by Andy Lucas
'That easy? Really?'
'Well, I suppose that depends on whether hordes of blood-thirsty Bun Manchi are waiting there to gobble us up.' He laughed again, this time deeper and more genuine. 'That's what the locals sometimes call the Yeti,' Hill added quickly.
'You let me worry about them, Professor Hill,' Pace promised. 'You get us there and find whatever it is you need to find. I will make sure we both get home in one piece, and the faster the better.'
'Mr McEntire is funding me for a fortnight,' Hill protested, a little too quickly, slopping hot coffee over his hand and cursing his luck. 'I won't be rushed, James.'
'Nobody's going to rush you but we only have five days before I need to pick up the others, you know that. I would prefer it if we have everything we need by then so we don't end up having to hike up to Bruk, and back, twice.
'Fair enough,' conceded Hill. 'We have quite a trek ahead of us. Even back then, the trail was used infrequently. The fear of the Yeti has kept people away for so long, I have no idea what remains of it, or how stable it will be.'
'Especially as we get higher,' offered Pace. 'More snow and ice will make the going harder.' He had been on enough military manoeuvres during his time in the RAF, and even a couple of deployments to the Arctic, to know what he was talking about. 'Soup?'
Using the little cooker, Pace heated up a pan of Heinz tomato soup, which they also drank from mugs. The familiar taste, and blast of delicious heat, was enough to quell the rest of the conversation.
For the last half an hour, Pace stripped the Mauser down, cleaned and oiled it, before reloading it with one of its five-bullet stripper clips of 7.92 x 57mm cartridges. This particular rifle was accurate, rugged and fitted with iron sights, packing a lethal punch even by modern standards.
It was a very old, trench model. It had been designed with a long barrel to take a bayonet, ready to charge at the enemy. At forty-nine inches, it had proved itself too unwieldy at close quarters so the Second World War variant had been greatly shortened.
Satisfied, Pace completed the cleaning ritual by pulling his recently acquired bayonet from another part of his pack and slipping it onto the end. As a stabbing weapon, or rifle, it would offer them formidable protection as they moved through dense forests known to have healthy populations of tigers, snow leopards and bears; though he hoped the bears might have already started their hibernation cycle at the onset of the winter snows.
The wind outside had risen steadily but the tight cover acted as a perfect shield and they felt hardly any movement. With the stove left on a minimal heat, to warm the cabin overnight, the two men eventually settled down to sleep.
'I'll take the first watch,' said Pace. 'I'll wake you in four hours, okay?'
'What are we going to watch?' Hill asked reasonably. 'All we can see is the inside of a dark helicopter. Is it really necessary?'
Pace knew Hill was probably right. Nothing was likely to spot them, especially under a white cover, in the middle of a snowy clearing but, as always, his instincts were to be safe rather than dead.
'Just in case one of your,' he paused to remember the words, ' Bun Manchi comes around, looking for a midnight snack.' Both men broke into a smile.
'Okay, I take your point. There could be local wildlife that will come and check us out. I don't think they will come anywhere close enough to bite but I'm happy to take a watch.' He rolled over onto his side and fell asleep faster than anyone Pace could ever remember.
'Let's hope he wakes up just as fast,' Pace grumbled to himself, snuggling down inside his own white snowsuit, still resting the Mauser across his legs. The only parts of him that felt at all cold were his fingers. He knew that he would not be able to get a finger around the rifle's trigger if he wore them, so he left them off. The background heat from the stove kept the cabin air just above freezing, helped by their breath. He pulled up his hood but did not tie the draw strings too tightly – he needed to be able to hear clearly.
Four hours later, when he nudged Hill awake, he was pleased to report that nothing had come near. Hill completed his own watch without incident too, distaining the rifle or the offer of Pace's Webley revolver; which had survived the ocean dunking because it had been strapped inside its holster all the way. Hill did not hate guns but he'd never used one and wisely had no intention of accidentally shooting his companion, and their only pilot, in the dark.
The morning broke cold and clear, with a persistent wind that kicked at their heels as they left the Lynx, after a breakfast of coffee and a Mars bar each. With the sky still milky and the sun remaining largely below the crests of the surrounding peaks, the valley into which they headed sat silently; watching them trudge through the snow with the disinterest of all rock towards living things.
According to the GPS, programmed with the best information Hill possessed about Bruk's last know location, they had a full day's hiking ahead of them. Far too wooded to try flying up there and, having already considered the difficult terrain they'd be crossing, Pace had already decided against using Sledgeways, like Hammond and Rachel, preferring to rely on old-fashioned brute strength.
The sun struggled higher as the morning aged. Slowly, the increasingly Nordic-looking forests all around them seemed to come to life with the twitter and chatter of life. Pace looked hard, several times, but failed to spot any of the animals responsible. Just like his time in the Amazon, he thought. They can see us but we can't see them. Only the reassurance of the Mauser, slung over his right shoulder, bayonet glinting in the watery light, and the Webley safely tucked into the holster on his belt, helped assuage the feeling of walking into a predator's paradise.
They stopped at noon, where the sun decided to give up for the day. Swallowed by a thick blanket of icy cloud, which dropped to barely seventy feet above them, the sounds around them suddenly grew more pronounced, echoing off the underbelly of the swirling, grey blanket.
Pausing to take a drink of water, infused with vitamins and glucose, they ate another chocolate bar and took stock. Pace was focused on their safety so had left navigation to Hill. Using a hand-held GPS, he studied the bright, multi-coloured screen intently, as he chewed.
'Another four of five hours and we should get there,' he pronounced suddenly. 'As long as bad weather does not set in.'
Pace eyed the troubled cloud layer warily. 'The signs aren't good,' he said. 'The sooner we get moving, the better. Have you rested long enough?'
Hill was stung by the implication, which was unintended by Pace. 'I'm ready to go,' he responded hastily, swallowing his mouthful and putting his drink flask back into his backpack which he swung onto his back. 'I want to get there by nightfall.'
Pace was just about to agree with him when, from the deep cover of the forest to their left, came a loud crack of a fallen branch being stepped upon. It sounded like a rifle shot, clean and crisp above the background noise of the valley, which ceased instantly.
The Mauser was in his hands instantly, with Pace using his teeth to quickly tear off his thick snow gloves, exposing a thin pair of secondary gloves. Inside a helicopter cabin, he had the luxury of going bare-fingered if he needed to shoot. Out here, in sub-zero temperatures, he didn't.
Pace had done some research with sports outlets and outdoor pursuit experts soon after returning from his last foray into the Antarctic, just in case he ever needed to head into icy areas again for the McEntire Corporation. On a trip into London, he had settled for a pair of Hatch Dura-Thin Search Gloves, in black leather. Designed to fit like a second skin, with elasticated wrists, the gloves had been specifically created for police officers and shootists. They were not really meant to ward off frostbite for too long but they would do the trick for ten or fifteen minutes at a time.
The breech of the Mauser 98 already had a bullet inside it and the bayonet was fixed. Heart in his mouth, he scanned the foliage carefully, lifting the rifle to his shoulder and sighting down the long barrel, waiting. Curling his finger around the curvature of the trigger, he marvelled at
how free his movement was, and how much feeling he had on the trigger itself.
'What do you think that was?' Hill instinctively spoke in a whisper. 'Sounded big.'
'It was,' said Pace. 'Something was heavy enough to snap a fairly large branch. Do not move. Stay very still, okay?' Hill nodded, crouching down on his haunches. Pace remained standing, hardly breathing. At any moment he expected to hear another disturbance or see a set of sharp teeth flashing towards them.
Luckily, where they were at that point was a wide expanse of snow. The valley widened and shrank constantly but at this part, there were twenty metres of open ground between them and the forest edge. More than enough time for him to down anything that decided it wanted its own lunch break.
The silence became pervasive. Nothing squawked, chattered or fluttered. It was so still that Pace could even hear the sound of Hill's snow suit rustling, as he shifted nervously on all fours. Five minutes passed until, as though suddenly forgotten, the valley returned to life and the wind picked up more persistently, chiding the men on their over caution. Get on with it, seemed to be the message.
Hill stood upright and shook off the beginnings of cramp in his thigh muscles.
'There was something there but it's gone now,' Pace said. 'Either that,' he added, 'or its being very quiet to see what we do next.'
'Then let's get moving.' Hill's voice quavered a little but his confidence was returning quickly. 'Could have been anything and the woods around here are full of large animals. Might have been a deer.'
'Or a tiger,' decided Pace. 'You lead. I'll cover your back and front at the same time, from behind.' His gut was telling him that the danger had been real and was not over yet. 'Professor? Okay?'
'Yes, James.' Casting a dubious eye back over towards the forest, Hill set off again, this time with a noticeably brisker gait, despite the thick snow their boots were crunching through.
An hour later, the two men had not been troubled by any further incidents. The GPS led them unerringly forwards, and ever upwards, as they climbed. The thinning air was still fairly oxygen-rich but as they moved higher, above ten thousand feet, Pace knew that every step would feel more arduous.
As they stopped to survey their surroundings, and grab another quick drink of water, Pace wanted to be able to consider the sheer magnificence of the vista. Unfortunately, the wind had dropped, allowing the heavy cloud layer to sink lower, almost to the ground where they were. Any moment now, either the cloud would swallow them in its blinding embrace or they would end up rising into it, as the continued climbing.
They moved had stepped onto a snowy ridge and could just make out another heavily wooded valley up ahead. The path remained clear for them to see, rising and snaking between the trees but how far it went on like that, they could not see. After a sixty metres, or so, the snow and cloud blurred together to form an impenetrable wall, mocking them.
Spurred on by the weather, they moved into the forest, with the trees springing up more oppressively on each side like a living rampart, the sound of the wind rose further, flicking surface snow into the air, adding to the failing visibility.
Hill led the way up the trail again, continuing to climb. As they trudged, the valley narrowed, shrinking the width of the trail until it threatened to become lost; swallowed up completely within the body of the forest.
Although neither man could have known it, they were almost at the exact same spot where Ferrier and Braithwaite had first heard the creature, watching them through the trees, back in 1874.
Then, as now, the visibility needed to spot a predator in time to take any action was seriously reduced by the narrowing trail, exacerbated by the conditions.
Bruk lay a few more hours up ahead. With Pace constantly scanning all around, physically turning around regularly to check behind them, he opted to have cold hands and keep his thick gloves tucked away in his pack. His finger rested just behind the trigger, ready to jump on to the slender curve of metal at a split-second's notice. He was experienced enough to know that you did not walk through snow and ice while keeping your finger on a trigger, especially when someone was walking in front of you.
Deep within the trees, a pair of burning, intelligent yellow eyes watched the men heading further up the trail. Their scent was delicious and the pain in its belly called for action.
Growling low in the base of its throat; feeling saliva begin to flow freely, it regarded its next meal with deadly intent.
22
The final hour of daylight was spent hiking up a steep, meandering trail. On either side, thick forests of pine had now replaced any sign of broadleaf plants. Heavy with snow, it reminded Pace of a survival training week he had undergone with the RAF, in Norway, many years before. The low cloud had not decided to drop any further, in fact it had lifted a few hundred feet but it still pinned them beneath its claustrophobic cover. Snow had also just started to fall again, quite heavily, drifting down vertically in huge flakes in the absence of any breeze; the wind having dropped to nothing an hour after they had crossed over the ridge.
Ahead of him, Hill was proving his resilience. A man well used to roughing it in the field, he ploughed on up the mountain trail without any complaint. Pace, moving a few metres behind, remained on high alert against attack. Usually, it was the human enemy he was watching for but it seemed more likely that the local wildlife posed the risk here, even if you discounted the existence of a giant, carnivorous ape-like creature.
Conversation was kept to a minimum. They made very little noise in the soft snow, their boots now sinking several inches into the powder with each step. By staying quiet, their passage up the trail might not even draw any attention. There was nothing they could do about their scent, Pace knew, but the sudden lack of wind might work in their favour too. Slowly, steadily and, above all, quietly the two men made good progress.
Sensing the gloom beginning to thicken into darkness, Pace hurried his strides and caught up with Hill, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. 'Professor. The light is going. How far do you think we are from Bruk?'
Hill had heard the approaching crunch of Pace's boots so had not been surprised at the contact. Stopping, grateful to have an excuse to pause, he let out a couple of heavy breaths, the clouds of vapour hanging in the still air for a moment before vanishing.
'We should be right on top of it,' he huffed. 'Maybe another hour's walk.'
'If we're that close, there's not much point in stopping,' suggested Pace. 'We can shelter for the night in the village?'
Hill had already decided to press on. 'The cloud cover is total. There won't be any moon or starlight to guide us. Moving in the dark will be more dangerous but I think you're right. It's worth it.'
Pace pulled out his water bottle and took a long, relieving swallow. Hill mirrored him with his own bottle and. While drinking, Hill took notice of his surroundings properly for the first time. Safe in the knowledge that Pace was on the look out for danger, he had been able to concentrate purely on his hand held GPS unit, his walking and his breathing. He'd barely looked around for the past couple of hours.
Now, as he did so, he was taken by a sudden feeling of unease. The thick green walls, with the trees towering over forty feet in height, hemmed them in very tightly. The trail, at this point, was barely eight feet wide. Although they were moving directly in its centre, Hill had the strangest sensation that something could almost reach out from the trees and grab them both, if it wished.
'A tiger could be on us in a single leap,' he stated to Pace factually. 'These trees are so close now.'
Pace's eyes ached from concentration and focus, after hours of constant vigilance. He had been worried about the terrain, and their proximity to the trees, for some time. The higher they climbed, the narrower the trail became and the closer the woods hedged them in.
Not that he was a stranger to the situation. Pace recalled having the same feelings when his Race Amazon team were running up the Trans-Amazonian Highway, where it plunged deeply into the Ama
zon Basin. There, the trees were twice as tall and the canopy often stretched out over the muddy, excuse for a road, joining with the upper fronds of the trees opposite to create a dark, evil tunnel.
At times, he had wondered how close a hungry leopard, giant anaconda or angry human native might be to their group, hidden just behind the greenery that walled the road in.
'I'm watching closely.' His hands were very cold now but the thin gloves still kept just enough of the cold out to ensure that his trigger finger would work and his grip on the Mauser was secure. It had not left his hands since they had encountered the frightening cracking of wood, miles behind them now. 'I'm confident that I could get a shot off, or two, if anything tries to have a go at us. But,' he added, hearing his own breath coming in pants, 'I think we need to speed up a bit. The less time we're out here, exposed on the trail, the better.' Hill nodded but his eyes had lost some of their vigour. 'Have you got anything left in the tank, Professor?'
Hill smiled wanly. 'You don't look too healthy either,' he countered. Then, fixing Pace seriously, his red, frozen cheeks adopted a frown of conscience. 'I know this isn't the time, or place, but I am sorry for what happened back on the plane. I know I can be a fool at times, especially when someone questions me.'
'I'd hate to be one of your students then,' Pace responded easily. 'Anyway, I may have over-reacted. I don't normally punch people I've only just met.'
'Ah,' said Hill slowly. 'But you'd never met me before and I can clearly piss people off at record speed.'
