“It’s too dangerous,” I argue. “The wind speeds showed no signs of slowingdown. It won’t do any good to find Stone if our ride out of hell is slung into the side of the mountain,” I yell.
“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” Logan says, catching me off guard. “You and Stone?—”
“I can’t do anymore goodbye speeches today, Logan. You can clear your conscience over a beer with Stone and me later.”
He nods, and I shove the door of the chopper back.
“Good luck,” he says as I step onto the rail and fight the urge to throw up as I sit back in my harness.
Once I’m down, I quickly strap my snowshoes to my feet to help me stay on top of the snow. I have a backpack of supplies that includes a new radio, transponder, flares, etc.
Taking a deep breath, I pull out one of the backcountry topographical maps Stone put in my pocket when I first arrived and do my best to locate his position based on the intermittent signal I’m getting from his transceiver. Studying the contours of the slope around me, I manage to find the fall line—the path of least resistance down a mountain. The path a ball would take if rolled from the summit. The path gravity caters to. The path most avalanches run. Thankfully, I know where Stone entered the path, so now I just have to work my way down.
My entire focus is on Stone. Search and Rescue are still carrying forward with the mission to find the backcountry skiers, the rest of our team was being briefed on rescue ops for Stone, Deacon, Jeremy, and Layla, but time is of the essence and thankfully, Logan understood that if any of them are in critical condition, they won’t survive long enough for the rest of the team to infill from basecamp without the helicopters.
They all have avalanche equipment, of course, but Stone’s transponder signal is intermittent, which usually indicates damage from impact, and I try my hardest not to think about that. It’s enough to point me in the right direction, which I’m gratefulfor, but when it cuts out, I’m searching for a specific snowflake in a snowstorm, and I’m completely blind.
On the ground, by myself, surrounded by darkness and the howling wind, my body continues to dump adrenaline into my system, which means my time is limited because my body responds poorly to the hormone, and I can feel my movements turning sluggish already.
Logan was right when he said this was basically a suicide mission. Since he doesn’t know about my diagnosis, he doesn’t know how accurate he was.
The wind is too loud, but I call for Stone until I taste blood anyway.
An hour into my search, my fingers are locked in a flexed position, my knees ache, and my ankles become tight, making every step in the snowshoes feel like I’m climbing the Hilary Step on Mount Everest instead of this gentler-by-comparison Montana peak. Every synapse in my brain takes ten times as long to fire, and I’m so cold I fear I’ll never be warm again.
But I keep going.
Every storm comes to an end at some point, I remind myself, refusing to acknowledge that Stone and I might end with it.
I’ve kept my radio volume low, the chatter making me feel less alone, but also not wanting to hear the chaos of everyone looking for everyone else, since now, along with the original group of skiers, four members of our own team are missing. It may make me a terrible person, but I don’t have the margin to worry about anything or anyone other than Stone.
Above me, Logan sweeps the lights of the helicopter back and forth. I don’t stop to think about whether it’s on purpose or if the wind is blowing him to-and-fro above me. It doesn’t matter because fifteen minutes later, he radios to tell me the winds are picking up, forcing him to set the chopper down atthe base of the mountain, leaving me with a flashlight that my cramped, contracted fingers will probably never be able to let go of, and a headlamp that barely cuts through the snow swirling around me.
But I have no other choice than to continue my search, slowly probing every step, losing more hope each time the pole sinks into the snow with no resistance.
Tears are freezing on my face as despair sinks in, but just before I give up all hope entirely, I come across one of the skis from a snowmobile sticking out of the snow. My stomach lodges itself in my throat as I’m hit with another adrenaline rush. The desire to tear into the snow as hard and fast as I can is dangerous. If I expend that much energy, I’ll crash even sooner than expected.
I keep checking my watch to follow the signal from Stone’s transceiver, but it’s gone a second after a dying blink flashes again. I probe around the snowmobile, trying to call Stone’s name, but even that takes energy I don’t want to waste since it’s unlikely that he can respond.
It takes me far too long to radio what I’ve found because my fingers aren’t working properly, and I waste precious time just to be told no one will be able to reach me for a couple more hours.
We all know if Stone’s buried, he doesn’thavea couple more hours.
He may be gone already.
No.No. I fuckingrefuseto accept that.
Hold on, baby. I’ve got you.
All my hope is restored when that beautiful green dot signaling Stone’s transceiver stays lit for a merciful three seconds. Long enough for me to get my fucked-up fingers to zoom in on my watch screen to get my red dot and Stone’s green one in the same frame.
A point of reference.
The first light is just barely visible in the stormy night sky, but 200 yards to my left is a patch of trees.
“STONE!” I yell, realizing it would be tragically ironic if my scream were to set off another avalanche that would kill me before I could hold Stone one more time.
Frantic, I will my muscles to cooperate. I’m moving too slowly. Afraid the signal is going to disappear once and for all, I use every ounce of strength I have, and some I don’t, to probe like a madman once I reach the tree line. Working in six-foot sections, I reach the probe out and drag it back toward me through the snow.
