Ten minutes gone.
The trail narrows, skirting rock. Beyond the outcrop, the ridge opens up. The wind is stronger, pulling at my clothes and trying to steal my hat. I continue to climb.
When I haul myself over the last boulder, the storm hits full-on. The wind screams along the ridge, and the snow slams into my face like frozen shrapnel. Visibility drops to maybe ten feet. The trees are dark smudges, and the ground and sky blur into endless swirling white.
I squint, searching for the next print. It’s barely visible, filling with snow.
This is the line. The one I lecture rookies about. The point of no return.
Turn back, Ava…
Then I picture some guy with snowshoe-sized feet pitching his tent in an avalanche chute, and I keep going. "Five more minutes."
I step carefully, testing each step before committing weight onto the loose snow. My ankle feels steady. My layers do their job.I’ve got this,I assure myself.I've handled worse.
Overconfidence is always a bad idea on the mountain, and I pay dearly for it with my next step as my boot hits slick ice hidden under fresh powder.
My foot shoots sideways and my pack yanks me off balance. Then I’m weightless, falling.
I go down hard.
My right ankle twists. White-hot pain streaks up my leg. My hip slams buried rock and my shoulder takes the rest. The world flips—sky, snow, stone—then everything stops with a jarring thud.
For a second I just lie there, blinking snow out of my eyes.
"Nailed it," I tell no one.
The pain rolls in, from my screaming shoulder to the hip that’s guaranteed to have a nasty bruise, and right down to my throbbing ankle.
With a groan, I roll onto my side. The movement sends fire through my ankle. I bite back a curse.
I flex my foot to test the joint. It’s painful, but I’m relieved to discover the bone isn’t broken. It’s just a nasty sprain.
Snow piles on my jacket, sneaking down my collar, and melting cold against my neck
I fumble for my radio. My fingers feel thick, stupid.Speaking of thick and stupid… now I have to call base for help.
And Ihateasking for help more than anything in the world.
"Base, this is Ava Madison. Took a fall near upper boulders. Minor sprain, but visibility's garbage and the storm's worse than projected. I can get myself out of the avalanche zone, but I’ll need a team to meet me at the East Ranger’s Station." I’ll have to hike nearly a mile in the snow to get there, but there’s no other choice. It’s too dangerous to stay here.
I’ll crawl on all fours if I have to.
“Base?” I repeat. “Did you get that?”
Static
I try again. "Base? Copy?"
Nothing.
A cold sense of dread slides under my ribs. I shove it down.
There are provisions at the station. It’ll be cold and lonely, but I can wait out the storm in safety there.
I push to my feet using a nearby rock. The moment weight hits my bad ankle, fire flares. I hiss and shift left. It holds. Every step will hurt like hell, but I can do it.There’s no other choice.
I say a silent prayer that the lone hiker finds safe shelter. Then I take a breath, pick a line toward lower ground, and start moving.
