by M K Dymock
Snow Stalker
A Lost Gorge Mystery
M.K. Dymock
Hollow Orchard Publishing LLC
Copyright © 2018 by M.K. Dymock
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Snow Stalker
Mina Park, a river guide/ski instructor/part-time deputy/whatever-pays-the-bills-this-month, stumbles upon a body in the snow at the local ski resort. Something ripped it into pieces, leaving behind only one track, a bare footprint. A footprint twice the size of a normal man’s.
Before the authorities can label the death an animal attack or murder, a bunch of Bigfoot crazies descend on the town in hopes of finally spotting the elusive beast. One in particular, Ryan Lehman, has experienced something like this before and was branded a fanatic and a liar for claiming Bigfoot committed the crime. He’s been chasing the myth and vindication ever since.
Mina doesn’t believe in myths, but she does believe in murder. And when there’s another death, much closer to home, Mina and Ryan must team up despite their differences, to face down the beast—or the beast in the man—before someone else dies.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
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Also by M.K. Dymock
About the Author
1
The blizzard had descended on the Lost Gorge Mountain Resort with winds so fierce employee Mina Park couldn’t gauge from which direction the storm emanated. Snowfall amounts were impossible to determine. What lay on the ground swirled in a dance with what still fell from the sky.
Mina operated a chairlift on top of a peak, fittingly called Baldie. On a good day, she could see for miles. Today she had trouble finding her feet. The storm had started with a drenching rain that froze the snow under the lift.
As she repeatedly struck the ice under the chairlift with a shovel to give riders some traction, she contemplated all the bad life decisions that had led her to this crapfest of a day. A smarter woman would regret them; Mina clung to them.
By three, the blizzard’s contrary nature had left the mountain almost empty. Even the most hardened skiers and boarders abandoned the slopes, frustrated at conditions that meant fresh powder for a few feet and exposed ice for a lot more.
The resort had sent word they were shutting down the lift a few minutes early due to wind. “This isn’t wind,” Mina muttered as the radio crackled the news. “This is a freaking end-of-days cyclone.”
A chair carrying two snowboarders broke through the storm. As she exited the unheated lift house, a small building no bigger than a shed with windows lining one side, Mina plastered on a warm smile that did not reach her numbed toes. The boarders scooted off as she wished them a good day.
Go home, she thought. It’s not worth riding in this weather.
All she wanted was to finish the day and go home to a hot shower. She’d left Dakdoritang, a spicy Korean stew and an old family recipe, in the crockpot, and she longed to be warm and full.
Her radio buzzed with static. “Mina?” David, a liftie at the bottom of the mountain, broke through the static. “Ski patrol says to close down. I just loaded the last rider.”
“Hallelujah,” she said out loud but without pushing the radio button. Mina didn’t usually work the lifts, but an early-season flu had wiped out some of the staff. With very few guests being in need of a ski instructor that morning, she’d been called up.
“He’s on chair 61. Over.”
“Ten-four.” With her day over, she could almost smell dinner.
She blinked the snowflakes out of her eyes as each chair crept out of the cold inferno before turning to make its long journey down. It fell to her and David to make sure the lift was empty of guests before she could catch a chair down. If she hurried with the last rider and locking up, she could catch chair 65 for a ride down.
Chair 59 appeared, and she counted down her day: 3… 2… then chair 61 appeared through the low clouds, empty. Chair 62 followed, also empty.
She counted five chairs before she grabbed the radio. “David, you read wrong; chair 61 is empty.”
Static filled the silent air. Mina kept her eyes on the chairs; maybe he meant 71. All passed empty, and the numbers started at one again. She tried again with the radio.
This time David responded. “Confirm, last rider on chair 61.”
“Confirmed, no one was on it.” She didn’t bother to conceal the annoyance in her voice. Her foot warmers had long worn out.
“I didn’t imagine someone getting on,” David argued.
“And I haven’t taken my eyes off the chairlift since you radioed. No one has come up.”
Chair 61 went by again, still empty.
Dread replaced the feeling of cold. “Call ski patrol. We’ve got a possible fall.”
She watched the chairs a minute longer, silently begging the rider to come out of the darkness. When they didn’t, she grabbed her skis. She wouldn’t wait for ski patrol. If someone had fallen off, she was the closest person to find them. She volunteered for the county Search and Rescue team, and no way she’d let somebody lie hurt in a blizzard.
2
The storm had only grown worse in the ticking minutes Mina had waited for the rider to appear. She rushed to shut everything down and strap on her ski boots. The stiff, cold plastic protested as she pried the opening in the boot as far as she could and wedged her foot in. Each boot took a few minutes—much too long.
There were parts of the lift where if a person fell off they’d land in a pile of snow and receive a bruised rear. But there were long stretches between cliffs and over ravines where a slip could mean death. If someone out there lay injured, she’d be racing against the storm to find them.
She strapped on a vest with a few essentials and a radio stuck to the front, then stomped her feet in each ski and pushed off w
ith her poles. This lift accessed two separate groomed runs and a lot more tree trails. She made a beeline for the trail under the lift. There would be no following it straight down as the lift went over a few cliffs.
The trail—rated a black diamond in good conditions, which that day was decidedly not—led her to the edge of the first cliff. Ski patrol had placed a fence warning skiers and riders to make a hard turn to avoid a quick death. The face was nothing but granite rock, invisible from where she stood. There were a couple of spots where the chairlift came within fifteen feet of the ground. In some places, a rider could reach out and touch a tree.
Above her, a few chairs swung in the wind, bouncing and squeaking. Her eyes followed the line of the chairlift through the whiteness, straining to see anyone on the ground. Between gusts of wind, the next ridgeline appeared. In between the two ridges was a bowl tailor-made for powder skiing.
As she was about to push off to go around the cliff, a flash of movement caught her eye. Something moved from tree to tree on the distant ridge, not far from the chairlift. It moved with a deliberate pace, not the skittishness of an animal.
She shoved off, skidding down the side until she could drop into the bowl below the rock face. Mina reached the other side of the bowl, where she could exit to the right and jump out on a run below. But the movement had been above her in the trees. She clicked off her skis and stuck them straight up in the snow.
The winds changed direction, picking up speed from the north. She had minutes before the heaviest snow would fall. The first part of the storm had only been a prelude to the main event.
Several high pine trees lined the edge of the bowl and the cliffs above. “Hello!” she yelled into the wind. The storm pushed the word back down her throat, and she gasped for air. “Anyone there?” She tried again, louder.
The storm made it seem as if Mina was the only human left on the mountain. If someone had fallen here, she didn’t see any signs, though this wind would make quick work of any tracks.
A large shadow moved in the trees up a fifteen-foot embankment. She went to call out a third time, but hesitated. Wind blew the tree branches, making everything come alive. The shadow, however, moved through the trees at a steady pace until it faded.
If someone had fallen, why would they climb up there? Common sense would lead them downhill toward the ski run.
Mina wanted to call out, should’ve called out. Instead she stepped backwards, incredibly aware of how alone she was, until she bumped into her skis. Fear, rarely felt even standing on the edge of a cliff ready to ski off, flowed through her.
She couldn’t identify what caused such a visceral reaction, and weakness angered her more than the fear overwhelmed her. “Stop it,” she said aloud. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Grasping a thin aspen tree jutting out of the ground, she pulled herself partway up the embankment. Her arms shook at carrying her weight, and she tried to grip the snow with her boots. With no flex in her ski boots, she slid down. On her second attempt, she lunged and grasped a higher tree. She succeeded, reaching the first of the pines.
She yanked her snow-covered goggles up onto her helmet and squinted, trying to spot movement amongst the trees’ shadows.
“Hello!” she yelled out. “Is anyone here?” Only the wind rushing through the treetops broke the quiet stillness.
She took a few halting steps but sank into the soft snow. She fumbled, trying to stop her descent, but with nothing solid to grasp on to, she fell face-first into the snow. Like a drowning person trying to tread water, she struggled to get vertical.
A loud thud echoed through the forest, vibrating the trees so much the snow perched on the branches dropped to the ground.
Mina froze as her glance shot around the forest. A few summers ago, she’d hiked along a river and experienced the prickly sensation of being watched. After a half mile, she’d glimpsed a black bear on a ridge, stalking.
That feeling returned in force, multiplied by the precarious position she held. At least then she’d had bear spray; now she wore boots impossible to run in.
“Bears are in hibernation,” she whispered in a futile attempt to reassure herself. “Nobody has ever seen one at the resort during winter.” But she couldn’t shake the instinct that something tracked her.
Mina found her footing and took a few steps backward, using the heel of her boot to break through the snow. The ground shook with a loud bang like a giant pine snapping in the storm. The wind grew stronger, ushering a high-pitched screaming sound that was neither human nor animal.
She backed up several steps, not daring to call out again. She fell backwards over the small ledge she’d just climbed up, tumbling over the snow and bushes. Above her, the wind—or something else—blew its fury through the trees.
She’d shaken off steeper falls than that, and she jumped to her feet. The pine branches spread parted in opposite directions. Something was coming through.
Mina slammed her boots against the binding, freeing chunks of snow, and snapped in. With one more glimpse at the parting trees, she pushed off. Her skis never slowed until she hit the open run below.
Fog had set in, and despite being on a run she’d taken hundreds of times, she could only determine uphill from downhill by her speed. Sleet filled her eyes, and she yanked her goggles back down, but they were caked in snow. She ripped them off.
Mina skidded to a stop, seconds away from crashing into the lodge. Its stone walls blended into the gray sky, rendering it nearly invisible.
A red-jacketed ski patroller came out of the grayness from the direction of the chairlift. “Mina.” Patrick, a friend and more-than-occasional date, called out to her. With his goggles and helmet, she only recognized him from the bushy auburn beard now filled with ice. “David told me about the missing guest. I came down the run with a snowmobile but didn’t see anything. You?”
At the presence of another human, Mina’s paranoia receded into shame. She considered the howling in the woods and the loud bangs. “I thought I did, but it was only the wind in the trees. Is David sure someone got on the chairlift?”
“He isn’t 100 percent sure which chair, but swears a guy got on right before he radioed you.” Patrick pulled his goggles up. “How sure are you no one got off?”
“100 percent,” she said without hesitation. They both scanned the dark clouds circling the mountain. As a Search and Rescue volunteer, Mina knew risks had to be taken to save lives, but they should be calculated risks. She calculated the risk and didn’t like the summation. “What are we going to do?”
Patrick squeezed out the snow accumulating in his beard. “The weather is calling for two feet by morning. If someone is up there, they won’t survive this.”
“Then we find them tonight.” Shame at abandoning the mountain seeped through her like the cold.
Patrick gestured to the lodge. “Sheriff just got here. Let’s see what he says.”
Mina didn’t want to ask; she wanted to go back up, but with someone. Snow pummeled the mountain as the last of their light slipped away. Waiting would turn a rescue into a recovery by morning.
3
Lodge was a loose term to describe the log building that sat at the base of the resort. It held no lodging, only a locker room and a small restaurant that specialized in burgers and not much else.
Mina walked into the restaurant with Patrick. The door slammed behind them like the storm wanted the mountain to itself. Sheriff Solo Chapa, or Sol, as everyone called him, stood in front of a detailed topographical map laid out on a table. All the guests had long since called it a day.
Without looking up, Sol said, “Mina, show me where you think the skier could be.”
Up until a year or so ago, Sol had commanded the Search and Rescue, or SAR, unit. SAR was a volunteer group under the sheriff. Mina had volunteered the last five years when she was in town. When the sheriff’s position unexpectedly opened, the town council had urged him to take over until a proper election could be held.
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sp; Mina joined him at the map. It took all of her patience to not yell at him and Patrick they were losing daylight and their chance. Had it been anyone else but Sol, she would not have held her tongue. That man could find a particular snowflake in a blizzard. He knew the country and had an ability to predict human behavior in it.
It took a few minutes to orient herself to the map; it only showed the lines of elevation and not the lifts. Baldie was where she’d been posted; she found that first. Taking a marker, she drew a line from the peak to the bottom where the lift ran. After that, she could follow her path down the mountain until her finger stopped at the trees at the bottom of the bowl. “I maybe saw something there. We need to get up there now.”
“What did you see?”
Had she really seen anything? There had been no tracks in that grove. “Something moving. I don’t know what.”
“You don’t think it was the lost skier?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t get there by falling or skiing. He’d have to have climbed up.”
