Whiteout II: 7 (Aftermath)

7. Aftermath

     “Are you sure you want to hear this part? It isn’t very pleasant. I could just skip past, tell you they all died in horrible ways and move on a couple of days, save us both the pain and suffering.” I do not relish having to tell this man every detail. The morning that I spent on that ridge was horrifying, and if I had it my way I would never re-live it. That night I was content to let them die, but seeing it made it that much worse.

     “I need every detail Mr. Ventner. Do not skip over it on my account. I can assure you that my constitution can handle whatever it is that you saw.”

     He doesn’t even look like he could handle a B-horror film. The man is quavering once again with anticipation. I hate the hungry look he gets in his eyes whenever I talk about death and destruction. It’s a look that only people who haven’t undergone it themselves can get. It’s the promise of pain and suffering that can be observed but not endured. It’s the fifteen seconds after a man collapses in a room where the other party-goers look on with morbid curiosity, but do nothing. I think its human nature that drives us to the grotesque and macabre, but the second it becomes real people go running and screaming through the doors.

     “Fine, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” The velvet coverings on his throw pillows indicate a soft man, a man who will turn coat at the slightest hint of danger. I will not relish telling the story again, but the man’s reaction might be just unpleasant enough to offset it. He reminds me of a schoolteacher I once had, rigid to ever shifting rules, but a heartless coward in confrontation. I never much liked my teachers at university. They were always putting me in boxes that I would do my best to think my way out of. I’m not much for constraints.

 

     We were all surprised at the clarity of the sky when we stepped out of the tent. There were no remnants of the storm from the previous night. I pulled out the binoculars to look down at Manchester’s camp. There was movement, but considerably less than the night before. I couldn’t see much from the distance, but the ground was covered by pink snow, and lumps of flesh where presumably there had been people. The tents were in shambles, just like the scene at base camp.

     Poles were strewn about the fresh snow, sticking up at odd angles. Canvas was ripped and shredded, leading up the mountain in a trail of destruction, and in the middle of it all was Manchester. It wasn’t difficult to pick him out at such a distance, his black coat and tall frame were a dead giveaway among a mostly short crew.

     I could see a man weeping in a pile of what used to be a man. Pink entrails and blood had seeped into the snow around him, and that’s when I realized the man he was holding was himself. He had frozen to death trying to make his way back to the tents in the middle of the night, spilling his own guts in the process. The yeti had made short work of the camp, and Manchester looked furious about it.

     “That ought to set them back.” I said, trying to cover my revulsion at the scene on the mountain. “We should get moving while they’re busy recuperating.”

     “Shouldn’t we do something?” Asked James, entranced and horrified by what he saw on the binoculars. “They might need our help.”

     “By the time we got to them it would be nightfall and we would be next. Dr. Ventner is right; we need to keep moving if we are to reach another haven by dark. It will be easier going once we are off the spine. They will be fine if they learn from their mistakes and leave.”   

     “Something tells me Manchester isn’t going to just turn tail. He brought a big crew for a reason, he wasn’t expecting them all to make it. Told you he was a bastard.” How could he have assured his own life? I took back the binoculars and scanned the remains for Manchester’s tent. It was nowhere near the others, and would have been easily spotted. The workers all slept in uniform tents, small in size, but efficient. Manchester’s would have been bigger to accommodate his ego. “He didn’t camp with them last night. His tent is not among those that were wrecked.”

     Lopsang cursed him and began to pack his tent. “That man will get himself killed before he even gets close enough to take a look at the yeti. Someone that cowardly does not have the ability that is necessary.”

     “A coward he might seem, but he is tactical. I can assure you Lopsang; he’s going to give us a run for our money. He was testing the beast last night. I bet he’s furious that the workers aren’t cleaning up the mess fast enough.” Sure enough through the binoculars I could see Manchester on bended knee examining the tracks, and yelling at the workers at the same time. Classic. Maybe they’ll have a revolt and we won’t have to deal with him after all.

     After we had packed the tents we began moving again. The top of the spine seemed much closer in daylight and gave way to a gradual slope that would make easy going for a while. “How exactly are we planning on finding the beast?” Asked James, being useful for the first time in a while.

     “I’ve been trying to tackle that problem myself. From what we’ve seen it only comes accompanied by the snowstorms. It makes it very difficult to track, as well as a meteorologists wet dream.”

     “We’ve got to have something that would help us follow him.”

     “Oh I’ve got a host of tracking devices, just like the one’s we used on the lake monster back in the day, the problem is we have to get fairly close.”

     “And what’s your plan for that?”

     “You’re not going to like it.” I gave him a sideways grin and he looked as though he would vomit.

     “No.”

     “No what?”

     “No, I’m not going to be bait for a yeti. There is absolutely no way in hell Nick! Do you really think that you can just string me up on a pole and expect me to patiently wait for evisceration while you fiddle with a tracking gadget. No way. I’ve seen way too many movies to know how that goes for me. I won’t do it.”

     “James, it’s your turn.”

     “This does not fall into the category of turns you psychopath!” I pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and handed it to him. “Oh come on. Don’t bring that up man, that’s not fair.”

     “Page three. I believe you were so eager that you signed in blood.” We had long ago sworn to take turns as bait, no matter what the beast was. It was the only way to be fair and objective about it. Luckily I had only recently played bait to the wargs, a far less dangerous task than goading a yeti. It worked out for me, but was for the most part unintentional. James looked at the page in dismay.

     “God Damnit.”

     “God had nothing to do with it. That’s just plain youthful stupidity. Don’t worry though, I won’t let you get hurt, I’ve got a cunning plan.” Lopsang snickered. “You’re not helping the poor boy’s confidence. We have to give him some hope that he’s not going to be brutally mauled by the creature during the night.” James looked green again. It was really very difficult to tell whether it was the altitude getting to him or all of the insinuations about his not so far off demise.

     I really did have a plan. I would have never purposefully put James in harm’s way unless I thought that I would be able to get him out of that. It’s just, and pardon my pun; When it comes to yetis things get a bit hairy. There’s a lot of unknowns up there that can really lead to things going pear-shaped.

     We did not end up hiking long past the edge of the spine before we found another marker. There was a narrow canyon that lead onward to a wide open field of snow. Inside the canyon was a small crag that was crisscrossed by flags and colorful paintings on the wall. Pictures of death and massive beasts lined the walls. “Homey isn’t it?”

     “I suppose there isn’t a better place to die.” Said James glumly.

     “Don’t be like that. You’re not going to die! I have a plan remember?” I had about one-half of a plan, and that half was making James bait for the yeti while I shot a tracker at it. What I hadn’t thought through was how to get the yeti away once he appeared. The canyon was about twenty feet wide, and tall enough to mire it in shadows. This really is quite the ominous setting…

     “Ok, I’ve got a plan!”

     “What is it?” Asked James meekly.

     “Stay with me on this one, it’s going to get a little complicated. First we remove all of the elastic lining from within our bungee chords. Then I need you and Lopsang to sew together our backpacks into a sort of seat. Meanwhile I will tie the elastics to both sides of the canyon. You will sit in a seat right in the middle, held in place by a series of sharpened sticks that I will obtain from the local fauna. We wait until night, the yeti comes in to eat you, I track him, you release the switch and catapult yourself out of the canyon and speedily to safety.” I stood, pretending to look proud of myself while savoring the terror that cascaded across James’ face.

     “Really?”

     “No, not really.”

     “Oh God I’m going to die.”

     People who say that often do… “Come now, I was just having a bit of fun. Now for the real plan.” I pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and began to draw. “We’ll erect a small tent here, right in the middle of the canyon. Just like with the wargs. James you will sit in the tent, poised to strike in case you get the chance. Meanwhile, Lopsang and I will wait safely in the sacred hollow here. I will take aim from a safe distance, and once I am sure that I have got the tracker in the beast will signal to you.

     “Lopsang will then run out behind the yeti with one of the road flares we still have and ditract it while you scramble to safety. Once you are safely within the hollow I will run out behind the yeti and distract it with another road flare, while Lopsang scrambles safely back into the hollow…”

     “Let me stop you there. How long does this continue for?”

     “Until we run out of road flares. Odd man out needs to be a fast runner.” I smiled slyly. “Alright, fine, we tie the remaining road flares to the pack of holy powder in the bags, throw that out, blind the beast while you scuttle back to safety, and sincerely hope that it doesn’t cause a life-ending avalanche.”

     “Holy Powder?” Asked Lopsang. Holy powder was really just a term I used for high intensity flash powder, like the kind they would set off at rock shows, but holy powder sounded so much cooler. When used in the right amount it could blind someone for hours, or even permanently.

     “Made from the bones of Christ himself. When mixed with fire creates a powerful flash that blinds all enemies, mortal or otherwise.” I had no idea whether or not it would work on the yeti, but it seemed to be the only plan we had. His retinal protection can’t be that great right? Animals that were used to windy conditions usually had some form of evolutionary eye protection, but flash powder had never failed me before.

     “Well it’s the best plan we’ve got.” Said James, once again maintaining the personality characteristics of a condemned man.

     “It’s going to be fine James.” I grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye in a rare moment of sincerity. “This is not where you die ok? It’s going to be a walk in the park. I’m a good shot remember? He may not even get that close to you, and if it all goes belly up, we’re all going down together.”

     “Well that’s comforting.” A chill set in over our camp, indicating that the sun had passed behind the mountain. It was difficult to tell in the eternal twilight of the canyon. The vision of the sky was limited to a small crack at the top. Snow began to fall through and stick to the rocky walls.

     “We may not have much time; we need to set everything up now. Ready your dinners, and eat hardy!”

     “Just don’t. If the last thing I hear is a quote from a Zac Snyder movie I just might kill myself before the yeti gets here. Let’s get a move on…”