Wilder (Birds of a Feather Book 1)

by Lena North

  Masses of snow started rolling straight toward me, building quickly in size and speed. I couldn't do anything for Mickey, so I turned my skis and kicked off, trying to get myself out of the way. Mickey had been higher up where the ravine was wider, so I hoped that he'd been able to get to the side and that he hadn't been pulled along with the snow. He was much heavier than me so if he got caught he'd sink deeper in the wave of snow and likely not make it.

  I was lower down, there was no room to the sides, and as I swung my head around, I saw that the snow now filled the whole ravine. It came toward me too quickly, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to ski fast enough to get to a place where I could veer off.

  Strangely enough, I was completely calm. I knew that my chances of making it out of this unharmed were slim, but my head was clear, and I started to evaluate my options as I kept my skis straight ahead, going down the mountain faster than I ever had before. I glanced from side to side, trying to find an overhang, some huge rocks, or anything that would protect me from the huge masses of snow that came thundering down the mountain at my heels. A few smaller avalanches had started to the sides as well, probably from the vibrations the main one caused. A few birds were screeching loudly somewhere high above me, and it felt like the whole mountainside vibrated. The air was filled with the crackling sound of the moving snow with a deep rumbling base roaring loudly.

  Then I suddenly saw it, just a little bit further down, to my left side. The snow had loosened and fallen off, and there seemed to be a ledge or even a small opening.

  Large chunks of snow rolled by me, and I felt the wind coming from the avalanche, so I knew that this was my only chance. If I didn't make it, I would be buried, and with the terrain up here it would take too long for search and rescue to come all the way from the resorts to find me. I wouldn't make it out alive.

  Gathering all my strength, I turned sharply to my left, up on a small ridge. Then I kicked away as hard as I could, jumping toward the opening. The first section of the avalanche hit the lower parts of my legs from the side, and I felt a sharp pain in my right foot, but the chunks of snows also tore off my skis so when I landed with a thud, I could crawl toward the ledge. It opened up, and I realized that there was a cave going into the mountain. Focusing only on the entrance in front of me and ignoring the pain in my foot, I got up and ran.

  It felt like the rumbling thunder from the masses of snow went on forever, and the opening slowly filled up with huge blocks of snow. I limped as close as possible and used the pole I still had hanging on my hand to poke at the blocks. I would survive for quite some time in the cave, but if I could keep the opening at least partially clear it would be possible for me to make a signal to rescuers, or even try to get down on my own. When the sounds finally died down, I'd managed to keep the snow from closing the opening completely, and I sighed with relief. Then I turned around to take a look at the cave and froze.

  A dead man leaned against the back wall.

  He sat by the wall in a place where it tilted a little, and he leaned his head back. His eyes were closed, and his face seemed somehow relaxed. It looked like he'd fallen asleep, or perhaps as if he'd known he was dying and had accepted it. I knew immediately that the man was dead, though, because he'd clearly been dead for a very long time. His body was sunken in and looked dried out, mummified, and the clothes he wore were strange. They looked like they could have been black but had faded into a brownish gray, and the long tunic and britches were cut in an old-fashioned way that reminded me of how men, in particular warriors, had dressed in the middle ages. He had long hair that fell over his shoulders, and it didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before. Even though the color would have dimmed over the years, it was still a deep red, heavily streaked with gold and auburn. It must have looked almost like flames of fire once, I thought.

  My foot had started to hurt, and I wondered if I should try to take off the boot, but decided against it. I had felt the bones snap so I figured it was broken, which meant a huge bucket of good painkillers would be needed to make the pain of pulling it off bearable. I wondered where the closest medical center would be, and hoped that I wouldn't have to go all the way down to Twin City.

  I calculated the timing, and if Mickey had made it, I figured he'd do what we'd been taught and as soon as he couldn’t see any signs of me he would get down to Norton for help as fast as he safely could make it. That would take him at least an hour, probably slightly longer, though I knew he'd ski like the devil to get down. Then it would take at least another few hours until they had people gathered and up on the mountain, searching for me. I pulled out my phone, but I'd lost coverage even before we got into Norton so calling for help wasn't an option. I had a long wait ahead of me, though, and needed something to do. Using my ski pole to lean on, I approached the man slowly, snapping a few pictures as I wobbled along.

  On the ground next to the man's left hand there were some signs drawn as if he'd used his hand to pass a final message along before he died, and I took photos of them as well. Keeping my weight on my left foot, I lowered myself to the ground and sat down with a low grunt of pain. As I leaned back a bird screech outside, and I smiled. The avalanche had passed, and if birds were moving around, then danger would be over.

  My eyes went to the dead man again. Then a thought hit me, and I searched the cave with my eyes, looking for his things. There was nothing to be found. No skis, no bags, no snowshoes... Nothing. How on earth had he gotten to this place, I wondered. It was high up, and to reach the ledge I'd had to jump, coming off a ridge on my skis and at full speed. The snow would never melt at these altitudes, not even in the summer, so he must have climbed.

  “Amazing,” I breathed.

  I sat there for a long while, just looking at the man. He was tall and even in his current state he somehow looked striking. He must have been stunning when he was alive, I mused. As my gaze slid over him, I noticed darker patches on his side, just beneath his heart, and I gasped. He had been injured? He'd climbed all the way up to the cave, injured?

  Leaning back against the cave wall, I tried to focus on how the man could have gotten up there, but I found it increasingly difficult to stay awake. It was a reaction to what I'd gone through and I knew that staying awake in case someone called for me was the best thing to do, but my lids kept drooping so finally I gave up and dozed off.

  I didn’t sleep deeply, and the pain in my foot kept waking me up. After what felt like forever, I shook my head to clear my mind from the dizziness and moved around to make my way toward the entrance, knowing that I should start pushing the snow away to see if I could make my way down on my own.

  “Wilder?”

  I gave up a strangled scream when a deep voice called my name outside. Then I heard the sounds of a helicopter approaching and I crawled on my hands and knees across the floor toward the opening. I had no clue how they'd gotten to me so fast, but I didn't care. They were there, and they'd get me and my broken foot to a hospital.

  “In here!” I shouted.

  A head appeared in the opening, and then hands started digging away the snow.

  “Got her, bring down the basket!” the man shouted, and I recognized the voice.

  It was Hawker.

  I helped to push the snow away and tried to climb out. He put his hands under my arms and pulled me out, jarring my foot in the process.

  “Watch my foot. Broken,” I ground out.

  My head had started to spin, and I held on to his strong shoulders, hoping that I wouldn't embarrass myself by puking or fainting.

  “Fuck,” he murmured and pulled me deeper into his arms. “You gave me my first strands of gray hair today, Wilder.”

  “Mickey?” I whispered, and my hands clenched his shoulders even harder.

  “Okay. He's in Norton, worried out of his mind.”

  “Can you get word to him? He saw the avalanche chase me down the ravine, so he'll want to know I made it out alive,” I asked, trying to soun
d calmer than I felt. I was okay, Mickey was okay, so I had nothing to worry about anymore, I told myself. It had been a close call, though, and my knees shook.

  “Yeah, reckon you're right. It took three men to hold him back when we got news that you made it,” Hawker said, just as calmly, but his head was turned toward the ravine and under his helmet and goggles, I saw how his jaws clenched and unclenched rhythmically.

  I leaned back to stare at him. How could they have gotten news about me? Before I could ask, a clunking sound came from our side, and I noticed a litter basket hanging there, swaying beneath a hovering helicopter. Two more men with helmets and goggles covering their faces stood on the mountainside, grinning widely, and three pairs of skis were propped up against the snow. I looked around and realized that Hawker and the men must have skied on top of the avalanche, through the ravine, to get to me. That had been incredibly dangerous, the snow wouldn't have settled properly, and they could easily have set it all off again. I opened my mouth to ask them about it but didn't get the chance. Hawker lifted me up as if I weighed next to nothing, swung me into the litter, tightened the straps around my body and then his mouth formed a smile that seemed almost taunting.

  “You afraid of heights, girl?” he asked.

  Before I could tell him that I wasn't, not in the least, he made a sweeping motion with his arm, and the helicopter started moving away from the mountain, taking me with it. I thought they'd winch me up, but they didn't, they just moved slowly with me hanging underneath.

  I lay there in the open litter, watching the skies as the helicopter gently brought me down into the valley, and it felt like the flights I often went on in my dreams. My foot hurt and so did my head, and I was frozen to the core. I should have felt miserable, but I didn't. I felt like I'd come home.

  Mickey came running when they brought me down on a helipad just outside Norton and tears started to gather in my eyes when I saw the look on his face. He leaned over me, choking out my name over and over, and when I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, I could feel how he pulled in one ragged deep breath after another. I realized that he was also close to tears.

  “I'm okay, Mickey. I'm okay,” I whispered, and after a while, he leaned back. I could see that he’d pulled himself together, but just barely.

  “Jeez, Wilder. I thought you died. Can't believe you made it out of there. I barely got away, and then I stood there, watching half the mountain come crashing down on you,” he murmured.

  “Yeah,” I said hoarsely, remembering how close the call had been. “Lucky,” I added.

  Someone interrupted us, saying that they had to get me into the hospital, and Mickey lifted me out of the litter, into his strong arms. They'd brought out a stretcher, but when they tried to push it in front of us, he grunted, kicked it away and carried me into the large building. Mickey placed me on a bed and moved to sit down next to me, but an older woman in white clothes clearly had other ideas because she put her hands on his chest and said determinedly, “Leave. Now.”

  I could tell that Mickey wanted to protest but the look on the nurses face clearly changed his mind, and he shuffled out of the room, turning around at the door to give me a small, tense smile before he disappeared.

  “Your family's doctor is out of town, but Mackenzie promised to take a look at you. Let's get you out of your clothes, and then I'll go get him,” the nurse said.

  She had a strange twinkle in her eyes, as if she found something in my situation hilarious, which I thought was weird, and also slightly insulting. It had started to hurt all over, though, so I said absolutely nothing as we began taking off my clothes. Not until she touched the boot on my left foot. Then I screamed from the sudden sharp pain.

  “Okay, not touching that. I'll get Mac, and he'll give you something before we try to get it off,” she said and disappeared.

  I leaned back, closed my eyes and was almost drifting off to sleep when I heard the door open.

  “Shit,” someone said loudly and I heard several voices giggling.

  I opened my eyes slowly and watched as the beautiful man I'd insulted in the door to Johns the evening before strode into the room. His eyes met mine, and they were annoyed, but that shifted to worry as he got closer to me. He looked different in a white coat, I thought. Then everything started spinning, and the world turned black.

  ***

  I dreamt that I was flying and it felt fantastic. I soared high above the mountain, swept closer to the snowy surface and had just turned upward again when angry voices interrupted my flight. I wanted to make them stop, so I tried to raise my heavy eyelids, but everything looked blurry through the small slit I managed to pry open, and I could only see shadows moving around.

  “Where's Doc?” a man growled.

  “With his daughter in Twin City, you know that, Hawker. I'm the only one here, and I know this doesn't make you happy, but I'm telling you - she isn't injured badly so I can handle it. She has a tiny crack in her foot and some bruises, that's all,” another angry man growled.

  Feet were moving around and it sounded like a fight was about to break out.

  “I don't want a player like you near my girl, Mackenzie,” the first voice barked, and I recognized it. Hawker.

  Mackenzie must be the pretty man who pretended to be a doctor. I giggled.

  “You awake, Wilder?” Hawker asked immediately.

  “In my dreams, I am,” I replied with another happy giggle because everything really felt absolutely fantastic.

  “Shit,” someone said. “Guess the pain meds have kicked in?”

  “Yeah,” the man called Mackenzie said calmly. “Didn't want her to feel how I pulled the boot off, so I made sure she didn't.”

  “Boy, you need to stay away from my innocent daughter. Am I making myself clear?” Hawker growled.

  I giggled again, wondering what he was talking about. Then I decided to set him straight.

  “I'm not a virgin,” I shared.

  The room went completely silent.

  “Mickey -” Hawker rumbled menacingly, but I interrupted him.

  “Why would I tell Mickey? He wasn't there,” I asked, and added an outdrawn, “Iffy.”

  “What?” Hawker asked.

  “Why would he be there?” I asked back, and continued to explain, “He's like a brother to me, and my best friend, so it would be beyond gross for him to watch me when I -”

  “Aaaand that's enough sharing, I think,” a new voice cut me off.

  “Who are you?” I asked, and when my question was met with silence I clarified, although I was having a hard time moving my tongue, so it came out a bit slurry. “Hawker is here, and he's angry. The pretty man with the eyelashes is here, and he's angry too. I don't know why everyone's so angry, and I don't know who you are?” My voice went up at the end making it kind of a question.

  “I'm your uncle,” the voice replied, full of laughter.

  “Andy?”

  “No, not that uncle.”

  “Then you're not my uncle because I only have one uncle, and his name is Andy,” I stated because this I was sure of. My thoughts were getting fuzzy, but I still tried to make this stranger understand. “He's kind of not really my uncle, but there's no one else. My mother is gone. My grandfather is dead, and I miss him. I have no one now, and I miss Willy...”

  My voice rose as I remembered my grandfather, and how he was dead. It suddenly felt like I was falling and I moved my hands around feebly, trying to find something to hold on to. Then someone sat down on the side of my bed, a big, rough hand grabbed hold of my hands, and I felt another rough hand caress my cheek gently.

  “Don't worry about that now, Wilder. Just rest, and we'll take care of all the rest later, yeah?”

  I exhaled, held on tightly to the hand, and started to slip deeper into the dream. I hadn't felt safe like this since I got the call about Willy.

  “Is this how it feels?” I murmured.

  “What do you mean?” th
e man said, sounding like Hawker but also not like him at all. This voice was gentle and sweet.

  “I always wondered what it would feel like to have a dad. I mean a real one,” I slurred, and continued to explain, “Maybe it's like this? For a long time, I had a father, but he really didn't like the look of me. Then they told me I had another father, but he must have liked the look of me even less...”

  My voice trailed off as darkness closed in and I felt the bed shift as the man next to me moved away. Through the buzzing in my ears, I heard a low, hoarse string of foul words, and I tried to focus but I lost my hold on the dream, and everything went black again.

  Chapter Four

  Recouping

  I woke up when Mickey put a hand on my cheek to caress it lightly.

  “Time to get up,” he whispered and nudged me gently when he didn’t get any reaction from me.

  “Okay,” I said sleepily.

  I kept my eyes closed because I hated that he was leaving, but I didn’t want him to know that.

  “It will be, Wilder,” he murmured, seeing right through me as always.

  I turned, stretched slightly, and opened my eyes a crack but then I closed them again. Mickey sat on my bedside, fully dressed and holding his jacket and car keys in his hand.

  The past few days had mostly been a blur. When I woke up at the hospital, a full day and night had passed. An elderly man with a mass of curly gray hair had stood by the side of my bed together with Hawker and Mickey. Apparently, the pretty man called Mackenzie had given me enough painkiller to put a medium sized cow to sleep for a week – Mickeys words – and they had worried. I didn’t mind. My sleep had been healing, and not only for my foot, which was covered in a very nice looking emerald green walking cast.

  Hawker had been scowling, but I ignored him and focused on the elderly man who introduced himself as Doc Anderson. He told me that my foot wasn’t broken, just slightly cracked, and I wondered what the difference was. If the bone wasn’t whole, it was broken, wasn’t it? I decided quickly that this probably wasn’t a good moment to discuss the finer points of skeletal injuries, and nodded silently as he went on explaining that I’d be sent home to my house, with a cane to lean on and that the cast would come off in a few weeks.