Whiteout II-8 (Aftermath) [1 of 2]

8. Aftermath

    “Are you sure you want to hear this part? I could just skip past, tell you the camp was massacred and move past it,” said Nick, hoping to god Winston would take him up on the offer. As much as making him squirm was pleasant, the memory of what happened to Manchester’s camp was one he kept locked away for a reason.

     Winston paused, thinking it over. “While I am sure it’s a painful memory—“

     “It is,” Nick interrupted.

     “Yes, while it is painful,” Winston paused in an effort to show empathy, “I would still like to hear the whole story.” He stopped, and they sat in silence for a moment.

     They always want the grizzly details. It’s fascinating when it didn’t happen to you. Pain and suffering can be observed, but not endured. It’s the same as the fifteen seconds after a man collapses at a party where the others just look on in morbid curiosity. Nick felt a wave of nausea come over him. It might have been the story, or the alcohol, but either way, he pushed the feeling back down. Human nature drives us to the grotesque and the macabre, right up until the moment it becomes real, then they’re all running for the doors.

     “If it is more drink you require,” said Winston, misinterpreting Nick’s reluctance.

     When they stepped out of their tent, they were surprised by the clarity of the morning sky. There was not a trace of the storm that had besieged them the night before. If they had not known better, it might have seemed like spring. Nick stretched the sleep from his bones and tried to ignore the tiredness hiding just behind his eyes.

     James emerged a moment later and without a word, walked over to the edge of the plateau to look at Manchester’s camp.

     Nick grabbed the binoculars, and looked as well. There was movement, but considerably less than the night before. Where the ground should have been stark white from the fresh snow, instead was a light pink color. Sickening lumps dotted the landscape where presumably there had once been men. Torn canvas and broken tent poles littered the valley like tiny markers on a mass grave.

     Nick saw a man, frozen mid crawl, trying to drag another man back to his tent. It took him a minute to realize that it was no other man being dragged, and rather the same man’s lower half. Nick fought back the urge to gag and continued to look around. The bodies that the snow hadn’t covered were all hideously deformed. It’s hunting for sport, he thought, noticing that most of the bodies had been left rather than eaten. Just like base camp.

     Nick was about to look away when he spotted Manchester among the sea of wreckage. Well I’ll be damned. He made it out after all. The black, wide brimmed hat was easily spotted from a distance. Manchester stood, peering down at a particularly bloody lump, in deep thought. “Looks like our friend survived.” Nick handed the binoculars to James.

     James scanned the landscape and stifled a gag. There were just some things that could not be unseen.

     “On the bright side, that will set them back,” said Nick, trying to cover his own revulsion. “We should get moving while they’re busy recuperating.” It sounded more confident than Nick felt. In truth, he was surprised that the words had come out of his mouth. Most of his thoughts were about turning tail and running home, but the others, arguably the asinine ones, wanted to carry forth, and not let the loss be in vain.

     “Shouldn’t we do something?” asked James, eyes glued to the binoculars, unable to look away. “They might need our help.”

     “I’ll bet they do,” said Nick flatly. “But, by the time we could get to them it would be nightfall, and correct me if I’m wrong Lopsang, but there don’t appear to be any holy sites in that valley.”

     Lopsang put a hand on James’s shoulder. “He’s right. Any relics that were left there got destroyed long ago. There would be no shelter there.” His tone was sorrowful. It was obvious that he wanted to help too, but knew that there was no way they could. “We need to keep moving if we are to reach another haven by dark. Perhaps they will learn from their mistakes and leave.”

     “Something tells me this isn’t going to inspire cowardice in Manchester.” Looking down at him, Manchester’s posture looked more quizzical than disgusted. There was still a sizeable chunk of his crew left, and Manchester would not stop. Nick knew this, because they were alike in more ways than he cared to admit. “He brought a big crew for a reason. Told you he was a bastard.”

     “You don’t think this was on purpose, do you?” said James, disbelieving.

     Nick grabbed the binoculars back and looked around the wreckage. It did not take him long to notice the oddities. “All of the crew still alive look unharmed. Their gear is perfectly intact, and they even look well rested.” This is low, even for you Harvey. “He didn’t camp with them last night. They were the bait.”

     Lopsang cursed under his breath. “That man will get more people killed before he even gets close enough to take a good look at the yeti. He’s a coward.” Lopsang spat on the ground.

     “A coward he might seem, but he is tactical,” said Nick with what was almost a tone of admiration. He looked back through the binoculars at the camp. “Ah, and now we see the true nature of the man. I’ll say it again, I did tell you both.”

     Below, Manchester was on bended knee, examining the carnage for any traces of the yeti. At the same time, he was yelling at his workers. No rest for the wicked. “Manchester will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and he doesn’t care who gets killed on the way.” Nick handed the binoculars back to James, and then began to pack up his gear.

     James looked disgusted again.

     Poor kid already losing another hero. Only about a year prior, James had witnessed the true nature of one of his favorite TV personalities while they had been hunting for a sasquatch. As it turned out, most people who claimed to be cryptozoologists for money were either frauds, assholes, or both.

     After the tents had been packed up, they began moving again. In the fresh light of day, the top of the spine seemed much closer. The initial steep incline tapered off to a gradual slope, leading to the top of the valley. For a while they did not say much. Each of them was lost in thought for different reasons. Nick relished Manchester’s mistakes, Lopsang thought about ways to honor the dead, and James questioned his place in the world. The morning dragged on and they continued to walk.

     Eventually, it was James who broke the silence. “How exactly are we planning on finding the beast?” asked James.

     “I’ve been trying to tackle that problem myself,” lied Nick, thinking about it for the first time that day. “From what we’ve seen it only comes accompanied by snowstorms. So far that means two things: One, that beast is a meteorologist’s wet dream, and Two, we won’t be able to find any tracks as the snow covers them up.”

     “So, we have no way of tracking it?” asked James.

     “Oh, we’ve got a host of tracking devices, but we’re going to have to get very close to use them.” Nick thought about the creature’s putrid breath, and shivered at the idea of having to come face-to-face with it once more.

     “And what’s your plan for that?” asked Lopsang, ending his silence.

     “It’s a good one, but he,” Nick motioned to James, “isn’t going to like it.” A devilish grin spread across Nick’s face.

     James’s eyes turned to daggers. “No,” he said flatly.

     “No what?” asked Nick as if nothing had been implied.

     “No, I’m not going to be bait for a yeti!” He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Nick. “Do you really think after how close things got with that lake monster that I’m going to play the bait again?”

     “James, it’s your turn,” said Nick calmly. Suddenly, being bait for two wargs didn’t seem all that bad.

     “This does not fall into the category of turns you psychopath!”

     Nick put his bag down, looked through it, and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook.

     “Oh come on. Don’t bring that up man, it’s not fair,” said James, his resolve dwindling.

     “What’s that?” asked Lopsang.

     “A handbook, that this young man signed,” said Nick, holding the book out to Lopsang. “I believe it’s on page three, line ten. You were so eager that you signed in blood.” Nick sounded smug, and was. From the first day of James’s apprentice, they had sworn to take turns as bait, no matter what they faced. Nick had wanted James to play the bait always, but had eventually yielded to negotiation.

     Lopsang turned to page three and read it. “He’s right, you did sign.” He held the book out to James as if somehow it would help.

     “God damnit,” cursed James.

     “God had nothing to do with it,” said Nick. “It was just plain, youthful stupidity.” Nick snagged the notebook from Lopsang before he had a chance to read any more and tucked it safely away in his breast pocket. Don’t want to lose this with the gear. The notebook had turned out to be one of his greatest allies. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you get hurt. I’ve got a plan.”

     Lopsang laughed a little at this.

     “You’re doing wonders for his confidence Lopsang,” Nick said in a chiding tone. “We have to give him some hope that he’s not going to get brutally mauled by the creature while tied to a post.” The way Nick said it was matter-of-fact, but in truth, he was a little nervous about James playing the bait. The whole situation gave him a bad feeling.

     James was looking green again. Nick thought it was likely a mix of mild altitude sickness and fear. Don’t worry kid, I do have a plan. It may only be half-baked, but it’s a plan nonetheless. Nick felt it was better than they had done for the rest of the expedition.

     “Well,” said Nick, breaking the silence. “We’ve still got a day of trekking ahead of us. Let’s put our evening plans aside and get moving.” Nick motioned for Lopsang to lead the way and they began the day’s journey.

Link to Part II