot slip to one side. The sudden shift of weight threw him off balance. Paralyzed by a sizzling jolt of fear, Mark watched as his friend swung around. His hands clawed viciously for something to grab on to, and he snagged a small outcropping of rock, but it gave him only a moment’s reprieve. His gloved fingers couldn’t hold. They let go, and with a single trailing shout, Phil disappeared over the edge. 

“Jesus! No! Phil!”
 

Mark’s voice as well as Phil’s fading scream echoed from the surrounding mountains, but what resonated most in Mark’s ears was the harsh
zip-p-p-ping
sound Phil’s body made as he slid down the ice-slick cliff side. In the echoing silence that followed, Mark stared at the empty ledge, momentarily incapable of believing that his friend was gone ... just like that. 

Mark edged as close to the brink as he dared to go and looked down, but the slanting rocks blocked his view of the base of the cliff. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, “Yo! Phil! Phil! Can you hear me?” 

No response from below. There was just the hollow moaning of the wind as it gusted around him. 

Mark knew there was a broad expanse of sloping rock ledge below The Zipper that ended with an even bigger drop-off that had been dubbed “Katherine’s Leap.” There was a story from the 1800s about a young girl who, despondent about a failed love affair, climbed up there and leapt to her death on the rocks below. The only way down to the base of The Zipper was from the bottom. Short of falling down there himself, Mark had the challenge of getting safely across The Zipper before he could climb down to check on Phil. And there was no guarantee he could make it, but he knew he had to if only so he could find out what had happened to Phil. 

Bracing himself, Mark started edging out onto the narrow rock shelf. His feet kept threatening to slip out from under him, but he choked back his fear and moved steadily toward the other side. When he was halfway across, he twisted around and looked down to see if he could catch a glimpse of Phil. He wasn’t prepared at all for what he saw. 

Thirty feet straight down, almost lost in the gray swirl of blowing and drifting snow, he saw a dark, crumpled form that had to be Phil. He wasn’t moving. Mark was about to call out to him when he saw something else—an indistinct shape that moved across the rock ledge toward the base of the cliff. Out on the exposed cliff above Katherine’s Leap, the wind was strong. It swept the newly fallen snow high into the air. At first, Mark thought he was imagining this, that what he saw was nothing more than a shadow created by the windblown snow; but then he saw that the shadow had substance, and it was moving straight across the rock-strewn ledge toward his dead or seriously injured friend. Mark almost lost his balance as he craned his head around to watch. 

“Jesus, no! No way!” he said as his view of the thing became clearer. 

For a panicked instant, he thought it might be a bear, coming to attack Phil. Then he saw that whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t any bear. It walked erect, swinging its long, thick arms at its side like a lumbering human being. 

Was this another hiker? Someone who had seen Phil fall and was coming to help? 

Mark sucked in a breath and was about to call out, but then he froze. 

No, this wasn’t a human being ... not unless it was someone dressed up in animal skins. The creature moved over the icy rocks with a surefootedness that no human hiker could ever have achieved. Even through the swirling snow, it looked large, at least six feet tall by Mark’s estimate. He only caught glimpses of it, but he noted that it was dark-skinned with a sloping forehead and backward-pointing skull. It walked with a shambling gait that reminded Mark of the way apes move. 

Swiftly and silently, the creature came over to the foot of the cliff where Phil lay. It leaned over him as though inspecting him and then, with a quick, sure motion, lifted Phil’s limp body and swung him over its shoulder. The creature glanced back and forth, sniffing the air as though sensing danger. Then it let loose a loud, echoing howl that sounded uncannily like the mournful wailing sound Mark and Phil had heard earlier. Moving with a swift, effortless stride, as though Phil’s added weight meant absolutely nothing to it, the creature shambled away and was soon lost in the blinding haze of blowing snow.