Whiteout Rewrite II-7 (Rude Awakenings)

7. Rude Awakenings

     Warm sand spread out beneath Nick as he lay on a beach chair, watching the waves crash down on the sand before him. Above, palm trees swayed lightly in a warm breeze. He looked down at his side to find a cup holder with an empty glass in it. Figures, he thought, and then looked around for sight of the nearest cabana.

     To his surprise, a man dressed in a full tuxedo was walking towards him carrying a tray filled with not one, but two fruity looking cocktails, with a good deal of rum pooled at the bottom of them. “Oh hallelujah. You’ve come just in time,” he said to the man, laughing at the worry he had felt a moment earlier. “I don’t know where this place is, but damn the service is quick.” As he said it, an odd thought struck him. I have no idea where this place is.

     This train of thought was quickly halted by the tuxedoed man removing the empty glasses from each cup holder in Nick’s chair and replaced them with the fresh ones from the tray. “Thank you so much,” said Nick, picking up the first glass, and drinking greedily from it. After a few thirsty gulps, he looked up to find that the man was still standing beside his chair, staring. “Oh yes of course,” he said, fishing around in his swim shorts for a tip.

     When he found he had no money, he looked up at the man with a placating smile.

     The man returned it, and Nick felt at ease for a second. Then the tuxedoed man’s mouth widened, and let out a piercing cry that threatened to split the very sand grains around them. The hair that had been so painstakingly combed across the man’s balding head split apart to reveal thick, white fur. Nick watched in horror as the man’s jaw opened wide to reveal the large, dull teeth of the yeti.

     The tuxedoed man stepped forward, and moved as if to swallow Nick whole. The hot decaying breath blasted him in the face, and then, just as he thought he would die, the beach melted away. Nick sat bolt upright, and found himself in a tent, on top of a terrible mountain, freezing in a sleeping bag. All sounds of his nightmare died away, except for the roar. His spine prickled as he came back to full awareness.

     Lopsang was shaking him back and forth, shouting “Listen!” The tent flaps were shaking violently, and outside, the howling was back, louder than ever.

     “I doubt I could hear much else,” muttered Nick, sarcastically. Still half asleep, Nick crawled forward to the open flap of the tent, hoping that the beast would not be staring straight back at him. Luckily, he saw nothing but the cloudless sky. He stepped out of the tent, and shivered violently in the biting cold. Below them, Manchester’s camp was illuminated by the ghostly, white light of the moon.

     “What is it?” asked Nick. Other than the howling, everything seemed to be fine. They had known the beast would hunt at night. It was no surprise as far as he was concerned.  

     “Look,” said Lopsang and turned Nick’s head toward the top of the mountain. A large storm had formed around the summit, and cascades of white cloud and snow were rolling down the mountain as they spoke. “We have to warn them Dr. Ventner.” A pleading note had crept into Lopsang’s voice.

     “We certainly do not,” said Nick, ready to kick back and watch the carnage.

     “If we don’t, they’ll die.”

     “That leaves one less team on the mountain for us to compete with.”

     Lopsang glared at him.

     James, who Nick had not even noticed, was doing the same. “We are not just going to sit here and watch them die,” he said, with more confidence than Nick thought an apprentice could possess.

     “Even if I did want to help them, how could I do it?” asked Nick, exasperated. “In case you haven’t noticed, it took us all day to get up here, and they’re at the bottom of the valley. I’m not going to risk my life to climb haphazardly down a mountain, at night, in a storm, for someone I’m not that fond of.” He crossed his arms as if this settled the matter.

     James was ignoring him, and instead rooted through their climbing supplies.

     “Don’t be an idiot,” said Nick. “You’re going to throw your life away, over some prat like Manchester?”

     James had pulled out a flare gun. “Don’t be thick, we’re going to signal them.”

     “That is our only method of calling for help.”

     “Who are we going to call?” asked James, pointing the flare gun just over Nick’s shoulder and towards Manchester’s camp.

Before Nick had time to move to a safe distance, James fired it in one quick pull, and ended the conversation.

     The flare shot just over Nick’s shoulder, close enough that it nearly singed his shoulder. “You’re scrubbing our gear when we get back,” said Nick, angrily. He turned around and watched the red halo of the flare descend into the valley, landing squarely in the middle of Manchester’s tents. Nice shot. “You want to save them by catching their tents on fire?” He may have thought James’s decision to be a smart one, but he was not about to let the apprentice get a big head about it.

     “Give me the binoculars,” said Nick, with a curt gesture toward the gear.

     James, satisfied with his act of rebellion, returned to obedience and rooted through the bags. He found the binoculars and handed them to Nick.

     The lights of Manchester’s camp were still on, but weren’t moving at all. Men bustled around within the tents, their silhouettes plain against the canvas, but no one was on guard duty. Nick understood that it was difficult to find people willing to stand outside in subzero weather, especially when it often meant minor frostbite, but given the omnipresent danger of the mountain, it seemed to be a large oversight.  

     “Well, they weren’t paying attention, guess all we can do is watch,” said Nick in mock sadness.

     James however, was not so easily deterred. He began rooting through the gear once more, and a minute later, returned with three road flares.

     “Were we in a highway accident?” asked Nick, knowing perfectly well they needed flares that didn’t fire out of a gun, but also enjoying the frantic look on James’s face.

     James thrust one of the flares into his hand, and gave the other to Lopsang. “Nick, you stay there, I’ll go to the left, Lopsang to the right.”

     Lopsang followed James’s instructions, striking up his flare, and sending hot sparks onto the ice below.

     Nick, not wanting to be left out, did the same. They were all yelling, even though they knew it wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference over the howling and the coming storm. Nick wasn’t sure whether it was the flare catching one of their tents on fire, or the ridiculous men waving at the top of the valley, but either way Manchester’s team were soon out of their tents, and confused.

     Nick tried to direct their attention to the storm like an air traffic controller, but found that he just looked stupid. The men were already acutely aware of the danger they were in, and moving frantically to try and avoid it. The scene below was chaos, as tents were broken down, and people trained their rifles on the oncoming storm.

     Not going to help, thought Nick. From deep within the swirling mass of snow and ice, there came an inhuman howl, followed by a roar that shook the mountains around them. High above the valley, a shelf of ice broke loose and tumbled down into the camp below. Most got out of the way, but Nick cringed as one man was hit by the full force of the debris, and swept away. The light from his gun spiraled away down the mountain and off a cliff. “Poor bastard.”

     “There’s nothing we can do now,” said Lopsang. “The storm is too close.” He was calm as ever, a dispassionate observer to the oncoming disaster below.

     The storm moved in a wall, thundering toward the camp with the speed of an avalanche. The valley had been known for its sudden and unpredictable weather, but Nick had never imagined it would look like this. From the top of the spine, it all seemed almost unreal. Forty or so tiny lights scrambled for cover while the storm carried onward towards them.

     “What do we do now?” asked James shaking, from both cold, and fear.

     “You believe in a god?” asked Nick. Surprisingly he had never broached the subject.

     “Not really no,” James said sheepishly.

     “Then we wait.”

     The line of snow collided with the camp and chaos ensued. The whiteout obscured their vision, but soon the roars of the beast were punctuated by brief bursts of gunfire. A couple of times, Nick swore he heard screaming, but knew it was impossible from the distance. At one point, there was a bright, orange flash, which illuminated the entire storm momentarily. It was just enough time to see a massive silhouette moving at inhuman speeds through the camp.

     The wind continued to whip across the surface of the spine as the storm raged below them. After the first five or so minutes passed, they heard nothing but the storm, and the lights all but extinguished. Scared of what the morning would bring, the three of them crawled back to their tents in silence. There was no point in watching, or risking their own limbs to frostbite.

James did his best to shut out the roars, pulling his sleeping bag tight around his head. The three of them slept uneasy, unable to stop images of the yeti from flooding their thoughts. James could not help but repeat the mantra One of us is going to be next, over and over again, until it was his only thought.

     Nick on the other hand, found dreams where he returned repeatedly to base camp, only to find the entire ground soaked red. Large slashes ran the length of a high ice wall where the yeti had struck. A terrible feeling stayed in his gut, unmoving and heavy. It was the resolute notion that no matter what they did, mortal danger was near, but no matter how bad it felt, it was nothing compared to what they found in the stark light of the morning.