Return to Dyatlov Pass Page 16

  “I would never violate your privacy that way. Lana and I were lovers; it was different. I promise you that she’d be okay with what I did. Otherwise, I never would have done it.”

  “Lovers? Is that what you call rape these days?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She watched Steven warily. He could crush her windpipe before she had the chance to scream. But instead of looking angry, the mountaineer appeared horrified.

  “Rape? Are we back to that again? I never raped anyone. Why would you say that? Even if you think I stole your underwear, that doesn’t make me a rapist.”

  “Why else would Lana have told Igor you forced yourself into her tent? While she didn’t say rape, it was strongly implied.”

  Steven removed his cap to run his hand through his dark hair. It was sickening that even now, he managed to look handsome. “I wish she were here to explain some of these things herself. Lana was a sweet girl, but sometimes her naïveté got her into trouble. She told me Igor had made some advances, was coming on strong. Since we were stuck with each other for the week, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She was desperate to avoid any bad blood. So she told him she was gay. That worked pretty well until Igor saw me going into her tent one night.”

  As much as she didn’t want to believe him, Nat could picture it. The crestfallen expression of betrayal on Igor’s face, Lana’s verbal tap dancing to explain her relationship with Steven while keeping the peace. But still, Lana claiming Steven had forced his way into her tent could have gotten the mountaineer killed. “Why would she say it wasn’t consensual, though? You’re lucky Igor didn’t wring your neck.”

  “Well, according to what she told me, that isn’t quite what she said. She said we were friends, and that I wanted more from the relationship than she did. Which was probably true. I was more than willing to relocate to Canada if she didn’t fancy moving to California. Lana was quite hesitant, said we were rushing things.”

  Nat raised an eyebrow. “I’d say. You’d only known her a few days.”

  He shrugged, kicking at a crust of snow. “Doesn’t matter. When you know, you know. There isn’t another woman like her in the world. I’d stake my life on it.”

  It was his tone, the sincerity in his eyes, that convinced her. As creepy as his panty hoarding was, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d loved Lana, and loved her very deeply. Whether or not Lana had felt the same was anyone’s guess. “Once again, it seems I owe you an apology for leaping to conclusions. But it was so startling to find my underwear in that pack. Especially since I was looking for the breakfast burritos.”

  A smile played at the corner of his lips. “No problem. This has been so mortifying that I’d be perfectly happy to forgive and forget. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “So, with that out of the way and my fledgling reputation as the Great Panty Bandit of Dead Mountain laid to rest, will you tell me your plans for tonight?”

  “Later. First, we need to gather firewood. A lot of firewood. Once we rejoin the others, I’ll explain everything.”

  “Okay, I guess I can remain in suspense for that long.” Steven knelt to gather branches that had fallen during a previous storm, but not before Nat caught him wiping his eyes.

  “Steven?”

  “Yeah?” His voice was a bit rougher than usual, and in spite of her misgivings, her heart went out to him.

  “I’m sorry about Lana. She was a wonderful woman.”

  “Thanks. She felt the same way about you.”

  ~ Chapter Nineteen ~

  “Are you sure about this?” Steven’s eyes locked with hers as he held the knife over her skin.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “It could get infected.”

  “Are you kidding? That swill Igor drinks would kill anything.” She’d expected more grumbling about Igor’s great sacrifice, but the Russian had told her where to find his stash without a fight. “Hey, if this works, I’ll never drink again,” he’d said, and from the conviction in his voice, he might have even believed it. She was just thankful there were no ladies’ unmentionables in his bag.

  “True. Okay, you asked for it.”

  With a deep breath, Steven sliced the blade across her thumb, where a cut would bleed without nicking an artery. The knife was so sharp Nat felt nothing at first, followed immediately by fire. She turned her hand over, squeezing her flesh, and watched her blood spatter on the floor of the tent.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. We’ve already agreed to sacrifice our last packet of beef tips.”

  She grinned. “Just upping the ante. How are the stakes coming along?” In truth, it was partly penance. She’d been horrified to discover that every single power pack she’d brought to charge the phones was useless, drained. There wasn’t much of a chance of getting a signal in the mountains, but even so, the power packs had represented one of their last hopes, and now they were gone too. Why hadn’t she checked them earlier?

  “Great, actually. Who knew Igor was such a whittler?”

  “It’s amazing what talents one uncovers when people are motivated.”

  “True. I only hope it’s enough.”

  “Steven…” He’d promised her to can the negative talk. Her plan was a bit crazy, a bit arts ’n’ crafts, and it was cobbled together from a few different horror movies, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting around a campfire waiting to die. And she was confident she could kill the fuckers. After all, she’d already got one.

  “Sorry. I’m just scared, is all.”

  “Everyone is scared. But at least we’re doing something. This is what your great-aunt would have wanted, don’t you think?”

  “Sure. She struck me as being a tough ol’ broad in the true sense of the word. Would have to have been to be one of only two women on that trip, and to have survived as long as she did.”

  Though Nat wasn’t squeamish, the lack of food combined with the sight of her own blood made her feel lightheaded. “I’m going to have to sit down.”

  “You’ve earned it. This place looks properly abattoir-like.” Droplets, streaks, and smears of her blood decorated the nylon floor and walls of the tent. Nat couldn’t smell it, but she was willing to bet she knew something that could. “Should we try our hand at whittling?”

  “We shall. Let’s go. This place is giving me the creeps.”

  * * *

  The group had an early supper so they’d be finished well before dusk. They avoided calling it a farewell dinner, though everyone understood it most likely was.

  Over a meal of lasagna, they toasted each other with tiny cups that held the very last of Igor’s moonshine.

  “Na zdorovie!” Igor yelled, hoisting his cup in the air. It looked like a thimble in his hand.

  “Na zdorovie,” the remaining three repeated in unison.

  “I’d like to say something, if I might.” Nat rose to her feet.

  “Speech, speech.” Andrew waved his ski pole in the air. How lucky for them that the snowmen had stolen the skis but left the poles. If you could call any part of this adventure lucky.

  “In spite of our rocky start, and the many bumps along the road”—she looked at Steven, and the mountaineer raised his glass to her—“I’ve really enjoyed being out here with you guys. We’ve made a good team, sometimes in spite of ourselves, and if we continue to work together, I know we will make it out of here alive. I don’t just think; I know.”

  The men cheered and hooted. This was one time when they wanted to make as much noise as possible. Let the snowmen come to shut them up. She hoped it would be the last thing those monsters ever tried.

  “We cannot show mercy. Remember what they have done to our friends. We are doing this not as heartless killers, but as survivors. To avenge the deaths of Joe, Anubha, Lana, and Vasily. We cannot hesitate. As long as one of them is alive, we are not safe here.”

  “Don’t forget about me. Fuckers busted my leg. If it weren’t for them, we’d be halfway dow
n the mountain already,” Igor said. The firelight reflected in his blue eyes, making him look otherworldly, like some creature who had ascended from hell to avenge them. Nat wished they had that kind of supernatural power on their side, rather than four hikers armed with ski poles and their wits.

  “And Igor’s leg! We must seek justice for Igor’s leg.” Andrew thrust his cup into the air with such zeal she would have thought he was drunk, except for the fact there wasn’t enough alcohol left in camp to get a mouse tipsy.

  “For Igor’s leg,” everyone cried.

  Soon after, the howling began.

  The group now recognized the sound for what it was—a battle cry. The levity they’d enjoyed seconds before vanished.

  “I-I’m not sure I can do this,” Andrew said, giving voice to what she was sure everyone was thinking. If there were three or four creatures, they might have a chance. But what if there were dozens? Or hundreds?

  She took his hand in hers, squeezing it. “Yes, you can.”

  He squeezed back before helping Steven move Igor into position. The Russian slung an arm around each man for balance, but he already moved pretty well on his own, hopping around on his makeshift crutches. Nat cringed each time she saw him hopping on the snow. All it would take was one false step and down he would go. At this point, a single fall could spell his doom.

  Within minutes, the tableau of a critically injured man, abandoned and helpless, was complete. Nat hoped they would fall for it.

  “You all set, Igor?”

  Andrew had covered the Russian up to his neck with a blanket so only his head was visible. Igor grinned. “Bring. It. On.” With his heavily accented English, it reminded her of one of Arnie’s memorable lines from the Terminator movies.

  She and Andrew hunkered down on the other side of their newly decorated tent. This close, the fumes were eye-watering. Steven disappeared into the darkness behind Igor. This was the riskiest part of her plan. If something went wrong, they were too far apart to come to each other’s aid.

  The chorus of howls died abruptly. Somehow, the silence was more ominous. Then she heard Igor holler a string of English and Russian curses that were doubly impressive under the circumstances.

  “How could you leave me to die, you fuckers? You heartless cunts. If I ever get my hands on you, I’ll tear your eyes out through your ass.”

  “Eyes through your ass? Interesting turn of phrase,” Andrew whispered.

  It was the signal. Igor had seen something.

  The snowmen had arrived.

  Nat prayed fervently, hoping to hear another cry, this one of pain. Entwining her fingers with Andrew’s, she prayed that the sweet, sensitive man beside her would be able to access his inner warrior. That the mountaineer would not betray their fragile truce again.

  “He’s sniffing at it! He knows something’s there.”

  Seizing Andrew by the jacket, she jerked him out of sight behind the tent, her heart pounding. “Are you crazy? They have way better night vision than we do. It might have seen you.”

  “It didn’t see me, but I don’t think this is going to work—”

  A scream split the night air, but it wasn’t the one she’d been waiting for.

  It was Steven.

  Forgetting how she’d scolded Andrew a second before, she risked a peek, in time to see Steven charge the creature with a makeshift club held aloft.

  “What is he doing? This wasn’t our plan.”

  Startled, the snowman moved back a step, and that was all it took. The ground beneath him gave way and everything but his hooded head disappeared from view. Steven was on him in a second, swinging his club at the creature’s face as though it were a baseball. Blood spattered on the snow, but he didn’t stop. He swung again and again, until a sickening crunching sound brought an end to the terrible howls and snarls coming from the pit.

  The mountaineer tossed his club on the snow, panting. Steam rose from his head into the frosty air, making him look like he was on fire.

  “Right on, Steven. I can’t believe it worked.” Andrew moved to join him, but Nat grabbed his coat again.

  “There are more of them. You have to stay here.” She crossed her fingers, hoping Steven would recover his strength quickly. There was no time for celebration, not yet, and he was in a vulnerable position, with his back facing the woods.

  As if he’d read her mind, the mountaineer scooped up his club and vanished into the shadows behind Igor again. The Russian gave him a thumbs-up as he passed. One down, but how many to go?

  She’d never agreed to any of them facing the creatures head on. The monsters were too powerful. Judging by the defensive wounds on Dyatlov and Vladimirovich’s hands, the Russian skiers had made that mistake. But in this case, Steven thankfully had had the element of surprise working in his favor. Otherwise, the pit they’d spent hours digging would have been a waste of time.

  “Welcome, you ugly bastard. Come to finish me off, have you? Why don’t you come over here and suck my dick?”

  Igor again. With the pit uncovered, there wasn’t much left to protect him.

  “Let’s see if we can get it to come over this way,” Nat whispered. Her lantern flared in the darkness, hopefully making it appear that they were inside the shelter rather than beside it. Holding a dry corner of the tent, she jostled it, forcing herself to laugh like she’d heard the world’s funniest joke. “It’s going to be great to get home, I tell you. I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.”

  “Me either. After I spend a full day in the hot tub, I’m going straight to Urasawa and ordering everything they have.” Andrew’s tone matched her wistful joviality perfectly. Only someone who knew him well would have picked up on the fear underneath.

  She listened hard for a moment, but heard nothing. “Sounds fantastic. Count me in. We’ll make a party out of it.”

  A long, low howl very different from the ones they’d heard earlier that evening made her jump.

  “I think he’s found his friend,” Andrew said.

  The sound ended as abruptly as it had begun. While they waited, the cold from the snow underneath them crept into her bones. She held her breath, listening for anything that would tell her where the creature was.

  Scraping and rustling noises came from the direction of the pit.

  “Never mind him. Look at me, you fucker. What are you doing, you ugly prick? I was saving that for my dinner, you sad fuck.”

  Igor’s taunts gave her the courage to risk another peek. The snowman had lifted his dead comrade from the pit and slung him over his shoulder. In the firelight, his coat looked oddly shiny, like no hide she’d ever seen. Despite his immense strength, the creature staggered under his buddy’s weight, his feet sinking into the snow.

  “He’s taking him. We can’t let him leave.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to stop him?”

  “I don’t know, but we have to do something. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck waiting for him again.”

  Among their homemade arsenal was one true weapon: Anubha’s crossbow. There was only one problem: none of them knew how to use it. Nat had been dumb enough to mumble something about archery classes in high school, so the men had entrusted her with the sleek, aluminum contraption that bore no resemblance to the clunky, wooden thing she’d struggled with as a teenager.

  Still, if Jennifer Lawrence could manage a bow in The Hunger Games, how difficult could it be? After several tries, Nat could only hope she’d managed to load it correctly.

  Adrenaline racing through her veins, she leapt to her feet before she could think better of it. Pulling away from Andrew’s grasp, she stepped out from the tent into the open. The snowman was past the fire, making his way to the tree line now. A few more steps and he’d be gone. Taking a deep breath, she raised the crossbow, doing her best to sight it.

  “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” she yelled.

  “Nat, are you insane? He’s too far away. Get back here,” Andrew said, but she held her gro
und, and as the monster turned, she fired. With the full force of her fear and rage behind her, the bolt went farther than she’d expected, hitting the creature square in the hood. From the resulting squeal, it had pierced the strange hide and found flesh. Snarling, the snowman tossed his friend to the ground as though the body were a sack of leaves. It came for her, closing the distance between them with frightening speed.

  “Nat, run!”

  “Stick to the plan,” was all she had time to say before she ducked inside the tent, praying with everything she had that the creature would come after her and leave Andrew alone.

  A second later, the snowman tore open the front of the tent with its claws. She screamed, the suddenness of its movements more frightening than its dark form charging her. Scrambling backward, she crawled toward the hole the snowman had slashed in the side the night before. Fresh air assaulted her face—her upper body was free. Now to—

  Her right leg was pinned, trapped. The creature had hold of her ankle and it was like being wedged in a vise. There was no give, no leeway. She felt hot breath against her skin as her snow pants tore and she cried out, begging for help that wouldn’t come in time. This was her plan, this was the way she had wanted it. If she fell, she wouldn’t take anyone with her.

  But she’d never expected to fall.

  “Do it now,” she shouted at Andrew, accepting all she was about to sacrifice.

  “But you’re still inside!”

  “I don’t care. Do it anyway.”

  For a second, time stopped. Impossibly, Nat heard the click of Andrew’s lighter over the creature’s snarling and her own harsh panting.

  A fireball engulfed the tent as the creature screeched. The roar of the inferno, the intensity of the heat on her face, was blistering. Something seized her under her arms and ripped her backward. Her boot came free and Nat yelped as her bare foot was pulled through the blaze.

  “Jesus Christ. What were you thinking?”

  Steven. He didn’t let go until they were halfway across the campsite. Her tent, soaked with her own blood as bait and Igor’s moonshine as accelerant, burned brightly enough to turn night into day. And still the creature shrieked. Nat pressed her hands over her ears.