Bad Call

by Stephen Wallenfels

  Grahame says, “It was like slicing into an avocado. I felt the bone breaking up through the handle. He fell back, moaning, his gloves covering his face. At first there was nothing and I thought he was okay. Then there was blood. So much blood. It happened so fast. I was screaming what have I done, what have I done?” He takes another breath. “When he fell he was sitting up. By the time I could move he was on his back. I…sat next to him, put his head on my lap. I didn’t know what else to do. His hands were in the way. I kept asking him to move them so I could look. See if his nose was still there. But he wouldn’t do it. The blood…the snow…that fucking wind. Then he made a gurgling sound. Like he was choking. I turned his head to the side thinking it was the blood in his mouth. That he couldn’t breathe. As soon as I did that his body started shaking. After a few seconds he went stiff, and then…and then the choking stopped. He goes limp. He wasn’t moving or making any sounds.” Grahame shakes his head.

  I’m trembling. Barely able to talk.

  “Did you feel for a pulse?”

  “Yes,” he says. “But there was so much snow, my hands were cold…”

  “What did you feel?”

  “Nothing. I felt nothing.”

  “But you don’t know for sure.”

  “He died, Q. Right there in my arms. All that blood. There’s just no way—”

  “Your minute’s up. I need to go.”

  “Wait.” He squirms around inside Ceo’s sleeping bag. Comes out with a pair of something that looks like puffy down slippers. “They’re Ceo’s. My feet are finally warm.” I hesitate, wanting them, but not feeling right about it. Grahame tosses them to me. “You know he’d want you to wear them, even if he was alive.”

  He is alive. I stuff them inside my coat.

  “There’s one more thing.” Grahame’s arm slips out of his sleeping bag. He reaches for his jacket, searches through the pockets, then hands me two jalapeño Slim Jims. “For you and the one that doesn’t believe me.”

  “Thanks,” I say, knowing what this means. Slim Jims are Ceo’s favorite food. Since they were in Grahame’s jacket, that means he must have gone through Ceo’s clothes at the scene.

  “It was an accident, Q. I know that bi—I know she doesn’t believe me. But you do. Right?”

  After a beat, “Yeah, sure.”

  Thinking, No I don’t.

  I yank my pack toward the door. The movement shifts Ceo’s jacket, exposing the ax. I almost forgot about it. I reach for the handle. Grahame tries to block me with his arm. I knock it away.

  “Don’t,” he says.

  I strap the ax to my pack.

  “Let me keep it here. Please!”

  His eyes are wide with fear. What is he thinking? That I’m going to sneak in here and do to him what he did to Ceo? Whatever his problem is, I don’t care.

  I say, “Stay away from us.”

  And can’t get out of that tent fast enough.

  He shakes Ellie till she knows it’s him.

  She watches from some far-off place while he puts foam pads over the snow, pulls sleeping bags from his pack, spreads them on top of the pads, undoes zippers, wipes away chunks of white that fall when his head brushes the roof. He unlaces and removes her boots, tugs off her wet socks. Wet pants slide down and off. Something soft goes over her feet. He tells her to get into the bag. She crawls in, shivering so hard she thinks her bones will snap.

  Hears him moving next to her, teeth chattering in the almost-dark.

  Swearing at the cold as if it has a beating heart.

  His arm sliding into her sleeping bag, around her chest, pulling her to him.

  Shivering together.

  Slowly, like a sliver of sunlight leaking under a curtain spreading gold against her bedroom wall.

  Warmth finds them.

  Her body returns to the rhythms she knows.

  The fury of the world outside is lost, and it is just the two of them in this shelter of wood and snow and pieces of broken tent.

  As conscious thought seeps in, she asks, “Did you get the ax?”

  “Yes. Shh…”

  Minutes or hours later, she asks him from what must be a dream, “What did you put on my feet?”

  “Magic slippers.”

  “Mmmmmmm.”

  She rides them to a beach in Fiji.

  I punch through a drift that nearly fills the opening to our shelter. I did the same thing twice last night, afraid the opening would be covered completely and we would run out of air.

  It’s a world transformed. The gray and green and brown landscape that started this journey has turned into a smooth, pristine white. The weather has changed, too. Snow isn’t falling, and there is no fog, so I can see deep into the trees. It feels warmer outside, maybe close to the freezing mark already. Best of all, the wind is reduced to swirling ghosts of powder. They skim across the surface, as if sent to smooth out the final traces of our prints from yesterday. Looking at the scooped-out bases around the trees, and the thick coating of snow on Ceo’s tent, I figure Mother Nature dumped another four inches on us overnight. That puts her total somewhere between twelve and twenty. I look up, see the clouds, and know in a sickening instant that she isn’t finished with this canvas.

  “So?” Ellie asks, waiting for my report.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  I’m anxious to start our search for Ceo. Before that can happen we need more water. Not a lot, so it won’t take long. Just enough to reach Snow Creek plus some extra for Ceo when we find him. Which we will. I’ve been mentally preparing for that event ever since I untangled myself from Ellie this morning and she whispered, Thanks for being my heater. Thinking about the grim prospects ahead, those five words from her will surely be the best thing I hear all day.

  Ellie helps me build the fire with leftover wood from the lean-to and the last of the Coleman fuel. Initially it flares up like a bomb, then the fuel burns off in less than a minute and the roaring flames turn into smoking embers. Ellie crouches down to snow level and blows softly on the little dots of orange while I add twigs and pine needles one at a time until the flames catch and we have a steady fire. I fill a cooking pot with snow, bridge it over two rocks. We chew on the jalapeño Slim Jims while waiting for the snow to melt.

  The fact that Grahame is not up and packed, like we are, grates on me. He knows I can’t do this without him and that every second counts. I think about shaking his tent and yelling, Enough of this shit.

  Then Ellie bends over and coughs.

  I heard it a couple times last night, and a few more this morning. She says she’s okay, it’s just an itch, but the rattle in her chest says otherwise. Add this new development to Ceo’s unknown state, a brooding sky, and my feet, which are numb already—and I can’t take it anymore.

  I say, “Screw it. I’m waking him up.”

  “Wait,” Ellie says in a hushed tone, “you guys talked yesterday. Did Grahame tell you his side?”

  “Yes. It was a hard thing to hear.”

  “What did he say?”

  I tell her everything, including the part where Ceo kept looking for something but he wouldn’t tell Grahame what it was. When I’m finished, she studies the fire for a full minute. Then her eyebrows gather in concern, and she says, “On our first night, when Grahame chopped a huge limb off that dead tree—he told me to stand behind him.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “He told Ceo the same thing.”

  “So it fits.”

  “Not quite. The difference is when he hit that log in front of me, he chopped down like a pro. He knew exactly what he was doing. This time is different. He swings in a circle. And misses everything—except Ceo’s head.”

  “It was a blizzard, Ellie. He said he slipped.”

  “I know. That explains why he missed the branches and hit Ceo by accident. But that doesn’t expla—” And she coughs several times. It sounds like marbles are loose in her lungs. After it passes, she dials her voice down to a throaty whisp
er: “It doesn’t explain why he swung in a circle. He could have slipped, like he said. Or Ceo could have moved and…” She leaves her thought unfinished.

  “Ellie, I know what you’re saying. But Grahame isn’t like that. There’s no way he would do it. Not on purpose. I saw him last night. He was close to tears.” I don’t tell her about the Slim Jims. Or what Grahame whispered to me before walking with Ceo into the woods.

  Kittens in a blender.

  I thought he was just reminding me about what Ceo did. As if I’d forget. But maybe it was something more than that. Maybe Ceo had pushed him one too many times.

  Ellie says, “Think about all that’s happened. The bet, the race, Cannabis Cove? Tossing the GPS over a cliff. He blames Ceo for everything. Plus there’s some things I didn’t tell you.”

  “Like what?”

  “He made a pass at me. Twice.”

  “When?”

  “On the shuttle bus. He trapped my hand under his and wouldn’t let go. It was a creepy-cousin kind of thing. Then again that night, when I was up at the log trying to go to the bathroom. He asked me if I wanted to kick Ceo out of the tent and sleep with him.”

  “He had to be joking.”

  “He wasn’t. There’s something dark about him. Seriously dark.”

  I look at her, hoping that she’s done. But I can tell by the grim set of her lips she isn’t. “Is there more?”

  “Do you remember when you, me, and Grahame were on the summit, and Grahame said that Ceo had anger-management issues because I wasn’t giving him the right kind of therapy?”

  “Yeah. That was bad, even for Grahame. You didn’t…”

  She nods.

  “You told Ceo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I didn’t. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is what Ceo said.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he was sorry. Then he promised that Grahame would be sorry, too.”

  “Shit!” I kick at a clump of snow. It lands on a rock in the fire and hisses. Just like the resulting steam, I feel my anger rising. “So you’re saying that Ceo—”

  She grabs my arm, nods toward the tent, and whispers, “Shh!”

  Lowering my voice, I say, “You’re saying that Ceo confronted Grahame, and because of it, Grahame axed him in the face?”

  Ellie says, “No, I’m not saying that. But it is a piece. And when you add all the pieces together, they don’t equal an accident.”

  What she isn’t factoring into her equation is the biggest piece of all. That Grahame overheard Ceo’s grand plan to hook me up with Ellie. That makes me wonder if Ceo even told her about it. Now these new and disturbing developments—that Grahame had some twisted idea from the start that he could score with Ellie. And maybe Ceo had some payback in mind for something Grahame said. I’m considering the dangers of telling Ellie what she doesn’t know, when the zipper on Ceo’s tent goes up. Grahame sticks his head out, surveys the day.

  Ellie hisses to me, “Don’t leave me alone with him. Ever. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Say it.”

  “I promise not to leave you alone with Grahame.”

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand. Then says in her normal voice as Grahame walks up to the fire, “Well, Colin. It looks like the snow has melted.”

  Looking down at the steaming pot, Grahame says, “What’s for breakfast, Q?”

  “Water. For our search. We’ll get more at the creek.”

  “Good thinking. Did the Slim Jims make you thirsty?”

  “Pack up your stuff. I want to leave in five minutes.”

  “I’m packed already. All we need to do is take down the tent.”

  “Good. Then do it.”

  Ignoring Colin, he says to her, “How was your night in the fort?”

  “We survived.”

  “I noticed.” While she keeps her eyes on the flames, he adds, “I hear skin on skin is the best way to get warm. All the friction. Is that true?”

  She stares at the fire.

  Grahame says, “Must be. You’ve got that nice survivor’s glow.”

  She raises her eyes, glares at him. Grahame’s eyes flick to the ax, then back to her. It’s a subtle thing. Colin probably missed it.

  Colin says, “Grahame, break down the tent.”

  “I be on it, boss mon.” And walks away.

  Ellie waits till he’s inside the tent before turning to Colin.

  “Something’s different about him.”

  “Yeah, there is. He went through hell yesterday.”

  “I think he’s losing it.”

  “He’ll be okay.”

  She looks at Colin. “You told him?”

  “Told him what?”

  “How I feel about him.”

  Colin frowns, as if considering different answers to the same question. She’s afraid he’ll pick the lie and say no, Grahame has no idea. But Colin says, “I didn’t tell him you think he’s lying. But he basically said that to my face last night.” Her heart sinks at Colin’s tone, somewhere between disappointment and frustration. Maybe even a hint of anger. She was hoping for something different. That Colin would say he agrees with her, that he’s on her side. Instead he hands her the empty water bottle and asks her to hold it while he pours in the pot of warm water. She has another coughing fit and spills some. When they’re finished, he tells her to drink a little, maybe it will help her throat. She pauses, not feeling right about it.

  Colin says, “Go ahead. We’re way past worrying about cooties.”

  He disappears into the shelter, hands out their packs. By the time they put them on and tighten the straps, Grahame is finished breaking down the tent and joins them by the fire. They kick snow on the flames till nothing remains except a thin trail of smoke.

  Colin says to Grahame, “It’s your deal now.”

  They stare at the untracked snow. The only sound being the soft thump of branches shedding their heavy load.

  Colin reaches for the ax. Grahame beats him to it. Then he turns to Ellie and says, “He was my friend, too. It was an accident.” Waits for an answer that doesn’t come. He points the handle of the ax into the woods and says, “Me tink we go dat way, don’t cha know.”

  Grahame leads, Colin trails a few steps back. Ellie looks over her shoulder at the shelter that she built with Colin. Remembers the feel of his arm wrapping around her chest, pulling her to him. The promise of warmth it brought in the middle of a storm. She recalls what Colin said this morning when she asked if they should tear it down.

  It was good to us. Let’s leave it up.

  Ellie smiles at that thought, then leans over and coughs.

  Colin looks back, concerned.

  She says, “I’m all right.” Then follows his tracks into the woods.

  We walk in a silence occasionally broken by my calling out Ceo’s name and Ellie’s coughing, which is progressively worse. Water doesn’t help. She refuses to rest or to go back to the shelter and wait. So here we are.

  Grahame stops every couple minutes, looks around, shakes his head, and moves on, but not without giving me a glare that makes it perfectly clear what he thinks of our weary parade. Staying in his tracks is a challenge because his strides are longer than mine. I keep stumbling, which takes its toll on my strength as I struggle to stay upright with this load on my back. A hiking stick would help. I keep an eye out for something that will work.

  After we’ve been at it for thirty minutes, Grahame stops and says, “Q, this is insane.”

  “Keep going.”

  “How long are we going to do this?”

  “We’ll stop when we find him.”

  “Have you thought about what we’re going to do if that happens?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s dead. We can’t carry him.”

  “What if he isn’t dead?”

  “We should be hiking out of here, Q. That’s what we should be
doing.”

  I know he’s right. But I can’t stop. Not until I’m sure.

  I ask, “Does anything look familiar?”

  Grahame snorts. “It was a blizzard, Q. Nothing looks familiar.”

  Ellie says, “Colin. Maybe we should set a time limit.”

  Grahame says, “Yeah. A time limit. I vote for that.”

  They look at me. I know we can’t keep this up indefinitely. All we’ve had to eat are a couple of Slim Jims. It’s a race to see which we run out of first, calories or water. We still have to find the trail and hike out of here. The weather won’t hold, and when it changes, we won’t have the energy to fight it. I know they’re right.

  I ask, “How much time is Ceo worth?”

  Grahame starts to reach into a coat pocket, changes his mind, and switches to his pants pocket. He comes out with his phone. “It’s eight forty-two now. I say we turn around at nine. No matter what.”

  “That’s it? Ceo’s life is worth eighteen minutes?”

  “Considering that this pointless search could kill us all, I say hell yeah.”

  Ellie says, “Colin. We can’t keep doing this. I’m sorry.”

  Grahame says to her, “You and I could head down. Let Colin do this on his own.”

  I’m tempted to agree. Then I remember my promise to Ellie. That I won’t leave her alone with Grahame. I say, “All right. Ceo gets eighteen minutes. Let’s go.”

  Grahame resumes kicking postholes in the snow. We follow in a tight line behind him. After a couple minutes he says, “Hey, Ellie. Did Q tell you about the big match?”

  Right away I don’t like the sound of this. Whatever cliff he’s headed for, it can’t be good. I say, “Grahame, don’t. Not now.”

  “C’mon, Q. Might as well tell her. It’s the whole reason we’re out here, right?”