Chapter 25

A dull ache pulses behind my eyes. With a wrinkled brow, I wince as my lids slowly open. My right ear has a stabbing pain, and my cheeks sting like they’ve been slapped. I’m not sure how long it takes me to pry both eyes open, but when I do, a thin layer of white fuzz covers everything. Snow. My mouth is gritty like I ate a handful of sand, making it difficult to swallow.

My muscles and body are so fatigued it takes great effort to not close my eyes again and succumb to the drowsiness. I blink, squinting as I attempt to find my bearings. Double vision makes it nearly impossible to get a clear view of my surroundings. This is not good. I pause for a moment to mentally check my body for numbness or injuries, ignoring the pain in my head and focusing on the rest of my limbs. Did I fall?

How did I get here?

As soon as I get to all fours, my stomach retches, and I rotate my head in time to vomit off to the side. The pressure on my skull intensifies, and the pain has me seeing bright lights when I close my eyes.

My fingers probe my forehead and land in a section along my hairline that’s caked and sticky with dirt. I draw my hand back and notice the blood. I groan. It’s not bright red, so that’s a good sign.

Cautiously, I turn my neck to assess the vicinity, hoping I don’t make myself throw up again. Am I on a ledge? About twenty yards behind me is a rock wall. The wall juts out over the side. It’s as if I was picked up and dropped somewhere else. Did I walk here and don’t remember? I’ve got symptoms of a concussion. Maybe if I take another rest. I could close my eyes and when I wake up, I’ll remember what happened and can figure this all out, but there’s a small voice in my head that’s having none of it. Get up.

I palm the rock wall to the right of me for balance and squint, shielding my eyes with a hand as my gaze travels upward. It instantly makes me nauseous, so I keep my head down. No more looking up. Red smudges are left behind when I pull back from the wall.

Sliding to my ass, I lean against the nearly vertical rock of the mountain. My vision is delayed as I glimpse the path that ascends to the right of me. The trail is here, so I can’t be on a ledge. Wait… I glance to the left again, and will my eyes to focus despite the now piercing headache. It’s not a wall; it’s a pile of rocks and dirt. Some the size of grapefruits, some the size of a basketball, some the size of Volkswagens. All covered in that same thin layer of snow. Rockslide. I shuffle backward like a crab, needing to put as much distance as I can between it and me.

Holy shit. A laugh escapes my mouth. How am I not dead? The amusement quickly turns to tears as a new problem surfaces: I have to get down this mountain, and there’s no route back. The boulder and rock have blocked my exit. Not only that, but I dropped my backpack, and there’s no sign of it anywhere. For all I know, it’s buried under the rock pile. I brace one arm against the inner wall of the path and try to stand, testing to see if I can put weight on my legs. Nausea swarms me, so I lean against the mountain, gently lowering my body until I’m on my ass again.

I have no supplies. Wind and snow are whipping around as temperatures plummet, and I’ve got no way down. I curl into a ball and chuckle at the irony. All I did was trade a quick death for a slow one.

Triage. First priority is getting out of the elements. How do I get out of the wind? If I climb higher, the gusts will only get stronger. I stare at the pile of rubble… Can I climb over it? There’s no way. I can barely stand, much less free solo a loose pile of boulders that could easily collapse or send me off the side of a mountain.

A gust of wind hits me, and I suck in a breath. My eyes water as they’re blasted with more wind and dirt. If I stay like this, it won’t be long before frost forms on my lashes. I’ve got a better chance with the rocks than I do the elements. I huddle up in one of the corners, giving myself a few minutes to rest in a ball. Holding up my index finger, I move it side to side and track it with my eyes. It’s not as staggered as before; nystagmus is improving.

Could I shimmy down the side of the ledge somehow?

I creep toward the edge of the path on my hands and knees. My depth perception isn’t one hundred percent, but peering over the side, it’s gotta be twenty or thirty feet. I search for hand holds or tree roots to use to no avail. Surviving the fall is possible, but I’ll be useless to move. I shake the negative image of my splattered body on the trail below.

Retreating to the rock pile, there’s a smaller boulder, roughly the size of the small kitchen table in my apartment, next to the base of the larger one. I shakily hoist myself to the top and feel around the massive one blocking the path. It’s no use. A slab hangs over the taller one like a roof overhang. Even if I could scramble up the almost-vertical side of the big boulder, I’d have no way to get above the slab. If I was an expert rock climber, I might have a chance, but I’m a novice with a head injury.

Can’t go around it. Can’t go over it.

There’s a space behind the table-sized stone, like a mini cave entrance. Could I fit in there? I have no clue how stable that rock is, it could come loose and crush me. How do I die? Let me count the ways…

I carefully lower myself back to the ground and crouch down on all fours to inspect the tunnel created by some of the large boulders.

“Oh my God.”

Splinters of daylight greet me from the other side, and there’s a narrow channel between the rocks and the mountain. It doesn’t even look that deep. Maybe twelve feet? Hard to tell. The passage appears to get smaller before it gets bigger, so I’d have to crawl on my belly, and even then, it would be tight. I could end up in one of those situations where I have to cut off an arm to escape. Like a fox gnawing off its own leg.

At least there’s enough room for me to fit behind the smaller boulder to get out of the wind. I crane my neck to peer into the confined space again. I’m confident I could push through the rocks at the opposite end to clear an opening if I could just get to that side. I can already imagine the clack they would make as I knocked them away. I reach into the tunnel, then yank my arm back.

“Don’t be an idiot, Prescott. This boulder isn’t going anywhere.”

Yeah, how many people said the same thing about this exact rock when it sat at the top of this mountain?

I drop to my elbows and study the passageway once more. I can see to the other side, but could I make it? It’s challenging to decipher whether it’s a perspective thing or an error in my depth perception. If I make it through, I should be able to descend the trail, assuming I don’t run into another obstacle like this one .

If I get stuck or the shaft collapses as I’m trying to pass under… Well, then I guess I’ll become the Green Boots of Quell’s Peak and stay frozen until spring or until scavengers burrow through and rip my rotting limbs off. That’s pleasant. It’s not the worst way to die. I mean, how many people can say they’ve died between a boulder and a mountain? I suppose nobody can, they’re all dead. That’s the spirit!

It’s this or die from exposure. Playing will it-won’t it is a waste of time I don’t have. If I don’t survive this, at least I’ll have tried.

Lowering to my belly, I wiggle into the gap. “Go for a hike, Scottie! Claim your independence… The world is your oyster!” I grunt, mocking myself. “How’s all this freedom, babe? Feeling liberated yet?” My shoulders bunch as I duck my head and try to squeeze between two rocks. I drag myself in deeper and hear a loud tear—my coat. The wind whistles through the hole and kicks up the dust, throwing it into my eyes.

“I hate this mountain. Zero out of five stars… Boulders inconveniently placed,” I groan. “Understaffed… Amenities are lacking…” I inch farther. “Gift shop sucks…” Another inch. “Save yourself the time and crawl through a ditch culvert.”

It’s hard to take a breath, as there’s not enough room for my ribs to expand. Resting, I let my breathing regulate to something more relaxed. I know little about spelunking, but I know enough to understand panicking is bad.

Once I’m ready, I try to wiggle forward, but it’s like I can’t get the leverage to propel myself. With my arms tucked up like a T-Rex, there’s nowhere to go, but there’s also not enough room to stretch in front of me. I try to wiggle backward, but can’t. Stay calm. You’re not stuck, you just need to relax your muscles. Exhaling, I close my eyes and focus on making my body loose. But I’m freezing, and every limb feels rigid. With crawling fingers, one of my hands slides down. Bit by bit, I wriggle my other arm to stretch above my head. I have to get an arm out from under me, but it’s against a sharp edge. I pause and reassess, attempting to rotate my shoulders. It doesn’t work. If I get my elbow caught ahead of me, I’ll have even less body heat. I’m tired.

With weakened, stiff muscles, my body is unable to move as easily as before.

It’s so cold.

My hands hurt. I ball them into fists, and they throb as the impending frostbite sets in. I kick my feet, seeking purchase on anything to help squirm in any direction. It’s futile. The more I fight to free myself, the less room I have. With each unsuccessful motion, the thought of dying here is easier to accept. Odds are I won’t make it. Wiggling again, I try to rotate. I’m not ready to give up, but it takes so much effort to move half an inch. Am I even moving at all?

My eyes are heavy. Tilting my head slightly, I catch sight of the end of the narrow channel. It can’t be more than six feet away, but it might as well be six miles, because this tunnel gets smaller before it gets bigger, and I’m… I’m trapped . Neither rock will budge. A tear rolls over my temple as a hard lump forms in my throat. My car is here. Someone will find my body.

Another tear falls and I sniffle, sucking the freezing air into my lungs. I close my eyes and blow out a narrow current of air through my lips. It’s not looking good.

I’m familiar with the human body—what it’s capable of and what it isn’t. Freezing to death isn’t the worst way to die. In fact, it’s pretty favorable. My fingers and toes ache now, but eventually, I’ll lose all sense of pain. After that, my heart will draw blood from hands and feet, which will create a temporary feeling of warmth. As my internal temperature plummets, I’ll grow drowsy. It will be gentle, like I’m falling asleep. When I’m unconscious, my organs will fail one-by-one until I go into cardiac arrest.

It’s simple, really .

This tunnel isn’t my escape, it’s my grave. I wrestle to turn my body inward, but the strength isn’t there. I’m too tired. Tranquil acquiescence washes over me, and I rest my head on my shoulder, closing my eyes.