Claw Page 8

  Pulled off to one side of the wide turnaround, a white Dodge Ram 3500 sat parked, a large, empty trailer attached to it — the kind big enough to haul several snowmobiles. Both truck and trailer had a thick layer of frost coating them from the night before, just now starting to melt thanks to the sunlight that was beaming through the weakening ice fog.

  “Looks like we’ve found the source of our vacationing camper’s rides up to the ridge,” Austin said, pointing to the rental company decals on the side of the trailer that said, Phil’s Freakin’ Fun Machines.

  Looking at the GPS unit affixed to the dashboard of the City Works truck’s dashboard, Trip said, “Well, we’re still about ten klicks from where you figure the camp is, though.”

  “Yeah, I know. Time for some more sledding.” Austin took the GPS unit off its mount on the dashboard and climbed out of the truck.

  Trip once again topped off the fuel tanks in the snowmobiles as Austin unloaded them. Looking up at the sun now burning through the fog, he figured that they might have about four hours of daylight left before a fresh helping of ice fog rolled off the Kootenay Glacier once more with the setting of the sun. “We’re going to have to make this quick. By the time we get there, there won’t be much daylight left.”

  Trip nodded in agreement, firing up his sled as he did. Austin followed suit, and together the pair cranked their throttles and shot up the mountainside toward Gold Ridge, following the trail the campers had left behind in the frost-crusted snow. The higher they went, the thinner the fog became. Suddenly, the grey day gave way to brilliant blue skies. Austin blinked in the sudden brightness. Pulling a pair of citron-hued sunglasses from an outer parka pocket with one hand, he slipped them on while continuing to pilot his sled with the other. He still held hope that all would be well with the campers when they arrived.

  Half an hour later, his optimism vanished when he and Trip rolled into the campsite — it looked like a slaughterhouse. Scarlet was sprayed across the snow all over the campsite. Several particularly nasty looking swaths of crimson coated the ground near the cold campfire.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Austin said, “Jesus Christ, what happened here? Were they here hunting illegally, then decided to gut their kill all over the campsite?”

  Trip responded, “I dunno. If that were the case we’d see some carcasses around here somewhere, wouldn’t we? So far, we’ve just seen lots and lots of blood. This is bad, Boss, real bad.” Trip pointed toward the frozen campfire, “There’s a lot more blood over there.” Red appeared to be the colour of the day in the frozen slush. It looked like something, or someone had been crushed into the snow like a bug and then dragged off, judging by the trail leading into the bushes. A wave of nausea washed over Trip, and a small spark of fear ignited in his belly. Where were the bodies of the animals they’d killed, or for that matter, the bodies of the campers? So much blood but not a limb or a scrap of flesh anywhere in sight was very strange and very, very bad.

  Ribbons of fabric from the shredded tent fluttered in the light breeze. Next to it, three snowmobiles sat waiting patiently for riders that never returned. A rope dangled from a nearby tree branch, the food that had hung from it scattered across the frozen ground below. Many of the packages looked torn into and eaten. Moving toward the fire pit, Trip poked through the ashes with his toe and suddenly froze at what he saw. He called out to Austin, “Boss! Come here, quick!”

  Hearing the edge in Trip’s voice, Austin approached the frozen fire pit with trepidation. Standing next to the ashes, he shook his head, saying, “What the hell?” Firmly set into the frozen mud and blood near the edge of the cold campfire were several large, deep impressions. As the head of the Lawless Public Works Department as well as Animal Control for over a dozen years, Austin had seen his share of tracks and prints from various animals indigenous to the area — but this was something new. The spoor looked like a bear’s, but not like any in his experience.

  Trip gazed at the prints, thinking similar thoughts to Austin’s. “That looks like a bear track, but not from one that I’ve ever seen! And look at those toe and heel marks, and the length of the claw impressions! The size of it is incredible! I mean, holy shit!” The tracks were at least three times the size of any bear track Trip had ever seen, black, brown or grizzly, and he had seen his fair share of them all. He looked around nervously, wondering if the animal that had left the impression in the muck was anywhere in the vicinity at the moment, and wished he’d brought his rifle. “Do you think it ate everyone?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, buddy. Whatever ‘it’ is, judging by the amount of blood around here, yeah, there could be a very good possibility of that.” Austin glanced around and found another of the enormous prints, following them to a set of fresh snowmobile tracks leading away from the carnage. “I think whatever happened to the other campers, one of them might have gotten away before becoming something’s midnight snack. I wonder if it was the guy with the gun?”

  “Gun?” Trip inquired.

  “Yeah, there are at least a half dozen spent cartridges just over there.” He pointed toward several brass shell casings gleaming in the snow on the other side of the fire. “Looks like they’re from a large calibre handgun — a magnum, I think.”

  Shaking his head, Trip said, “That’s some pretty heavy stopping power, but it doesn’t look like it was able to stop very much.”

  Several minutes passed as they searched the camp for survivors. Frowning, his hands on his hips, Austin surveyed the camp for a moment longer, then said, “I’d say our only option now is to follow that other set of tracks heading away from the campsite.” He pointed toward treadmarks winding into the trees away from the main trail, leading toward the edge of the ridge. If the snowmobile he and Trip were about to follow kept going in the direction it was going, he knew things weren’t going to end well for the driver.

  They motored along the outer rim of Gold Ridge for a short while, until Austin’s worst fears were realised. Slowing to a stop, he felt his heart drop. While the ridge itself dog-legged to the right, the other snowmobile’s tracks didn’t, and it appeared to have gone over the side. Killing the Arctic Cat’s engine, Austin walked cautiously to the edge of the precipice and looked down into the churning clouds. Underneath the sea of grey, it was five-hundred metres straight down to the valley bottom. Shaking his head, he said, “Poor bastard…” Turning to leave, he glanced one final time into the roiling mists below. They parted briefly, allowing him a better view. His eyes widened as he caught sight of something bright-blue resting on the brink of a narrow ledge jutting out from the cliff-face about five metres down. He shouted, “Trip! Hurry! Get the rope! I think there’s a survivor down there!”

  Trip struggled through the snow toward the edge of the snow-covered cliff, a bundle of rope slung over one shoulder. He looked downward, but the cloud had obscured the view once more. “You sure about this, Boss? It’s a long way down if you’re wrong.”

  Austin smiled slightly, saying, “Yeah, but I know what I saw, and I’m sure.” Trip nodded and said nothing more, handing Austin one end of the rope.

  Austin continued, “Here’s what’s going to happen, my friend. You’re going to tie one end of that rope to your snowmobile, and I’ll tie the other end to me. Once I get down there and scope things out, if I’m able to help, I’ll tie this rope around the two of us and give you a holler. You can slowly pull us back up with your Cat,” Austin nodded toward Trip’s snowmobile, concluding, “Emphasis on the word ‘slowly’, please, since I don’t want us getting torn to shreds on the rock face when we come back up.”

  “Gotcha. Sounds good, Boss.” Trip gave one end of the rope to Austin and slogged back through the snow to his sled. Restarting the motor, he quickly turned it around and tied the other end of the rope onto the back of the machine’s seat. He stepped off the sled and gathered the rope’s slack, feeding it through his arms in order to act as a conduit for it to pass through while he lowered Austin.

  W
ith the rope secured about his waist, Austin backed cautiously toward the edge of the cliff. Trip braced himself, then pulled hard. “Go for it, Boss!” he grunted.

  The rope now taut, Austin leaned back over the edge, then rappelled down out of sight. Sharp rock threatened to tear at his parka as he descended. He needed to make sure to keep his legs moving, gently pushing away from the rock to avoid contact while Trip smoothly lowered him.

  Glancing down through the swirling cloud and fog at his feet, Austin’s concern for the person in the neon-blue parka grew the closer he got. The victim was unmoving, resting near the lip of the lower ledge. One arm drooped over the side, the survivor’s gloved hand stretched out as if trying to idly grab some of the clouds as they floated by.

  Austin’s boots touched down on the narrow ledge about a metre from the body, and he hollered up, “I’m on the ledge!”

  Above his head, Trip’s voice floated down. “I’m on it, Boss! I’ll lose the slack then retie you to the sled. Don’t go falling off while I’m doing that, okay?”

  “Thanks for your concern, buddy! I’ll try not to!” Austin called back, smiling grimly. He scowled as he glanced toward the sun, which now seemed to be arcing across the sky toward the western side of the valley much more quickly than he would have liked. Untying the rope from his waist and bundling it in his hands, he scuttled along the ledge on hands and knees toward the injured person. He knelt in the snow next to them but could only see the back of their blue-hooded head. They faced away from him as if looking out over the cloud-covered valley, enjoying the view. Austin gently touched the victim’s shoulder, saying, “It’s okay, my friend. My name is Austin Murphy, and I’m here to help you.”

  The blue parka jerked suddenly and called out in a man’s voice, “D-don’t let it eat me! Keep it away!” The man bucked and twisted, trying to roll away from Austin, almost taking them both over the edge in the process. Luckily, Austin had been expecting some sort of reaction, and he grabbed the man’s outer arm just in the nick of time, pulling him back before he accidentally finished the journey to the valley bottom that his sled had already taken the night before.

  “N-no! S-s-stay away from me,” the neon-blue man said, his voice frail and weak, his body trembling from exposure and fear.

  “It’s okay, buddy. I’m Austin Murphy. I’m with the city of Lawless, BC and also part of the local Search and Rescue. I’m going to help you to the hospital and get you fixed up, okay?”

  The man said nothing.

  Austin tried again, gently touching the man’s shoulder. “What’s your name, my friend?” This time, he kept his grip firmly on the man’s shoulders, in case he tried anything else too aerobic for the limited space of the ledge and take them both over.

  “D-don’t let it get me, please don’t let it get me…” the man muttered again, delirious.

  “I’m not going to let it get you, buddy, but I’m going to have to move you a little bit here to see how you’re doing.” He spoke calmly, trying to reassure the man. “I’m going to do it nice and slow, just to make sure we don’t injure you any more, okay? So let’s try this again. My name is Austin Murphy. What’s yours?”

  “J-J-Jerry. Jerry Benson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jerry Benson. So here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to get you off this ledge and then get you on your way down the mountain to the hospital, okay? So here we go.” Austin gently grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him away from the edge. Touching the man’s arm to aid in the roll-over, Austin grimaced as he felt protruding bones — it was obviously broken. Jerry groaned in pain from the movement.

  “How’s it going, Jerry? Are you holding up, buddy? Let’s just see if we can get you sitting up, okay?” Austin firmly hauled the man upright using his armpits, helping him into a seated position against the rock face. This time, Jerry screamed.

  “How’s it going, Austin?” Trip’s baritone voice boomed down from above, filled with concern after hearing Jerry’s shriek of pain.

  Austin looked upward into the clouds swirling overhead and shouted, “Yeah, we’re okay! Thanks, my friend!”

  “Who are you talking to?” Jerry asked, confused, still groggy from pain, exposure and dehydration. “Is it God?” Hope swelled in his voice as if he thought he might be having an epiphany. He stuttered as he finished asking, “A—a-are you an angel?”

  Austin looked Jerry straight in the eyes and said, “Sorry, my friend, far from it. But I’ll try to be a bit more gentle the next time, okay?” Jerry nodded slightly in understanding, and Austin continued, “Unfortunately, that time is now. So, here we go, let’s see if we can get you standing upright.” Austin slowly stood, easing Jerry up by the armpits with him at the same time. Jerry moaned once more, swaying in Austin’s arms, but finally made it to a vertical orientation.

  Leaning Jerry face-first against the cliff face, Austin tied the rope around the man’s chest and underarms, and then did the same to himself, tieing his body to Jerry’s from behind. He shouted up into the clouds once more, “Okay, Trip! I’ve got him tied to me! Now pull us up, nice and slow, just like we discussed! It’s sharp as shit along this rock face!”

  “You got it, Boss,” Trip hollered back.

  Trip started his sled’s engine, revving it a few times. Austin held the slack rope away from himself and Jerry. He didn’t want it tangling around their feet when Trip started to move and have him drag the pair of them up the cliff face upside-down. That would most definitely be an unpleasant experience. As that thought passed through his mind, there was a sudden tug under his armpits, and he and Jerry slowly began to rise into the clouds. Austin continually pushed them away from the cliffside with his feet and hands to make sure they didn’t get hung up and flayed alive as they ascended the serrated rock.

  Halfway up, Jerry’s broken arm bumped against the sharp rock, and Austin winced as the man shrieked in his ear. Jerry went limp, the sudden jolt of pain overloading his internal pain circuity. Probably for the best, Austin thought. They continued their ascent a few centimetres at a time, Trip crawling the sled ahead as he pulled them slowly to safety.

  When they were within a metre of the top, Austin hollered, “Trip! Put it in park, and get over here!”

  Trip killed the engine and hopped off the snowmobile, pushing back through the snow toward the edge of the cliff. Tentatively peeking over the side, he saw Austin and the injured man dangling just below him, an ocean of cloud lapping at their feet. Glancing over his shoulder, Trip saw the sun racing toward the horizon, just starting to settle near the edge of the glacier.

  “Better hurry up, Boss, or we’re going to get stuck out here,” he intoned gravely.

  “Thanks for the heads up, buddy!” Austin responded, already well aware of the time constraints under which they were operating. “Now, do you think you could break up some of this snow near the edge over our heads first, and then pull us the rest of the way up?”

  “You got it, Boss!” Trip got down on his knees and stretched his arms out as far as he dared. He began to pound away on the thick crust of snow above the heads of Austin and the injured man, shouting, “Incoming!”

  Just below, while reluctant to let go of the rope, Austin knew he had to have faith in the knot he'd tied around them. He covered both of their heads with his forearms and gloved hands. Chunks of snow and ice rained down around them from above as Trip cleared a path for the final leg of their ascent.

  After several seconds, Trip shouted, “Okay, all clear, Boss!”

  “Great, Trip! Now pull us the rest of the way! Real easy, just like before!”

  Trip jogged back to the snowmobile and gently twisted the throttle, moving forward, but looking over his shoulder as he did. After several tense seconds, two heads popped up at the edge of the cliff, like a couple of prairie dogs looking for predators in the noon-day sun. Stopping the sled’s engine, he trudged back through the heavy snow, still grasping the rope firmly. He leaned backward and began pulling Austin and the sur
vivor the rest of the way up by hand.

  Austin clawed into the snow to find the rocky ledge beneath as Trip continued to heave mightily. When Austin’s arm finally shot into the air, Trip reached down and grasped his friend’s hand, bringing both men first to their knees, and eventually, their feet. Jerry groaned, unsteady on his legs after many hours of inactivity lying on the ledge.

  “Okay, let’s get him onto your machine,” Trip said. They supported Jerry on either side. At some points, they walked, but at other times they dragged the semiconscious man through the snow toward Austin snowmobile. They placed the injured man behind the sled’s controls, and Austin sat down behind. He held Jerry upright while Trip secured the rope around the two of them. Austin now found himself looking over the injured man’s shoulder in order to pilot his machine down the mountain.

  “Okay, Trip, now tie that rope around us once more, and put it around his uninjured arm as well, in case he wakes up excited. I wouldn’t want to lose Jerry here on a bump going down the mountainside or have him clock me one with a panicked hand. Not to mention the fact that the last thing I'd need would be to have his hands flying up in front of my face if he regains consciousness, especially while cornering one of those drop-offs on the way back.”