by Stone, Kyla
Still, he hadn’t scaled a rope since high school gym class. He was athletic, but this required a different skill set.
He inhaled a frozen breath, preparing himself.
“Good luck, Dad,” Milo said.
Noah kissed the top of his son’s head. He would need all the luck he could get.
His heart in his throat, Noah stepped onto the thin metal lip of the chair back and grasped the center pole for balance. His boots started to slip immediately, but he was already using his arms to clamber up over the T-bar.
He reached up and grasped the top of the grip. His fingers slipped, but he adjusted his hands until he found a better purchase.
He leaned forward, seized the cable with both hands, and hung there for a moment, his arms at right angles to keep the strain of his weight off his fingers. Using all his strength, he swung his legs up and attempted to fold them over the cable at the knees.
He missed. His right boot scraped the cable, sending a jolting thrum through his hands, his left leg missing altogether.
“We’re doomed,” Quinn said.
Noah
Day One
“No, we’re not.” Noah tightened his grasp on the cable, legs swinging freely. He sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the aching burn in his lungs, the swirl of nausea in his gut.
His biceps already straining, swung his body a second time, using his abs, putting everything into it. This time, the back of his knees hooked over the cable, one on each side.
“Now scooch,” Quinn called.
“I know what to do.” Though he didn’t, not really. He was figuring it out as he went. He recalled some swat-style training Julian had dragged him to a few times, a style of horizontal rope climbing similar to a crab crawl.
If he could pull himself up on top of the cable, he could lay on top and hook his boot to push while he pulled. It would hopefully stave off the exhaustion of hanging upside down and forcing his limbs to support all his weight.
After several tries, he pulled himself on top of the cable and settled himself. Then, pulling with his arms, pushing with one leg while using his hanging leg to balance, he began the methodical descent on top of the cable.
He shut out Phoebe’s plaintive crying, Quinn’s snark, even Milo shouting encouragement. His attention narrowed to an absolute focus.
Snow pummeled his face and stuck in his eyelashes. His fingers were stiff and going numb. The cable thrummed below him with each movement, wet with snow, threatening to dislodge him.
Fear was a hook in his throat. It trembled through him, colder even than the air, a deep and unknowable terror. He moved because he had to. Because he had no choice.
Don’t fall. Don’t look down. Don’t fall.
One hand in front of the other. His arms shook from the strain. His hands were aching. He could’ve gone five feet or twenty. He had no idea.
Inch by inch, he scooted, just a little further along the perilous journey across fifty feet of cable.
One hand after another while pushing with his leg. One slow painful slide after the next. His muscles taut and aching, the cable scraping across his torso.
He thought only of Milo. Of getting him safe. Getting him home.
The wind in the dark gave a low-pitched moan as it eddied around the trees and the lift towers. Snow was falling in opaque sheets.
His outstretched hand struck something. He flinched, startled.
“The top of my chair!” Quinn yelled over the wind. Her voice was far closer than he’d expected. “You reached us!”
Carefully, he unslung his legs, lowered his arms, and hung for a moment. The next chair swayed only a couple feet in front of him.
The old man slumped on the right side of the chair, unmoving. Quinn was on her knees on the left side, one gloved hand gripping the safety bar, her other hand outstretched toward him.
He lowered himself with shaking arms into the chair. It swung dangerously beneath him, but Quinn grabbed his legs. He wrapped his arms around the center pole to steady himself.
It would take energy to climb back up again, but he desperately needed a few minutes’ rest or he would fall. He knew it.
There wasn’t much room; he remained standing. He glanced backward over the space he’d traveled. In the glow of the Maglight, Milo was a small dark shape barely visible through the swirling snow.
He couldn’t see or hear Phoebe anymore. A shiver of unease passed through him. He needed to hurry.
He shook out his arms, clenched and unclenched his aching hands, always keeping one arm encircling the pole. Every muscle in his body ached. The fear shuddered through every cell in his body.
He had to keep going. He had another stretch to go. It was hard to judge distances when he could barely see. Thirty feet? More?
“Th-the storm’s getting b-bad,” Quinn said through chattering teeth. The flashlight beam barely reached this far. She was a shadow. He couldn’t make out her features or check for blue skin or frostbite.
“I know.”
“W-we can’t wait up here. We all have to get d-down now.”
“What about your grandfather?”
A beat of silence. Then she said, “H-he’s dead.”
Dread squeezed Noah’s heart. He didn’t say, are you sure? He didn’t want to belittle her or her grief.
He had nothing worth saying, no comfort to give her.
“W-we have to get down,” she repeated.
“I’ll go for help—”
“No time. I can f-feel it. It’ll take too long.”
His lungs constricted. She was right. “Milo can’t do this climb. He can’t. It’s impossible.”
“I-I watched what you did,” Quinn said. “W-we get down, then we figure it out. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I wasn’t asking your p-permission.”
He didn’t have the energy to fight her.
Two minutes later, Noah was precariously balanced on the cable again, every muscle in his body burning as he worked through the freezing darkness and the driving snow.
Quinn followed him. He craned his neck to glance back to check on her.
After a last hug for her dead grandfather, she’d managed to scurry up the pole, get her hands on the grip, and swing her legs up and over the cable.
She locked her knees and slid herself forward, moving hand over hand, her leg balanced behind her. She was surprisingly quick and agile.
“Be careful,” he called.
She only grunted.
He kept going, hoping she was following, but unable to see her behind him.
Concern for Milo dug into his brain. What if he got scared, moved around, and fell out? Noah would never forgive himself.
He forced himself to focus on the cable, on not slipping or losing his grip and plummeting to the hard ground below. The seconds passed, then minutes.
After what felt like an eternity, he reached the edge of the tower.
The shallow, narrow ladder hugged the side of the tower. He tightened his grip on the cable, unslung his legs, and stretched for the ladder.
His boot hit the narrow rung and nearly slid off. Arms straining, he scooted closer until he could balance both boots on the rungs. He swung his body forward and seized the side rails.
He’d made it.
Noah
Day One
Noah allowed himself two relieved breaths. He wasn’t safe yet. Milo and Phoebe were still trapped.
They were all half-frozen and threatened by frostbite, hypothermia, and death.
His brain felt thick and foggy. He could feel the numbness setting in, the fuzzy thinking that signaled danger.
They had to move. He had to get them all down and out of this blizzard.
He wedged his boots through the rungs, made sure he had a steady grip on the slick metal, and turned squinting toward the cable. “Quinn!”
“I’m here!” Quinn shouted over the wind. The girl was a dark shape clinging to the cable several fee
t behind him.
Noah could hardly see with the snow driving into his face, the dim flashlight barely reaching through the thick, spiraling darkness.
“Reach for the ladder!” he called. “Be careful!”
Quinn moved slowly, painstakingly closer to the ladder. Noah watched, his pulse a roar in his ears, unable to help or do a thing. It was all up to her.
Her leg slipped off the cable. She fell back, nearly losing her grip.
Fear stabbed him. “Quinn!”
Quinn hung from the cable by one hand. Her right hand flailed uselessly, her feet dangling.
Noah’s frozen breath caught in his throat. One hand wrapped around the ladder, he stretched out for her. “Give me your hand.”
She got both hands on the cable and hung there, only four feet away.
He reached as far as his arm would allow him, fingers outstretched. His boots slick on the metal rung, barely holding on. “You can do it, come on.”
“S-shut up so I can concentrate.”
He shut up.
With a grunt, she swung hand over hand the last two feet until she was close enough for Noah to snag her coat. He got his arm around the waist and pulled her into the tower. She clung to him, shaking.
“You okay?”
“Just get us the hell d-down.”
“You need help?”
“Just go!”
There was little room for them both. Noah hurried down, rung after rung, pressing himself tight against the tower as the wind and snow buffeted him. Quinn followed.
He jumped the last few feet, his boots sinking up to his shins in the snow.
He held out his hands, ready to catch her if she fell, but the girl didn’t need him. She clambered down with ease.
Noah followed the beam of the flashlight, staggering uphill through the snow, Quinn close behind him, holding onto the back of his coat.
When he was directly beneath the chairlift, he shouted for Milo to drop the flashlight, which he did. Noah picked it up and hurried to Brock’s fallen form. The man was nearly covered by fresh snow. He wasn’t moving.
Noah knelt in the snow and brushed the flakes from Brock’s face. “Brock!”
He didn’t answer.
Noah ripped off his gloves. He pressed his fingers to Brock’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing.
His skin was ice. It didn’t feel human anymore. His open, blank eyes were crusted with ice and snow.
Noah’s gut twisted. The man was dead.
Behind him, Quinn mumbled a curse. “Screw this noise. We’ve got to get out of h-here.”
Noah climbed to his feet and tugged his gloves back on. He could barely get them on over his stiff fingers. “There’s no w-way Milo can do what we did. Or Phoebe. We have to get them down ourselves. Somehow.”
Quinn turned toward him. He couldn’t read her features in the dark. She was shivering, teeth chattering, but she wasn’t panicky or frantic. “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“We use t-that.” Quinn pointed toward the tree line Noah could barely see in the snowstorm.
He pointed the flashlight. The beam highlighted a flicker of red through the snow. The red boundary fencing separating the trees and the Rocket Launcher run.
“The fence is soft and flexible,” Quinn said. “It’s s-some kind of fabric. We can use it as an improvised trampoline to catch them.”
She was right. The thick netting just might work.
Side by side, they trudged toward the trees. Ten minutes later, Noah had used the pocket knife on his keychain to cut a ten-foot section of the flexible fencing, which was attached to a thin metal post on each end.
Quinn took one side and Noah the other. The flashlight between his teeth, Noah positioned the improvised trampoline beneath Milo’s chairlift. He gazed up at the swinging chair so high above them.
“We’ll c-catch you,” he shouted into the wind. “I’ve got you, son. Don’t worry.”
Concern ate at him. What if Milo was too scared to jump? What would Noah do then? He could hardly bear to contemplate it.
“I’m not worried, Dad,” Milo yelled.
Milo, his brave little son, didn’t hesitate. He jumped.
10
Noah
Day One
Milo pushed himself off the chairlift and jumped, arms and legs flailing. For a heart-stopping instant, Noah watched him falling, falling, falling.
His little body hit the center of the fencing. The weight of him barely registered. The fencing wasn’t as stretchy as a trampoline, but it worked well enough to absorb the shock of his fall.
Noah dropped his end of the fence pole and ran to his son. He knelt and wrapped him in his arms. His heart nearly burst. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn such total trust, but he was eternally grateful for it.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’m f-fine, Dad,” Milo mumbled against his chest. But he was cold, so cold. Of course he wasn’t okay. Noah had to get him out of this storm. He had to get them all out of here.
“Stay right here. We’re going in one minute. Just as soon as we get Phoebe down.” He turned Milo away from Brock’s body. “Don’t look over there. Here, help us with the flashlight. Just point it at whatever we’re doing so we can see.”
“I-I can do that, Dad.”
Noah and Quinn grabbed the improvised trampoline again and positioned themselves beneath Phoebe’s chair. Milo pointed the flashlight.
Snowflakes dove and churned in the cone of light. Outside the light, the entire world was a rush of darkness and snow.
“You need to jump!” Noah called up to Phoebe. His voice was hoarse, his throat and lungs raw from the burning cold.
Phoebe only clung to the chair harder. “I can’t! I can’t do it!”
Noah cajoled and pleaded and encouraged. The woman wouldn’t move.
He didn’t want to leave her behind. He was a police officer. It was his job to save everyone he could.
He’d already lost two people. He couldn’t lose any more.
He felt every second ticking by, felt the tension of his choices tearing him apart, inch by inch. He couldn’t abandon a civilian, but he wouldn’t allow his son to suffer any longer, either.
“Lady, get the hell down, or we’ll leave your ass behind!” Quinn shouted. “We’re not dying for you. You have five seconds!”
That seemed to get through to her. Somehow, the threat from Quinn seemed more real. The only thing more terrifying to her than jumping was remaining in the chairlift alone.
She unclipped her snowboard. Quinn and Noah moved out of the way as it fell.
Phoebe pushed herself off the chair and hung for a moment like Brock had, moaning softly. Finally, she dropped.
Her weight struck the fence. The pole threatened to slip from his fingers, but Noah tightened his grip. She dropped to the snow, but at least the fence had cradled her fall.
She pulled herself to her feet, sniffling and rubbing her side.
“About damn time,” Quinn muttered.
“Anything broken?” Noah asked.
She wiped the snow from her face. “My back and shoulder hurt, but I don’t think so.”
“Good.” Noah turned his full concentration to Milo. He handed Quinn the flashlight and hoisted Milo to his chest; the boy’s legs wrapped around his waist, Noah holding him in place with one arm. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need his hands too much. “Hold on, buddy. Almost there.”
Phoebe turned toward Brock’s body. “I need to see him.”
Quinn seized her arm. “Phoebe. You can’t.”
“We’ll come back for him,” Noah said. “But we have to go now.”
Phoebe didn’t fight them. She had stopped crying. Her chapped face had a dull, stunned look. She said nothing, simply followed closely behind Noah, Quinn right beside her.
The slope here was steep, pocked with trees, and ungroomed. Noah didn’t have the skills to ski back down, and Milo certainly didn
’t. He doubted the others did, either. With the cold numbing their extremities, they didn’t have the dexterity.
“You two w-walk in my footsteps,” Noah instructed. “It’ll be easier.”
His nostrils stung with each inhalation. His fingers were numb, so were his cheeks, his ears. His thoughts came slow and jumbled.
Hypothermia would be setting in soon if it hadn’t already.
Get down the hill. They just had to get down there. He couldn’t think beyond this task. Just get down.
The long slog down the hill was both tedious and dangerous. They could see little in the driving snow. There were no lights to lead them, only the red smudge below them that occasionally appeared and disappeared between the trees—the burning lodge.
They needed to watch their every step to avoid twisting an ankle or pitching forward and tumbling down the slick hill. Their ski boots made walking difficult and cumbersome. Milo was awkward and heavy. Noah tripped and nearly fell a few times.
Together, they slowly and painstakingly made it to the bottom of the hill.
They slogged past the chairlift terminal, silent and empty, the domed roof covered in snow. They couldn’t see any of the other runs. They reached the Sweet Express lift tower with the green canopy, then the patio, and finally, the lodge.
The once-impressive lodge was flickering embers. Flames still danced here and there, hissing and sizzling beneath the onslaught of snow. Several walls had collapsed, the cafeteria side of the building caving in on itself.
In the dark, they couldn’t see the wreckage of the chopper.
The wind howled mournfully. Snow blew swirling tornadoes around their legs, stinging their faces. The frigid cold sucked the life from them, degree by brutal degree.
“K-keep going,” Noah said.
With the fire to orient themselves, they made their way around the east side of the lodge to the parking lot.
Quinn stopped so suddenly that Noah nearly barreled into her.
