She went left here, toward the steeper slope. Not smart. That path leads straight toward the old abandoned shafts. Dangerous even in good weather. Deadly in this.
I push forward, boots slipping on the icy ground. My radio crackles once, a burst of static, then nothing. I try calling in anyway.
“Rafe, this is Thorne. I’m still on her trail. Heading toward the old mine entrance. Over.”
Only silence answers.
The snow comes down harder now, thick and heavy, blanketing everything in white. I keep moving, one careful step after another, eyes locked on the ground. The prints are getting harder to see. The wind is erasing them almost as fast as I find them. I crest a small rise and pause, scanning the slope below.
There. A flash of color half-buried in the snow. Red. A jacket maybe. Or a scarf. I start down the incline, moving as quickly as I dare on the treacherous ground.
The wind screams louder. Snow stings my eyes. I blink it away and keep going. The red object grows clearer. It’s a glove. Small. Woman’s size. I pick it up. Still warm. She dropped it minutes ago.
My pulse quickens. I’m close. Very close.
I call out into the storm. “Hello! Can you hear me? My name’s Thorne. I’m here to help!” The wind swallows my voice.
I keep moving, following the faint depression in the snow where her boots broke through. The ground grows steeper. Rocks jut out like broken teeth. The old mine entrance should be just ahead, a dark maw cut into the mountainside. If she went inside, she might be sheltered from the worst of the storm. Or she might be trapped.
Another ten yards. The snow is falling so thick now it feels like walking through a white curtain. I sweep the beam of my headlamp left and right, searching.
There.
A small figure huddled against a rock outcropping, half-buried in snow. Dark hair. Red jacket. She’s curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around her knees.
I move faster. “Ma’am! I’m here. Can you hear me?”
No response.
I drop to my knees beside her and brush snow from her face. She’s young, maybe twenty-one, lips blue, skin pale as the snow around her. Her eyes flutter open for a second, unfocused, then close again.
“Stay with me,” I say, voice firm. “I’m going to get you warm.”
I shrug off my pack and pull out the emergency blanket. I wrap it around her, then start rubbing her arms through the fabric, trying to get circulation moving. Her pulse is weak but there. Hypothermia. Bad.
I try the radio again. “Rafe, this is Thorne. I have her. She’s alive but in bad shape. Hypothermia. Need evac now. Over.”
Only static answers.
The storm howls louder. Visibility has dropped to almost zero. I can barely see ten feet in any direction. Getting her down the mountain in this is going to be nearly impossible.
I scoop her up carefully, cradling her against my chest. She’s light. Too light. I start back the way I came, moving as fast as I dare on the slick slope. Every step is a battle against the wind and the deepening snow.
The woman stirs weakly in my arms. “Cold…” she whispers.
“I know. I’ve got you. Stay awake for me.”
I keep talking to her, low and steady, telling her my name, telling her help is coming, telling her she’s going to be okay. My own body is starting to feel the cold now. My fingers are numb insidemy gloves. My legs burn from the effort of carrying her through the drifts.
The wind shifts suddenly, driving snow directly into my face. I turn my head against it and keep moving. I need to find shelter. The old mine entrance is close. Dangerous, but better than staying out here.
I crest another small rise and see the dark opening of the shaft ahead. Just a few more yards.
That’s when the ground gives way beneath my right foot.
The snow had hidden a drop-off. My leg plunges into empty space. I twist hard, trying to protect the woman in my arms as we fall. Pain explodes in my ankle. We tumble down a short embankment, snow and rocks sliding with us.
I land hard on my side, the woman still clutched against my chest. For a moment everything is silent except for the howl of the wind. Then pain flares hot and sharp in my left leg.
