Her Beautiful Mind Page 17

  It’s Yellow who’s trembling now, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she opens her arms to the big Marine. “Yes, Markham. Oh, yes.”

  He sweeps her up in his arms, lifting her clear off the ground, crushing her to him as he buries his face in her neck. “Finally, finally.” I hear him mutter as he slowly rocks them back and forth.

  Allison grabs Travis’s hand, leading him to the far side of the shelter where I’m standing. “Let’s give them a little privacy,” she suggests, smiling as she looks over her shoulder at the two who are still locked in a fierce hug. They break apart, M&M leading Yellow over to the edge of the sleeping platform, pulling her down to sit beside him. He’s holding her hand, smiling when she moves closer to him and leans against his shoulder. We can hear soft words, a giggle or two, and then a quiet sob.

  Travis’s smile matches Allison’s as he watches his sister and his best friend, but when he turns to face me, he sobers quickly. “We need to get started, don’t we?” he asks. When I nod, he continues. “Okay, tell us what to do.”

  While Rosemary and Markham continue to talk, we gather all the backpacks and dump their contents onto the picnic table.

  “We need to close off this opening,” I explain. “So, we’re going to take our tents and hang them like a flat curtain from the ceiling to the platform. There should be some nails up there, and we can use tent stakes to secure them, too. If we have enough tents, we can overlap them and cover any holes or openings that the wind might get through. Use rope or string or even dental floss to tie them together.”

  Travis examines the ceiling as I talk, nodding while I describe where to hang the tents. “We’ll use any leftover tents, tarps, ground covers, or those reflective safety blankets to cover the floor and give us another layer of protection from the cold. We need to check under the platform, too. Sometimes there are large pieces of plastic stored under there.”

  M&M and Yellow have joined us as we talk. While he and Travis start on the curtain, I gather all the water bottles, bladders, and water filters.

  “What should we be doing?” Allison says.

  “It’s going to be important to have enough water to get through the night and possibly the next day. As the storm worsens and visibility drops, no one will be leaving the shelter. Drinking something hot will warm our body core and prevent dehydration. And these hydration bladders,” I add, picking up one of the soft, flexible plastic bags, “can be used as hot water bottles if we take off the drinking tubes, fill them with boiling water, and use the screw-on lids to close them. Tuck one of these in the foot of your sleeping bag, and you can stay warm all night.”

  “We’ll take them,” Wonderland offers, grabbing two empty backpacks to carry everything. “I imagine you have other things to do, and Yellow and I can handle the water.”

  “Be careful,” I warn as they pack up. “Stay together, and whatever you do, don’t get off the path. It only takes a few minutes to become disoriented and lost in this kind of weather.”

  Nodding, they put their caps back on, tightening their hoods, and pulling socks over their hands. “Hey,” I add, as they’re about to leave. “Do you have your whistles?”

  Rosemary pulls hers out of her shirt where it hangs on a cord around her neck. “Yep,” she answers. “Three short blasts for an emergency, right?”

  “Right.” They step out of the shelter into the blowing snow, bending over to protect their faces. I watch for a few moments until they disappear into the swirling whiteness.

  There’s a large piece of heavy plastic, rolled, tied, and stored under the sleeping platform. I get busy, layering it with a couple of tarps the guys aren’t using to cover the floor. Hopefully, this will prevent errant gusts of wind blowing through any cracks in the wooden slats. It’s while I’m laying out all our sleeping pads, trying to arrange them as close to each other as possible, that Markham tells me they have another person hiking with them.

  “What?”

  “We’ve been hiking with this other guy named Easy. He’s always a little slower, but he should be along anytime now, so you need to leave room for his pad.”

  Shaking my head, I slowly stand, glaring at him as I listen to his words. “Are you telling me you have a third hiker with you, and you left him alone out there in that?” I shout.

  Before he can answer, the girls burst into the shelter, covered in snow and gasping for breath.

  “Man, is it nasty out there,” Rosemary exclaims before shrugging out of her backpack.

  Allison is watching us, her eyes darting between Travis, Markham, and me. “What’s going on?” she asks, sensing the tension in the air.

  “They left a hiker out there,” I blurt out.

  A surprised Allison turns to her fiancé. “Travis?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he begins to explain. “He was waiting for supplies. Easy’s slower and takes more time, but he eventually makes it. The trail wasn’t too bad coming up out of the gap, and the storm didn’t really hit until we got here. He should be fine.”

  “Ariella?”

  “I don’t like it, Allison. That ridge is tough under the best circumstances, but hiking into this north wind with the freezing precipitation. I just … I don’t feel good about this. Do you think he’s smart enough and aware enough to turn back and try to get to Franklin if the trail gets too dangerous?” I ask.

  “Probably not,” Markham answers me. “The guy’s a real city boy, not a lot of common sense when it comes to the woods. He’s been pushing pretty hard, trying to catch up with a friend who’s hiking ahead of us.”

  “What do you think, Travis? Would he turn around?”

  Travis shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He frowns, worry creeping across his face as he stares at the open meadow in front of the shelter. Several inches of snow have accumulated since we arrived and more is falling, along with the temperature. “M,” he finally says. “We gotta go back. We can’t leave him out there by himself.”

  I expect M&M to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, pulls on his cap and jacket, and picks up his hiking poles. Travis bundles up, too. Before they leave, I grab a length of small rope and tie the ends to each of their left hands.

  “This will keep you together,” I explain before making sure they both have emergency whistles. “Three short blasts every five minutes. If anyone is in the vicinity, they should answer with the same. It’s the best way to locate someone when the conditions are bad or the wind is too loud. Calling and yelling won’t work; your voice isn’t strong enough. Check your watch, hike for thirty minutes. If the conditions aren’t too bad, hike another thirty, but don’t go past those boulders. At the end of an hour, you start back. It’ll be dark in three hours. You have to be back by then.”

  Allison grabs Travis, kissing him fiercely before telling him to be careful. Markham hesitates for a moment before bending forward to buss Rosemary’s cheek, but she turns her head, meeting his lips with her own. Her hand grips the back of his neck holding him to her. “What Allison said,” she tells him when they finally break apart. His grin is pure happiness before he turns to follow Travis into the blowing snow. We watch them cross the meadow and disappear into the woods.

  As soon as they’re gone, I turn back to Allison and Rosemary and begin explaining what else we need to do. Keeping them busy will take their minds off what the guys are doing and make the time go by faster.

  Before long, we have two stoves going and water boiling in the cooking pots. Hot food for the evening has been decided upon, and a big pot of cocoa mixed. Sleeping pads and bags are arranged on top of the layers of plastic and fabric. The two couples are next to each other, and I’m at one end. Each person’s clothes bag is tucked into the hood of their sleeping bag for use as a pillow and to have extra clothing close by if needed during the night.

  We’ve stored unused gear and backpacks along the north wall at the back
of the platform. They’ll help, in a small way, to block any wind coming through the cracks. Both Rosemary and Travis are carrying collapsible candle lanterns, and we’ve hung those from the ceiling, ready to be lit when it gets dark.

  I’m pleased as I survey our preparations. Travis and Markham did a great job connecting the mismatched tents into a tight, wind-blocking curtain. Our little sleeping area is cozy and neat. Everything we need to survive the night in relative comfort has been done. I’ve even dug a privy hole outside one corner of the shelter. We’re as ready as I can make us. I think Granny and Liam would be happy with our efforts.

  The girls and I are sitting at the shelter table, busy with boiling water and making dinner when I first hear it. Allison starts to say something, but I raise my hand to stop her. We sit in absolute silence, holding our breaths in an effort not to make a sound. At first, all we hear is the wind moaning, the trees creaking, and an occasional flap of the tent curtain. Then … there it is again, three short blasts from a whistle, muffled by the storm but still distinctive enough to recognize.

  Allison jumps up, screaming, “Travis,” as she begins to run toward the meadow, but I grab her arm, pulling her back.

  “No, Allison, don’t go out there. They can’t hear you, and you won’t be able to find them. Rosemary, do you have—”

  Rosemary is already putting her whistle to her lips as I ask. She steps to the edge of the overhang, and I barely have time to cover my ears as she blows out three of the loudest notes I’ve ever heard. We wait in silence. A minute passes … and another. And then, we hear it again. Three more blasts, closer this time, and off to the right a bit.

  “Okay, now we go,” I shout, handing them their hiking poles. “Again, Rosemary.”

  As soon as we step out from under the overhang, she blows her whistle again. This time, the answer comes almost immediately, louder and still to our right.

  “They’re using the side trail that bypasses the summit. Come on,” I urge, turning toward the back of the shelter and breaking into a run. “Keep blowing.”

  As soon as we enter the woods behind the shelter, the visibility improves and the wind drops. We pass the privy, then veer to the left when we reach the junction with the bypass trail. The signaling continues until it sounds as if they are right in front of us. We round a bend … and there they are.

  Four figures, bundled in layers of clothing with only their eyes showing, stumble toward us. They’re carrying something large and cylinder-shaped between them, one at each end and one on each side. The narrow trail makes it difficult to walk easily as they support their burden. The person in front lifts the whistle to his lips again, but stops when he sees us in front of them.

  “Are we almost there?” he shouts, and I realize it’s Travis.

  “Travis?” Allison calls to her fiancé. “What is it? Can we help?”

  “It’s Easy,” he yells back. “We found him, but he’s hurt.” He glances behind to the package they’re carrying, and I realize it’s a person, wrapped in sleeping bags and being carried on a stretcher made from another bag. “Go back to the shelter and get your first-aid supplies ready. He’s pretty bad.”

  Allison takes charge as soon as we reach the shelter. “Give me some pads to put him on,” she shouts. “I’ll need lots of light. Gather up all the flashlights and bring those lanterns over here.” One by one, she lists all the things she’s going to need as Rosemary and I scramble to help her prepare. “Hot water,” she adds. “Lots of it, and see if you can find all the other first-aid kits. I’m not sure what I’m going to need.”

  Her makeshift emergency room is all set up by the time the guys stumble in with Easy. They lift him, still shrouded in the sleeping bag, onto the pads Allison has readied for him. Rosemary and I step to one end of the platform, out of the way, along with Travis and the two other people who were helping him. When they pull their hoods and caps off, I realize it’s No Filter and Curly Dan.

  With a happy shriek, I’m hugging both of them, demanding to know why they would leave Franklin in this storm. “Trying to keep up with that nice ass of yours,” No Filter replies with a grin.

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Curly Dan whispers to me. “He’s been worried sick since we found out you left Franklin yesterday. We’ve had some experience with this kind of weather, though, and we came prepared.” He points to his feet where I can see straps crisscrossing the tops of his boots.

  “Crampons?”

  “Yes. We couldn’t have made it across those boulders without them. Too bad that bloke wasn’t wearing some.”

  Allison’s voice pulls our attention back to the patient on the floor. “What have we got here, Markham?” she says to the man kneeling beside her as they start to remove the sleeping bag from the injured hiker.

  “Head wound, probable concussion,” he starts. “That’s where most of the bleeding is coming from. Looks like he fell on his left side, scrapes and bruising to that side of his face. Possible broken ribs, maybe a dislocated shoulder, but the worst is his leg, Allison. It’s broken—you can see the bone.”

  Allison grimaces. “Any evidence of arterial bleeding?”

  “No.”

  “Has he been conscious at all?”

  “Some. He tried to talk a little when we first moved him and some groans from time to time, but nothing for the last thirty minutes.”

  By now, they have the sleeping bag open. His pants have been cut away, and we can see the broken leg Markham was describing. I have to turn my head away from the sight of the bone protruding from the torn and bleeding skin.

  “I tried to stabilize it with hiking poles and straps but didn’t want to do more than that until we got him to you,” he explains.

  “Good job,” Allison nods. “I’m going to need more light. Get those lanterns over here. Travis and Dan grab flashlights and shine them on his face so I can start cleaning it. Here,” she adds, handing M&M her stethoscope. “Monitor his breathing and heart rate. Let me know if there are any significant changes. Okay, let’s get to work on the head wound.”

  Using a pot of boiled water and soft cloths, Allison begins to clean the blood covering Easy’s face. It’s only when she asks for a clean pot that I step forward and get a good look at him. There’s a large gash on his forehead still bleeding slowly. The left side of his face is scraped raw, the eye swollen shut, and the lips broken and bleeding. But it doesn’t matter because I’d recognize him in whatever condition he’s in.

  “No, no, no, oh please, no,” I beg, my voice beginning to rise as I stare at his face. “No, please, God, no, not him.”

  No Filter grabs my arms, turning me toward him, shaking me a bit to get my attention. “Do you know him? Who is it?”

  “It’s Hudson,” I cry. “Hudson.”

  “Who?”

  “Hud. It’s Hud.”

  “Oh, shit,” he mutters.

  “You know him?” Allison asks. “Then get down here,” she commands when I nod. “Hold his hand, talk to him, see if you can get him to respond.”

  I drop to my knees, picking up his right hand. It’s cold, and I cradle it in both my hands as I lean over and begin speaking. “Hudson? Hudson, it’s Ariella. Can you hear me, sweetheart? Open your eyes. Please, Hudson, please.”

  He doesn’t respond at first, but when I continue talking, he groans, moaning as he tries to answer. Finally, he opens one eye, the other too swollen to move, and he blinks frantically before focusing on me. “Ah …” he manages to whisper before swallowing roughly. “Ariella … found you.”

  “Shh, shh, don’t talk. Save your strength. You’re going to be okay, Hudson. We’re going to take care of you.”

  “Need … need to tell you,” he gasps again. “Lies, all lies.” He coughs, moaning in pain, and a trickle of blood seeps from the corner of his mouth.

  “Hudson?”

  His eye flutters,
then rolls back in his head as he passes out again.

  “Hudson!”

  And then I’m crying.

  Begging, screaming, pleading for Allison to help him, for someone to do something, for him to come back to me. I’m vaguely aware of No Filter’s arms around me, lifting me up and pulling me away as Allison and Markham work frantically.

  “Hudson, Hudson.” My sobbing screams fill the small shelter and the meadow beyond where the wind grabs them, flinging them away into the cold, uncaring winter storm.

  Chapter 26

  Time Traveler

  Hudson

  Date: Sunday, March 16

  Starting Location: Springer Mountain, Georgia

  Destination: Hawk Mountain Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 7.6

  Ariella once told me mountaintops were magical places. She claimed you could see both the future and the past from their summits, just like a time traveler. All you had to do was decide which direction you wanted to go.

  We were in Georgia for her cousin Liam’s wedding and stayed to visit some of the places she remembered from her childhood. One day, we drove to Amicalola Falls State Park, and after eating lunch in the lodge, we climbed the path that led to several viewing spots of the impressive waterfalls. While sitting on one of the benches along the path, she’d pointed toward the top of the mountain and explained if we continued on we would eventually reach the summit and the terminus of the famous Appalachian Trail. Then, she called it a magical place.

  She grinned at my questioning frown and explained that even though it was a beautiful spring day where we sat, it was still winter at the summit. A few months from now, in late summer, we would be able to come to this same place and see autumn and then winter at the top, even though it would still be months before cold weather finally invaded the valleys around us. “See.” She laughed. “The past and the future … just like magical time travel.”