by Holly Ford
Stop it, she told herself. Enough. Panicking isn’t going to help. Hayden knows where you are. He’ll be back for you as soon as there’s a break in the cloud. Unless, of course, he’s dead. And no one knows you’re here.
Oh, get a grip — Hayden was NOT dead. He was probably back at base with his feet up, drinking a cup of Milo. Shaking his head, no doubt, at the stupidity of women who demanded he leave them up mountains.
Lizzie looked around the basin again. What would Bear Grylls do?
She’d give a lot for a knife and a flint. Although, on second thoughts, if she were wishing for things, she’d rather have a hut and a helicopter.
Lizzie’s stomach churned. Oh, fabulous: now she was hungry. She shivered. Right. Well, she wasn’t going to get warmer and fuller sitting here. If there was so much as a bug to eat in this place, she’d be surprised. The cold, however, she could do something about. Casting her mind back to the mountain-safety films she’d watched at school, she was pretty sure that the key was to keep moving. Of course, the key to being rescued was to stay where you were, but so long as she stayed in the basin, they’d see her, wouldn’t they? Her old ski jacket was an almost violent shade of green — it would stick out like a sore thumb in this landscape. Anyway, she’d hear the helicopter coming. If it came. And if it didn’t … How long had Carr said it took to walk up here? Nine hours? She checked her watch again. Three o’clock. Mountain Rescue wouldn’t get here today. Lizzie pushed the thought of a night in the basin away. She needed to go for a walk.
Okay. Since she was here, she might as well go down and take a look at the base of the lower lake. She could take some shots for Jules. Whatever happened, they were bound to find her phone. Besides, losing altitude had to be good, even if it was just a few metres.
It felt much better to be moving. And to have a goal. To give herself something to do, Lizzie stopped and snapped a few frames every now and then as she picked her way around the lake shore. Oddly, it did feel a little warmer down there. There was no wind, and the scree behind her was still giving off the earlier heat of the sun. The flattish spot she’d glimpsed from between the two lakes turned out to be a huge rock. Its top surface projected some distance over the water that had, presumably, worn its base away. Lizzie climbed up it. It was, indeed, the perfect platform for a camera. In fact, you could get five cameras up there if you wanted to. And yes, it looked straight up the lake to the falls and the glacier behind. She took a few stills and, for good measure, recorded a three-sixty-degree pan.
Now what? Lizzie climbed down. In the lee of the rock, the scree had pulverised itself to a beach. She followed the line of sand around. There was an overhang behind the rock, as well. Lizzie almost cried. It wasn’t much, but it was the closest thing she’d seen so far to shelter. She crawled under to try it out. It was big enough. If she inched right to the back, it should keep off the rain. Or the snow.
Shuffling out again to where there was sufficient height to sit up, Lizzie crossed her legs and sat looking out, feeling idiotically pleased with herself. She couldn’t see the top of the basin from there; hopefully that meant the wind blowing over it wouldn’t come in. Through her jacket, she rubbed the spot below her collarbone she’d spiked crawling in. Ow! Unzipping her breast pocket, Lizzie pulled out an ancient ski pass. Great. Now she had a giant paperclip. What could she do with that?
Having nothing better to do, she went through the rest of her pockets. Oh! An airline sweet. She popped it in her mouth. Excellent — lunch. Determined to make the most of it, she concentrated on sucking it down until, about halfway through, she realised that it might have to be dinner as well, and put it carefully back in its wrapper. What else did she have? A boarding pass. A coupon for a free glass of wine on the Eurostar — shame she hadn’t used that. And … she dug deeper … Oh, thank you, God! This time, Lizzie did cry: a tiny book of matches. Trattoria degli Alpini, she read. Bravo.
She dabbed her eyes quickly. For Christ’s sake, don’t get them wet … Except that … Except that it didn’t matter. Because rock didn’t burn. She felt the tears rise again. Lizzie looked up at the rock overhead. Who the hell was she kidding? She was going to freeze to death here. She crawled out.
Grey cloud clamped the top of the basin like a lid. It was quarter to five. There were — what? — maybe three hours of daylight left? Lizzie scanned the sky. The cloud could still break. They could still come for her. But if it didn’t break, if they didn’t come — well, she had to get down on her own, didn’t she? She had to find the track. And if she were going to do that, she had to go now. It could easily take her an hour just to reach the top of the basin.
For another five minutes, she fought with herself. She didn’t even know which side of the basin the track might be on. Fuck it. She just had to go. This side was as good as any. Lizzie set off up the scree.
It was hard work, but not as hard as she’d thought. In forty minutes, she’d reached the top. A freezing wind swept up to meet her. Bracing herself against it, Lizzie looked down. She’d expected a bird’s-eye view of the valleys below and — hopefully, somewhere — the line of the track. Instead, there was only a sea of cloud. No wonder Hayden hadn’t got through.
‘Well,’ she said, out loud, ‘you’ve really done it this time.’ Her voice and the whip of the wind were the only sounds to break the silence. She felt a lump in her throat. She hoped Ella would forgive her. And Richard … She’d never told him the truth. No one else could. Idiot, she told herself. Always waiting for the perfect time. Did she think she was immortal? If she ever, ever, had the chance again, Lizzie swore, she’d spit it out then and there. No more excuses.
Below her feet, the tussock land fell steeply to the bushline, the edge of the trees visible through the shifting cloud. Other than that, and the glacier at her back, there were no landmarks she could see. Lizzie had no idea in which direction the track, or even Glencairn, might be.
‘You’ll kill yourself,’ she said, for the comfort of hearing somebody speak, ‘if you try to get down there.’
Taking cover behind the ridge again, she tucked her cold hands into her armpits and thought about her options. The bush wasn’t far. It would be shelter. And something to burn. But the wind blowing up the slope had already chilled her to her bones. She’d be colder in the trees than down in the basin. And if she tried to find somewhere out of the wind, how would Mountain Rescue — how would anyone — ever find her? There’d be no way to tell which way she’d left the basin.
No, she’d have to go back and just do the best she could. For as long as she could. She still had half a boiled sweet. And the rock wasn’t much, but it was something. What if …? Lizzie checked her watch. She still had a good two hours left. She didn’t have to go back to it empty-handed. With a deep breath of still air, she forced herself over the top of the ridge again and into the wind.
An hour later, Lizzie had foraged up a respectable pile of wood from the bush. All she had to do now was get it back up the slope and down into the basin. She picked up the biggest armload she could carry. Well, that wasn’t going to last long. She looked around. Could she build something to drag it on? Maybe. If she had a knife to cut poles and some handy strips of dried hide from something she’d eaten earlier to tie them together with … Okay. She took her jacket off. God, it was cold. Working as quickly as she could, she knotted the ends of the sleeves and crammed them with wood. She zipped the jacket and pulled the drawstring hood as tight as it would go. When she’d got the body stuffed like an overweight Guy Fawkes doll, she tied the drawstring hem and gave the whole thing a shake. To her delight, only dust and beech litter fell out. Tightened as the drawstring was, a half-metre loop hung spare from the jacket’s hem. Lizzie stepped into it, drew it up to her hips, and, ripping the wire from her ski pass, secured the cord to her belt-loops. Then she picked up an armload of wood. Right, then. Mush.
Jesus. The tussock was as slippery as hell. On the plus side, it made her ski jacket easier to drag. But every time she f
ell, Lizzie felt that little bit closer to crying. Not so much because it hurt, but because she had to gather her wood again. Nose in a tussock, she bit back a sob. This fucking stuff had better burn. Actually … tussock burned really well, didn’t it? Next time she found herself clutching a handful of it, she stuffed it in her back pocket.
Making it over the top of the ridge at last, Lizzie sat down to gather her breath and her patience. Well, at least she was warm now. She knew, without doubt, that she couldn’t do that again. Not today. Had it taken more energy than it was worth? Too late to ask now … But this wood, the wood she had now, this would have to last her the night. If she could get it down.
Looking at the scree below, Lizzie thought about unhitching her load. She couldn’t afford to be dragged down. On the other hand, she couldn’t afford to lose the wood. Or — worst of all — her jacket. Just take it slowly, she told herself. Fearing for every step, she began to pick her way down.
It was almost eight o’clock when she made it back to the rock. God, she was exhausted. She could barely get the jacket off. Managing to dump it at last, Lizzie crawled into her shelter. She couldn’t be bothered unloading the wood, much less lighting a fire. In fact, she didn’t even feel cold. She just wanted to go to sleep. Lizzie curled herself into a ball.
No. In the recesses of her mind, something was saying urgently that sleep was a very bad plan. Ugh. She crawled out, emptied her jacket, and shrugged it back on. Eight o’clock. That was dinner time, right? She unwrapped the other half of her sweet and sucked it slowly until it was gone. No breakfast, then. Feeling slightly better, Lizzie decided she needed a drink.
She walked around the rock. The lake’s surface still glowed with the last grey light, but the sides of the basin were dark. So, that was it, then. There’d be no rescue tonight. Lizzie stared into the water.
After a moment or two, she picked her way to its edge. Balancing carefully on the rocks, she scooped the icy water into her mouth and then, for good measure, over her face. With a little difficulty, she eased herself to her feet. Right. About that fire, then.
Lizzie was tucked in her crevice watching the fire burn when she heard a rotor approaching. Oh God, she must have gone to sleep after all. The hallucinations were setting in. She must be hypothermic. Lizzie scrabbled up to her elbows, banging her head on the rock. No, apparently she was conscious. Willing her tired muscles to move faster, she crawled out into the open.
She wasn’t where she was supposed to be. What if they didn’t see her? What if they went away? She scanned the sky desperately. Where was it coming from? Behind her? Lizzie spun around.
Over the top of the ridge, in the last skerrick of light between mountain and cloud, a rotor light rose. Lizzie waved frantically. They couldn’t see her. Of course they couldn’t. But they would see the fire. They would. Wouldn’t they?
Yes! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as the chopper swooped down the scree towards her.
Its lights raked the rocks. Oh God — they had seen her, hadn’t they? They were awfully low. It felt as though they were about to come down on her head. Lizzie got down, sheltering the top of her head with her arm. What the hell were they doing? They couldn’t land here. Squinting into the blaze of lights, Lizzie watched in disbelief as the helicopter settled slowly on top of her rock.
Its rotors began to wind down. The skids, she noticed, were overhanging the edge of the rock at both ends. The door opened. Lizzie stood up. The pilot stepped out onto the rock and, seeming quite sure of his way, vaulted quickly onto the sand.
He hurried towards her. ‘Are you okay?’
It was dark, but Lizzie didn’t need to hear his voice to know who it was. ‘Hello, Carr,’ she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her own. ‘It’s good to see you.’
Taking her by the shoulders, he looked her up and down. ‘You’re not hurt?’
‘I’m fine.’ She smiled. ‘A bit hungry, that’s all.’
‘We’ll fix that.’ With a final look at her face, he turned back to the chopper above. ‘I just need a minute to get this thing tied down. If the wind swings north it could get breezy up there.’
‘You mean …’ Lizzie stared at him. ‘We’re … we’re not going?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. Not tonight.’ He paused. ‘The weather, coming up the ridge … well, it turns out it’s pretty tricky.’
‘So we’re just going to …’ Lizzie tried to shake some sense into her head, ‘stay here? All night?’
‘Well, we could try and make the hut’ — Carr nodded towards the far end of the basin — ‘but it’s a two-hour hike, and … well, you might prefer the back of the chopper. It isn’t pretty up there.’
Lizzie bit her lip.
Carr turned back towards her. ‘Look,’ he said, in a softer voice, ‘we’ve got shelter and supplies here. I promise you I’ll have us out of here the second it clears. I don’t want to be here any more than you do.’
‘Thank you,’ Lizzie managed, in a very small voice. ‘Thank you for … coming to get me.’
‘That’s okay.’ With a nod, Carr returned to his study of the rock.
Lizzie looked at the helicopter above.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I was told you couldn’t land a helicopter around here.’
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
‘I guess’ — smiling, Lizzie held his eyes — ‘I asked the wrong pilot.’
In the firelight, she saw him smile. Without further reply, Carr hauled himself back up the rock, threw down a bundle of waratahs and rope from the pod on the helicopter’s skid, and, jumping down after them, began jamming the iron stakes into what gaps he could find in the rocks below.
‘Will they hold?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Let’s hope so.’
Having secured the helicopter, he produced a pack from inside. ‘Think you could boil us some water?’
‘I could if I had a pot.’
Carr threw a billy down to her. ‘I’m just going to radio base. Let everybody know we’re okay.’
‘They’ll tell Ella?’
‘She’ll be the first call they make.’
Oh, thank God.
Lizzie watched him climb back in the chopper and pick up his radio. Everything, she understood suddenly, was going to be okay. Remembering the billy in her hand, she walked around to the lake.
‘I’ve got her,’ she heard Carr say, above. ‘She’s fine … We’re holding tight at the lakes.’
There was a long pause.
‘Yeah, well, I’m here … We can discuss that when I get back.’ Seeing her looking up at him, he pulled the door to.
‘You weren’t supposed to fly up here, were you?’ she asked, when he came back down.
He didn’t answer. Pulling a sleeping bag from his pack, he chucked it over to her. ‘Here, you should wrap yourself up.’
‘How much trouble are you in?’
‘Depends if we get down.’
‘Very funny.’
Carr shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. After tonight, I could probably do with a holiday anyway.’ Settling himself down on top of the pack, he nodded at Lizzie’s fire, where the billy was slowly coming to the boil. ‘You went out of the basin.’
‘I thought I might be able to see a way down,’ she admitted. ‘I couldn’t. But I did find some wood.’
He nodded again. ‘Good for you.’
‘So, what’s on the menu?’
‘Pot noodles. They’re not too flash, but they’re hot.’
Lizzie, bolting them down ten minutes later, thought they deserved a Michelin star.
‘Right,’ he ordered, as soon as she was done. ‘The rest you can eat inside.’
‘There’s more?’
‘Come on.’ On top of the rock, he held down his hand to her. ‘I’ve made the bed up.’
Lizzie looked at the stretcher taking up one side of the helicopter’s cabin. God, it looked good. There was even a pillow. ‘You did this just now?’
‘I
had some time on my hands in the hangar tonight. I wasn’t sure how I’d find you.’
She smiled to herself. ‘You thought I’d have done something stupid.’
‘I thought you’d be cold.’
‘And how were you planning,’ Lizzie asked, climbing in, ‘to stretcher me out by yourself?’
‘I was going to think of something.’
Not doubting that he would have done, she zipped herself into her sleeping bag and lay back as Carr closed the door.
‘Lizzie.’
‘I’m sleeping.’
‘Wake up.’
Reluctantly opening her eyes, Lizzie looked up into Carr’s face. What was he doing there? And what was that thing on his head?
‘Lizzie, come on.’ He unzipped her sleeping bag. ‘We’re taking off. I need you conscious.’
‘It’s not morning.’ It was light, though. She struggled to sit up.
‘Moon’s up, cloud’s clear. I’m going to try to get out.’ Carr jacked the back of the stretcher into a sitting position and readjusted her safety belt. ‘Just remember’ — he looked into her eyes — ‘you have to unclip your belt if we hit the water.’
Okay, she was awake now. Lizzie looked around. Behind the torn clouds, a full moon was rising. The lake below was a glistening steel grey and the rocks in the basin were casting shadows. She took the headset from Carr’s hand. He switched the rotors on.
This, she thought, watching their lights glisten in the water as the helicopter rose, was the best take-off ever. In history. In seconds, they were over the ridge. The valleys below were still drowned in cloud, but all around, white peaks were glowing in the moonlight. Lizzie caught her breath. It was beautiful. She looked across at Carr.
