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  “Can’t. The two guys I’m hiking with went on ahead. One of them is trying to catch his fiancée. They’re almost out of food and need the supplies you have.”

  Tator grimaces at my explanation. “Do you know the girls’ names? Maybe they’re still in Franklin, too.”

  “His fiancée is Wonderland. She’s hiking with someone named Yellow. Ella may be with them, too. Have you seen them?”

  “Yeah, brought them back here late yesterday afternoon. I’m guessing they probably spent the night at Siler Bald. Should be on their way up to Wayah by now.”

  I frown at his news. “And the storm?” I ask. “Why did they start if bad weather is coming?”

  “Not sure they knew,” he answers. “The weather forecast said the storm would track north of us. They were predicting cold temperatures and the chance of some snow, but nothing like they say we’re going to get now. You really need to think about staying here. It’s going to be pretty nasty up there on the top.” Glancing northward toward the mountain looming above us, he continues. “If you’re going, you need to start soon. There’s a rocky ridgeline part of the way up. It’s exposed and open to the wind and rain. When it starts freezing, it’s going to be very dangerous.

  “If you make it past the rocks, you can hole up in Siler Bald Shelter or even Wayah Tower. But I really wish you’d reconsider. No one’s sure how bad this storm’s going to be. The mountains make everything much worse.”

  I listen to his warning. My brain tells me to stay, but it’s overruled by my longing to see Ariella again and the knowledge that Travis and Markham are relying on the supplies I’m supposed to be bringing.

  “I need to go,” I tell Tator. “They’re expecting me and need the food you have.”

  “Okay.” He nods. “Let’s get you loaded up and on your way.”

  Tator’s van is full of supplies: food, first aid, stove fuel, anything a hiker might need. He helps me pick out enough food for three people for three days. Although we opt for the lightest possible choices, my food bag is still heavy when we finish. I can tell he’s not happy about my decision, but he helps me into my backpack and gives me some tips on balancing the load.

  “I’m going to call Liam when I get back to my house,” he tells me. “I’ll tell him you went on and his cousin is still hiking, too. If this turns into a full-blown blizzard, we’ll at least know where you are.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I tell him. Then I cross the road and hike out.

  The physical movement warms me quickly, and I’m okay for the first mile. As soon as the trail begins climbing and I leave the shelter of the forest, conditions begin to deteriorate. The wind is blowing hard out of the north, and I’m hiking straight into it. The temperature drops dramatically.

  I find a small copse of trees, which provides some shelter from the wind, and quickly strip out of my pants and shirt. My wool long johns and top go on first, followed by my pants, long-sleeved shirt, and then to be safe, the rain pants and jacket. I pull my knit cap over my head and secure the rain hood over it. Extra socks cover my hands.

  Feeling much warmer now, I eat a quick snack and drink my fill. Then it’s back to hiking.

  Another mile passes. The trail is steep and exposed, and I feel drops of moisture from time to time. I’m not worried, however. I’m warm, fed, and sufficiently hydrated. Most of all, I’m feeling strong and confident. I keep climbing.

  Almost before I realize it, I’m on the rocky ridgeline Tator warned me about. There’s no trail here, just white blazes painted on the sides and tops of huge boulders. Arrows point the way over, under, and around rocks the size of cars and small houses. My progress slows to a crawl, literally. Standing is almost impossible in some places, so I crouch, crawl, and sometimes wiggle my way through the rocky maze. I’m on the top of one boulder, about halfway through, when I feel the first sting of ice.

  Indecision glues me in place. Looking behind me, I can see down the way I’ve already come. Ahead of me is more of the same, yet I can also see the end of the ridgeline and the beginning of a more normal dirt trail. Do I go back, or do I go forward? Standing there, braced against the wind, I wait to see if the ice gets any worse. It doesn’t, so I resume hiking. I’ve gone another quarter of the way upward when the storm hits in earnest. Sleet pours down in a solid sheet. It pings off the rocks, bouncing around almost like hail. I’m off my feet and lying flat on my stomach as quickly as I can. There is no staying here. Somehow, I need to either make it to the end of this rock pile or manage to find a corner or crevice where I can shelter.

  Inch by inch, I creep across the rocks, sometimes on hands and knees, sometimes on my stomach, pulling myself along with hands that are quickly becoming numb. The most difficult stretches are those requiring me to lower myself down to a rock below me, or hop from one rock to another over a small open space. I can imagine that this would be fun on a warm, sunny day—almost like a rock jungle gym. Today, it is not fun—it’s dangerous, and I’m scared. The first time I have to jump across to another rock, my foot slips when I push off. I manage to land safely, albeit on all fours. My knees hurt, but I’m not seriously injured. I take a few moments to catch my breath, willing my heart rate to slow down. The end of the rocks isn’t far away; the dirt trail is just beyond them.

  The sleet slows down, and the first flakes of snow begin to appear. I can see into the valley below. The storm hasn’t hit there yet. The edge of the ice-laden cloud is beginning to slide down the mountain into the town. Above me is all white—clouds, snow, and a massive storm boiling in from the north. It’s beautiful in its own way, but I don’t have time to watch it right now. I need to get off the rocks, onto the trail, and into the next shelter. Standing, I look for the blazes, tracing their path across the rocks, and planning a slow, careful, safe route. I creep across them. One rock done. Two finished, and then three. I’m almost to the end when I hear a shout behind me. Turning quickly, I look, worrying someone is in trouble and needing help.

  In a split second, I know it is the wrong thing to do. Turning has thrown me off balance and my feet slide across the ice-shrouded rock. I try to stop myself with my hiking poles, but they find no grip on the surface. They skitter across the top, flying in opposite directions even as my feet skid toward the edge of a boulder.

  With a desperate lunge, I throw myself onto my stomach, grabbing at anything protruding from the rock face. There is nothing. The ice has coated everything with a smooth layer of slick evenness.

  I’m sliding … sliding.

  The edge of the boulder looms closer, and I can feel my legs dangling into the nothingness below me. A final twist throws me onto my side, my backpack slowing my descent slightly. I can see a rock ledge below me. If I can land on it, I might be able to stop my fall there. It comes too quickly though, and I hit it much too hard. A sharp pain rockets through my leg and it gives way, tumbling me forward. I can see a rough edge of rock rushing toward my face. At the last minute, I manage to turn my head, the left side of my face taking the brunt of the impact. It scrapes across the coarse granite, the skin burning as it shreds. Pain blooms around my eye and jaw. The sharp taste of blood fills my mouth.

  Still, I fall.

  A scream born of pain and fear escapes as I watch the rocks rush up to meet me. I land on my left side. My backpack absorbs some of the impact and cushions me from the hard surface upon which I’m lying. Stunned, shocked, and gasping for breath, I stare at the small patch of sky I can see through the opening in the rocks above me. The snow is blowing sideways, and for some strange reason, I find this to be funny. The chuckle that escapes me brings on a searing wave of fresh pain. Another scream, and then another.

  Somewhere deep in the recesses of my logical brain, a voice is urging me to try to get into my sleeping bag. It tells me I need to protect myself from the cold until someone comes to save me. It hurts too much to move, and I’m already very, very cold.

/>   “Ariella, my beautiful bella mente,” I whisper into the freezing air around me. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” My words seep away from me, leaking out through the rocks where the wind grabs them, flinging them away into the cold, uncaring winter storm.

  Chapter 34

  The Rescue

  Ariella

  Date: Tuesday, March 25

  Starting Location: Siler Bald Shelter

  Destination: Siler Bald Shelter

  Total Trip Miles: 110.5

  Throughout the long night, Allison and Markham take turns watching Hudson. While one sleeps, the other sits beside him, checking his vital signs and making sure he’s warm and resting comfortably. His face and hair have been cleaned. The wounds covered in antibiotic ointment and wrapped in bandages. They’ve closed the long gash on his forehead with surgical glue. Although his eye is still swollen and the bruising will take a long time to disappear, Allison doesn’t think he’s broken any bones around his eye or his jaw. She assures me the blood in his mouth was probably from his lip.

  The most troubling injury is his broken leg. After a great deal of discussion, they decide to set the bone. It needs to be cleaned, sterilized, and stabilized. It’s a procedure Allison has done many times. She and M&M examine it closely, plan each step, and gather the supplies they need. Then, with all of us restraining him, they pull and snap the bone back in place. Hudson awakens with a scream.

  Allison is prepared for him to regain consciousness. She’s crushed several ibuprofens and dissolved them into a small amount of water for him to swallow. I dribble it slowly into his mouth while he stares up at me, swallowing roughly around each sip. One lone tear trickles down his cheek, and I kiss it away, telling him how much I love him and how everything is going to be fine. He doesn’t try to speak but grimaces from time to time while Allison finishes her work on his leg. He watches me until his eye slowly closes and he goes back to sleep.

  I refuse to leave his side. No Filter makes me put on all my layers of clothing, gives me hot soup to drink, then wraps me in my sleeping bag. I sit, holding Hudson’s hand, watching his face in the dim light of the candle lantern until I eventually nod off.

  I wake in the cold silence of the shelter. The wind has stopped blowing, and we’re wrapped in the hushed stillness that follows a heavy snowfall. Markham is sitting on Hudson’s other side, and he nods and smiles at me when he sees my eyes are open.

  Behind him, I can see Travis, Allison, and Rosemary wrapped in their down bags, sound asleep. I must have laid down sometime during the night because I’m stretched out on the floor beside Hudson. Confused, I sit up, looking around for the other two men. That’s when I realize my head has been resting in Curly Dan’s lap. “Sorry,” I mutter, wiping drool from the side of my mouth.

  “It’s quite all right,” he answers. “Rather, it is I who owe you and Hudson an apology.” He’s using his very proper British accent, and I frown, not understanding his meaning. “I’m afraid he may have fallen because of me.”

  “What?” I’m still confused.

  “No Filter and I were following your Hudson up the ridgeline. He was doing quite well, in spite of the sleet and snow. Smart chap. He was staying low, crawling when he needed to, and moving slowly and carefully. He was very close to the end when I slipped and inadvertently cried out. We saw him turn toward the sound, lose his balance, and then fall. So, you see, Miss Ariella, I’m responsible for his condition, and I am deeply sorry.”

  “Oh, Dan, no.” Twisting myself around, I wrap my arms around him, hugging him through our multiple layers of clothing and sleeping bags. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known he would fall. Did you and No Filter get to him first?”

  “Yes. We hurried as much as we could under the abysmal conditions. He’d fallen onto a rock ledge. Ron lowered me down to him, and I managed to get him into his sleeping bag. Then I tried to lift him high enough for Ron to grab the bag. We were having a devil of a time until Ghost and M&M arrived. With all four of us lifting and pulling, we managed to get him back on top, and then off the rocks. I’m afraid our jostling was quite painful, however.”

  I cringe to think what it must have been like for him. Glancing back, I watch Markham take his temperature and listen to his breathing and heartbeat. “Everything okay?” I ask, keeping my voice to a whisper.

  “Yes.” He nods back to me. “I’m sorry, too, Ariella. We shouldn’t have left him at Winding Stair by himself. We should’ve stayed together. An extra hour or two wouldn’t have made any difference in the long run. I guess I’ve forgotten how quickly the weather can change in these mountains.”

  “What was he doing there?” I ask, confused by his confession.

  “Waiting for supplies. Liam Crow arranged for Tator to bring him food so he wouldn’t have to go into Franklin. He was trying to catch up to you before you got to Nantahala. And we were trying to catch Allison, too.”

  I nod, putting all the pieces together. They click into place, forming a pattern of events in my head. “Then Liam and Tator know we’re all up here on the mountain somewhere. Liam would know I wouldn’t stay on Wayah Bald—it’s too exposed. So, he’ll assume either Cold Springs Shelter or here. This is the most likely place, given our late starts. I think we can expect some type of rescue attempt later tomorrow.”

  Looking around for No Filter, I start to ask where he is when something Dan said finally registers in my brain. “Wait.” I frown. “Who’s Ron?”

  Curly grins at me, chuckling softly. “He never told you? It’s No Filter’s real name. He’s outside boiling water,” he adds, nodding toward the tent curtain beside us.

  I let my gaze wander around our little enclosure. The fabric barrier has done a good job keeping the wind out, and the layers of plastic and groundcovers are sealing out the cold beneath us. While not warm, it’s at least cozy with the flickering glow of the candle in its holder. Standing, I stretch, trying to loosen my cramped muscles. “Going to the privy,” I explain when I duck outside the curtain wall.

  I’m immediately struck by intense cold. The air I suck in burns its way down my throat. No Filter has all the stoves going and is boiling water over each one. They’re grouped in a circle close to him, and I can actually feel the heat radiating from them. He grins at me when I join him.

  “I should have moved these inside,” he says. “It would’ve put out some heat, but I was afraid of making too much noise.”

  “Travis and the girls are asleep right now,” I tell him. “Markham and Dan are watching Hudson.”

  “Curly feels awful about what happened.”

  “I know, but he shouldn’t. It wasn’t his fault. I’m just glad you were there to help Hudson. So, hot water?” I ask, after several minutes of silence.

  “Wind’s died down,” he finally says. “Which usually means the temp is going to drop like a rock. The coldest part of the night is in the next couple of hours. We’re going to start feeling it really soon. So, hot water for the bladders and for some soup and hot cocoa.”

  It’s still very dark outside the shelter overhang, but the sky must be clearing because I can see a few stars in the sky. The snow in the meadow glows in their dim light. Although it’s hard to judge, I’d guess there’s at least three feet of snow on the ground.

  “Wow,” I mummer to myself.

  “I know,” he whispers back to me. “It’s beautiful but deadly.”

  Several more minutes of silence pass between us as we stare at the scene. The clouds must be dissipating because moonlight paints a shimmering path across the pristine whiteness.

  The water is boiling, and No Filter turns off the stoves. I hold the bladders open as he pours the water into them, then screws on the lids. We use one pot for hot chocolate and empty several packages of dried soup into another.

  “Thanks, Ella.” He grins. “Or is it Ariella?”

  “You’re welcome, N
o Filter.” I grin back. “Or is it Ron?”

  His answering chuckle matches mine. “Ronald Ulrich, at your service,” he says, extending his right hand and bowing slightly.

  “Ariella Dobbs at yours,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Well, I came out here to make a quick trip to the privy,” I explain as I start to step away.

  “Ariella …” Ron stops me before I leave. “I need to know if that’s the Hudson Calder in there.”

  “Yes. But how did you know?”

  “I worked for the caterer who did the food for several of his parents’ charity functions. I thought he looked familiar. After the sun comes up, Dan and I are going to hike up to the summit of Siler Bald and try to make an emergency phone call. When the authorities contact his family, I’m sure they’ll insist on speeding up the rescue efforts.”

  “You have a phone? Will it work out here?”

  “Yes, and yes. After what happened to Rock Dancer, we’ve made sure to carry a phone capable of sending emergency messages. He tried it a few hours ago but couldn’t get any response. With the storm dying down, we’ll have a better chance of reaching someone, especially from the summit.”

  “The snow’s really deep, Ron. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “We’re going to take the side trail to the top. Most of it is protected by forest, and it should be easier going. Dan and I have hiked in these conditions in the Sierras. We’ll be fine. Now, I better get these water bladders inside before they cool off.” He crawls behind the fabric curtain, and I hand him the bladders followed by the pots of hot chocolate and soup. I hear him whisper to Markham as they begin to pass them out.

  With our conversation over, I’m suddenly very cold. When I step around the corner of the shelter to use our makeshift privy, my legs sink into snow up to my knees. I can’t imagine how deep it is out in the open, unprotected area of the meadow. I want to tell Ron and Dan not to go, but Hudson needs to get to a hospital, and I have to trust they know what they’re doing.